She studied him. “Ye cannae simply refuse him forever.”
“I can and I will, until the Crown tells me otherwise.”
“And if the Crown daes?” she asked.
His gaze did not waver. “Then we fight with words instead of steel.”
Margaret exhaled slowly. “I hate that this endangers yer house.”
“It endangers it only because others choose tae make it so,” Domhnall replied. “Ye have done naething wrong.”
Her lips pressed together. “That has never stopped him before.”
“I will make it clear,” he said, “that challenging this marriage is the same as challenging me rule.”
The words were not a threat. They were a fact.
And in the quiet that followed, both of them understood that the castle had just become a battleground, one where no swords would be drawn first, but where every look and every word would matter.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Midnight came softly to Inveraray. The corridors were emptied of all but guards and ghosts, and the loch outside Margaret’s window bore the likeness of a dark sheet broken only by moonlight and the occasional ripple of wind.
Margaret was standing at the glass, with her fingers pressed lightly to the cold stone of the sill, counting her breaths as though they might steady her.
They did not.
She was dressed for travel, not comfort. She wore dark wool, close-fitting and unadorned, while her boots were laced and ready. Her hair was braided tight and pinned high, and every loose strand was disciplined into obedience. At her throat lay no jewels. At her wrist, there was only the bracelet she refused to leave behind.
She kept pacing, four steps to the door, turn, then four steps back to the window. Each sound in the castle made her pause. She strained to tell danger from routine, impatience from fear.
She will come,she told herself.
She stopped again at the window and looked out over the darkened grounds. Somewhere beyond the trees lay the pass she had marked days ago. Somewhere beyond that, Eleonor waited, wondering, perhaps fearing and perhaps blaming herself.
Margaret closed her eyes briefly.
“I am coming,” she whispered into the night.
Then, footsteps sounded in the corridor. Her heart stuttered, then raced. She moved away from the window at once, nearing the door. Her hand hovered near the latch and her body was suddenly too aware of itself, of the choice she was about to make, and of how thin the line was between resolve and recklessness.
The footsteps stopped and a knock came at the door. It was barely audible, just knuckles brushing wood, more to be felt than to be heard.
Margaret didn’t breathe. A moment later, she opened the door, only to see Annabel standing in the narrow gap, cloaked and hooded. She didn’t smile, nor did she curtsy. She leaned in just enough for her whisper to carry.
“It’s clear,” she murmured. “The castle’s safe tae move but ye must be very quiet. And ye must follow me without a word. Nay questions, nay delays.”
Margaret nodded at once. Annabel did not wait for further agreement. She turned and moved down the corridor in a confident manner, as though the stone itself had learned to make way for her. Margaret slipped out behind her, closing the door with care and easing the latch back into place so it made no sound.
They did not take the main passages. Instead, Annabel led her through servant routes Margaret would never have found alone, such as narrow stairwells tucked behind tapestries, low doors disguised as paneling and corridors that bent and dipped where the castle had been expanded and rebuilt over centuries.
They passed a scullery where embers still glowed faintly beneath ash. A sleeping guard snored softly beyond a half-closed door. Annabel slowed, raised a hand, then moved on only when the sound evened again.
Margaret followed without hesitation. Her heart hammered, but her steps were steady. She kept her skirts gathered, and her breathing quiet and controlled. Every lesson she had learned about moving unseen at court, in corridors, in rooms where she was never meant to linger served her now.
They descended a narrow stair that curved sharply left, then another that dropped more steeply. Annabel paused once more, listening, then pushed open a door Margaret would have swornled nowhere. It opened into a passage barely wide enough for two, lit by a single hooded lantern set far down its length.
Annabel glanced back at her. “Almost there.”
