“Stay with yer maither,” she said calmly.
“I cannae find her!” the boy cried.
She knelt slightly, bringing herself level with him.
“What is her name?”
“Mary.”
Margaret looked toward the corridor. “Mary!” she called sharply.
A woman turned instantly from the line moving toward the exit.
“Me lad!”
The boy ran to her and jumped into her arms. Margaret stood up again. Thomas had followed her across the hall, still looking unconvinced.
“Me lady,” he said quietly, “this is nae yer responsibility.”
Margaret turned toward him. “These are our people, Thomas.” she said simply. “We must help them. So, either helpmehelpthem,or stay out of me way.”
All he could do was nod to that, and he stayed right by her side as another wave of frightened voices rose as more servants entered from the stairway. The evacuation line grew longer. Margaret moved again without hesitation, guiding a group of children toward the corridor while another servant gathered blankets for them.
“Keep moving,” she said calmly. “Stay thegither.”
The guard at the archway nodded to her with quick respect as the line began moving more steadily. Margaret handed the small boy she carried to his mother and turned back toward the hall.
“Next group,” she said calmly.
The evacuation had begun to find a rhythm. Women passed through the archway two at a time, clutching small bundles or with children clinging to their skirts. A pair of guards directed them down a narrow stone corridor.
Somewhere deeper in the castle the sound of fighting continued. Margaret forced herself not to look toward the sound. Instead, she focused on the task in front of her.
A young girl stumbled near the doorway. Margaret caught her before she fell.
“Easy,” she murmured. “Stay with yer brither.”
The girl nodded tearfully and hurried after the others. The line moved again. Then Margaret noticed something. Three men had entered the hall from the far stair. They wore dark cloaks like the others fleeing the lower corridors.
At first glance nothing seemed unusual, but they did not move like frightened servants. They moved like soldiers. Margaret’s attention sharpened. The first man reached the archway leading to the evacuation corridor. The guard there stepped aside to let him pass. Then the man’s cloak shifted. Margaret saw the blade.
“Wait—”
But it was too late. The man struck. The guard collapsed instantly, blood spraying across the stone as the blade cut deep into his side. And then, all hell broke loose. Screams tore through the hall as the other two men threw off their cloaks. MacGregor tartan flashed beneath the fabric.
“MacGregor!” someone shouted.
Women scattered instantly, grabbing their children and running for the corridor. One of the intruders grabbed a servant by the arm and shoved her aside as he forced his way toward the passage. She realized they had not come to fight. They had come for the evacuation route.
Margaret’s heart slammed against her ribs. They were trying to reach the women, trying to reach…her.
One of the intruders spotted her immediately. His eyes sharpened.
“There!”
He lunged forward. Margaret reacted without thinking. She grabbed the heavy wooden bench beside the wall and shoved it hard into the corridor entrance. The bench crashed sideways across the passage just as the second intruder rushed toward it. He slammed into it with a curse.
“Move!” he snarled.
