Free Brenda Joyce by A Rose in the Storm

reason Sir Guy might not come to her rescue—without Castle Fyne, she had no dowry, and she had no value as a bride.
    She felt a moment of panic; she forced it aside. Buchan would pay her ransom, sooner or later. “When will you seek to ransom me and William?”
    He leaned against the wall. “I haven’t decided what I wish to do with ye.”
    She gasped. She had assumed he would ransom her—it was the most common course of action, in such an instance. “I am a valuable hostage.”
    He could have refuted her claim. Instead, he said, “Yer a very valuable prize, lady. I have yet to decide what will be best for me.”
    She was reeling. If he did not ransom her, she could be his prisoner for months—for years! “Am I now to be your pawn, in the years of war that will come?”
    “Perhaps,” he said.
    She was so distraught that more tears were arising. She fought them, aware of how exhausted she was. She had already fought this man once that day, in real battle, and it had been the longest day of her life. Yet now, she fought him again. “And what of the other prisoners? What of my brother?”
    “What of them?” He shifted in his seat, signaling Peg for more wine.
    Peg hurried over. As she poured the wine, Margaret said, “When can I see William? I would like to tend his wounds.”
    “Tend his wounds? Or plot and plan against me?”
    She tensed. “I do not even know how badly he was hurt. Where is he?”
    “I am having him moved to a chamber in the entry tower,” Alexander said. “He will remain there, under guard.”
    She hadn’t expected him to be removed to the dungeons with the other prisoners, as he was a nobleman. “When will he be moved?”
    He slowly smiled the smile she had come to hate. It was so cold. “Ye cannot see him, Lady Margaret. I will not allow it.”
    She was in disbelief. “You would deny me the chance to attend my brother—when he has been wounded?”
    He stared at her. “Aye, I would.”
    She gasped. “I have lost three brothers, as well as both my parents. He is my only brother, and I beg you to reconsider. I do not even know how badly he was hurt!”
    “Then ye need ask and I will tell ye. He suffered a gash from a sword on his leg, lady, as well as a blow to his head. And he has been properly attended.”
    “But I am accustomed to taking care of the wounded! Please—let me attend him!”
    “So will ye give me yer word that ye will not plot against me? That ye will not plan on how best to overthrow me?”
    She tensed. Of course they would discuss how to best overthrow him, damn him!
    “I dinna think so.”
    Margaret could not move, still stunned by his refusal. “And if I beg?”
    “Yer pleas will not be heard.” He was final. “Sit down, Lady Margaret, before ye fall down.”
    Margaret was so angry she shook, but she knew she must hold her tongue now—when she wished to accuse him of cruelty, when she wished to curse him for all he had done. “And what of the rest of your prisoners? What of my archers and soldiers and Malcolm? What of Buchan’s knights whom you captured in the ravine?”
    He now stood up. “They hang tomorrow at noon.”
    She did not cry out. She had expected such an answer. In war, the enemy was often executed. And he had told her, point-blank, that if she did not surrender, he would spare no one. “And if I beg you for mercy for them? If I beg you to spare their lives?”
    “Mercy,” he said softly, “makes a warrior weak.”
    She inhaled, staring; he stared back. “I cannot allow you to execute my people.”
    “You cannot allow or forbid me anything. I am lord and master here.”
    She needed to control her temper. She needed to overcome her fear. She needed to persuade this man to have mercy on her kin. Margaret looked down at the table, which she clasped so tightly her knuckles were white. How could she get him to change his mind?
    She somehow softened and glanced up. “My lord, forgive me. I am but a woman, and a weary woman, at that. I