Free Brenda Joyce by A Rose in the Storm Page B

raced. “Are you suggesting...a liaison?” She could barely get the word out.
    But wasn’t seduction a ploy used by women since the beginning of time?
    Margaret stared as Peg got up. “I am going to bring you soup and bread,” she said, as if she hadn’t heard the question.
    “No, wait,” Margaret said uneasily. “Do you really think I could change his mind if I...slept with him?”
    “Aye, I do—as long as ye kiss and caress him wildly.” She gave her a look. “If ye spit at him, he’ll hardly wish to please ye tomorrow!”
    Margaret shuddered. She had to save her men’s lives. But could she use her body in such a manner? Would she even be able to tolerate his touch? But now, his proud image flashed in her mind, as she had seen him standing before her castle walls. Most women would find him attractive. She might even think him handsome, if they were not mortal enemies. “I am supposed to marry Sir Guy in June,” she managed to say.
    Peg shrugged. “So? Ye hate having to marry an Englishman anyway.”
    She grimaced. Peg was so brutally honest! “Yes, I dread having to marry an Englishman. But that is not hatred.” She added, “If there is a man whom I hate, it is Alexander MacDonald.”
    “I think it’s the same. And have ye noticed that he’s handsome?”
    Margaret gave her an incredulous look. “No,” she lied. She pulled a cover up, as it was cold. She now realized she was in a small chamber adjacent to the one she had claimed as her own upon her return to Castle Fyne. MacDonald must have taken the other chamber. “Buchan will be equally furious,” she said slowly. Was Peg right? Could she seduce the mighty Wolf to her will? Would he be so pleased with her tomorrow that he would change his mind about executing her men?
    “Aye, he will be angry—mayhap more than Sir Guy! But if ye want to save Malcolm and the others, what other hope is there?”
    She imagined her powerful guardian in a rage. She had seen it before, and she shuddered. She wasn’t sure what he would do, but he would consider her behavior treachery.
    “What will ye do?” Peg asked.
    “I don’t know—but I do not have much time to think about it.” But even as she spoke, she knew there was no decision to make. Doing nothing was not a choice. She had to make another attempt to persuade her captor not to execute her men.
    Margaret slid from the bed. “Peg, one more thing. Can you go to the entry tower and attempt to see William?”
    Peg nodded. “I will set a soup to boil first.”
    Margaret watched her leave. Then she walked to the door, and glanced into the narrow hall outside. It was lit by rushes set on sconces, against the walls. A big Highlander sat there on a stool, and he smiled at her politely when she saw him.
    She had a guard.
    Then she glanced at the adjacent chamber—her room. Alexander wasn’t within—he was downstairs still, in the great hall—but she stared at the bed in the center of the room, trying to imagine going to him that night.
    She couldn’t.
    * * *
    I T WAS A good hour before Peg returned, and when she did, she held a platter in her hand, a bowl steaming in its midst. Although sick with worry and lacking any appetite, the moment Margaret smelled the savory aromas of the mutton soup, she felt a hunger pang.
    Peg used her hip to push the door closed; outside, Margaret’s Scot guard was staring at them. Then she came and set the tray down on the bed.
    “Thank you,” Margaret said, taking up a piece of bread and dipping it in the soup. There was no knife on the tray, but she couldn’t be surprised at that. “Is he still downstairs?”
    “They have finished eating and drinking, most of his men are going to bed for the night. He will probably be up shortly,” Peg said. Her regard was questioning.
    Margaret felt an immediate tension as she lifted the bowl to drink the soup. Then she set it down. “There is no decision to make. I cannot stand by and simply wait for tomorrow to come, and hope