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“Perhaps we should have worn veils as Beth suggested?”
    The serving girl who’d been assigned to help them dress for the feast had been shocked when Margaret had said they would just be wearing circlets.
    Margaret hadn’t paid her much mind. She only wore a veil to church, and even then she didn’t like it. But gazing around the room, she saw what Brigid had: they were the only women who were bareheaded.
    â€œSo we can blend in with all the others?” Margaret gave her friend a cheeky grin. “What fun would it be if we were all the same? This way we shall stand out.”
    â€œI think we are doing that anyway with our gowns,” Brigid said glumly.
    Margaret had to admit, the finery of the ladies at court far exceeded her expectations. She’d never seen such an array of luxurious fabrics and fine embroidery. But they were just gowns . Pretty ornament was still just that: ornament.
    â€œYou look beautiful, Brige. You could be wearing a sackcloth and you would still outshine everyone in this room. Whether garbed in velvet and jewels or in a woolen kirtle and plaid, it’s what’s inside that matters.” Brigid gave her a look as if she didn’t know where she got her strange ideas. “You will have your pick of suitors. Have you seen anyone that interests you yet?”
    As soon as her father had told her of his plan to bring her to Stirling to secure an alliance with John Comyn, Margaret had begged him to let her bring Brigid along with her as her companion. Lord knew there were precious few men to choose from as potential husbands near their home. Except for Margaret’s brothers, of course, but they didn’t count. This was the perfect opportunity to find someone for Brigid, and Margaret wasn’t going to waste it.
    Heat rose to her friend’s cheeks, and her gaze lowered. “We’ve only just arrived, Maggie.”
    â€œYet we’ve met a dozen young men already.” The image of a tall, dirty-blond-haired warrior rose to her mind, but she quickly pushed it aside. He might have attracted her attention, but her interest must be fixed elsewhere. “Although I hope you have not set your sights on the Earl of Carrick, as he is already wed.”
    Brigid let out a sharp laugh, which had been Margaret’s intent. “You are horrible, Maggie. Can you imagine what Father and Tristan would say?”
    Brigid’s family was just as staunchly loyal to King John Balliol as Margaret’s, meaning that none of the men they’d met today, assuming they were with Bruce, were suitable suitors.
    â€œI imagine exactly what my father and brothers would say. ‘Are you out of your wee mind, lass? I’d sooner see you marching down the fiery aisle of Hell to wed Lucifer himself,’ ” she said in a mock imitation of her father’s voice.
    As they neared the dais, she could see that she’d been right: her family was seated at the table just below to the left.
    The girls were still laughing as the men rose to greet them. When her eldest brother, Dougal, asked what was so funny, Brigid couldn’t seem to meet his gaze, but Margaret, knowing her humorless brother wouldn’t understand, replied that it was nothing. She imagined her family would hear of their earlier encounter soon enough.
    It was then that she noticed the young man standing next to her father. Fair of hair and coloring, he was gazing at her with an expression that could only be described as dazed. Slightly taller than her father, who stood a few inches under six feet, he was only a fraction of his width, with the long-limbed coltishness of youth. From the lack of significant stubble on his jaw, she guessed he was a year or two younger than her own eight and ten.
    His identity dawned as her father was making the introductions. John Comyn . This was the Lord of Badenoch’s son and heir, and the man to whom her father would see her betrothed. She’d