Page 49 of Wild Wicked Scot
Margot hesitated. She gingerly lifted the figurine from his hand. “Thank you.”
“I wasna stealing it,” he said. “I donna thieve.”
“No, no—I never thought so.” Of course she’d thought so, and he knew it.
“I only put it in my pocket to give the laird, aye? But then we heard his wife had come beg—” He blanched at what he’d just said and looked down, ran a hand over his head.
“That she’d come back, I mean to say,” he hastily corrected himself. “And I thought it a fitting gift for ye, then. To welcome you to Balhaire once more.”
She blushed, bent her head to examine the figurine. “Well, at least I have crawled back for a fine gift, haven’t I?”
The poor man looked stricken, and Margot had to laugh. “Thank you, sir. You cannot imagine how I appreciate this.” Or how much she appreciated he did not mean to harm her, but to greet her.
The man nodded and stepped back. “No’ all of them are happy to see you. I’d be a liar if I said otherwise. But a man needs his wife, aye? Me, I didna know how much I needed the wife ’til she’d gone.”
“Gone?”
“Black fever.”
“Oh. Oh my. I’m so—My condolences, sir.” She didn’t know quite what more to say to that. She couldn’t imagine how devastating that would be. She and Arran had their differences, but to think of that possibility...
Margot swallowed. “Thank you again.” She tucked the figurine into her pocket for safekeeping.
This time, she managed to pull the pony around.
She thought about what the man had said as the pony picked its way up the hill to ride along the low cliff above the shore. She had never pondered if Arran needed her or not—she’d thought only how she’d needed him.
Didhe need her? How could she ever be useful beyond her dowry to a man like him? She was more burden than helpmate.
She looked out to the sea. From here, she could see the ship more clearly. It was a small ship, the sort designed for speed. She was no expert on sailing vessels, but she was aware that the ships carrying troops were generally larger. This was absurd—she would never find evidence of Arran’s treachery by riding around the land, looking for clues. It was absurd.
She turned the pony away from the sea and rode up the glen. Her progress was slow as she didn’t know how to persuade the pony to do more than plod along. It hardly mattered—she was entranced with the landscape. She had forgotten how the green Highlands turned gold in a certain light, purple in another light. The air smelled of wet leaves and the musky scent of peat.
Presently she heard voices, and as the pony followed the path out of the forest, she rode past crofters working to cut and bind hay. Such a simple but meaningful existence. These people worked to fuel their lives and raise their children. They didn’t worry about social standing or connections.
It was quite easy to see that Balhaire was prospering. It made no sense that Arran would jeopardize all that he’d built here to put James Stuart on the throne. What would he have to gain from it? Nothing! He had everything tolose.
A thought suddenly occurred to Margot. She didn’t need to find proof that he was involved in treason. She had to find proof that he was not.
And how did one do that?
The same way, she supposed, one found proof of treason.
When Margot returned to Balhaire, she was more confused than ever. She was so lost in her own thoughts that when she handed the reins of the horse to a stable boy and walked into the castle, she cared not a whit who saw her or whether they looked at her or not. She felt quite at a loss for what to do now. She hurried upstairs to the rooms next to Arran’s bedchamber and threw open the door—and very nearly startled Nell to death.
“There you are, milady!” Nell said. “I thought you’d never return. What a day I’ve had! That man has come round again, and he says I’m not to enter the laird’s rooms without invitation. I says, ‘My lady is sharing those rooms, and I guess I’ll enter when she says!’ Andhesays—”
“Nell,” Margot said, holding up her hand. “I would like to lie down a bit before supper.”
“Pardon, milady. Are you unwell?” Nell asked.
“A bit of a headache. It’s been rather a long day.”
“Shall I fetch—”
“No, nothing. I’ll ring for you when I need you.” She backed out of the room, pulling the door closed, and retreated to the master bedchamber. She closed the door carefully behind her, then stood in the middle of the room, her hands on her hips.
She meant to have a lie down, but her gaze moved to the large chest of drawers. If a man had secrets to keep, he would keep them close. Margot moved hesitantly to the chest of drawers and, with finger and thumb, lifted the drawer pull and pulled it open. The drawer contained shirts. She grimaced as she put her hand beneath them, groping about, hoping to find something. And indeed, her fingers closed around a metal piece; she quickly withdrew it from beneath the shirts and held it up.
