Page 57 of Wild Wicked Scot
Margot got up, wrapped the coverlet around her and walked into his study. She stared at the cabinet. She could still see the handle of the knife that she’d shoved beneath it when she heard him approach.
She wasn’t going to open it. She didn’t want to know what he’d locked away...unless it was something that would prove his innocence. And what sort of proof would that be?
Tell me, how can I trust you?
There came a soft knock at the bedchamber door, and Margot hurried in through the dressing room, arriving as the door partially opened. Nell stuck her head in. “Awake, madam?”
“Yes. Come in.”
Margot dressed, and as Nell was putting up her hair, she picked up the figurine the man at the cove had given her and turned it over in her hand. It reminded her of how distant she’d once been with the clan here. She put the figurine in her pocket.
When Nell had finished her hair, she went downstairs. But before she had breakfast, there was something she very much wanted to do.
She went out into the bailey, through the gates and down the road until she reached the whitewashed cottage with the peonies in the window boxes.
The little bell sounded as it had the first time Margot had come into Mrs. Gowan’s establishment, and as before, Mrs. Gowan appeared from the back room with a cheery“Madainn mhath!”
The cheeriness left her the moment she saw Margot.
“Good morning,” Margot said. “I’ve come to thank you for sending the soaps.”
“Aye,” said the woman, folding her arms. Her daughter appeared behind her, but Mrs. Gowan seemed not to notice.
Margot stepped forward. “I brought you something I thought you might put to use.”
Mrs. Gowan said nothing.
Margot held out a small bottle shaped like a swan. It was her perfume. “My father gave this to me. It comes from an exclusive perfumery in London. It’s a floral scent, and one that the laird particularly likes.”
Mrs. Gowan stared at the bottle, then glanced warily at her daughter.
“I thought you might use it in the making of soaps and whatnot.”
“For you?” Mrs. Gowan asked.
“Not for me, but for any Mackenzie who might like it.” She held out the bottle.
Mrs. Gowan didn’t immediately move to take it. But her daughter did, hesitantly coming forward and putting the bottle to her nose. “It’s bonny,” she said.
“It’s my favorite,” Margot agreed. She looked at Mrs. Gowan again. “I regret that I did not discover your shop when I was here before, Mrs. Gowan.”
The woman’s frown seemed to ease a tiny bit.
“I regret so many things, really. That I didn’t listen, that I didn’t try to understand the ways of the Mackenzies instead of imposing my own ideas. I can’t change that, I know, but I should like to start fresh if we might.”
Mrs. Gowan didn’t speak. Margot didn’t care, really—she had said what she needed to say, and she smiled. No matter what happened with her and Arran, no matter what truths she discovered, she meant this sincerely. “Well, there you are. Good morning.”
“Morning, mu’um,” the daughter said, gazing at Margot with eyes wide with surprise.
Margot left the shop, the little bell tinkling behind her.
When she returned to the bailey, shooing chickens from her path, she happened to see Sir Worthing lurking about the main door. Margot had no idea what to make of her situation at the moment, but no matter what else, she knew she couldn’t navigate her way through her marriage with Sir Worthing and Mr. Pepper watching her every move.
She smiled as she approached him. “Good morning, sir.”
“Good morning, Lady Mackenzie,” he said, bowing low over his leg. “I trust you slept well?”
“Thank you, but I cannot properly express how well I slept, sir,” she said gaily. “Sir Worthing, might I have a word?”
