Page 63 of Wild Wicked Scot
“I didna do a bloodything—” Duncan shouted and tried to lunge for Hamish again.
“Enough!” Margot shouted.
The two men—and Arran and the dogs for that matter—grew silent. Duncan and Hamish glowered at each other, but thank all that was holy, they were silent for once.
“It is inconceivable to me that two grown brothers could be at such odds with each other.”
Both men opened their mouths to speak at the same moment, but Margot threw up her hands. “I don’t want to know,” she said. “But I am asking you to think clearly about whatever it was that happened between you. Should it not be forgiven and forgotten? You, sir—who will be there to bury you when you die? An undertaker? Is that what you want?” she demanded of Hamish.
He looked sheepishly at the ground.
“And who, sir, will be there to care for you when you are old and ill?” she asked, swinging around to Duncan.
“Dunno,” Duncan muttered, refusing to look at Hamish.
“I think youdoknow. You really must consider what being brothers means. I can’t believe that two men would squander all familial ties and the rest of your lives over some old tiff. What does it matter, really, when compared to family? Is it really worth such acrimony?”
Arran was not only astonished by her acumen but also proud of it. He had never seen this side of her, had never imagined this side existed.
“I don’t expect you to resolve all your hard feelings overnight. But I want your solemn promise that you’ll at least try. Will you promise?”
The two men eyed each other. “Aye, milady,” muttered Hamish.
“Aye, milady,” Duncan echoed.
“Thankyou.” She dusted her hands together. “Might we now hunt this grouse? The laird has said my supper will be wanting if we don’t.”
“You heard your lady, then,” Arran said.
The two men gathered up the dogs and their horses and set off to find the grouse. Arran watched them ride on, then looked down at Margot. “Fine work, Lady Mackenzie. You have tread where mere mortals have refused to go.”
She rolled her eyes. “The peace won’t last. But I should hope it will hold until they at least have bagged my supper.”
He laughed, drew her into his arms and kissed the top of her head.
He helped her onto her horse and they followed the brothers around the loch until they sighted the grouse again, as the birds were too fat and too heavy to fly far. As a result, the three men were able to snare a half dozen of them. When the dogs had brought the birds back to them, and Hamish had bagged them all, Arran sent the men and the dogs to Balhaire. “Lady Mackenzie and I will be along,” he said. And to Margot he said, “Come,” and took her hand, walking down the grassy slope, then pulling her down onto her belly in the grass with him.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“I mean to make a hunter of you yet, aye? I’ll at least have you know how food is put on your table at Balhaire.” He put the gun up against her shoulder and showed her how to hold it. He instructed her how to sight the birds. He had no hope that she could bring down a grouse, but he wanted her at least to try.
“They’re wandering about,” she said as she peered through the sight.
“Have you one in your sight?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Aye, then, on the count of three, pull the trigger. One. Two—”
Margot fired before he said three. And with her eyes closed. The barrel of the gun bucked into her shoulder, and her shot was so wildly awful that he couldn’t help himself—he fell over onto his back and howled with laughter.
“That’s so unkind!” Margot cried, laughing, too.
“Diah, but that was the worst shot I’ve ever seen,” he said, convulsing with laughter.
“Because you’re a terrible teacher!” she said, shoving playfully against his shoulder.
Arran grabbed her and pulled her on top of him, rolling with her in the grass. “It’s impossible to teach a woman who closes her eyes when she shoots.”
