Page 87 of Wild Wicked Scot
“Thank you.” She picked up a piece of toast and started for the door.
“Margot?”
She closed her eyes, took a breath, then turned back with her false smile. “Yes?”
“Have a footman accompany you to the village.”
His concern was maddening, given what he’d done to her. He certainly hadn’t cared about her when he’d discarded her husband. Margot very much would have liked to have said as much, too, but her soaring indignation was child’s play compared to what he’d done to Arran, and she had to keep her calm if she had any hope of helping him. “Of course. Good day, my lord.” She gave him a cheery wave and went out.
* * *
THEFOOTMANSTEPHENwas sent to accompany her. Margot brooded as he handled the team, slouching in her seat, her gaze fixed blindly on the passing countryside. When they reached the village, she sat up and composed herself. She turned to Stephen and said, “I mean to call on Mrs. Munroe.”
“Yes, milady.”
“And in the meantime, I should like you to give over the reins to one of the boys there,” she said, nodding at the boys from the mews. “Have them mind the team, and then you may go around to the butcher and buy a ham. I am of a mind for ham.”
Stephen looked up the high street. “We’ve ham at Norwood Park. They were butchering—”
“I wantthisham,” she said a bit curtly to ward off any further arguing the footman thought he ought to do on behalf of the Norwood Park hogs. She reached into her reticule and retrieved two shillings. “For the boy,” she said, and hopped down from the carriage before Stephen could come round to help her. “Very well, Stephen, go now and see about that ham.”
“Yes, milady,” he said uncertainly. But he started up High Street all the same.
Good man, she thought. Obedient. Just as she’d been all her life. A mouse of a thing, always doing as her father and brothers instructed. Oh, but that girl was dead now, never to be resurrected.
Margot strolled along until she was certain Stephen couldn’t see her, then reversed course and hurried down High Street toward the Ramshorn Inn at the bottom of the road.
The innkeeper came bustling out from behind the counter the moment she stepped inside, wiping his hands on the bottom of his stained apron. “Madam,” he said, his eyes darting around the common room, as if he feared he’d left it cluttered.
“Good morning, Mr....?”
“Collins, milady. Willie Collins.” He yanked a dirtied rag from his pocket and made a show of dusting a chair for her.
“Thank you, but I won’t stay. I’ve come only to have a quick word with my brother Mr. Knox Armstrong. I understand he has taken rooms here?”
The man blinked. “Yes, milady. A pair of them.”
Whoever the bird was, she must have been quite something for Knox to take a pair of rooms. “Would you please send someone up to him and tell him I have come?”
“Eddie!” Mr. Collins shouted.
A dusty little boy appeared from the back of the inn. Mr. Collins took him aside and leaned over him. He glanced back to Margot as he spoke to the boy.
The boy sprinted up the stairs, tripping over one in his haste. Margot could hear his ungainly clomp as he ran down a hall above her head. She and Mr. Collins looked up, as if both of them expected joists would begin to rain down on their heads. The boy’s heavy footfall was followed by the sound of a door slamming, and then another, and then the boy was running again, down the hall and stairs.
“I’ve done it, Papa!” he called as he skipped across the inn into the back room once more.
Mr. Collins smiled anxiously when they next heard the footfall of a man striding down the hall above.
Knox appeared, taking the steps two at a time. “Thank you, Collins,” he said briskly as he leaped to the floor. The innkeeper scurried to the back room as if escaping a melee.
The melee was Margot’s brother. Knox looked a mess. He did not wear a wig, his blond hair was uncombed and his shirt hastily donned and opened at the collar. He sported a scraggly beard as if he’d gone unshaven for several days. “Margot!” he said, casting his arms wide. “What are you doing here?” he asked jovially as he embraced her and hugged her tightly.
Her brother smelled of sweat and a woman’s perfume. “A better question is, what areyoudoing here?” she asked, stepping back.
“Enjoying my life,” he said with a wink, and took her by the elbow. “Collins! Send tea up for the lady!” he bellowed over his shoulder.
He led her up the stairs as he chatted about how happy he was to see her, wondering aloud how long it had been, and how he hoped that she’d come home for an extended stay. They reached a door that he pushed open. He stood aside so she could enter ahead of him.
