Page 35 of Wild Wicked Scot
Margot swallowed down her shock. She glanced around the room, uncertain what to say. Uncertain if she even understood what the woman meant, or if she should even believe something so outlandish. Arran had been angry, very angry. But he’d not beenpained.
She looked sidelong at Mrs. Gowan again, whose round cheeks had turned slightly pink. “Do you mean to imply that the laird was pained by his marriage to me?” she asked uncertainly.
“No,”the woman said, her gaze raking over Margot. “He was pained by your leaving us! Everyone could see it, aye? He’d no’ speak of it, but it was mighty plain to me that ye right broke his heart!”
A chill went up Margot’s back. “No, I didn’t,” she said defensively.
“Completely dispirited, he was,” she said emphatically. “And I’ve no use for a woman who can do that to our Mackenzie, no, I donna.”
Her daughter spoke sternly in Gaelic to her mother.
Her mother glanced reluctantly at her girl, then at Margot once more. “I’ve said what I will. I’ll have the soaps sent up to you, then,” she said, and turned away.
Margot was speechless, reeling from the idea that Arran could have been brokenhearted. She backed up, her hand groping behind her for the door, and stepped out of the shop.
Once outside, she stood with her gaze fixed on the hills beyond Balhaire. She had assumed, given the tension between them, that Arran had been happy to see her go. When her father told her that she must come back to Balhaire, Margot had thought only of how displeased Arran would be to see her again. Butpained? Was that true? Had she really pained him, or had this woman interpreted his foul mood as hurt? Wouldn’t Margot have known if Arran wanted her to stay? Would he not haveaskedher to stay?
She was still standing there trying to sort things out when a group of men came thundering onto the main road on their way to the castle. Several people came out of their houses and shops to have a look. Margot stepped back, flattening herself against the wall of Mrs. Gowan’s shop as they rode past.
She closed her eyes against the dust and opened them again as a lone rider reined to a hard stop.
It was Arran. He stared down at her as his horse danced impatiently beneath him. “Margot? What are you doing here?”
“Ah...” She glanced at the door of the shop. “Mrs. Gowan has kindly agreed to send up a few things to the castle.”
Arran glanced at the shop, then at Margot. “You’ll make do without me tonight, aye?” he said brusquely. “I’ve business in Lochalsh.”
Business in Lochalsh? What business might he have there? It was a tiny hamlet on the western shore with only a few fishermen. “You’ll be away?” she asked plaintively. “But I thought we might—”
“You donna mean to complain of it, surely,” he said, his voice full of warning.
Margot clenched her jaw to keep from doing precisely that. “Not at all. I wish you a safe journey,” she forced herself to say.
“Aye, exactly as I thought.” He spurred his horse on.
Margot watched him go, hating the suspicion rising up in her. With a sigh, she began to trudge back up the hill to the castle, waving away the dust the horses had kicked up.
CHAPTER TEN
ATTHEENDof the very long day, after dining with Nell in the sitting room adjacent to the master’s chambers, Margot retired to Arran’s bed.
Fergus was agitated. “The hearth has no’ been lit, milady.”
“Then perhaps you might light it,” Margot said as sweetly as possible.
Fergus lit the hearth...but then he sent the dogs in. Quite literally sent them in. That was another thing she and Arran had argued about in the past—he allowed old and retired working dogs into Balhaire to live when they were no longer useful to their masters. At one time there were ten of them wandering about, sniffing corners and following behind people with the hope of earning a table scrap or a head scratch!
Tonight, three dogs ambled in from the master dressing room, pausing to stretch and yawn. Margot had already put herself in bed, feeling miserably alone and a little uneasy. Though she’d never cared for dogs freely roaming the house, tonight she was not altogether cross when their heads popped up over the edge of the bed, their tails swishing on the floor, their gazes hopeful.
“Very well, then.” Margot sighed, feigning impatience, and tapped the bed. The three of them leaped as one over her, circled about and finally settled themselves in with their backs pressed up against her.
She remembered the wintry afternoon Arran had brought her down to the kennels to see a litter of puppies, hoping it would cheer her. It had. She remembered how he would cradle them one by one in his hand against his chest, stroking their heads.“This one shall be a fine herder, aye? But this one... I suspect he will spend his time digging beneath fences.”It had been a lovely afternoon.
There’d been a few occasions like that with Arran, moments where they had been content with each other. Margot had thought of those moments at Norwood Park from time to time. Sometimes, when ennui consumed her, she’d thought of those moments rather wistfully.
By morning, not only had Margot been nudged to the edge of the bed by her bedmates, but also two more had found their way inside and were laid out on the carpet at the foot of the bed.
The only thing missing from this rather domestic scene was her husband. Was he still in the village of Lochalsh? Surely there was no treason to be done there, so what business could he possibly have? Perhaps he hadn’t gone there at all.
