Page 60 of Wild Wicked Scot
“What did he want?” Margot asked as she searched through a selection of riding coats.
“I wouldn’t know.” Nell sniffed. “He looked around, quite closely.”
Margot’s stomach dropped. She slowly turned her head and looked at Nell. “What do you mean, he looked around closely?”
“I mean that he looked round here and there. And I says, ‘What’s the matter? You think something’s gone missing?’ And he says, ‘I wouldna be surprised if it had. Never knew an Englishman who was true.’ And I says, ‘How dare you speak of milady in that way? And I’d rather be English than a barbarian Scot.’ Then he says, ‘Well, thank the saints that you’ll never be a Scot, lass, because you don’t have the fortitude.’ Me! No fortitude! I says to him he’s no idea of my fortitude, and perhaps I’m not a beast like him, but I’mquitestrong.”
Margot’s eyes widened with alarm. She thought of the knife under the cabinet in Arran’s study. “What did he say?”
“Nothing,” Nell said with a shrug. “He said not a word more but tramped out of here like a schoolgirl in a snit.”
“Did he say what he was looking for?” Margot asked curiously, glancing about. “Has something gone missing?”
“He was not of a mind to tell me,” Nell said pertly. “But he ran his hand over every inch of the chest of drawers, then got down on his knees and looked under the bed, and pulled back the bed linens.”
Margot’s heart felt as if it would burst.
“Then he went into the laird’s dressing room and was gone for a time, and then he came back.”
Oh God.Margot tried to think.Dear God.
“Never knew a man like him, so ill-mannered,” Nell said emphatically as she dug in a trunk and produced Margot’s boots. And she continued to complain about Jock and his supercilious ways as Margot dressed.
Margot let her natter about it, far more concerned about what Jock might have been looking for. Or rather, if he’d been looking to find whatshe’dbeen looking for. She hardly had time to think of it now. She was late—but she had at last assembled as close to hunting attire as she might. She hurried down to the bailey, tying the ribbons of her hat beneath her chin as she went.
When she emerged into the sun-dappled bailey, she saw Arran waiting, resplendent in his buckskins and long coat, his hair tied in a queue beneath his hat. He was standing with his arms folded as he watched Sir Worthing and Mr. Pepper and their things loaded into the coach. “You’re late,” he said to Margot. He gave her a ghost of a smile. “Come on, then.” He put his hand on the small of her back and hurried her along, away from the Englishmen and to the horses that had been brought round for the hunting party.
She was pleased to see the Fell pony had been saddled for her. Two men would accompany them, Duncan and Hamish Mackenzie, whom she remembered as the gamekeepers at Balhaire. A pair of Arran’s hunting dogs were sniffing about, waiting for a command.
But the one person she’d expected to see was not present. She looked around. “Where is Jock?”
“He had other matters to attend,” Arran said simply.
Margot felt queasy. “You needn’t say more. I know that he does not care for me.”
“Oh, I think that’s no’ true. He esteems you well enough.” Arran turned his head and looked her in the eye and said, “But he doesna trust you. Come, allow Sweeney to put you on your horse.”
She did as he bade her.
“He has no reason to distrust me,” Margot said as she settled onto the old sidesaddle and Arran swung easily up onto his horse. “Whatever is between us has nothing to do with him.”
“Aye, perhaps that is true,” Arran agreed. “But he takes great exception to anyone who might want to harm me.”
“He thinks I mean toharmyou?” she asked incredulously. Was he searching for some clue that proved she meant to physically harm her husband?
“A wee bit, aye. Enough of this now. We’ve work to do.”
Did Jock really think she’d been sent here for such nefarious reasons? Did he really think she was the condescending, heartbreaking murderess now?
But it struck Margot that while she was not a murderess, Jock was right in at least one respect—she had been sent here to find something with which to accuse her husband. Was that any less egregious?
Arran signaled and the hunting party moved out.
Everyone but Margot, that was. It took a word from Sweeney and a jerk of the pony’s bridle to get Margot’s horse to follow the others. The pony broke into a run after the other horses, bouncing Margot around so completely that she almost lost her seat before she’d cleared the castle walls.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
MARGOT’SHORSEMANSHIPHADnot miraculously improved overnight as Arran had futilely hoped. He began to feel a wee bit guilty about her bringing up the rear as she was, her hat having bounced off her head somewhere along the way.
