Page 35 of The Groom Wore Plaid
She narrowed her eyes at him and said in a low voice, “Are ye accusing me of lying—again?”
He cocked his head, aware that he was approachinga line that she’d drawn between them. “Perhaps exaggerating for the enjoyment of your audience.”
“Those are pretty words for lying. I tell the truth—allthe time.”
And maybe there was some part of her that thought she did, but it didn’t change how he felt about her ridiculous claims to be some sort of seer. Perhaps her parents had been so busy ignoring her that she’d fallen into the hands of a superstitious group of women. Or she’d found a way to manipulate people by claiming powers. One coincidence that ended up coming true couldn’t change his mind.
But he wasn’t about to say all of that. “Then go ahead and tell me how you and a redcoat faced off.”
“Aye, I will. He boldly stared at me one day as I walked through town, followed me home, came right into the parlor, and told my mother he intended to court me. She rebuffed him politely—we weren’tthatstupid—and we hoped that that would be the end of it.”
Owen suddenly realized that sounded very real, very dangerous. “How old were you?”
“Twenty.”
She was like a little rooster, so much bluster and crowing, but very helpless against a bigger opponent. He felt a stirring of dread as he imagined her at the mercy of a man.
“What happened next?” he demanded. He heard himself sound cold, icy, but it was the only way tokeep down the heat of rage that was building up inside him. What was happening to him—what was she doing to him?
“He started following me, day after day, not bothering to hide, his red uniform blindingly obvious, his ugly smirk promising perseverance. My mother suggested I find a husband, but I would not be forced to marry.”
Maggie gave Owen a look that plainly said she still felt the same.
“He was not invited to private parties, of course,” she continued, “but at public dancing assemblies, British officers did as they wished. Finally, he found me in a corridor after I’d needed a moment’s privacy, and pulled me outside into the garden.”
The defensive righteousness in her voice was slowly fading away as her gaze unfocused. She was obviously seeing into the past, leaving her body so tense that Owen felt if he touched her, she might shatter. He felt an unfamiliar urge to comfort her, and it made him uneasy. This woman who was upsetting all his plans was part of a bargain, not a love match. He couldn’t imagine ever trusting her enough for that. But she was suffering now, and he didn’t like how her suffering seemed to hurt him as well.
“He tried to take liberties with me,” she said, her chin up with bravery. “I fought him, which surprised him.”
“You are fierce. I like that in a woman.”
As he’d hoped, it seemed to distract her from the terror of her memories, and she rolled her eyes at him.
“Aye, weel, I would have felt better with a pistol or at least a dirk. But luckily, he was tippled, and I ended up breaking a vase over his head before giving him a bloody nose.”
It was hard not to look at her with open admiration, but he managed to conceal his emotions. She was a spitfire, which he’d known from the beginning. Brave and clearheaded, even when under attack. “Did he leave you alone after that?”
“Aye, he did, but he turned his sights on another girl less able to defend herself.”
Now her changeable expression became haunted, and he found himself even more tense.
“Her father took matters into his own hands when it seemed the worst had happened, calling out the redcoat. They fought, and the redcoat was killed. Although many stood up in defense of the Scot’s actions, they hung him regardless, and the girl was ruined.” Her voice was soft by the end, but she showed little reaction.
“I’m sorry,” he said, knowing it was another in a long line of tragedies that a Sassenach had caused.
She took several deep breaths, and when she met his gaze again, her eyes were cool. “’Tis in the past,” she said at last. “And that story is the proof that I can handle any challenge.”
He studied her for a long moment, at the way herunusual eyes sparkled with determination and pride. Without intending to, he found himself taking her hand and bringing it to his lips again, but not in the flamboyant way he’d done so in the courtyard. He heard her breathing quicken, and his own matched it.
Until she pulled away and said brightly, “Did ye kill many poor animals on your hunt?”
She didn’t want his sympathy, and he felt uncomfortable having tried to give it. “Many. I have excellent aim.”
“Then the castle will feast.” She hesitated, then turned that challenging gaze on him again. “Do ye remember the first dinner we shared?”
“Ten years ago in Edinburgh?”
She waved a hand. “Nay, not that. I knew ye wouldn’t remember.”
