Page 45 of The Groom Wore Plaid
“Second to ye?” she inquired, tilting her head.
“Nay, second to Gregor.”
To his surprise, Maggie’s face paled.
She asked, “Did ye wrestle him yourself?”
He shook his head. “I lost just before the finals. Why do you look so relieved?”
“Gregor is an angry man.”
“And how do you know that?” he asked. “Has Kathleen been confiding in you?’
She smoothed her skirt over her knees, before taking a deep breath. “I heard him tell others I drove away your mother and sister.”
He stiffened. Euphemia’s wrinkled eyes narrowed even further.
“Say nothing to him,” Maggie continued. “’Twill crush Kathleen, who’s having a difficult enough time settling in here after what they’ve been through.”
“I’ll remain silent—for now,” he warned. “I know he’s angry at the failures of his life. Did you think he’d take that out on me in a wrestling competition?”
Owen couldn’t keep the disbelief from his voice. He was also surprised that once again Maggie showed that she cared about him. He’d thought her dream of his death was just a way out of the marriage, whether instigated by herself or her brother. But here she was, worried about a clansman hurting him. It made him feel confused about her true motives.
Maggie looked away, chin raised mutinously. “Gregor makes me uneasy.”
“And you wandering about, without telling me, makesmeuneasy.”
It was hard to imagine that the competent blacksmith would use a fear of witchcraft against a helpless woman.
Owen glanced speculatively at Euphemia, but spoke again to Maggie. “Why did you come here?”
Euphemia was the one who answered. “And could she not have been explorin’ the village and come upon me? Perhaps we agree that wrestling is a foolish pursuit for young men.”
“You don’t think that,” he said. “I remember you cheering along with the rest when I was younger.”
Euphemia actually giggled. “A man’s bare chest glistenin’ in the sun—nothing wrong with that.”
Maggie glanced at her friend, her unusual eyes full of amusement.
Euphemia let out a sigh. “Ah, weel, ’tis not easy for me to walk to the castle anymore.”
Maggie bit her lip and looked away, her disbelief obvious. Owen didn’t believe the old woman either. But at least she’d been there for Maggie. Could Maggie’s capitulation be aided by a wise woman’s counsel? No, he knew he would be the one to accomplish that. And he’d been looking forward to it more and more.
He looked past the cottage and up to the top of the nearest mountain. “Have you been to the standing stones?”
Maggie glanced at Euphemia, and he knew the truth before she spoke it. He could be his own seer where Maggie’s expressive face was concerned. So much for the old woman having trouble walking.
“Then come up with me,” he said. “I haven’t been there in years.”
He put out a hand, and though Maggie ignored it, she rose.
“Euphemia, are ye certain ye don’t need my help?” Maggie asked.
Euphemia practically giggled. “Young lovers need time alone. Go on with ye.” And without waiting for them to depart, she stood slowly and went back inside.
Owen gestured for Maggie to precede him past the trees and up the sloping path. He watched her hips under the ugly gown, thought of sliding his hands beneath and finding the tiny waist she was trying to disguise. She was becoming like the gift he longed to explore, a present far superior to the wrapping.
When they reached the summit, Maggie hugged herself, rubbing her hands up and down her arms, before going to touch the stones without the fear some might have shown.
