Page 51 of The Groom Wore Plaid
As the morning progressed, more and more people gathered in hall, where the tables had been dismantled to make way for the crowds. Clan pipers and harpists took turns entertaining. Maggie wandered among the people, holding her head high at the sly stares, the whispered conversations behind her back, the shock many revealed upon seeing her different colored eyes. This was not unusual among strangers, of course, butalways she feared a murmur of “witch.” Such superstition still had a hold on many people, who could not explain the world with science, as Owen did, and instead held fast to the stories handed down through generations.
When Harold brought the crowd to order by banging his fist, everyone settled immediately as if they’d merely been waiting. A line began to form before the dais, leading back toward the crowd, and Maggie judged it as the hours passed, waiting until it shortened to put her plan in motion. She listened to interesting discussion about the extent of the land tacks in the area, the tenants, how the summer growing season was progressing due to storms or drought, an account of the size of their herds. She also heard that Owen held several assemblies across all the lands owned by their clan, for they stretched west to the sea.
One by one, the clansmen presented their problems to Owen, who consulted with his young gentlemen acting as his counselors. She’d seen this in her youth, and she thought he was fair and more interested in his people’s lives than her father ever had been. He listened to a grazing rights dispute between two villages; discovered the health of a herd of cattle, each one taken after the death of a villager, to be bestowed on a newly married couple; found a husband and father for a widow and her children after a lively discussion among the gentlemen about which man would suit her.
The most serious case heard was that of a young woman accused of theft. Maggie had heard whispered stories about chiefs who handled the matter coldly, tying a woman by her hair to seaweed on rocks and waiting for the tide to come in and kill her. When Maggie was a child, her brother had once told her that their father had branded a man’s hand for theft, and she had had nightmares for days.
Owen contemplated the woman in question, listened as witnesses described what she’d done, and how they’d caught her in time to be able to recover the property she’d stolen. Maggie held her breath, praying Owen wouldn’t have her whipped or banished or killed. To her relief, he ordered the woman to be a servant on the land of those she’d wronged, working in their oat fields from dawn to dusk for a month.
The afternoon waned, and all could smell the delicious odors of the food that would soon be served, and grew restless and talkative. More than once, Owen had to raise his voice to ask for quiet. There were only two people left to explain their grievances when Maggie casually got into line behind them. Many people were milling about, their conversations gone to whispers before Himself, but they still were ready to be finished for the day and didn’t pay attention to her.
But Owen did. He frowned briefly at her, and then turned his attention back to the person with the complaint. She stayed where she was, hands linked casually behind her back, and waited. If he was going tocontinue to deny her plea to read the marriage contract between their families, then she was going to demand the right in public. Many men might laugh at her behavior, for the laird had the last say. He was the supreme ruler, almost a god in these people’s lives. They might go to church on Sunday, but every other day they had to follow Owen’s wishes rather than God’s. Of course, a fair chief’s rules would follow God’s . . .
Owen frowned at her again as he finished up with the person two people before her. Once the man stepped aside, and the next man moved up, she would do the same. It would be obvious to Owen that she was bringing a grievance.
As if he understood exactly what she wanted, Owen narrowed his eyes at her and gestured with his hand toward the corridor. So he thought she’d allow a discussion in private about the contract, when he’d already refused her once? She wasn’t taking that chance. She cocked her head as if she did not understand. Letting out a breath, he gave a curt nod, and Maggie knew she’d won. He would let her see the contract to keep her from embarrassing him in public. Satisfied, she turned away and began to walk toward the nearest wall, where she could watch the crowd. She’d become good at that over the years, seeming to be a part of things, but not really. As she watched the women talking, the way they touched arms, the fondness in their eyes for each other—she knew she didn’t have that, hadn’t had it for many, many years. Shewas hiding or suppressing so much of herself, it was difficult to offer deep friendship to any woman. She’d always managed to convince herself it was better this way. She had a deep connection to her brother, and even to her mother, although it was difficult to reconcile some of the things the woman had done in her marriage to a drunkard. Maggie knew the friendship of other women was far too dangerous when one had secrets.
There was a sudden commotion near the main double doors at the far end of the hall. A wave of disgruntled sound moved across the room, and Maggie heard a boy’s voice crying above it. “My lord, my lord!”
Owen raised a hand, and immediately the crowd calmed to murmurs.
“Thievery, my lord!” the boy cried, so out of breath he had to bend at the waist, support his hands on his knees and pant.
The voices swelled with concern and outrage, and again, Owen raised a hand. “Boy, what is your name?”
“Arthur, m-my lord,” he gasped. “My da sent me to tell ye he’d been overcome by strangers and two dozen cattle taken.”
Maggie stared at Owen, hiding a wince at the realization that with so many men occupied at the assembly, an enemy had taken advantage.
“We know who did this!” rang out a man’s voice.
Maggie took a quick breath as she saw Gregor elbow his way through the crowd and stand in front of thedais, hands on his hips. With rising dread, she guessed what he would say before he said it.
“’Twas the McCallums!” Gregor continued, catching the eyes of many men and nodding at them all.
Maggie clasped her hands together tightly and looked toward Owen. She tried to concentrate on his stern face to avoid the suspicious gazes of so many people.
“Nonsense,” Owen said firmly. “Calling an old enemy guilty because of history makes no sense.”
Gregor’s face reddened, and more than one man eyed Owen with wariness. Maggie swallowed heavily, knowing she was part of the reason it would be difficult for him to earn the trust of all of his people.
“The McCallum and I have a contract joining our families,” Owen continued, his voice calm and reasonable. “His sister lives among us, my intended bride. It would be harming his own family to harm us. Let us not jump to conclusions, but form a party and investigate. The war chief will decide our number.”
Maggie took a deep breath, realizing she was letting herself grow light-headed.
Owen came around the dais and went to the boy, putting his hands on his shoulders and talking to him. Maggie couldn’t hear them, but she knew many others were listening. Owen wasn’t making a secret of the interrogation, just trying to get any detail from Arthur without making the boy even more nervous by putting him on display.
Ten minutes later, Owen moved past Maggie, leaving the great hall, and she hurried after him. Without hesitating, she followed him into his bedchamber, and then closed the door in Fergus’s startled face.
As Owen unpinned the brooch holding the plaid over his shoulder, he eyed her. “Did you need something from me?”
The length of plaid fell to hang from his belt, and he began to unbuckle that, too.
Raising her eyes to his face reluctantly, she said, “I wanted to say I regret that Gregor could try to use my family against ye.”
“The feud between our clans lasted centuries. The acceptance of peace and the fostering of goodwill will take at least our lifetimes.” A corner of his mouth lifted. “You and I will be the beginning of it.”
She briefly closed her eyes in frustration. “Owen, I’ve said I won’t marry ye. And just now, in the great hall, ye promised to let me see the contract so that I wouldn’t embarrass ye.”
