Page 53 of The Groom Wore Plaid
Instead, he removed his hands and stepped back. Her skirts fell all around her, hiding what should burn like her shame, but instead felt glorious.
“Go now, Maggie, before I make ye my bride in the ways of our ancestors.”
She stiffened, glared at him over her shoulder, then marched out of the room on shaky legs.
Only as she reached the door to her room did she remember what he was off to do, confront enemies of the Clan Duff. Could he die, and this moment of her own pleasure be all she ever shared with him?
Or did her dream ensure that he could not die this way? She felt a bubble of hysterical laughter rise in her throat as she pushed open her door. Her smile died when she saw Kathleen’s look of welcome fade into confusion at Maggie’s expression.
Maggie held up a hand. “Forgive me. I’m trying to find a way not to cry, but it seems I cannot force any other emotion, though I try.”
“Oh, mistress,” Kathleen murmured consolingly, reaching as if to pat her shoulder with a familiarity that gave the maid pause. “His lordship will be fine. I’ve heard of cattle reivin’. A bunch of grown men racin’ around the countryside chasin’ each other like a child’s game.” Kathleen hesitated. “And I don’t want ye to be thinkin’ about those ladies who stared down their haughty noses at ye. Ye have beautiful eyes, and I told ’em there’s nothin’ hauntin’ about ye at all.”
Maggie withheld a grimace and simply nodded to encourage the maid’s rambling speech, needing to talk about something, anything, except the ways Owen had touched her, the pleasure he’d given her without demanding his own.
Or was he saving that for later?
CHAPTER12
Supper in the great hall was a subdued affair. Many of the families had already returned home, and those that stayed anxiously awaited word from their men who’d gone with Owen and Harold. At last people found beds, even if some rolled up with blankets near the hearth. Maggie went up to her bedroom, leaving orders that Owen must come to see her regardless of what time he returned.
She told herself she wasn’t going to let him out of showing her the contract, but honestly, she was worried about his safety, too.
She was wearing only her nightshift, combing out her hair, when the door suddenly opened and Owen stood there, bringing with him the odors of dampness and horse and sweat.
“You sent for me, mistress?” he asked dryly.
And then he looked down her body and froze, and the memories of the kisses they’d shared, how he’dpleasured her, were as sharp as if they’d just happened.
Owen slowly closed the door behind him, and Maggie used the moment to don her dressing gown as if it were armor. She cocked her head and eyed him with faint confusion.
“Owen, what are ye doing here?”
“You sent for me,” he repeated, enunciating the words.
“I did not. Clearly ye misunderstood.” But she hadn’t thought this through, and didn’t want a servant to suffer his anger because Maggie was trying to provoke him. She distracted him by saying, “What happened? Was anyone hurt?”
Shaking his head, he went to the wine decanter and poured himself a goblet, then took a long drink before answering. “No one was hurt, on either side.”
She let out her breath.
“It seems several Campbell youth thought they could impress their elders and reive some cattle.”
Maggie’s breath left her in a rush, and she realized that there’d been a part of her that feared some stray McCallums had decided they were tired of the peace.
“They were easy to follow,” Owen continued, “and just coming down from their whisky-fueled bravery when we found them.”
“What did ye do to them?” She knew it was within Owen’s rights to have them killed.
“Used our swords to paddle their backsides and sent them home to their mothers.”
His grin was a white flash in the near darkness, stoking her desire for him as if the coals only slumbered, always ready.
To distract her wayward thoughts, she said, “Then the day was a success all around.”
“It was,” he mused, staring down into his goblet. “I’d anticipated that the tedious aspects of ruling the clan would take away from my enjoyment of my scholarly pursuits, but I find it’s almost just as rewarding to change people’s lives for the better.”
“Almost?” she echoed wryly. “It seems ye prefer your dusty books to people.”
