Page 63 of The Groom Wore Plaid
She shrugged. “As well as can be expected for a man of science.”
“I’m sorry, lass,” he said gently. “But it’s best to start a marriage with truth. I can tell ye that from painful experience.”
“We will make things work, have no doubt, Hugh.”
“Truly? Then why did ye specifically send for Dorothy and Helen?”
Hugh was being far too logical and protective. “I wanted them to be exposed to a wider world.”
That was true, too. When Hugh found out what she was doing, he’d be furious. She could only hope that by that time, he would understand the reason why.
OWENwas standing with his uncle when Hugh approached them. Owen offered thecuachof whisky, and Hugh held the handles and took a long swig before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Aye, I can tell where that was made,” Hugh said.
“You cannot,” Owen chided. “You know we share the land, so you’re simply assuming.” But Maggie had known, too. He pictured her that first day, full of bravado in the castle of her ancient enemy, beautiful and brave. He imagined what it must be like to spend the rest of his life away from his family and people. Itwouldn’t be easy, and yet she’d agreed to give up her freedom for peace.
And he’d felt sorry for himself for being unable to choose his own bride, he thought with disgust. At least he could choose where to live, how to spend his money and time.
“Are your tastes not as refined as mine, Aberfoyle?” Hugh said lightly. “From just a sip I can tell what was first in the casks that aged the whisky, whether it be bourbon or sherry or another spirit.”
“Aye, I’ve been told that the best have such rare gifts,” Harold mused. “Ye’re a lucky man. As is your sister—a lucky woman, that is. She claimed the same sensitivity.” After another swig, he handed thecuachback to Owen before he left them.
An awkward silence stretched between the two men.
“We do have something in common besides Maggie,” Owen said at last.
Hugh eyed him. “And what would that be?”
“We’ve both newly been elected chiefs of our clans.”
“An election, ye say? In my case, aye, but in yours—ye would inherit the earldom regardless. I imagine the chiefdom is a given.”
Owen shrugged. “There is truth to that. But what surprises me is that the chiefdom is different than I thought it would be.”
“Different? Did ye not watch your father all those years?”
“Your father was here in the Highlands, ruling his clan. Mine did so from a distance, more through intermediaries.”
“’Twas not as if I wanted to model myself after my father’s idea of being chief,” Hugh said with sarcasm.
“Aye, I know. Maggie told me about him.” He gave Hugh a sober look. “She told me what he did to the serving girls.”
Hugh’s eyes went flat, and he took another draught of the whisky.
“I’m not sure she gave me the full truth,” Owen continued. “Did he hurt her as he hurt them?”
Hugh spoke forcefully. “He did not. I made sure of that.”
“As did your mother, by taking you both away.”
Hugh nodded.
Owen leaned back against the table, relief relaxing the tension in his shoulders. “I hadn’t realized how much I feared that there was an uglier truth until just now. Not that it would have mattered to me in terms of wedding her,” he added.
“’Tis good to know.” Hugh perched beside him on the table. “Does that mean ye’ve grown to love my sister already?”
“Love?” Owen barely kept from scoffing, not wishing to offend a happy newlywed. “It would be impractical to need such emotion when dealing with a negotiated marriage.”
