Page 65 of The Groom Wore Plaid
There was a whole castle full of people who could be lost, looking for their own rooms . . . With a sigh, she crawled out of bed, managed to slip into her dressing gown and simply hold it closed in front of her as she approached the door.
And then she remembered the threats against her. There were far more guards stationed in the corridors, but still she asked, “Who is it?”
“Your mother.”
Maggie opened the door.
Freshly dressed for the day, her mother stood there, smiling expectantly. “Good morning, Margaret.”
Maggie leaned her head against the door and blinked slowly. “Is it? ’Tis too early to know.”
“May I come in?”
Maggie sighed. They’d always been close, and her mother had had an evening to study her. Maggie had known this discussion would be happening sooner rather than later. Without even lifting her head from the door, she backed up a step.
Lady McCallum chuckled. “Ye cannot bethattired.”
“I am. But I’m glad ye’re here.” She leaned to kiss her mother’s cheek.
Lady McCallum surprised her with a hearty hug. “Oh, my lass, I’ve missed ye. We’ve never been so long parted, ye know.”
“I know.” Maggie smiled as she closed the door.
Her mother regarded the room with a critical eye. “These fine Duffs like to show off their wealth.”
“Ye mean they like to make their guests comfortable.”
“Mmph,” was the woman’s answer to that.
“Come sit with me, Mathair.”
She sat on a cushioned chair before the fire, and Lady McCallum took the other one and drew it close.
“I could hold your hand all day if ye’d let me,” the woman said.
Maggie smiled. “I’m not a little girl.”
“But I feel the need to reassure ye like ye still are.” Her mother searched her eyes, her own filling with worry. “I didn’t like sending ye off with a man ye’d barely ever met.”
“I know. But I’m well.”
“Pshaw, don’t try to lie to me. I see ye swaying those young men—even your brother—but I ken ye to your bones. Has it been so terrible here?”
“Nay, it has not, I promise, Mathair. Owen is respectful and kind. He has this incredible library, and he’s teaching me all about the wonders of natural philosophy and astronomy and—”
“Ye aren’t telling me what’s in his heart, lass.”
“I don’t know what’s in his heart,” she answered wistfully. “And it doesn’t matter, not truly. His kindness and generosity are more important.” She had to pretend they were more important than his trust.
Lady McCallum bit her lip and looked away, blinking rapidly, before she said, “Aye, and it’s growing up with such a man as your father that made ye think this, that love is unimportant. Take it from a woman who never had it from her husband—the love of a good man is everything.”
Maggie’s chest tightened almost painfully, as if her heart could shatter. “I can’t marry him,” she whispered.
She waited apprehensively, as if her mother would talk about duty to the clan and ending the feud.
Instead Lady McCallum’s eyes went wide and she squeezed her hand. “Tell me everything, my wee lass. Let me help.”
Maggie took a deep breath, aware of the magnitude of such a decision. And then she said, “I think I’ve been having dreams about Owen my whole life.”
