Page 66 of The Groom Wore Plaid
She thought her mother would gasp or perhaps even brush that aside, but all she said was “Go on.”
So Maggie told her about the dreams of the little boy who’d practically grown up beside her almost as a comforting companion, the stolen weeks with Owen when she’d been sixteen, her confession of her dream about his betrothed, Emily, and his reaction.
Lady McCallum clapped her hands on top of her thighs and shook her head. “’Tis a sad thing to like a boy and be so disappointed in his foolishness. But he was young, then, Margaret. Don’t ye think he’s wiser to the mysteries of the world?”
“Aye, the mysteries of the planets or electricism. Those things can make no sense but he’ll still believe in them! But not in me.” The vehemence in her voice took her aback. She told herself to calm down.
“Ye know that for certain, do ye? Ye’ve discussed your gift?”
“My curse,” Maggie said dully, a rejoinder she’d always given her mother, though they’d usually been bantering. “And aye, we’ve discussed it again. It didn’t go well. He just can’t believe in the oldsuperstitions.” She emphasized the word sarcastically.
“But ye haven’t even experienced it in years. Maybe—”
“But I had another dream about him!”
The despair in her own voice shocked her and must have shocked her mother, too, because she regarded Maggie with wide eyes. The silence between them stretched taut.
“He’s going to die,” Maggie whispered, trembling. “If he marries me, on our wedding day, he’ll die.”
She could actually see her mother visibly pale.
“Oh, Maggie, ye saw such a thing in your dreams?”
Maggie nodded, feeling the tears well up and spill over. She dropped to her knees in front of her mother and wrapped her arms about her waist.
“Oh, my wee lass.”
There were tears in Lady McCallum’s voice, too, and they just hugged each other and rocked for what seemed like a long time. At last, Maggie lifted her head, and her mother handed her a handkerchief so she could wipe her face and blow her nose. She sank back into her own chair.
“Tell me the dream,” Lady McCallum said, her voice laced with both firmness and concern.
“There isn’t much to tell,” Maggie said bitterly, “and that’s much of the problem. Owen woke me up before I could see the complete dream.”
Her mother arched a brow. “He woke ye up?”
Maggie waved both hands. “’Twasn’t like that. He heard me scream and came to wake me up the firstnight I was here. All I saw was me in my wedding clothes, and Owen lying on the floor, blood everywhere, his face white as death.” She hugged herself, her entire body trembling.
“But was he dead?”
Maggie shook her head. “Not yet, but I screamed and clutched him, and my clothes became spattered with his blood. And then—he woke me up.”
“So ye don’t really know he’ll die.”
“Do ye think I don’t realize that? I’ve spent my entire time here trying to have the dream again, to discover the ending, but nothing works. I’ve even discussed it with the healer, Euphemia—”
“The one who seemed to enchant the entire hall with just her voice?”
Maggie nodded. “She took me up to the standing stones, as if there was magic somewhere, anywhere, that might help me. But there’s nothing. So I resolved not to marry him, and have looked for another way to satisfy the contract and keep the peace between our clans.”
Lady McCallum eyed her skeptically. “He still wants to marry ye.”
“He thinks I’m being ridiculous, risking the marriage contract this way. He looked at me with such disdain. He doesn’t believe he could die. He doesn’t like losing, and thinks he’s always right, and he wants me in his—” She broke off, blushing.
“In his bed, aye, such is the way of men. And yewant to be with him, too. I can see the passion between ye two as if it were a color shimmering around ye both.”
“Passion isn’t love,” Maggie said defensively, “’tis just lust.” But she was so worried that it was too late for her, that she was falling in love with him even though he couldn’t respect an intrinsic part of her. She liked their long discussions, she respected the loyalty and care he showed his people, he was so considerate of her cousins, even though he knew exactly why they were here. And most of all, she loved the way he made her feel like the only woman who mattered.
But could there ever be a love without trust? And why was love suddenly so important when she’d agreed to this marriage thinking they’d tolerate each other and save their clans?
