Page 82 of The Groom Wore Plaid
He grimaced. “Ye’ve been threatened already.”
“Well . . . we have to go see who it is!” she said, and as if sensing her eagerness, the horse gave a little dance sideways.
“My men will return with their report. We’ll wait until then.”
He kept looking at her arm until she wished to hide it. “Owen, stop. ’Tis nothing.”
“It could have been everything,” he said solemnly. “I could have lost ye.”
She didn’t know what to say to that. The Owen she was used to normally revealed nothing in his voice, but for once, she heard regret and sadness.
“I already introduced ye to Dorothy and Helen,” she said lightly. “Ye’d be fine.”
His brown eyes blazed.
“I was teasing,” she said in a weak voice.
“I didn’t find it amusing.”
By the time the two guards returned, Maggie was glad of it. Owen was frosty with barely restrained temper, and she understood that he hated feeling helpless. Worse yet, the two men could report nothing. The gunman had slipped away by the time they made it up the hill. On the final mile home, Owen and the other two surrounded her, and even back within the castlewalls, she didn’t feel safe. The gunman might have come from here, she realized bleakly.
Owen dismounted at the stables and marched toward the smithy. She wanted to hurry after him, but Fergus stepped in front of her, while the other man followed Owen.
“Mistress Maggie, we have our orders,” Fergus said apologetically.
She watched, practically holding her breath, as Owen faced down Gregor, who was working over the fire, long tongs in his gloved hands and a glowing horseshoe at the end. All it would take was a thrust and Owen would be scarred for life.
But Gregor lowered the tongs and spoke to Owen, then slammed the tongs back into the fire and gestured with both hands. Several people near the smithy were openly listening, but Owen and Gregor weren’t garnering too much attention beyond that. At last Gregor walked away beside the guard, taking long, angry strides.
Owen returned to Maggie. “It is done.”
“What is done?” she demanded. “What did he say?”
“That he is innocent, of course. Yet he’d just begun to work at the smithy not an hour before, and he did not think anyone could vouch for him. I did agree to look into the matter of witnesses, so he agreed to a fair hearing before the next assembly. Until then, he will be under guard within his own room in the barracks.”
Her stiff shoulders relaxed a bit. “I guess that is fair. But what shall I say to Kathleen?”
“Allow me to handle it. I am her chief.”
Maggie wanted to protest, but didn’t. Hewasthe chief. Or did she simply not want to be the one to tell Kathleen that her only remaining sibling could face a terrible punishment if his guilt was decided?
“Now can you be at ease, Maggie?” Owen asked. “The wedding is only ten days away. Your family will be safe when they arrive.”
She was glad for that. But his words made her wonder—did Gregor’s capture change how she felt about marrying Owen? She wanted her family to be safe—but she wanted Owen to be safe, too. The thought that he might not die was an ache in her chest that made her eyes water with hope.
By supper, there were whispers all through the great hall, but Owen had forbidden either his two guards or the smithy from discussing what had happened, in case Gregor was innocent. But Owen seemed positive he was not, and his confidence mildly eased Maggie, even when Kathleen did not make an appearance, and Mrs. Robertson came to help her prepare for bed and change the tiny bandage on her arm. Maggie wouldn’t even need it in the morning. For once, the housekeeper’s poorly hidden disapproval seemed absent, as if Owen had revealed what Gregor had done. Maggie accepted the woman’s help, but didn’t discuss anything herself and let Mrs. Robertson leave disappointed.
Maggie’s confused thoughts settled on the most important one: Could she marry Owen now? And could she live with the risk that she might be wrong?
But she didn’t have long to wait before her decision became undeniable.
For only the second time in ten years, she had a vivid dream. She was awake, sitting in Owen’s room, looking out the window upon the newly budding trees of spring. Her hands rested protectively on her very swollen stomach, and she experienced the most incredible feeling of tenderness and joy and anticipation.
Maggie sat up in bed with a gasp, wide awake in a dark room, with the moon outside the window the only light. She put a hand to her stomach in amazement and wonder. She was with child. Soon there would be a babe in her arms, nursing at her breast, looking to her for guidance and protection. The ache of love was surprisingly deep, and it brought tears to her eyes.
Keeping her hand tight to her stomach, she whispered, “I’ll do what’s best for ye, little one. I’ll keep ye safe and happy.”
OWENdrank a mug of ale and stared out the window at the courtyard below. It was just past dawn, men were in the training yard working, guards were patrolling the battlements looking out on the countryside—but the smithy was absent a worker.
