Page 92 of The Groom Wore Plaid
But the woman stepped overboard and sank with barely a splash, leaving only a few bubbles to pop on the surface.
Maggie waded into the water, screaming the maid’s name. By the time the cold water hit her waist, she feltit pull at her skirts, threatening to drag her under, to drown her. Had Kathleen somehow known Owen’s first betrothed had died by drowning? Nay, how could she have? Yet she’d threatened Maggie with drowning, and then gone through with it herself.
Maggie heard voices, shouting, and then clansmen passed her to wade out toward the boat and eventually swim.
“She’s under water!” Maggie yelled, and watched as they all began to dive. She stumbled into a hole and went down on one knee. The cold water seeped into her clothing, shuddered across her skin. Sodden, she struggled to get to her feet, gagging on a deep gulp of water.
And then Harold had her by the arms, lifting her upright, holding her against him as she coughed. After he helped her to shore, they both watched as the men continued the search.
“Was she trying to get away?” Harold asked quietly.
Maggie shook her head. “She—she put rocks in her clothes and killed herself.”
The boat continued to drift. It took some time before they found Kathleen’s body. Only when they brought her to the surface, white and lifeless, did Maggie turn and retch onto the ground. And then Harold wrapped her shoulders within a big arm and led her away to the horses.
OWENate breakfast quickly, ravenously, knowing he had to be strong for Maggie. It was Gregor who’dtold his guard what had happened, that Maggie had gone to stop Kathleen. Harold had followed Maggie to the loch, but as yet, had sent no word back. Owen couldn’t lie in his bed, knowing she was out there, alone against a killer. He demanded his shirt and plaid.
“My lord!” Fergus cried, both hands before him as if he’d push Owen back down, but didn’t dare lay hands on him.
“My wife is in danger,” Owen said angrily, tossing the blankets aside. The stitches in his back burned with each movement but he barely noticed it. “Now help me don my shirt or by God—”
Fergus found one in a nearby chest, and helped it over Owen’s head. Lifting his arms was surprisingly painful, but he didn’t let that stop him. While he breathed heavily, Fergus laid out his plaid and belt on the bed. When it was ready, Owen lay down upon it and belted it around him. Fergus helped him don his stockings and boots like he was a child. As Owen rose unsteadily and walked past Fergus, the bodyguard grabbed the ends of the plaid and threw it up over his shoulder.
“Do ye want the brooch, my lord?”
The free ends slipped down to his waist and, frustrated, Owen permitted Fergus to clasp the excess in place with the brooch. Owen thought he’d walk all the way to the barracks, but he realized that wasn’t going to happen. He sat in his big thronelike chair on thedais in the great hall, sent everyone away, and told Fergus to bring Gregor to him.
But before that could happen, Harold entered the far double doors, and to Owen’s utter relief, he held Maggie by the arm. His wife looked white with strain and grief, but she was alive and apparently unharmed.
“Maggie!”
When he shouted her name, her head came up. Their gazes met, and all the love and relief he felt practically unmanned him. And then she was running toward him, and he rose to meet her. She came into his arms, hard against his body, and he did his best not to stagger. She was soaked and shivering.
Burying his face into her neck, he kept murmuring her name. She was crying softly, and it was some moments before he could understand the words.
“I should have known . . . I should have realized . . .”
And then more quiet words of regret and guilt.
He took her arms and gave her a little shake, until she looked up at him with wet, dripping eyes.
“Maggie, she tried to kill ye, and she could have succeeded.”
“She tried to kill ye, too, and blame it on me,” Maggie said, her voice hoarse. “But . . . such terrible things happened to her.”
“Tell me.”
He sank back in his chair, drawing her onto his lap. Mrs. Robertson handed him a blanket, and he wrapped it around Maggie. He saw when theMcCallums entered but they stood back and listened as Maggie recounted her talk with Gregor, the man’s fear, Kathleen’s crazy confession just before killing herself. Lady McCallum and Riona held on to each other with silent weeping, then reached toward Cat when she arrived and drew her into their embrace. Hugh looked grim and full of frustrated anger. Owen knew just how he felt.
Owen kissed Maggie’s tearstained face. “Hush, lass, let it go. She was warped by what happened to her family. Ye did nothing to her, yet she couldn’t see that.”
“I know, but . . .”
And then Gregor was brought into the hall between two guards, Harold following behind.
Gregor took one look at Maggie and realized the truth, collapsing to his knees with a cry of grief. “She’s dead?”
Maggie nodded, her face spasming with sorrow.
