Page 10 of The Groom Wore Plaid
Her eyes narrowed. “Ye didn’t offer to marry me willingly, now did ye. Let’s not pretend otherwise with false flattery.” She regally turned her head away, giving him the back of her dark brown hair, caught in a chignon at her nape. He thought she shivered, but he couldn’t be certain of his interpretation. He wanted her to be aroused, but was she hiding behind a wall of indignation?
He was so near he could inhale the scent of her, a hint of lavender and springtime. It was heady and enthralling, and if they could just put the anger behind them . . .
She glanced at him again and her lips were far too close, reminding him of the kisses she’d once offered with eager naiveté.
“Lord Aberfoyle, your nearness is embarrassing me before your clan.”
He didn’t believe that; the attraction between them surely had her rattled. He wanted her to feel off balance; he wanted clues as to how to deal with her; he wanted to remind her of pleasure. “Does the telescope in the library bring back memories of nights beneath the stars?”
Frustrated nights, when he’d thought of kissing her, but had known he wasn’t free to offer more. Then came the day he could restrain himself no longer. He’d regretted his impatience, and had striven hard to control his emotions ever since.
Those unusual eyes narrowed, and she silently studied him, as if looking for a trap. “The telescope is of little interest to me,” she said.
That was a direct rebuff, and he reluctantly admired her for it.
“But the books are another matter,” she continued, then asked stiffly, “Might I read through them?”
As if it was difficult to ask him for anything. She was a proud woman.
“As my wife, you’re welcome to anything I have.”
It was her turn to arch a brow. “But I’m not yet yourwife. Blackmail, is it? Will ye withhold books from me until the deed is done?”
Her wariness made him irritable. She actually thought he’d keep knowledge of the world from her? “I’d not withhold anything from you, Maggie. The books are yours to read as you wish.”
She nodded and went back to her meal. Winning her would not be as easy as simply offering to wed her. Perhaps he’d been more swayed by his father’s bragging about the sanctity of their title than he’d imagined. It obviously didn’t impress Maggie. Regardless, he knew what to do to win a woman’s favor. He’d done it once with Maggie—he could do it again, using very slow, passionate methods. He was looking forward to it. Not that he was going to make her fall in love with him; then she would only be hurt when he didn’t return those feelings. He wasn’t going to love her; he wasn’t going to give a McCallum—or any woman—that much power over him.
“I wrote a letter this morning to my brothers,” Maggie suddenly said. “Who should I ask to post it for me?”
“I’ll send a man to deliver it, and bring back any reply.”
“Thank you.”
He suddenly frowned. “You said ‘brothers.’”
“Aye, Hugh and I have a half brother. He’s only ten years old. I guess ye didn’t meet him during the wedding.” She bit into a forkful of mutton and chewed thoughtfully.
“Are you going to leave me with so little of the story?”
She took a deep breath, and he thought she would refuse.
Instead she lowered her voice. “Brendan is my father’s child by a village girl. She died giving birth to him. Many people thought he was Hugh’s, but he’s not.”
Pain darkened her eyes, and Owen knew there was far more to the story than she was saying. “Why did people think Hugh was the father?”
“Because he’d offered to marry the girl, Agnes, to protect her after what our father had done. But Father refused to permit the marriage, since Hugh was already betrothed to your sister.”
What their father had done. There was an ugliness behind those simple words. He’d known her father was a drunkard, and pitied her for it, but if he’d hurt young women, too . . . Those thoughts took him to a darker place.
“Did your mother take you away from Larig Castle because of your father’s behavior?” he demanded. “Did he hurt you?”
She set her jaw stubbornly. “I was not hurt. But this is none of your concern, Owen.”
“Not my concern? You’re to be my wife.”
She opened her mouth, and he realized she was going to counter him, but then didn’t. What was she thinking? They were betrothed, and denying that would catapult their clans back into the distrust no one wanted. He’d thought she was simply upset that she hadn’t had the romantic courting other women did, that he’d lied to her when he’d been young and foolish. Now he wasn’t so sure.
The double doors at the far end of the great hall were suddenly thrown open by the guards, and in walked his mother, Edith Duff, Countess of Aberfoyle, and his sister, Cat. They were dressed in bonnets and shawls, which along with their gowns, were dyed black in mourning for his father. Each carried a basket on her arm, which reminded him they’d walked to the village that morn. It was Cat who’d asked if she could invite Maggie, and though Owen had appreciated the gesture, he’d thought it best to let Maggie sleep as long as she needed.
