Page 17 of The Groom Wore Plaid
Owen didn’t answer.
“And is that same requirement enough for her?”
“What does it matter?” Owen asked bitterly.
Harold sighed. “Sorry I am that your father forced ye into this. He was always more concerned for himself than anyone else, even his children.”
Sympathy was not something Owen needed. “Is there anything else, Uncle?”
Harold let out a breath. “When will ye be returning to London?”
Owen leaned back in the leather upholstered chair and regarded his war chief. “Not until January at the earliest, whenever Parliament is in session. Why?”
“Ye’ll be here that long?”
“I said I would,” Owen answered dryly. “I can understand why you might not believe me, since my father preferred England to Scotland. Much as I see the appeal of the country to our south, I prefer the Highlands and will remain here as much as I can.”
Harold gave another harrumph as he slapped his hands to his thighs and pushed to his feet. His plaid swung from his shoulder, where it was gathered with a brooch. But instead of leaving, he went to the wall of bookshelves that Owen had had built. The library alone hadn’t been large enough to house everything, so Owen kept his favorites in the solar. It made him content to know he was never without a book he might need to refer to.
“These are strange titles,” Harold said. “Mathematical Principles of Natural Philosophy.Why would this be of any help to a clan chief?”
Owen remained seated at his desk, a ledger open before him. “They’ll help keep this clan chief sane. I cannot always be dealing with business, Uncle.”
“All the estates in both England and Scotland must surely take up your time.”
“Aye, they do. But I have many men to help with them, including you and my tanist.”
His tanist—his heir if he did not have a son—who’d been elected to the position after Owen’s father died, had his own estate and was away tending it.
“And since you’re right that the estates take up much of my time,” Owen continued, “allow me to return to the correspondence dealing with them.”
Harold nodded and walked toward the door, his gait altered by a strange hitch from an old wound. Not that it inconvenienced him in any way in battle. Owenhad practiced with a sword against the old man, and probably only nowmightbe able to defeat him.
When Harold had gone, Fergus leaned in. “Expecting any more visitors I should look out for, my lord?”
“Nay, Fergus.”
Only when the door closed did Owen put his head back, close his eyes, and try to find his equilibrium again. He’d been telling himself it would take everyone time to adjust to a new chief, but Maggie had complicated everything.
MAGGIEspent several hours alone in her bedroom, writing another letter, this time to her mother. Each letter was harder than the last, for she had to concentrate to keep certain things hidden. Her family knew she used to have dreams that revealed the future, but she wasn’t about to reveal she’d had another after all these years—and one that affected the future of so many people, Owen most of all.
Not that he believed her, she thought bitterly—and not that she was surprised, after everything that had happened between them. He thought so little of her that he accused her of being dishonorable enough to avoid the marriage on a whim. Or that it was a plot concocted with her brother.
She gritted her teeth and held back a curse. For two weeks long ago, she’d told him everything, revealed parts of herself she’d never shown anotheroutside her family—and he thought her capable of such dishonor.
And they were supposed to have a decent marriage after that?
But she forced herself to write to her mother about the castle, the people, anything but the truth.
Before supper, Kathleen arrived to help her prepare for the meal, and she glowed with exuberance as she showed Maggie the selection of gowns she’d pressed for her to choose from. It was a momentary relief to be distracted from her worries.
“Kathleen, this was too much work,” Maggie said, amazed at how many gowns had been prepared for the evening. “Ye should have just chosen one and given it to me.”
Kathleen looked aghast. “Nay, mistress, such a decision isn’t up to me. And the gowns were so lovely that I couldn’t have chosen if they were me own.”
Maggie felt uneasy as she imagined Kathleen’s life in the colonies, where things must have been so difficult if they’d felt the need to return to the Highlands after they’d been gone so many years. Gregor was certainly bitter about what they’d experienced. Had there been more family besides their parents?
But she couldn’t ask, not now, when Kathleen looked at the gowns as if Maggie were a princess.
