Page 8 of The Groom Wore Plaid
CHAPTER2
As if used to aristocratic ladies who rose late, the housekeeper did not arrive with a tray of bannocks and chocolate until several hours later. Maggie felt weak with hunger, exhausted, and worried about her coming discussion with Owen. She had to find the right time to speak with him—as if there was a right time, she thought grimly.
Mrs. Robertson was tall and thin, with a long gray braid wrapped about her head like a crown and topped with a lace cap. The crown idea wasn’t far off; she was a reserved woman who took her position as head of the household staff with the seriousness reserved for a head of state surveying her kingdom. After a double look at Maggie’s different colored eyes, Mrs. Robertson served her with silent efficiency, but Maggie sensed a faint whiff of disapproval that Mrs. Robertson would never deign to admit out loud. Hospitality was important to Scotsmen, and it was part of Mrs. Robertson’s position. But Maggie was a McCallum, after all.
Once Maggie had been taken away from the oppression and constant fear of her father’s household,she’d discovered the joy of being around people who knew her only by what she showed the world. She’d been happy, lighthearted, pretending that she was like any other girl. Owen and the heartache that had followed had changed her, made her realize she might never have a normal life. But she’d vowed to find her own way, wouldn’t allow herself to wallow in regrets. She’d changed from a girl into a woman who’d understood caution. And then Owen had returned, stirring up her anger all over again.
“Will there be anything else, Mistress McCallum?” Mrs. Robertson asked, when the items from her tray were neatly arranged on a small table.
Maggie had many questions, but none she thought the housekeeper the right person to ask. “Nay, ye’ve taken good care of me, Mrs. Robertson.”
There was a knock on the door, so hesitant that Maggie knew it wasn’t Owen.
“That’ll be Kathleen, your lady’s maid,” Mrs. Robertson said.
“I’ve been assigned a maid?” Maggie asked in surprise. She’d never had a maid just for herself.
“Of course. Ye’re to be the new countess, after all.”
Countess.Maggie struggled to keep a pleasant, neutral expression, when she wanted to wince.
Mrs. Robertson opened the door, and a parade of young men entered, carrying Maggie’s trunks, the ones she’d brought with her from Edinburgh. It wasn’teverything she owned, but it made her feel better to know she’d soon be surrounded by her own things.
The last through the door was a young woman with a round-faced chubbiness that was unusual in the Highlands, especially for a servant. Kathleen had blond hair tinged with red beneath her cap, and a happy smile.
“Mistress McCallum, what a pleasure to meet ye!” Kathleen bobbed a quick curtsy. “Mrs. Robertson was kind enough to give me the opportunity to serve ye. I’ve brought yer trunks and cannot wait to go through them with ye.”
Mrs. Robertson’s eyes narrowed, as if Kathleen’s effusiveness was improper, but Maggie couldn’t help giving an encouraging smile.
“Thank ye, Kathleen. I do feel a need for a bath and a change of clothing.”
She swallowed several bites of the oatcakes while Kathleen bustled about, shaking out gowns and admiring them as she hung them in the wardrobe. Maggie thought she was simply being polite, for her wardrobe would be unusually plain for a countess.
“I think ye’ll like it here, mistress,” Kathleen said, pouring another cup of chocolate for Maggie. “I’m new here, but I’ve been made welcome.”
“New here?” Maggie echoed. “Ye mean new to the castle?”
“Aye, and new to everything with the clan. Me brother and I recently returned from the Americancolonies, where our parents took us when I was a wee babe. So I’m sympathizing with yer feeling like ye don’t know anyone. Ye know me now!”
Kathleen smiled, and Maggie couldn’t help smiling back at her.
“How was America?” Maggie asked.
Kathleen went back to the trunks, but said over her shoulder, “Me parents thought life would be different there, but it wasn’t, not really. The same family but in a new place. They worked hard and we survived, but it wasn’t easy. And when at last it was just me brother and me, we decided to come back. I’ve heard stories all my life of Duff lands and our clan. I’m glad to be here.”
Maggie nodded. Her maid was far more talkative than most servants, but she was comforted by the chatter. Kathleen was right; it made Maggie feel less alone to know someone else was a stranger here as well.
But Kathleen wanted to become a part of the Duffs, to get to know her relatives and fellow clansmen; Maggie could only think that for herself, being here was a terrible mistake. By agreeing to Owen’s proposal, she’d set in motion a destiny that would change all their lives.
AFTERa morning spent in the stables, going over the horseflesh with the marshal of horses, Owen was looking forward to a more sedate luncheon that he could share with Maggie. Ten years ago, they’d shared dinner from a basket one or the other of them hadtaken from their family kitchen. Occasionally they’d even bought something from a shop. They’d been dangerously alone, while he’d fought against the desire he shouldn’t have been feeling when there’d been another woman he was supposed to marry.
Not that they’d be alone at Castle Kinlochard, of course. They’d be sharing meals in the communal great hall of his ancestors. His father had put too much stock in living like an English earl, where one ate only with family or friends of the same Society. Here in the Highlands, one shared the day with one’s clan. He was on display, as everyone measured him against the—admittedly low—standard his father had set. He was determined to be a different chief, one who spent more time with his people when he was home. He would do his duty and serve in the House of Lords for several months each year, but when he was home, he would be a Highlander.
He was wearing his belted plaid for the first time in a long while, and he’d seen the way the stable grooms, even the marshal, had eyed him. No one showed outright skepticism, but he sensed it, there beneath the surface. There was no way to undo the damage his father had done to the chiefdom, except to lead by example and to prove his worth.
And then Maggie arrived in the hall, radiant in a rose-colored gown that set off her creamy skin, her hair a dark, silky cloud about her head. Owen was standing before he even realized it. Several tables werefull of clansmen, and they, too, noticed her, as all conversations died. No one else stood at first, and Owen was about to rake them all with a deadly gaze, until an elderly lady rose to her feet, leaning heavily on a cane. With reluctance, more followed, and he saw Maggie blush as she stood in the doorway, an ethereal sprite amid uncouth Highlanders. He would have to introduce her to his clan in an elaborate way, so that they’d begin to accept her.
He strode to escort her the rest of the way, and saw her eyes dip to his garments and then widen.
