Page 72 of The Groom Wore Plaid
“I don’t like leaving ye like this,” he said quietly.
Arms around his neck, she whispered in his ear. “It’ll be all right, I’ve told ye that.”
“We’ll be back for the wedding,” said her mother, not bothering to hide her tears as they clasped hands. “Only twelve days left.”
Lady McCallum gazed at Maggie intently, saying even more with her eyes than she could with words, urging Maggie to come up with a solution before then.
To Maggie’s surprise, even Brendan gave her a quick hug, then ran to his horse as if embarrassed. The party mounted and rode off, and Maggie watched untilshe could no longer see them, her chest aching with unshed tears. Owen remained with her, even when his mother and sister returned to the castle.
“Were you tempted to leave with them?” he asked dryly.
She looked up at him. “Not at all. I finish my commitments.”
“Unless it’s marriage to me.”
“I could still be married,” she hedged.
His mouth quirked in a faint smile. “Do you really think after last night that any of my cousins would dare cross me by asking to marry you?”
“If you freely give me to one of them, he might.”
“Like a gift, as if you’re my property?”
“Of course not,” she scoffed. “I should have said when ye agree to revise the contract.”
“And you said ‘one of them.’ Randomly. It doesn’t matter which one. So love doesn’t matter?”
“I didn’t say that—youdid. I’ll take the time to know them better.”
“And how do you plan to accomplish that without damaging your reputation?”
“I don’t know. I’m giving it thought.” She began to walk toward the castle.
“I’ve been patient, Maggie,” he called in a low voice.
She paused, looking over her shoulder but not meeting his gaze. “But not open-minded.”
She thought of her dream again—she wasn’t even certain they were already married in it. What if justplanning a ceremony and attending that day was enough to make it all come true?
She should tell him about the letter right now, so they could put their heads together, in case it had something to do with her wedding day. But not until Hugh was far enough away that Owen couldn’t send her with him. Tonight.
She continued to walk, and he didn’t catch up to her. There was no point in wasting the day, not when Martin had not gone home to the village yet. Maggie first had to find out who was so against uniting their clans that they’d threaten her with death.
She was very careful walking over the bridge, and with thoughts of a suicidal drowning, the water below wasn’t soothing or picturesque.
Most of the guests were still lingering over breakfast, and Maggie had no problem spotting Martin Hepburn and his daughter. Maggie forced herself to speak to guests at a table near them first, and to her relief, when Martin saw her so close, he grumbled something to his daughter and left. Maggie excused herself from the one table and went to his.
His daughter was saying good-bye to another couple, red-faced and glancing down the hall to where her father was disappearing outside.
“Good morning,” Maggie called to her.
The woman came to a stop, wide-eyed.
“Forgive me,” Maggie continued, “but we were never properly introduced.”
“Ye’re Mistress Maggie,” Martin’s daughter said, her voice practically a squeak. “His lordship’s betrothed.”
“And ye’re . . .”
