Page 76 of The Groom Wore Plaid
“I promise you, I did not make love to you to force our wedding.”
And now he could read her mind. How could he know parts of her so well, but not trust her? The tears were flowing so fast she had to use the sheet to mop them up. And then he put a handkerchief in her hands, and she blew her nose.
“I c-can’t marry ye, Owen, and wonderful though this was, it didn’t change my mind. It makes me realize even more powerfully that I won’t watch you die.”
He said nothing for so long that at last she had to lift her face to him. Through watery eyes, she could read nothing in his expression, nothing at all. Maybe it was better that he couldn’t love her. And that made her shoulders shake with sobs, because she loved him, hopelessly, helplessly, pointlessly. If he returned her love, the tragedy of their eventual separation would be even worse.
“Ye need to leave, Owen. I just can’t talk about this anymore.”
“But we haven’t discussed the letter.”
“In the morning. And if ye see Mrs. Robertson before I do, please explain about the letter, and ask herto keep quiet about it. And now, I just . . . need to be alone.”
And like a child, she rolled beneath the counterpane and turned her back on him. She could hear him dressing. She stiffened as he spoke.
“Lock the door, Maggie. If it makes you feel safer, put a chest in front of it. There’s someone in this castle who can’t accept peace, regardless of who gets hurt.”
“Very well,” she mumbled.
It seemed terribly long until the door finally closed. Knowing Owen was right, she turned the key in the lock, then rushed back to bed, crying all over again for what felt like forever, until her head ached and her nose was raw from blowing.
Love and disappointment were so horribly painful. She wished she could be like him, only having to deal with facts.
As she lay there, too tired to even hold to her convictions, her doubts began to taunt her. Could she have interpreted the dream incorrectly? Could Owen be right, that it was only a nightmare? She hadn’t had a true dream vision in ten years.
Oh, she could begin to doubt everything now. After all, she’d slept with him when she knew she wouldn’t marry him. She’d led him to think her intentions were honorable, when they really weren’t.
But he’d led her to think she meant something to him. And she started to sob again.
IThad taken a long time for Maggie to fall into an exhausted sleep. When a knock on the door awoke her, she felt bleary-eyed and little rested.
“Who is it?” she croaked.
“Kathleen, mistress. I’d come in, but the door seems to be locked.”
Maggie groaned. “Give me a moment.”
She sat up, feeling a muscle twinge here and there. Beside her, there was a spot of blood on the sheets. She yanked the counterpane up. She would have to try to remove the stain herself. She didn’t think Kathleen would spread her secrets about, but she wasn’t taking that chance. No one was going to be able to force her to marry.
After wrapping the dressing gown around her, she opened the door to find Kathleen only the first servant in line. The rest carried in a bathing tub and buckets of hot water.
“I know ye usually bathe at night, mistress, but his lordship reminded me that ye hadn’t.”
“How kind of him,” Maggie said, striving to sound calm.
Very well, itwaskind of him to remember, she thought grudgingly. And then she looked at all the faces of the young men and boys carrying buckets, all of whom nodded as they passed her, but most did not meet her eyes. How was she ever going to know who wished her gone? Were there young menwho’d be angry that they didn’t get to try their skills against the enemy they grew up hating? She felt sad and frustrated—and then angry with her weakness. Anyone who did not see the advantage of peace was a fool.
After the tub was filled, another bucket left near at hand for rinsing, Kathleen finished laying out Maggie’s clothes and departed.
Maggie practically moaned when she sank into the tub. She was so grateful it had been fashioned for a big man, because she could sink almost to her chin. She let the heat soothe her mildly aching muscles, and wished it could wipe away all her mental anguish, too.
As she was lazily soaping her arms, a knock sounded and the handle turned. Nothing happened.
“Maggie?”
It was Owen’s voice, and though she’d known she would have to face him soon, she was a little too pleased to say, “’Tis locked. You may return in half an hour.”
There was no answer for a long moment, and then he politely said, “Very well.”
