Page 90 of The Groom Wore Plaid
Instead of listening to him, Fergus shot a glance at Harold, who gave a short nod.
Maggie dropped to her knees beside the bed and touched his face. “Owen, ye made it through the night. I was so afraid. Ye’re warm, but not overly feverish. How do ye feel?”
“Like I’ve been trampled by a horse,” he grumbled. He lowered his voice. “What is going on?”
“What is going on,” Harold began, “is that ye claimed a woman attacked ye, and I found a McCallum dirk beside ye and a note from Maggie insisting that ye meet her in your room.”
“Uncle,” Owen began.
Harold put up a hand. “A maid even saw Maggie rushing from the room before ye were found.”
“I was rushingtowardthe woman room,” Maggie insisted tiredly. “Ye pass this door to reach it. I was told there was a disturbance there, and obviously I’d only been lured from the great hall. No one was there at all. When I came back, I saw ye lying in a pool of blood, just like . . .” She trailed off, and this time, twin tears fell slowly down her cheeks. She leaned forward then, kissed his hand, and whispered, “But ye’d sent for the physician, Owen. Ye believed me.”
Owen hadn’t been able to get her conviction about her dreams out of his mind. He’d told himself he was only sending for the physician as a precaution. Apparently, he’d help save his own life, he thought wryly. Nay, Maggie had saved his life. She’d been trying to save it all along. He smiled at her, and she smiled back. He didn’t know what sort of gift she had, but he could not deny the truth of it. And that realization suddenly overwhelmed him, as he thought of all the ways he’d denied her, humiliated her, subjugated his own conscience. But he couldn’t let himself think of that now, not when she was still in danger.
Maggie didn’t look at Harold, only continued to run her hand through Owen’s hair. When he winced, she cried out.
“Oh, ye have a bump, Owen,” she said with worry. “Ye were hit from behind.”
Owen slowly unfolded the fingers of his left hand, still clenched together. “I caught her hair.”
It was not the dark brown of Maggie’s, but reddish blond.
Maggie didn’t look surprised, but sad and worried. “I’ve been thinking, Owen, and I believe we were considering the wrong sibling. Kathleen was the one who lured me from the hall. She had easy access to my handwriting.”
“She’s the one who gave me the letter from ye,” Owen said. “And Uncle, when ye speak to Kathleen, have her show ye her ankle. I caught it hard, and there’d be a bruise.”
Without Owen even making a suggestion, Maggie lifted her skirts to reveal her delicate, unblemished ankles. “Do ye think she’s been working with her brother from the beginning?”
Owen shrugged, then grimaced at the shot of pain. “We won’t know until we question them both.”
“They wanted to incite clan warfare,” Maggie said grimly. “If ye’d believed I tried to kill ye, ye might have imprisoned my brother, and the McCallums would have come in force.” She shuddered. “There’d be no end to the feud. I still need to know why!”
“I’ll find the lass and bring her here,” Harold said, nodding to Owen as he left the room.
Fergus backed toward the door and stood there, looking abashed. “My lady,” he began.
“It’s all right, Fergus,” she said. “Ye were protecting my husband. Now could ye send someone to fetch broth for our patient, and also send word to my family that I am well and will come to see them soon? I do agree with Harold, that they should remain secluded until we’ve apprehended the right person.”
She glanced at Owen, who smiled before closing his eyes. He liked the sound of her giving orders with such confidence and pride. He found himself gradually drifting into a doze, still feeling her hand resting on his.
When the door opened, he simply listened and trusted Maggie to deal with anything.
Harold said, “I found Mrs. Robertson unconscious and Kathleen gone.”
Maggie gasped and Owen opened his eyes.
“Oh, that poor woman,” she said. “Will she be all right?”
“After a few minutes, I was able to awaken her,” Harold said. “She showed me the writing paper, ink, and pen she’d found in Kathleen’s things before the wedding, assumed they were stolen, and was going to report it to ye afterwards.”
“We don’t know where Kathleen is now?” Maggie asked.
“I’m searching the castle.”
Nodding, Maggie turned to Owen. “Would ye mind if I go to my family? They’ll be frantic with worry.”
Though he tried to remain awake, their voices began to fade away. Something was wrong—he could tell by Maggie’s voice, by . . . something. But he couldn’t stop the long slide his consciousness seemed to take down a deep well.
