Page 32 of Wild Wicked Scot
God, but this was confusing—now she had toproveto Arran she wanted to be a good wife? As if she were one of a dozen debutantes vying for his hand?
Oh, but the charade would begin in earnest tomorrow night, apparently. He’ddelightedin telling her that in honor of her change of heart, there ought to be a gathering with singing and dancing to celebrate her return to the clan’s fold. And then he’d sent a lad running up to the castle to inform Fergus of it.
“A splendid idea!” Margot had exclaimed with false cheer, and Arran, damn him, had knowingly smiled with the pleasure of having riled her.
After the disaster of the ball he’d tried to give her, she knew what to expect. Singing in a language only Highlanders understood and dancing chaotic reels with a lot of hopping about and kicking of legs that the Scots seemed to prefer. He meant to intimidate her with this so-called celebration.
But Margot wasn’t going to allow that to happen. If her husband wanted her to dance and sing to prove herself to him, then she would oblige him, and in high style, too. She might be the most ungainly dancer, but she would console herself by being the most finely attired one.
Margot and the beast Sweeney had saddled for her thundered into the bailey, and Margot managed to slide off without revealing too terribly much of her leg to the groom who had run out to attend her. She straightened her skirts and her bodice...and noticed that her hair had come undone. She was trying to tuck it back into its pins when Jock came striding out of the castle doors. The lad Arran had sent up to inform Fergus of the celebration was close on Jock’s heels.
Jock slowed his step when he saw Margot. He clenched his jaw as he passed by.
Margot muttered a few choice words about Arran’s ridiculously loyal cousin, gave up on her hair and stalked inside. As if her day could possibly get any worse, Pepper and Worthing were just emerging from the hall when she entered, their wigs freshly powdered and their lace cuffs and neck cloths pristinely white. Frankly, they looked ridiculous in this rugged Highland castle.
“Dear God,” Mr. Pepper said, his gaze sliding down Margot and up again. “Have you been assaulted?”
“Assault—No!”
“Then what hashappened?” he asked, holding up his hand as if to keep her at a distance.
“Nothing! I’ve been riding and I... Never mind,” she said.
“Madam, if I may,” said Worthing. He stepped closer, glanced around and said softly, “He cannot turn you out and send you to England, not without consequence. There are laws governing marriage.”
“Laws!” Margot snorted. “What law is it that prevents a man from banishing a wife who once abandoned him, sir? Don’t speak to me of laws—men may do as they please. But you may rest assured he is not turning me out. We’ve had a slight misunderstanding, that’s all, and everything has been set to rights.”
Her two keepers exchanged a dubious look.
She suddenly wished these two men were not here to complicate her return. “When did you say you’d be returning to England?”
Worthing frowned. “We did not,” he said. “But I shall be more than happy that we take our leave when you have a message for your father. Have you any message for him, Lady Mackenzie?”
“As a matter of fact, you may hasten back to tell his lordship that I’ve arrived safely at my destination. I’m certain he’s on tenterhooks waiting forthatword.” She smiled, dipped a pert curtsy and stepped around her keepers.
When she reached her chambers at the top of a long and winding staircase—roomsshehad chosen when she’d first married Arran, insisting that it was proper for a lady to have her own set of rooms, and finding those as far from her husband as she possibly could—she found that Nell had finished the unpacking.
Her maid was sitting in a chair, her feet up on an ottoman. She started so badly when Margot threw open the door that she fell haphazardly out of the chair. “I beg your pardon!” she said frantically as she righted herself and her lace cap. “I meant only to rest my back—”
“Be easy, Nell. I don’t care,” Margot said. “Mackenzie intends to have a soiree of the Scotch variety tomorrow evening. I’ll need my best gown. One that is entirely unforgettable.” She had no doubt that every eye at Balhaire would be on her, searching for the reason she’d returned.
“Ah,” said Nell. She nodded, understanding. “The blue mantua, with the birds embroidered on the stomacher.”
“Yes, that’s perfect,” Margot agreed. The gown had been made for her in London. Tiny birds fluttered about the stomacher in vivid colors. The damask pattern of the silk gown had been sewn with both gold and silver threads so that when Margot moved, it looked as if the skirt was rippling around her.
“Anything else, mu’um?”
Margot looked around her. “Yes,” she said thoughtfully. What a silly choice to have taken these rooms! She’d always felt like a bird in a cage up here, at the top of a tower. It was true she had a stunning view of the castle and the lands around it, which she supposed had drawn her to this room in the beginning. She could even see the sea from here. But she couldn’t hear a sound—not a voice, not a sheep’s bleating, not even a barking dog. She was practically suspended above the world, isolated from all the Mackenzies.
Arran had wanted her to share his chambers. He’d made a set of rooms adjoining his master’s chambers available to her for sitting and dressing, but Margot had been too prim, too proper and, God, so naive.
Well. She was no longer that foolish girl.
She looked at Nell and winced apologetically. “We must change rooms.”
“Pardon?” Nell asked disbelievingly.
“I have put us away from everyone by taking these rooms. I am too far from my husband. How can I possibly be expected to repair anything when I am, for all intents and purposes, in another house altogether?”
