Page 40 of Wild Wicked Scot
Margot allowed him to hand her up onto the dais. “Thank you,” she said. “Again, my sincere apologies for the many times I kicked you.”
He laughed, bowed low once more and disappeared into the crowd.
Arran laughed as she resumed her seat. “Your face is as red as a robin’s breast,” he said, making a circling motion around his own face.
“It was quite diverting!” she said gaily, still panting slightly.
“I owe you an apology,” he said. “You were right, then—you are indeed a horrible dancer.”
Margot wanted to grab her husband by the collar, toss him to the ground, leap on him and pummel his face. But as she couldn’t do that, she laughed. “I quite liked it! What a wonderful way of dancing you have here in Scotland. I never would have believed a lot of hopping about with no direction in mind could be so engaging. Now you must come and dance with—”
“Oh, I think no’,” he said, and suddenly stood. “I’ve an early day on the morrow.”
He was going to leave her here with her hair half down, her cheeks stained red with exertion and her feet aching?Alone?Knowing full well that most people in this hall couldn’t abide her? And to make matters worse, she noticed that Worthing and Pepper had taken seats on the dais, staring down their angular noses at the dancing. “You’re notleavingme,” she said, disbelieving. “You said this was to be a celebration.”
“Aye, that I did. And it is. And I’ve celebrated.” He smiled, slipped two fingers under her chin and lifted her face to him. “And now is the perfect opportunity for you to acquaint yourself with your clan, Margot,” he said, and kissed her lightly on the lips. “The plaid is a nice touch, it is. Good night, then.” With that, he proceeded down off the dais.
When that rotten, distrustful boar had disappeared into the crowd, Margot slowly turned her head around to her keepers. They were staring at her as if she’d just risen from the crypt. “My husband isexhausted,” she said cheerfully. “Have you danced, Mr. Pepper? It’s quite exhilarating.”
“No,”he said, sounding as horrified as he looked.
She shrugged and glanced at the crowd. She felt entirely self-conscious, which, of course, was Arran’s intent, that damn rooster. Adding to her humiliation was the knowledge that in England, she would be surrounded by friends now. But here? Everyone who remembered her hated her, and those who didn’t recall her in the least were afraid of her. The only person who looked at her with any sort of kindness at all was young Gavin Mackenzie.
Margot tipped up her forgotten tankard of ale and drank to quench her thirst, then set it down with a thud on the table and stood. He thought she ought to acquaint herself, did he? She spotted Reverend Gale across the room. She picked up her skirts and marched across to him.
Reverend Gale was startled by her sudden appearance at his elbow. “Lady Mackenzie,” he said, his face full of concern.
“I beg your pardon, Reverend Gale, but will you dance with me?”
“What?”
“Dance,” she said again. “I know I am a wretched dancer, and I shall do my best not to kick you. But I should very much like to dance.”
“Oh. Ah...” He glanced around as if looking for an escape. But finding none, he sighed softly and put aside his tankard of ale. “Aye, milady,” he said, and held out his arm to her.
After what seemed like hours, when Margot could no longer feel her feet, she made a point of saying good-night to every Mackenzie in that hall who would allow it. Before, she would have been undone by so many indifferent expressions and uncertain glances, but tonight, she was quite pleased that the number who would address her at all had grown.
She made her way to the master’s chambers feeling defiant. She knew what Arran was doing. He was deliberately putting her through her paces. He wanted to punish her for having left him, any fool could see that. She had taken up his challenge. She had talked to whoever would listen, had danced with every man she could catch unawares.
He thought he could humiliate her into leaving, did he? Well, he would not be so fortunate. She was most certainly not the same young woman who had come here so long ago.
Margot entered her sitting room and called for Nell. Her maid appeared from the dressing room and gasped when she saw her. “Whathappened?”
“What happened? I shall tell you what happened. Idanced,” she said, kicking off the offending shoes from her aching feet. She plopped down onto an ottoman, reached for a foot and began to knead it. “Have you been here all night?” she asked Nell.
“No, mu’um,” Nell said as she picked up Margot’s discarded shoes. “I went down to the kitchens, and I was having a lovely chat with one of the kitchen maids, but that ox interrupted.”
“Jock? What was he doing in the kitchens?” Margot asked curiously.
“I hardly know. He seems to follow me about,” Nell said angrily. “Shall I bring your nightgown?”
“No. I mean to wash my hands and then go and speak to my husband,” Margot said firmly.
After she’d cleaned herself up, she allowed Nell to repair parts of her hair that had come undone. She dabbed perfume behind her ears and then went into the master’s chamber.
The hearth had been lit, but there was no sign of Arran. Now, just where did a man go when the whole of his clan was eating and drinking in his great hall? With whom did he consort? Was this how it was done? One betrayed one’s country while everyone was occupied?
She held up a candelabra and glanced around the room—Mrs. Abernathy still had not come to visit this dreadful mess. In addition to the piles of clothing and the assortment of knives scattered about the floor, there were muddied riding boots standing at the foot of the bed, the spurs still on them.
