Page 46 of Wild Wicked Scot
“Oh, I think there is no danger of frightening them,” she said with a yawn. “You’ve always confused their dislike for fear.”
“On the contrary, I’ve known it to be both dislike and fear.” He winked, tossed her gown onto the bed and strode out of the chamber.
Margot fell back against the pillows and yawned again. She didn’t want to think of anything at the moment. She felt content lying in his bed with a cool morning breeze drifting in through the window. It had been quite nice sleeping with her husband last night. She had liked the warmth of him at her back. She’d liked the feeling of utter safety with his arm anchored firmly around her waist.
She rolled over and buried her face in Arran’s pillow, breathing in the musky scent of him. God, what a little cake-headed fool she’d been before. There was something so intimate about sleeping with him. She’d never realized how it adhered two people to each other. She couldn’t help but wonder what other things she’d been so desperately wrong about.
Her reasons for being here were becoming muddier and muddier to her. She wanted to know if she had ruined any chance of a marriage with him. But she also wanted to know where it was he was going, what he was doing. Was she feeling these intimate ties to a traitor?
She looked around her. She supposed she had the perfect opportunity now to have a look about, but she had no stomach for it. Last night, when she’d picked up this room, she’d made a halfhearted attempt to look for some clue as to what he was involved in by poking under the bed and into his chest of drawers.
She didn’t like it. It felt wrong, dishonest. Especially when she wasn’t certain what, exactly, she should be seeking. Especially when she was going to crawl into the man’s bed and kiss him.
Maybe she’d ride today, she thought idly. She was not a good rider, but she could manage. She had to do something with Pepper and Worthing watching her all day. She would tell them she was going to pay a call to someone—she’d think of someone, anyway—then slip out, perhaps ride down to the cove to have a look. It would be a relief to go beyond the castle walls. She needed time to think and reassess, away from everyone.
Margot groped over her head for the little bell that would summon Nell from the antechamber.
An hour or so later, Margot emerged dressed for riding. She wandered down to the great hall, where she knew she would find a sideboard laden with breakfast food. Since the laird lived with his entire extended family—andtheirfamilies, et cetera and so forth—it was necessary to lay out a feast most mornings. These large breakfasts had vexed her before, particularly when Arran had told her she was expected to be present. Margot had never been one to enjoy early mornings. She had reasoned that while an early breakfast might be prudent for the many Mackenzies who had many things to accomplish in a day, it was hardly the thing for the lady of the house.
What foolishness.
The hall was still crowded, mostly with women and children. A few looked at her as if they expected her to cock up her toes at any moment, but their numbers were dwindling.
The sideboard was filled with food, as she knew it would be, and she perused the selection.
“Madainn mhath, milady.”
She turned her head and saw Lennon Mackenzie, the blacksmith at Balhaire. “Good morning,” she said.
“Good day for a reel, aye?” he asked. His companions snickered.
Margot smiled, too, and turned around to him, surprising him, judging by the way the man swayed back and away from her. “I beg your pardon, Mr. Mackenzie. Did I kick you last night? My apologies! I have not yet learned the fine art of the reel, but I amquitedetermined.”
He looked uncertainly at his companions. “It’s all in the skip, it is. You master that wee kick, and you’ve learned it.”
“Will you teach me?” she asked, and popped a berry in her mouth, her eyes fixed on him, amused at how many emotions flit across the man’s face. Lennon Mackenzie and his companions looked shocked. They waited, wide-eyed, for his answer.
“Aye, milady,” he said. “Aye, I’ll teach you.”
“That’sa promise,” she said, and patted him on the shoulder. “Thank you.” She turned around and continued her perusal of the sideboard.
She was dithering over the cheeses when she felt someone sidle up to her. She half expected Lennon Mackenzie begging to be relieved of his promise. But it was Mr. Pepper standing beside her, holding a lace handkerchief to his nose, as if he were offended by the smell of breakfast. “Good morrow, Lady Mackenzie,” he said, inclining his head.
“Mr. Pepper.” She returned her attention to the sideboard. “Have you come to ridicule my dancing, too?”
“I don’t consider what they do here to be dancing,” he said primly. “I have heard that the laird has left Balhaire.”
Well, then, Mr. Pepper didn’t miss a thing, did he? “So he has.”
“Where has he gone?”
“He did not say,” she said, and began to pile cheeses onto her plate.
Mr. Pepper watched her. “You are dressed for riding.”
A rather ridiculous observation, seeing as how she clearly already knew she was dressed for riding. “Yes.”
“Where do you mean to ride?” he asked casually.
