Page 52 of Wild Wicked Scot
She shrugged. “I really wouldn’t know. My father is not in the habit of informing me whom he deals with. Quite the opposite, really. Unless, of course, he insists I marry one of them.” She arched a brow.
“Then...you donna know anything you want to tell me?” he asked as he sat on the edge of the bed to remove his boots.
Margot suddenly moved and knelt before him. “I don’t know what business my father has, if that’s what you’re asking.” She lifted his foot.
“What is this?” he asked as she tugged on his boot to remove it. “Now you are removing my boots?”
“Do you believe I have changed?”
“No,” he said flatly. “What I believe is that a kelpie took my wife and now comes to me in her form.”
Margot smiled. “I don’t know what a kelpie is,” she said, and yanked his second boot harder than the first. “But I am sincere.” She put his boots aside.
“Mmm,” he said. “Well, then,leannan, now that you’ve done your wifely duty, you may retire to your dressing room. I mean to have a bath and dine in my rooms tonight.”
“Then I’ll join you—”
“I’d rather you no’,” he interjected. “I’m bloody well worn from the road.”
Her brows dipped slightly. “But I thought—”
“No, Margot. I’m tired, aye? I donna want to listen to a lot of nattering and questions tonight.Diah, I had enough of it today.”
“Nattering!” she said. “I see.” She stood gracefully and walked to the door. He thought she would continue on through the door in a huff now that he’d made his wishes known, but instead, she yanked the bellpull so hard it was a wonder it didn’t pull free. She stood, her arms crossed tightly over her trim middle, glaring at him as her fingers drummed against her arm.
“Off with you,” he said, and gestured to the door.
The door swung open and a lad entered. He bowed to Arran, then to Margot, who never took her eyes from Arran as she spoke. “Please tell Fergus that after the laird has bathed, he will dine inprivate. Quite alone and at his leisure.”
“Aye, mu’um.”
“And then please do send my maid to my sitting room.”
The lad nodded and darted out.
Arran arched a brow at Margot. “Well, then? I know you heard me plainly, so I canna guess why you still stand there.”
“Oh, yes, I heard you, Arran. But I’m not ready to take my leave of you just yet. I’m your wife. I’m the mistress of Balhaire, and I have a say. And moreover, you really must forgive me!”
He shook his head. “For disobeying me?”
“For leaving you!”
An unexpected surge of pain shot through him. He thought of that day, of watching that chaise roll away from Balhaire, and how he’d felt a small part of him harden and die. The assumption that he should forgive her for having left him, or that she could demand it of him, rankled. He slowly rose to his feet and walked to where she stood. He slid his hand to the side of her neck and held her firmly so that she could not look away. “No one commands me, madam,” he said low. “Least of allyou. I donna have to forgive you. I donna have tokeepyou. So mind your fool tongue before I throw you out on your arse, aye?”
Once again, he expected her to flee—in tears, naturally—but Margot merely tilted her head to one side and said, “Is there more? Or is that all you have to say?”
“Woman, donna push me. You’ll take your leave now,” he growled, and let go of her neck before he did something foolish...like kiss her as he was suddenly burning to do. “I am but a wee moment from tossing you,” he warned her.
She smiled. But she turned to the door. “I’ll see that your bath is made ready,” she said, and yanked open the door, then walked through without shutting it behind her or looking back.
Arran watched her go, the confident sway of her hips, her regal bearing.Damn her.
* * *
ARRANEMERGEDFROMhis dressing room sometime later, with letters and bills of lading to attend. But he halted in his bedchamber, confused to find that a small table had been moved to the windows, which had been opened to a cool evening breeze.
“What is this?” he asked Fergus, who was lighting the candles in a silver candelabra.
