Page 59 of Wild Wicked Scot
Arran glared at Sir Worthing, who now looked ridiculous to Margot in his foppish wig and lace cuffs next to her husband. “Today,” she added. “Straightaway. It’s quite a long journey to England.”
Sir Worthing’s jaw clenched, but he inclined his head politely, as if they’d been chatting about the weather. “We’ll gather our things after breakfast—”
“Lady Mackenzie said straightaway,” Arran said, moving to stand in front of Margot. “You’d best heed her.”
Sir Worthing tilted his head back to look at Arran, his expression full of contempt. “Very well, my lord. If that is what the lady desires, then certainly we shall leave at once. God knows I’ve done all that I might do,” he said, and glanced meaningfully at Margot before turning on his heel and walking away.
Jock appeared seemingly from nowhere, trailing after him.
Margot’s heart was pounding so hard now that she could scarcely breathe. She didn’t realize how tightly she had folded her arms around her until Arran looked down at her, his expression one of concern. “Are you all right? You look ill.”
“I’m fine.” She pressed her palm to her belly to calm the roiling there.
“What was that about?”
“He did not care to be asked to leave,” she said tightly.
Arran nodded. But he was looking at her closely. “What did he mean, that he’s done all that he might do?”
Margot blinked. “I’ve really not the slightest idea.” Her husband’s gaze was boring through her, and Margot had to look away for fear that she would give herself away. “I suppose he meant that he has seen me safely here and there is nothing more for him to do.”
“He didna mean that, Margot,” Arran said flatly. “What else might he have meant?”
Margot wanted to tell him. She desperately wanted to tell him then and there what was said of him in England and hear him deny it.
But what if he didn’t deny it? Worse, what if her answer fractured the fragile truce between them? What if it forced him to do something for fear of the news getting back to her father? What if the truth was the thing that proved to him he could not trust her?What if, what if...So many doubts. Margot felt strangely dizzy, as if the earth was falling out from beneath her feet.
Arran caught her elbow. His brows dipped. “What is it,leannan?” he asked softly. “Whatever it is, you can tell me, aye?”
She was treading on dangerous ground, torn between two men in a loathsome duel of wills. She knew if she said too much, she risked her father and risked herself. On the tiny chance that what was said of Arran was true, she risked her father’s life. Was that what Worthing had said? But if she said nothing, she risked destroying this marriage once and for all, and she didn’t want that to happen.
She somehow mustered a smile at her husband. “I feel peckish, that’s all. Will you join me for breakfast?”
His frown deepened, and something shuttered in his blue eyes, making them look as icy as a winter morning. He knew she was dissembling, any fool could see that she was. But Arran pondered her a moment, as if debating if he was going to press her. At last, he glanced down at his hand and said, “No’ today. We need grouse for the hall tonight.” He glanced across the bailey, to where Sir Worthing was leaning over Mr. Pepper’s shoulder, whispering in his ear. “And I think you’d best come with me.”
“Come with you...to hunt?” she asked uncertainly. She was a poor rider, a worse shot.
“I will have you at my side today, Margot. There is no more to be said about it. Go, then. Dress properly for hunting. Meet me in the bailey in a half hour.” He turned away from her to have a word with Sweeney.
* * *
NELLWASINquite a state as she helped Margot search through her clothes. “Hunting!” she said, pausing to put her hands on her broad hips. “I beg your pardon, milady, but I’ve never known you to hunt.”
“I have no choice,” Margot muttered. She was still feeling on edge from her encounter with Worthing and all the lies and doubts that were swirling around her.
Nell sighed. She fingered the sleeve of one of Margot’s gowns when she should have been helping her assemble attire for the hunt.
“What is the matter with you? I need something to wear.”
“I shouldn’t like to bother you,” Nell said, and resumed her task.
Privately, Margot was relieved. She had enough on her mind without Nell’s complaints.
“Oh, all right,” Nell said, as if Margot had pressed her. “It’s thatman.”
“Jock?” Margot asked, distracted as she held up a wool riding skirt.
“Yes, milady, for there is no one else who comes tromping about the master’s chambers without so much as a knock.”
