Page 90 of Wild Wicked Scot
He repeated the same thing here—he opened the door to the shelf, slid a cup of what smelled like cabbage soup and bread onto it, and then shut the door and turned the lock.
As unappetizing as the soup smelled, Arran’s belly rumbled. But he left it there, untouched. Tomorrow the man would return. He would see that Arran hadn’t eaten. He would wonder. He might go another day, or even two. But eventually, he would open the damn door.
Arran slowly sat up and leaned his head against the wall. He closed his eyes and listened to the jingle of bridles and squeak of leather saddles as riders passed by. Arran’s thoughts filled with images of Margot, dressed in trews, her cheeks appealingly flushed by the exertion of the ride. The image was a peculiar draw in his belly, a sadness mixed with regret and the misery of knowing he’d likely never see her again.“Margot,”he whispered.
He heard her laugh, a sound like a sweet confection.
As if his predicament could be any worse, now he was hearing things.
And then he heard the laugh again. He opened his eyes. That was definitely feminine laughter. He didn’t hear the clop of horses hooves, which said to him the riders had stopped. Arran vaulted up and lunged for that window, leaping as high as he could, his fingers seeking a hold on the grainy sill. But he couldn’t hold it and slid down the rough stone wall. He backed up and tried again, this time bracing his foot against the wall to vault himself higher.
He failed to reach it.“Margot!”he shouted.
The sound of horses again—the riders were moving away.Diah, had he imagined it? Was he losing his mind? Arran stared up at the window. He’d lost track of time; the light that came in through the windows was gray and dirty, hiding the sun or the moon. He couldn’t say if it was morning or afternoon.
He tried to think through all the reasons Margot would be close by. Was something to happen? Was the trial to be held here? Had she come to see him hang? He stood in the middle of the cell, staring at the window, trying desperately to think.
* * *
“REMEMBER,WEWEREriding to Keswick to call on the Daltons when we were diverted because the road had fallen into great disrepair,” Knox said low as they gazed up at an abbey door in need of a coat of paint. The entire abbey looked ramshackle.
“I remember,” Margot said.
“Listen to me, Margot,” Knox said, catching her hand.
She made herself turn her attention away from the derelict abbey.
“He will know if we dissemble. You must make it seem quite sincere, do you understand? You were scarcely able to hobble along, and so forth.”
“Knox... I understand,” she said calmly. She looked back at the abbey facade. “It almost seems abandoned.”
“Not yet. But let this be a lesson to us all—this is what happens when one amasses gambling debts. All right, then, shall we?” Knox said, and together, they walked up the steps to the door.
Knox lifted the brass knocker on the door and let it fall once, then twice more. Eventually a man opened the door. He was wearing an old-fashioned powdered wig, and his well-worn pantaloons were sagging at the knees. He peered curiously at them.
“How do you do?” Knox said. “I am Mr. Knox Armstrong. My apologies for arriving quite unannounced, but my sister, Lady Mackenzie, was taken ill on the ride to Keswick. Is Putnam about?”
The butler squinted. “Unfortunately, his lordship was just set to leave. He has been invited to dine at Chessingham Hall.”
“Perhaps you could tell him that Margot Armstrong has come?” Knox asked.
The man frowned.
“Please,” Margot added. “We are old, dear friends, Putnam and I. I know he will take pity on me. I am really rather ill.”
Knox touched her elbow, warning her. But Margot ignored him. She needed only to convince the butler of their friendship. She moved up one step, smiling as seductively as she knew how to smile. “It was my suggestion, in truth. When I fell ill on the road to Keswick, my brother urged me to ride on, but I told him I knew who would offer me comfort straightaway.”
The butler glanced uncertainly behind him, and Margot saw her opportunity. She brushed past the unsuspecting man into the foyer and began to remove her gloves. “I think his lordship would beverydispleased if he knew I’d been turned away.”
The butler glowered at her. “Wait here,” he said curtly. “I’ll tell his lordship you’ve come.” He walked off, his shoes echoing on the stone floors.
“Wherever did you learn to be so bold?” Knox muttered as he removed his gloves.
“What do you think I’ve been doing the last few weeks?” she whispered as she removed her cloak and hat.
They heard the sound of a door being soundly shut, then footsteps scurrying away from them. Another few minutes passed, and they heard the footfall of someone striding in their direction. Quickly.
Putnam suddenly appeared before them, bleary-eyed, his face a mask of confusion as he peered at them. His shirt was only partially tucked into his pantaloons. His waistcoat and coat were unbuttoned, and his wig looked as if he’d slapped it onto his head without benefit of a looking glass. “Miss Armstrong?” he asked uncertainly.
