Page 64 of Wed to the Highlander
Across from them, Duchess Catherine peered out at the ancient stone edifice. She didn’t scoff or sigh—she simply took it in. Scotland was in her blood, diluted by Mayfair but not forgotten.
“Well,” she said at last, voice dry as a well-aged claret, “it’s still standing. That’s something.”
Maggie turned to Duncan and deadpanned, “You see now where I get it.”
He smiled faintly, but his grip on her hand tightened as the carriage rolled into the courtyard.
They were met with a flurry of movement—kin emerging from the great hall, boots crunching on gravel, voices raised in greeting. Lachlan was first, his arms wide, his smile genuine. MacLeish followed, more reserved but no less warm. Behind them, a few of the tenants and house staff gathered, nodding respectfully, murmuring welcomes.
But it was Fiona who caught Duncan’s eye.
She didn’t wait for her turn. She moved quickly, intercepting him by the new raised garden beds.
“What’s planted here?” he asked, more from surprise at seeing something else new than true curiosity.
“Herbs for cooking and medicine that need protecting from deer and rabbits.”
“Hmm,” he grunted. It wasn’t a bad idea. And it couldn’t have cost much more than the lumber.
“Laird,” Fiona pressed with urgency for his attention. “She canna stay.”
He blinked, surprised. “Who? Maggie’s mother?”
“Nay,” she said impatiently. Her eyes flicked behind him then back. “We canna speak here.”
Duncan glanced around, spotting a merchant’s cart draped in canvas, parked near the old well.
“Come,” he said, and led her behind it, the fabric flapping faintly in the breeze. “Now. Explain who can’t stay—and why.”
“Isla,” Fiona whispered. “Since Maggie left fer London, she’s been…different. Not grievin’. Not melancholy. Manic.”
Duncan’s jaw flexed, rife with suspicion.
“She danced in the corridor, Duncan. Laughed as if Maggie’s leavin’ was a gift. Then, when word came you were bringin’ her back—she changed. Pacin’. Nervous-like. She’s waiting for somethin’. Or plannin’ it.”
“There won’t be any planning. She’s gone,” he said without hesitation.
Fiona caught her breath. “Truly? What about the Camerons?”
“It can’t get much worse,” he muttered, eyes flicking to the reinforced wall. Maybe Lachlan had the right idea. But it didn’t matter. Isla was his primary suspect for pennyroyal poisoning, and he wouldn’t risk Maggie another day—another hour. “She leaves today.”
The announcement caused an eruption. Agnes turned redder than the MacPherson plaid, unleashing a stream of Gaelic so blistering that half the staff fled the hall.
“Cruelty!” she spat. “Abandoning family!”
Not my family,Duncan wanted to say, but that would only fuel the flames. So, he held his tongue.
“I’ll no’ abide where the laird’s naught but stone-hearted,” Agnes fumed, storming out.
When Lachlan heard, he stormed in from the stables, fists clenched, voice thunderous. “You’d send our father’s wife out like a beggar? Over a suspicion?”
“I sent your cousin out over a risk I’m unwilling to take,” Duncan said with deliberate calm. “If your mother follows, it is by choice.”
“’Tis madness—”
“No, it’s sanity!” Duncan snapped, not wanting even a hint of that to touch Maggie. “If even the shadow of danger stalks these halls, it will not fall on my wife.”
Lachlan’s jaw worked. “I canna change your mind?”
