“’Twas a last-minute decision,” he mumbled. “You know I’m not one for all the noise and excitement of large gatherings, all that twirling and whatnot.”
“You were having a high old time of it for a man who doesn’t like dancing.”
“Come now, Mags. I can’t help it if women throw themselves at me. I could hardly refuse to partner them!”
From the look on her face, Finlay surmised he might do well to change the subject.
CHAPTER 5
“How about Ispin a tale to take our minds off the…ah…current situation.” Finlay ventured a smile. “To keep us amused.”
The set of her chin had him doubting himself, but he was determined to lighten the mood. “How about the story of Flora and Ragnall? Of how poor Flora’s father was murdered in his bed and the young lass ran away to escape being wed to a man she believed had no true regard for her?”
Margaret raised an eyebrow.
“Well, she also thought her betrothed was the murderer…” Finlay rubbed at his chin, a little unsure of the details.
Margaret sighed deeply. “And she returned in the guise of a dairymaid, intending to exact her revenge. Honestly, Finlay, I grew up listening to that particular story—and gruesome it is, though Flora remained strong-hearted through and through. Even when she was abducted by her foul stepbrother and afeared for her life, she was brave. Then Ragnall stormed the keep and saved her from certain death.”
“Exactly!” Finlay slapped his thigh. “He proved himself to her—that he wasn’t the villain she’d taken him for, and they enjoyed a long and happy marriage thereafter. You see how it is! When two people are destined to be together, they shouldn’t let anything come between them.”
Margaret rolled her eyes. “I don’t think this kidnapping is in quite the same league, do you? Unless you’re intending to imprison me in one of the towers and torture me until I submit to your will. In which case, I’ll be waiting for a sword-wielding warrior to come and lop off your head, or push you from theparapets, or shoot you with his crossbow. All would suffice.” At last she gave him the smile he’d been waiting for, and her eyes twinkled with genuine merriment. “You’re perfectly right, Finlay. Thinking about that has cheered me up no end.”
I suppose I asked for that.
If you went back far enough both he and Margaret were descended from the great chieftain Ragnall and his feisty bride, Flora, whose hair was said to be rich as autumn bracken on the hillside, sparked with flames from a blazing fire—with a temperament to match. Looking at Margaret, ’twas easy to imagine how she was related to the legendary matriarch of the clan.
As for the castles of Balmore and Dunrannoch, they’d passed through various branches of the family over the centuries, but the history of the two went hand in hand.
Marriage between Finlay and Margaret brought the two under one house again and, if they were blessed with sons, perhaps the boys would take the twin lairdships—since Alastair and Ailsa had yet to bear anychildren at all, despite almost a decade of being wed.
Best not to bring that up. Knowing Margaret, she’ll construe it as yet another reason for me making her my bride that has naught to do with love.
There was no doubt the match was beneficial, but he’d asked for her hand because there was no other woman on Earth—and he’d met quite a few—with whom he could imagine spending his life.
Naturally there had been nothing romantic between them at first, for they were both children, and she so much younger. All that had changed when she’d entered womanhood. Then his heart had told him unequivocally that she was the one.
“Any more legends of bygone days you wish to regale me with?” Margaret asked mischievously. “That of the headless warrior who stalks the roof of the East Tower, or the sorry tale of the chambermaid who runs sobbing through the Minstrel’s Gallery? Or perhaps you want to summon old Camdyn Dalreagh, thathe might play his ghostly bagpipes? Remind me, Finlay, what is it they foretell? The untimely death of whoever heads the clan, isn’t it? Or something about heirs?”
She was definitely making fun at his expense. Strangely, he didn’t mind. To see her laughing made it entirely worthwhile.
“Don’t tell me you believe in the curse?” He pulled a face. “My father was well into his fifties when he passed, and my grandfather reached two and eighty. I’d hardly call that untimely. As for myself, I’m in excellent health!”
“Still, perhaps ’tis just as well things haven’t worked out between us. I don’t think I could face the worry of waking in the night, thinking I might be hearing bagpipes wailing, even if ’twas only the wind whistling about.” Margaret looked thoughtful. “The castle does have a grisly history. I know at least four stories of lovelorn females tossing themselves from the towers, and the dungeons don’t bear thinking about. Who knows how many skeletons are holed up in the walls. Balmore has its fair share ofhorrible history, but nothing like Dunrannoch. I suppose that’s due to it being the oldest of the castles on the moor.”
“True enough, and it’s little changed since the violent days of the first clan chief—the Wolf of Dunrannoch—more than eight hundred years ago. ’Tis little wonder there are so many unquiet spirits.” He didn’t think of himself as superstitious, but he’d spent enough years within the castle walls to know that such a place held onto the past in ways which could not be fathomed.
If he couldn’t persuade Margaret to remain with him, he wouldn’t be able to face living here alone—and there would be no other bride. Their marriage would join the other ghosts.
As if sensing his mood, she shivered, and he had the strongest urge to cross the space between them, to wrap her in his arms and tell her that nothing bad would happen, as long as he was there.
He meant it.
He’d mis-stepped, and gone about things in the wrongway, keeping more from Margaret than he should have. He understood that, and he regretted it.
If she couldn’t forgive him, he didn’t know what he’d do, but no matter what happened, he’d always have her well-being at the forefront of his mind. He was summoning the courage to tell her so when, without warning, she stood, going to the window, pulling back the curtain.
Margaret remained there, staring out into the darkness of the courtyard. Fat flakes of snow were sticking to the corners of the panes. If it continued like this, there was no question of either of them leaving.
