The Groom Wore Plaid: Highland Weddings (19 page)

Was that, too, because she was a McCallum? But she’d lied to him when they’d first been together, and she was lying again.

But he’d lied to her about Emily, hadn’t he? He certainly wasn’t perfect.

He didn’t like questioning himself. When he came to a conclusion, it was because he’d given it great thought and made a rational decision he never regretted. But Maggie was making him rethink all his assumptions about her—his assumptions about himself.

The tension between them rose swiftly, with his hands on both her ankle and knee. Whatever he thought of her character, it didn’t alter his desire for her. Her flesh was warm through her stockings, and he felt a keen desire to slide his hands higher, until he reached bare skin above her garters.

“Unless you’d like me to draw little circles on your skin with my fingers,” he said in a husky voice, “I suggest you remove your garter and stocking from your injured foot.”

Her eyes went wide, and he was treated to the sight of their unusual hues, one blue, one green. He’d seen more than one old woman make the sign against the evil eye when Maggie passed, and he hoped she did not notice such things. Or had it always been that way
for her? Again, a softening toward her moved through him, and he reminded himself of their relationship by unbuckling her leather shoe, removing it, and letting his palm gently cup her foot before moving slowly, lingeringly up to her ankle. He trailed his fingers up her calf and gently caressed behind her knee. The hoop bulged her skirt too high. All he had to do was spread her knees to see—

“That’s enough!” she cried in a breathy voice. “Please turn your back while I remove the garters.”

He didn’t want to turn his back; he wanted to watch her reach beneath her skirt and touch her own thigh. But she was cooperating, so without rising, he faced the other way, resting his folded arms on one bent knee and struggling to master his control.

“My ankle is barely swelling,” Maggie pronounced.

He turned around to see her smoothing down her skirts.

He arched a brow. “Do you want me to force the issue?”

Letting out an exasperated sigh, she lifted until her skirts just reached mid-calf. Allowing her to win the moment, Owen took her bare foot into his hands and felt her tremble.

Swelling had distorted her ankle, but not by much, and some bruising shadowed her skin. He moved her foot gently about, his fingers tracing the delicate bones within.

“I do not feel a break,” he said at last.

“I told ye that, Owen. Didn’t I walk all the way back on it?”

“When I saw your expression downstairs, I knew I’d made a mistake allowing it. Your pride overrules your good sense.”

“Pride?” she echoed defensively. “’Tis simply common sense. I felt no stabbing pain. Everyone has twisted an ankle a time or two. This supposed concern of yours is simply an excuse for touching me.”

He gave her his best roguish smile. “Touching ye? Aye, that is a secondary benefit I appreciate.”

“Aha, did ye hear your voice? There’s a trace of the burr there, just like when ye followed me down the mountain. Why do ye hide it?”

“I do not hide it. I spent much of my life in England, and my speech evolved.”

“Evolved, did it?” she scoffed. “Your parents made ye hide it like they were ashamed. I’ve heard your cousin Riona, remember. She, too, has lost the musical sound of Scotland.”

He knew how to quiet her. He lifted her foot and placed a gentle kiss on her ankle, his gaze never leaving hers. He saw her lips softly part in shock, her tongue slide out to moisten them. He continued to press gentle kisses up her calf, until he could no longer see her face because of the rise of her skirts. She quivered under his touch, but didn’t stop him, and he grew more and more bold. His vow to touch her as much as
possible was working. He put both hands on her knees and began to separate them—

And then a knock sounded on the door.

He stiffened and lifted his head to meet Maggie’s gaze again. She strove to look relieved and triumphant, but he thought he detected a hint of disappointment.

She lowered her skirts and called, “Come in!”

The plump maid Kathleen entered, talking even as she juggled a basin filled with jagged ice. “I’m so sorry for the delay, mistress, but I didn’t know where the ice pit was, and I had to send a boy to—” She broke off and almost dumped the basin as she spied him kneeling before Maggie. “Laird Duff—I mean, Lord Aberfoyle—I didn’t know . . . I didn’t think . . .”

“No apology necessary,” he said, rising to his feet. “I ascertained that no bones are broken.”

Puzzlement flitted across her expression, and he realized she might not have understood all the words he’d used. But she understood the important part, and gave a shy smile to Maggie.

“There, mistress, ye see? Let me help make ye feel better.”

“I’ll leave Mistress Maggie in your capable hands,” Owen said.

He paused, remembering what Maggie had said about Kathleen’s brother, Gregor. As if Maggie could read his mind, she beseeched him with wide eyes to keep silent, and he gave her a brief nod before departing.

He had much to organize before the assembly tomorrow, and he was glad to have that to focus on, ere his thoughts dwell too long on Maggie’s soft skin.

T
HE
next morning, Maggie came down the stairs holding herself to just the faintest limp. She’d remained in her bedroom for supper the night before, glad of the excuse to avoid Owen’s arrogant gaze. Oh, he knew what he was doing every time he touched her. It had only been her ankle, for heaven’s sake, and he’d caressed it as if it were her—her—

She barely stopped herself from putting a hand to her chest, as if she could still feel his bold touch there.

Memories of his advances at least kept her from dwelling on her frustration at how little Euphemia had been able to help her where her dream was concerned. And to think that Euphemia had stopped trying to change the outcome of her visions—oh, she refused to let that dishearten her. Maggie didn’t
know
the outcome of her dream, that was the problem. Euphemia seemed to think Maggie should just make her decision without knowing the rest, but how could she?

So Maggie had lounged around during the evening, sending for servant after servant, claiming the trays of food either hurt her delicate stomach, or were too much for her sensitive nerves. Every moment of such playacting was agony for her, especially when Mrs. Robertson came herself with the last tray, and watched Maggie taste the chicken as if daring her to
reject it. Maggie hadn’t, but then she’d already proven her point to Owen, who surely heard how she’d unsettled his staff.

She saw Owen standing on the dais at his uncle’s side, both of them leaning over a great account book spread before them. She didn’t want to feel this . . . this flood of emotion that warmed her insides whenever she looked upon him. She felt lost and helpless that he could affect her so much. What if she couldn’t hold her ground against him? What if the shameful feelings of lust weakened her, made her capitulate to the wedding, and then he died?

Nay. She wasn’t going to let that happen. She was going to see that contract and discover if there was another way out that would satisfy both their clans. The fact that he withheld it from her gave her hope.

Owen looked up, and when he saw her, he frowned and left the dais to take her arm. “How is your ankle? Should you be up and about?”

“I am fine.”

“Have your stomach issues resolved this morning?” he asked, his deep voice full of innocence. “I don’t like to think of you distressed in any way.”

She forced a smile, and secretly grumbled that he once again was twisting about everything she did to annoy him. Someday he would grow tired of that. “I feel much better today, and had a good breakfast.” She eyed his garments, and noticed the tautness of the fabric. “Is that another shirt I sewed?”

“It is.” Though he wasn’t smiling, his brown eyes seemed to glow with hidden amusement.

“Oh, dear. I do believe it looks quite tight on ye.”

He shrugged. “I’m happy to wear something you made just for me.”

She gave an exaggerated wince. “I wasn’t certain how wide to make it, especially in the hip area.”

A corner of his mouth lifted. “I did have to tug it down quite firmly. It won’t ride up.”

“I didn’t think ye needed much room there,” she said, wide-eyed, while secretly knowing how men were about their male attributes. She had a brother, after all. “Or perhaps your girth is expanding. A paunch is something many men acquire over time.” She eyed his stomach reprovingly. “Not something I’d wish for in a husband.”

He leaned down and spoke in her ear, and his breath made her shiver.

“Then you’ll have to keep me well exercised in bed.”

Like a fool, she blushed. When his uncle Harold called his name, Owen smiled and left her.

As the morning progressed, more and more people gathered in hall, where the tables had been dismantled to make way for the crowds. Clan pipers and harpists took turns entertaining. Maggie wandered among the people, holding her head high at the sly stares, the whispered conversations behind her back, the shock many revealed upon seeing her different colored eyes. This was not unusual among strangers, of course, but
always she feared a murmur of “witch.” Such superstition still had a hold on many people, who could not explain the world with science, as Owen did, and instead held fast to the stories handed down through generations.

When Harold brought the crowd to order by banging his fist, everyone settled immediately as if they’d merely been waiting. A line began to form before the dais, leading back toward the crowd, and Maggie judged it as the hours passed, waiting until it shortened to put her plan in motion. She listened to interesting discussion about the extent of the land tacks in the area, the tenants, how the summer growing season was progressing due to storms or drought, an account of the size of their herds. She also heard that Owen held several assemblies across all the lands owned by their clan, for they stretched west to the sea.

One by one, the clansmen presented their problems to Owen, who consulted with his young gentlemen acting as his counselors. She’d seen this in her youth, and she thought he was fair and more interested in his people’s lives than her father ever had been. He listened to a grazing rights dispute between two villages; discovered the health of a herd of cattle, each one taken after the death of a villager, to be bestowed on a newly married couple; found a husband and father for a widow and her children after a lively discussion among the gentlemen about which man would suit her.

The most serious case heard was that of a young woman accused of theft. Maggie had heard whispered stories about chiefs who handled the matter coldly, tying a woman by her hair to seaweed on rocks and waiting for the tide to come in and kill her. When Maggie was a child, her brother had once told her that their father had branded a man’s hand for theft, and she had had nightmares for days.

Owen contemplated the woman in question, listened as witnesses described what she’d done, and how they’d caught her in time to be able to recover the property she’d stolen. Maggie held her breath, praying Owen wouldn’t have her whipped or banished or killed. To her relief, he ordered the woman to be a servant on the land of those she’d wronged, working in their oat fields from dawn to dusk for a month.

The afternoon waned, and all could smell the delicious odors of the food that would soon be served, and grew restless and talkative. More than once, Owen had to raise his voice to ask for quiet. There were only two people left to explain their grievances when Maggie casually got into line behind them. Many people were milling about, their conversations gone to whispers before Himself, but they still were ready to be finished for the day and didn’t pay attention to her.

But Owen did. He frowned briefly at her, and then turned his attention back to the person with the complaint. She stayed where she was, hands linked casually behind her back, and waited. If he was going to
continue to deny her plea to read the marriage contract between their families, then she was going to demand the right in public. Many men might laugh at her behavior, for the laird had the last say. He was the supreme ruler, almost a god in these people’s lives. They might go to church on Sunday, but every other day they had to follow Owen’s wishes rather than God’s. Of course, a fair chief’s rules would follow God’s . . .

Owen frowned at her again as he finished up with the person two people before her. Once the man stepped aside, and the next man moved up, she would do the same. It would be obvious to Owen that she was bringing a grievance.

As if he understood exactly what she wanted, Owen narrowed his eyes at her and gestured with his hand toward the corridor. So he thought she’d allow a discussion in private about the contract, when he’d already refused her once? She wasn’t taking that chance. She cocked her head as if she did not understand. Letting out a breath, he gave a curt nod, and Maggie knew she’d won. He would let her see the contract to keep her from embarrassing him in public. Satisfied, she turned away and began to walk toward the nearest wall, where she could watch the crowd. She’d become good at that over the years, seeming to be a part of things, but not really. As she watched the women talking, the way they touched arms, the fondness in their eyes for each other—she knew she didn’t have that, hadn’t had it for many, many years. She
was hiding or suppressing so much of herself, it was difficult to offer deep friendship to any woman. She’d always managed to convince herself it was better this way. She had a deep connection to her brother, and even to her mother, although it was difficult to reconcile some of the things the woman had done in her marriage to a drunkard. Maggie knew the friendship of other women was far too dangerous when one had secrets.

There was a sudden commotion near the main double doors at the far end of the hall. A wave of disgruntled sound moved across the room, and Maggie heard a boy’s voice crying above it. “My lord, my lord!”

Owen raised a hand, and immediately the crowd calmed to murmurs.