The Groom Wore Plaid: Highland Weddings (27 page)

This time his frown showed concern rather than anger. “Maggie—”

But she tugged her clothing into place even as she whirled, opened the door, and fled from him.

M
AGGIE
avoided Owen as much as she could during the banquet that evening, pleading a headache instead of dancing, because she couldn’t bear to be in his arms. He was acting just as politely, giving her the same secret heated looks, as if she hadn’t just rejected him—again. Any other man would give up on her for all the trouble she was causing. But not Owen. He was stubborn, and used to getting what he wanted. That was all it could be, she told herself, trying to ignore the little pain in her heart.

She had one more full day with her family, and she intended to enjoy it. After a restless night of little sleep, she spent the day watching a footrace among the children and then among the men, cheering on both her brothers. Cat put up a fuss about women not getting to compete at anything, and soon at least a dozen women—Maggie included—kicked off their shoes and stockings and raced barefoot across the meadow.

It was strange for Maggie to be a part of such an event after a lifetime of reserve, but it certainly felt good to be exhausted and laughing and not think about her problems.

At dinner, the bard professed a long recitation of the
Duff clan history, and Maggie translated for Riona and Cat, who, having been raised in England, were only now just learning their Gaelic.

That evening, Maggie took advantage of their new friendship by sitting down with Lady Aberfoyle and asking about the Duff family history, just as someone might who would be joining the family. Of course, her motive had deeper reasons, and she was able to steer the conversation toward details about Owen’s closest male cousins. To her relief many of them were in attendance, and the lady helpfully pointed them out, including two bachelor cousins.

“There you are, Owen!” Lady Aberfoyle suddenly called to someone behind Maggie.

Maggie wanted to wince, then silently reminded herself she’d already told him her plan. She turned and gave him a pleasant smile.

“Maggie is quite ready to join the family now,” Lady Aberfoyle said.

“Why specifically now?” Owen said, then raised an eyebrow at Maggie.

“Because she’s been so interested in everyone,” Lady Aberfoyle said. “I’ve just been pointing out your various cousins.”

“You have?” Owen said with interest. “Then that means I should introduce them to her. Do you mind if I take Maggie away, Mother?”

Wearing a pleased smile, his mother agreed, and Maggie had no choice but to go with Owen.

“Interested in my family, are you?” he asked pleasantly, even as he slid a tight arm around her waist. “The male ones, perchance?”

She didn’t confirm nor deny—what was the point? She spent the next half hour meeting various Duffs, all while Owen kept a possessive arm around her. Some she’d already seen in passing and hadn’t even realized how closely related to Owen they truly were. She didn’t want Owen to think he’d won, so she was eager and interested and asked polite questions of each one. Every so often she caught a glimpse of her mother regarding her dubiously, but Maggie ignored that, too.

Owen’s cousins were attractive men—being so closely related to Owen, of course—and one, his second cousin, was an accomplished barrister in Edinburgh. He and Maggie would have the most in common, she knew.

But really—she was hardly going to do anything about finding a new husband right now. She was betrothed to the earl—it was Owen who needed to accept that she wouldn’t marry him, to allow her her freedom to save her clan however she could. But he obviously wasn’t ready to do that. Their wedding date was growing closer and closer, as he was so fond of pointing out; the banns had been read twice now. Was he honestly going to make her reject him before God, a priest, and everyone they knew, instead of joining with her to find a different solution?

Was he so confident that she was wrong, that he’d willingly risk death?

That night, she prepared for bed, already beginning to mourn the next day’s departure of her family. When Kathleen had gone, Maggie pulled the counterpane down and fluffed her pillow—and saw a several pieces of folded paper sticking out from beneath. She froze, remembering the talisman she’d found in her bed ten days ago. Carefully, she pulled it out, opened it, and studied the writing on the first paper in surprise. It looked like her own hand, but something seemed . . . wrong.

She read the first paragraph and froze.

Owen, forgive me. I could not bear to be the cause of such dissent among your clan and disappoint my own people. With me gone, you’ll be free to choose the woman you want. I won’t suffer long, I promise. Drowning is a quick death.

Maggie gasped aloud and read it again, her hands trembling. She quickly went to the second page, which had a bold messy scrawl with the words:

Go home while you still can.

She slowly sank down on the bed—and hastily stood up again. She hadn’t been chased away by fires,
an evil talisman, rocks meant to trip her, or the anger of Martin and Gregor, so someone had decided to be far more direct.

Go home while you still can.

It was a cowardly act, anonymous taunts to scare her into abandoning the marriage and the contract between their clans.

Or was it not anonymous? Had Gregor or Martin already shown her their contempt, and when their hatred hadn’t worked, they’d taken to threats?

She stared at the letter again, trying to think without letting her panic overwhelm her. Someone had copied her handwriting. The only samples were the letters to her family. And she knew they’d received them—at least some of them, because both her mother and Riona had mentioned them. So at least one of her letters had been either borrowed or stolen. Who had the skill to copy such a thing? So far, only two men had shown outright objection to the marriage and were her only suspects so far. It could be anyone, but she couldn’t let herself panic over the unknown. She had to rule Gregor and Martin out first. She didn’t know if either of the men could write, and that would be the place to start.

She buried the two notes deep in one of her chests, the one with her winter garments, and crawled into bed—after checking it thoroughly for any other unwelcome surprises, and pushing a chest in front of the
door. She lay wide awake for a long time and considered if she should tell Owen or not. She’d been threatened, aye, but no one had tried to harm her.

But he needed to know. She’d been honest with him from the beginning, and she wasn’t going to start lying now. She’d tell him . . . after her family left. She didn’t trust Owen to keep it a secret from them, and all she’d need was
two
furious Highland chiefs keeping her locked up in her room as they looked for an enemy. The threats had been against her—she wasn’t about to cower until they went away. However the contract was satisfied, there would be peace between the Duffs and the McCallums. She would see to it, and no one would stop her.

C
HAPTER
16

T
he next morning in the great hall, Maggie sniffed back her tears as she hugged her family good-bye. Riona and Cat held each other tightly, literally rocking in a fierce hug. Hugh practically lifted Maggie off the ground in a warm embrace.

“I don’t like leaving ye like this,” he said quietly.

Arms around his neck, she whispered in his ear. “It’ll be all right, I’ve told ye that.”

“We’ll be back for the wedding,” said her mother, not bothering to hide her tears as they clasped hands. “Only twelve days left.”

Lady McCallum gazed at Maggie intently, saying even more with her eyes than she could with words, urging Maggie to come up with a solution before then.

To Maggie’s surprise, even Brendan gave her a quick hug, then ran to his horse as if embarrassed. The party mounted and rode off, and Maggie watched until
she could no longer see them, her chest aching with unshed tears. Owen remained with her, even when his mother and sister returned to the castle.

“Were you tempted to leave with them?” he asked dryly.

She looked up at him. “Not at all. I finish my commitments.”

“Unless it’s marriage to me.”

“I could still be married,” she hedged.

His mouth quirked in a faint smile. “Do you really think after last night that any of my cousins would dare cross me by asking to marry you?”

“If you freely give me to one of them, he might.”

“Like a gift, as if you’re my property?”

“Of course not,” she scoffed. “I should have said when ye agree to revise the contract.”

“And you said ‘one of them.’ Randomly. It doesn’t matter which one. So love doesn’t matter?”

“I didn’t say that—
you
did. I’ll take the time to know them better.”

“And how do you plan to accomplish that without damaging your reputation?”

“I don’t know. I’m giving it thought.” She began to walk toward the castle.

“I’ve been patient, Maggie,” he called in a low voice.

She paused, looking over her shoulder but not meeting his gaze. “But not open-minded.”

She thought of her dream again—she wasn’t even certain they were already married in it. What if just
planning a ceremony and attending that day was enough to make it all come true?

She should tell him about the letter right now, so they could put their heads together, in case it had something to do with her wedding day. But not until Hugh was far enough away that Owen couldn’t send her with him. Tonight.

She continued to walk, and he didn’t catch up to her. There was no point in wasting the day, not when Martin had not gone home to the village yet. Maggie first had to find out who was so against uniting their clans that they’d threaten her with death.

She was very careful walking over the bridge, and with thoughts of a suicidal drowning, the water below wasn’t soothing or picturesque.

Most of the guests were still lingering over breakfast, and Maggie had no problem spotting Martin Hepburn and his daughter. Maggie forced herself to speak to guests at a table near them first, and to her relief, when Martin saw her so close, he grumbled something to his daughter and left. Maggie excused herself from the one table and went to his.

His daughter was saying good-bye to another couple, red-faced and glancing down the hall to where her father was disappearing outside.

“Good morning,” Maggie called to her.

The woman came to a stop, wide-eyed.

“Forgive me,” Maggie continued, “but we were never properly introduced.”

“Ye’re Mistress Maggie,” Martin’s daughter said, her voice practically a squeak. “His lordship’s betrothed.”

“And ye’re . . .”

“Nellie Hepburn.” She lowered her gaze. “My da should not have run off like that. ’Twas impolite.”

“I do not mind. I ken ’tis difficult to change the hearts of those who’ve spent their whole lives thinking one way.” She paused. “Are ye willing to give peace between our clans a chance?”

Nellie’s big brown eyes went wide. “I’m a woman like you, mistress. We don’t want our men dying for what amounts to a matter of pride.”

“I’m so glad to hear that. I’d like to help find a way to convince others like your father that I mean well. If I write him a letter, would it help?”

Nellie shook her head. “Mistress, he cannot read.”

Ah, just what Maggie needed to know.

“Could ye read my note to him?”

“I wouldn’t be able to do more than make out a few of the letters,” she said, blushing.

“I’m sorry. Then might I visit ye sometime? Ye live in the village?”

Nellie’s expression showed a bit of fear. “I’m not sure that’s wise just yet. I promise to bring him to the castle more often so he can see how good ye are for his lordship.”

Maggie actually felt herself blush. “I—what a kind thing to say.”

“The way the two of ye look at each other . . .’tis very romantic.” Now it was Nellie’s turn to blush.

Maggie touched the woman’s arm. “Thank ye.”

“Just the truth, mistress. But please, as for my da. Leave him to me, ye ken?”

“I do.”

She watched Nellie hurry away, shoulders hunched, and Maggie felt sorry she’d had to upset the woman so. But if no one in Martin’s family could write, then she could cross him off her list.

As for Gregor, Kathleen had mentioned he’d owned a smithy in the colonies. Surely he knew how to write.

L
ATER
that evening, Owen relaxed for what felt like the first time all day. The farewells that morning had been hard for Maggie. He felt relieved himself. He’d been concerned that Maggie would finally confess to her family her refusal to marry, especially after trying to find other eligible Duffs. Her brother would have been forced to attempt to take her home. That wasn’t going to happen, and it could very well have been a standoff between the two men. Owen had grown to respect Hugh over the last few days, and hadn’t wanted that to happen.

Owen was no longer surprised by the power of his obsession with Maggie. He found himself watching her whenever they were in the same room. She’d surprised him by talking to Martin Hepburn’s daughter
earlier that day. Owen might have thought it was random, that she was just being polite, but she’d seemed to focus right in on the Hepburns. Strange.

And then this evening, one of his cousins arrived, one who hadn’t been in attendance the previous day. When Owen saw Maggie smiling as she spoke to him, Owen had felt such an overwhelming feeling of jealousy and possession, he’d had to stay away from them, lest he overreact. It felt like every part of the refined, logical man he’d once been was being stripped away, bit by bit, as if his ancestors were claiming him back to the Highlands, urging him to take the woman who was his.

When he saw Maggie to her room for bed, she tried to speak to him, but he wasn’t in the mood to listen, not with how confused he was feeling. He retreated to his own bedroom and when, not a quarter of an hour later, someone knocked, he opened the door, ready to confront Maggie.