The Groom Wore Plaid

by Gayle Callen

  She spent her nights trying to have another dream. She used several methods: she stayed awake late, hoping exhaustion would trigger something; she made herself think about the dream constantly during the day; she even tried writing it down just before going to bed. Nothing worked. Each morning saw her more and more exhausted with her failure, and Cat watched her with worry.

  And then came news of another fire, this one in an uninhabited cottage. No one had been hurt, but it seemed the arsonist was taking a daring step closer to such a risk. Owen increased patrols throughout the countryside, but continued to publicly insist someone was only taunting him. She didn’t know what he privately thought, because she hadn’t asked him.

  On the final night before his mother and sister were to leave, Owen followed Maggie to her room.

  She put a hand on his chest, barring him from entering behind her. “Nay, go be with your family. Ye won’t be seeing them for some time.”

  Fergus had followed, and now stood uncertainly at the end of the hall. He didn’t seem to know where to look, and ended up staring at the ceiling. Maggie would have laughed under other circumstances. She appreciated Fergus’s abilities as unaware chaperone.

  Owen jerked his head at Fergus, who obediently stepped back down the corridor, out of sight. Owen leaned his forearm against the doorjamb above his head, which made almost a cozy tent for them to speak beneath.

  With his thumb, he brushed her cheek. “You have circles beneath your eyes growing darker each day,” he said quietly. “Do not concern yourself about another fire or Martin Hepburn. I’ve talked to his neighbors. Martin might not get along well with people, but he’s never been accused of a crime. It’s hard to believe he’d start a fire on clan property.”

  She nodded, holding the law book tightly to her chest as a barrier against him. Her base thoughts lingered on the impressive width of his chest that gave evidence of his ability to fight anyone to protect his land and people.

  “I will discover the truth, Maggie. I protect what’s mine.”

  She felt suddenly trapped by the heat that smoldered in his dark eyes. Days of avoiding him only meant that his presence seemed to affect her even more. Exhaustion had sapped her ability to resist him. When he leaned down to kiss her, it took everything in her to let her mouth go slack. Her emotions rioted inside her, making parts of her ache in a way she hadn’t felt since . . . he’d kissed her ten years before.

  He slanted his head and parted her lips with dogged determination, deepening the kiss. He caught her against him, and she shuddered, all her resolve dissolving, forcing her into a last desperate rebellion: she bit him.

  He jerked his head up with a mild curse, and she quickly stepped into her room and closed the door against him.

  “Sorry!” she called. “I just don’t ken how to do anything right.”

  Eyes closed, body humming with awareness and need, she rested her head against the door and listened. The wood seemed to vibrate with his touch, but he only grumbled something and walked away.

  THE next morning, Owen knew the shadows beneath his own eyes might rival Maggie’s. He’d barely been able to sleep. The kiss he’d meant to seduce her with had caused him more than the pain of frustrated desire. He’d been shocked she’d bitten him. Why had he thought spunk and determination a good thing in a bride? But he reluctantly admitted that he didn’t want a weakling for a wife, and he certainly wasn’t getting one.

  “You haven’t taken your eyes off the McCallum girl,” Lady Aberfoyle said.

  He glanced down at his mother. They stood just inside the great hall, near where Maggie was giving Cat a friendly hug good-bye. And then Maggie disappeared down a corridor. She’d already made a formal curtsy to his mother, who hadn’t appreciated the gesture.

  “Mother, we’re to be married,” he said, trying to keep his tone patient. “You’d have to be more worried if I was indifferent to her.”

  “I do wish you’d reconsider and find another way to fulfill the contract. Do you know that in times past, these McCallum women actually made and sold thread in Edinburgh?” She sounded as aghast as if they’d offered their bodies on the street.

  “I appreciate that they’re hardworking women trying to better their clan,” he said, an edge to his voice. “You certainly have had friends who’ve done the same. Life in Scotland is not always as easy for some as it is for us.”

  “Easy? And do you think your father and I haven’t worked hard for this life we’ve given you?”

  “You worked hard making sure Cat did not have to live under the marriage contract.”

  Lady Aberfoyle flinched. “Your father kept things from me, you know that.”

  “And I know you guessed some of what was happening, how Father was lying to Hugh McCallum about his betrothed. You and Father set this in motion. There’s no stopping it now.”

  “Even if you wished to?” she said in a hesitant voice.

  “I don’t wish to. I know my duty. Safe travels, Mother.”

  He should have kissed her cheek, but instead he opened the door and led her outside to the stairs down to the courtyard. A dozen mounted men would guide the Duff women for the long day’s journey to Larig Castle.

  A servant told him that Maggie was in the library, a place he knew she thought of as her refuge, outside of the room he’d given her. It was good that he had something to offer her that she cherished.

  He stepped into the open door and saw Maggie seated at a table with two large books spread out before her. She looked up and regarded him soberly, saying nothing.

  “Cat and my mother have left,” he said, stating the obvious.

  She nodded, then lowered her gaze to the books again, as if in dismissal. But just as he was about to demand her attention, she shoved the books away from her, until one teetered on the far edge of the table.

  “Your sister has a knowledge of this library I envy,” she said tiredly. “I might not appreciate your mother, but I can be grateful on Cat’s behalf that your mother granted her the education I was never allowed.”

  “Maggie—”

  “Oh, they tried to give me a woman’s education,” she said with bitterness. “I can read and write. My mother tried to teach me to sew, to knit, but even playing the viol was difficult. I cannot hold a fan with any mastery.”

  She was trying to convince him that she was a failure at the womanly arts, but he didn’t believe her. And then her expression turned sad, and her next words rang with truth.

  “I cannot understand these books. I’ve never read literature before. I feel like the ignorant Highlander we’re always accused of being.”

  “I don’t need a wife who comes to me knowing every one of life’s skills.” He was still angry that she was fighting a situation they both simply had to accept. It seemed illogical and flighty, not some of the good womanly attributes her mother had tried to instill in her. Why did she have to be so abnormal from other women—going on about childish dreams, threatening to break the vow she’d made to him? If he had to be married to a woman out of obligation, thank God that at least she sometimes amused him.

  And there was always the promise of their wedding night. He allowed his gaze to drop below her face, lingering on her full breasts and narrow waist. Her hips were hidden from him, but not for long, a little over three weeks. He was counting down the days.

  Maggie let out a noisy sigh. “I thought we were having a conversation about education, something supposedly so important to you, but instead your mind seems on—on—” She waved her hand between them.

  “I was telling you what I preferred in a wife. This”—he waved his hand as she had—“is one of the things I definitely prefer.”

  “I’ve already said I won’t marry ye!”

  Owen knew she loved her brother, and that saving Hugh’s life and honor was why she’d agreed to the betrothal in the first place. Their marriage would save lives wasted in a needless feud—her clan would still have access to their prized land, where they’d been sharin
g the perfect ingredients for the whisky that had been making both clans coin ever since the marriage contract had been signed at Cat’s birth.

  And yet Maggie kept insisting that a dream of his death was making her reject the best solution to satisfy the contract. He’d be flattered that she cared about his well-being, if he wasn’t so frustrated.

  “Maggie, I’m not going to discuss our marriage again. It will happen and there’s nothing you can do to stop it.”

  “I can refuse to say the vows.”

  “In front of both our families, whom we’re protecting with this farce of a marriage?”

  She flinched.

  “Let’s return to your education. I can work with you on your studies, answering questions, explaining things. It won’t be long before you’ll be learning from every book in this library—including that one on contracts.”

  She watched him with suspicion. “And . . . ?”

  “And we’ll have time to discover each other as adults instead the foolish youths we once were.” You’ll learn to trust me.

  “Ye mean the foolish youth you once were.”

  He’d been sailing through the calm waters of his life, challenged by little, mastering everything he tried. But Maggie was a storm blowing in, one that a captain could stand on the deck and face with bold challenge.

  After a heavy sigh, she said, “Very well, I cannot resist the lure of these books. They’ll help me figure out a plan to salvage the contract between our families. But Owen, I’ll not marry ye.”

  “There isn’t another way to satisfy the marriage contract, Maggie. You’re the only McCallum daughter, and I have no brothers. This courtship and marriage are the only logical decisions to make, whereas you seem to want to base this decision only on emotions and flights of fancy.”

  “Flights of fancy?” she echoed, those storm clouds rising up again in her sea-colored eyes.

  He took another step closer. His words had been a challenge, for Maggie didn’t move, only lifted her chin and glared at him.

  He cupped her cheek with one hand. “You look tempting when your emotions blaze.”

  She tried to push his hand away, but he only used his other arm and pulled her closer.

  “You cannot pretend you didn’t enjoy our last kiss.” He dipped his head.

  “No pretense is necessary.”

  She kept space between their bodies, and he wasn’t about to force himself on her. There was no need. He buried his face against her neck, nuzzling her hair, bringing out all the sweetness of lavender.

  “The scent of you intoxicates me,” he whispered against her ear.

  He gently bit her earlobe, and she gave a start.

  Then Owen went against every instinct and stepped away from her, hoping he left her wanting more. “We’ll start your education tonight.”

  “Education?”

  “Not your education in lovemaking.” He enjoyed her blush. “Until this evening.”

  CHAPTER 7

  It wasn’t until Maggie was outside that she felt she could breathe again. She’d felt desperate to be away from the oppressive opulence of the castle and everything it was supposed to mean for her future.

  The courtyard was relatively empty after the departure of Lady Aberfoyle’s traveling party, but still, she could see grooms raking hay in the stables, hear the carpenter’s saw. She longed for a little garden where she could pace in peace, but everything was grown in the fields surrounding the moat. At least she thought so until she went past the corner of the towerhouse and found a little stone half wall near the well, surrounded by purple rhododendrons.

  She stepped past the wall, and though part of the courtyard was still visible, she felt a little more at peace.

  Until she remembered how easily Owen had set her pulse racing just by biting her earlobe.

  Biting her earlobe!

  It should have been revolting or at least annoying. She should remember her anger at how he’d treated her so long ago.

  He’d been standing so close, she’d felt the heat of his body, smelled the scent of the outdoors. As he’d spoken, his breath on her cheek was shockingly erotic. And then he’d . . . smelled her, smelled her hair or her neck or . . . even now, it made her tremble. Why? The sensation of arousal was so frustrating and inexplicable. But arousal it had been, for she’d felt a clenching deep between her thighs and a heat that shimmered across her skin.

  And then he’d bit her, and she’d actually lost strength in her knees. Only sheer stubbornness and pride had kept her from falling into his arms. It was both appalling and alluring. She’d agreed to his tutoring plans like a woman not in control of herself.

  But what else could she have done?

  Too often she felt like a coward for not sacrificing her future and her freedom for her clan, as her brother had tried to do. Hugh would have died for their clan, but she couldn’t be the one to condemn Owen to death.

  There was the dream, always there was the dream, the one that was still so vivid she could hear the slowing of Owen’s heart beneath her ear after she’d thrown herself on his chest. She shuddered and hugged herself, trying to focus on the blooming loveliness of a rose climbing a trellis, but that was as red as Owen’s dream blood.

  What was she supposed to choose? Honor for her clan by trying to marry a man who would die if she did so?

  She wasn’t giving up her fight against Owen’s fate. If she couldn’t have the dream by thinking about it, there had to be another way to trigger it. She’d once heard of a woman who’d lived in Inverness a hundred years before who saw visions through a hole in a special rock. Could Maggie find some sort of talisman to bring on her dreams?

  Feeling foolish, she examined the ground in the tiny garden, but it was well maintained, with no stray rocks. She hurried to the bridge that crossed the moat, and found narrow stone stairs that led down to the inner shore of the moat itself. Bent over, she searched for rocks, knowing how odd it would be to find one with a hole in it. There were mossy and wet, and the smell of swampy vegetation wrinkled her nose. She passed beneath the stone arch of the bridge, where shade blocked out the cloudy sky. When she spotted a rock with a hole in it, she felt utterly foolish as she held it up to her eye for a long moment. Of course nothing happened. She didn’t see visions when she was awake.

  Overhead she could hear the faint rumble of footsteps, but she ignored it, still squinting through the rock, until she heard a voice.

  “She came this way,” said a man gruffly.

  Maggie straightened and lowered the rock as she recognized the voice. It was Kathleen’s brother, Gregor. She stood still as more than one voice floated down from above.

  But it was Gregor who spoke the loudest. “Don’t ye see? The McCallum wench has driven away Lady Aberfoyle.”

  Driven away? Maggie thought with indignation. Who would believe that?

  But she couldn’t hear a response, only the murmur of voices. Was no one standing up for her, standing up for peace? Did they want an endless war where their children might die?

  “Surely ye see the way she has Himself all twisted up,” Gregor scoffed. “How is that good for anybody?”

  She wanted to remind everyone that Gregor’s family had fled rather than stay and support the clan. But that would only make Gregor hate her more.

  And if he somehow found out about her ability to see the future . . .

  Worried she wouldn’t be able to control her temper, she remained beneath the bridge until she heard them all leave. She wouldn’t run to Owen like a child complaining about bullies. But Gregor made her feel . . . nervous, ill-at-ease, and she wasn’t used to it. She’d taken for granted being the daughter of a chief. Though her father hadn’t shown any sort of love, at least she’d been accepted by everyone else in the clan, even when her mother had kept her away and safe in Edinburgh much of the time.

  Now she was alone, looked upon with suspicion—by everyone including Owen, who refused to trust her.

  OWEN stood beside his uncle near
the charred shell of the abandoned cottage. It rose alone on a bleak hillside, surrounded by pastures for cattle. Once it would have been a welcoming sign of light and warmth for a clansman, but now its roof had caved, the stone was stained with soot, and black smoke continued to rise desultorily into the sky. In the distance, his gentlemen were walking the hills and woodlands, searching for anything that would give them clues as to what had happened.

  Harold stood with his hands behind his broad back, his expression impassive.

  “And no one saw anything,” Owen said grimly.

  Harold arched a brow. “I said that, aye.”

  “I know, but I’m frustrated. At least last time someone saw a man running from the burning byre. But I guess this remote cottage had been abandoned for a reason, being so far away from the village.”

  “No real reason. Old Abercromby and his missus never had bairns. The missus only died a few months ago, years after her husband, and it’s been waiting ever since.”

  Owen snapped his fingers. “Now I remember. It was on the list of cottages to be refurbished before a new couple moved in.”

  Harold nodded. “It’ll take even more work now.”

  They were silent a long moment. Owen kept hoping one of his men would give a shout of discovery, but it didn’t happen.

  “I thought the first fire was a prank that got out of hand,” Owen said.

  Harold shrugged.

  “But twice? This has to be deliberate. It’s not as if a lightning storm had happened in the night. Could this brigand be angry that I’m the chief?”

  “’Tis not as if ye were elected from a group of eligible men. The clan has always known ye’d inherit the title and the chiefdom.”

  “He could have been waiting until I inherited to vent his anger, but it seems unlikely. If it’s because of the peace with the McCallums, that’s been an ongoing process for over twenty years. Surely there would have been an outcry before now.”