The Groom Wore Plaid

by Gayle Callen

  “What a fine seamstress you are,” Owen murmured in a teasing voice.

  Startled, Maggie turned to him, only to find him leaning far too close. She shivered when he continued to whisper in her ear.

  “What a good wife and household mistress you’ll make. Such compassion.”

  She frowned at him—had he steered the boy to her deliberately to prove a point, that she was very capable of being a competent wife? Saying nothing, she packed up her sewing and left him, her nose in the air when she heard him chuckle behind her.

  AT midday on the eve of the festival, a rider came to alert the castle that the McCallum party had been spotted and would arrive before supper. Maggie flew into a flurry of activity, including a last examination of all the guest bedrooms, knowing and accepting that she was behaving as if she didn’t trust Mrs. Robertson.

  Maggie was surprised by how much the nearly three weeks of being away from her family had affected her. It wasn’t as if she’d never been apart from her brother for months on end, but then she’d had her mother. Now . . . she had no one to confide in, no one to feel safe with, no one who believed in her.

  In her mind, she saw the image of Owen, felt again the way his hands had touched her days ago, but not once since. Feeling desired was not the same thing as feeling cherished.

  The thought of safety made her pray that Gregor could control his animosity while her family was visiting. The McCallums had been respectful to Owen when he’d been at Hugh and Riona’s wedding celebration; surely the Duffs could do the same.

  Kathleen arrived to help her change for supper. Maggie usually didn’t do such a thing, but she’d spent hours in the gardens choosing flowers to grace the tables, and felt dirty and sweaty enough to take a bath.

  She looked at the lovely gown Kathleen had laid out—not one of the ones Maggie had altered to make her unattractive. It was best if she appeared normal for her family; she didn’t want them to become suspicious. But she was still going to pad her waistline when Kathleen had gone.

  As Kathleen was helping her tie the laces of her open bodice over the flat stomacher, Kathleen appeared flustered and red-faced.

  “What is it, Kathleen?” Maggie asked. “Ye don’t have to be nervous about my family.”

  “Nay, mistress, I promise I won’t be, but I have somethin’ to say, and I don’t mean to make ye feel badly.”

  “Go on.”

  The maid raised a pleading gaze to Maggie’s. “I want to apologize for my brother. I couldn’t decide how to say it, and maybe I waited too long, but . . . He had no business tryin’ to talk his lordship out of marryin’ ye that day at the target shootin’.”

  Maggie stiffened, unable to be surprised. She’d seen the way Gregor had been looking at her when he had Owen’s ear. But Owen hadn’t said a thing.

  “I’m embarrassed by his terrible behavior in a place I want to call home . . .” Kathleen’s voice trailed off as she stared at Maggie. “Ye didn’t know, did ye?” the maid whispered. “Och, his lordship was sparin’ yer feelin’s and I made a mess of things.”

  Maggie put a hand on Kathleen’s shoulder. “I already knew your brother was not fond of a McCallum marrying a Duff. Think nothing of it.” She almost wished Owen had heeded Gregor’s words. Then it would be over, and she wouldn’t have to see Owen’s dead face in her dreams.

  She thought of the fires that had been set, the talisman in her bed, the rocks in the way of her descent. Could Gregor have been the one who raced up the slopes to hurt her? He was younger and fitter than Martin.

  She changed the subject to chatter about her family, finding herself describing Hugh, Brendan, and her mother to the interested maid.

  Before supper, she found Owen standing on the landing outside the great hall, looking across the battlements and into the distant hills. Below them, the courtyard was a hum of activities, with booths being set up for the peddlers to sell their wares. Owen glanced down at her with a faint smile, and put an arm around her waist.

  “Ye look lovely today,” he said dryly, glancing pointedly at her gown.

  She answered primly. “Thank you.”

  His look became sober as he returned to the view.

  “Are ye worried about the reception of my family during the festival?” she asked. “Kathleen told me her brother tried to talk ye out of marrying me. Ye should have listened.”

  He shrugged. “His words meant little to me. There will always be people unable to accept change. They have to learn that McCallums and Duffs aren’t so very different.”

  For a strange moment, she almost thought he was telling himself that.

  His mouth tilted up. “And besides, I believe Gregor was only hoping to make me miss my next shot.”

  And then he put his arm around her waist, right there in public, and she had no choice but to allow it, short of embarrassing him.

  To her surprise, he squeezed her padded waist a little tighter and leaned down to whisper into her ear, “I like that you’re rounded in all the right places.”

  She stiffened.

  “It makes me think of the pleasures of exploring your womanly softness in my bed.”

  Frowning with annoyance, she elbowed him, and he chuckled but didn’t let her go. He was pointing out that he knew the truth of her deception and teasing her about it at the same time.

  But his familiarity reminded her of other places his hands had been, and once she’d remembered such intimacy, she couldn’t forget it. She wanted to . . . squirm as if she couldn’t get comfortable; she wanted to press closer to him; she wanted—

  She wanted to find a replacement wife and leave, before her treacherous thoughts made her even more miserable.

  “I believe I see your family in the distance,” Owen said.

  She gasped and stood on tiptoe, as if that would help.

  “I see a glint of light off metal,” he added.

  “They have to be armed for the journey,” she hastened to assure him.

  Amusement crinkled his eyes. “I have traveled roads before and understand the necessities. I know they don’t mean to invade.”

  She felt a blush stealing over her but kept her gaze focused in the distance. Several clansmen came up the stairs, nodding respectfully as they moved past through the open doors to the great hall.

  “Everyone we care about will be here,” he said quietly. “We could marry. The banns have been read once so far, and I could pay a stipend to speed up the process.”

  Surprise gave way to tiredness. “I will not marry ye, Owen. But I won’t embarrass ye by talking about it with my brother—at least not in public.”

  Owen gritted his teeth. “He’s the one man who’ll understand the stubbornness I have to put up with.”

  “He’s used to stubbornness, because he’s full of it himself. I’ll be curious to see if his relationship with our mother is improving. Unlike him, I ken what it’s like to feel powerless against a chief, against a father, against a strong, violent man. My mother suffered for many years. Hugh can’t truly understand that. My prayers were answered when my mother and Hugh reconciled, but there’s still a wariness there. Speaking of mothers,” she added, changing the topic, “yours was not happy about our marriage. Such a shame ye’ll still have to marry a McCallum, though it won’t be me.”

  “These last weeks with your family will surely change her mind about you,” he said pointedly.

  “We’ll see,” she said. “Oh, look, they’re much closer!”

  And she broke away from Owen and headed down the stairs. She knew he followed her to the courtyard, but she didn’t wait for him, just hurried across the mud, holding her skirts to her ankles. Someone had spread straw across the courtyard, covering the worst of the mud, and she appreciated that. She passed beneath the dark of the gatehouse and crossed the stone bridge over the moat, just as the McCallum party reached the far side. Maggie waved excitedly and walked between the horses ridden by her brother Hugh and his new wife, Riona. Riona bent to briefly clasp her hand, a
nd the sun touched her golden hair like a halo. She looked . . . radiant. The tender way Maggie’s warrior brother regarded his wife had Maggie blinking back tears. Their happiness was all that she’d hoped for Hugh, considering he’d been pledged to a different bride since childhood.

  But then he’d kidnapped the wrong bride, and had fallen deeply in love. That love had started Maggie on this journey to save her clan. She’d accepted Owen’s expedient offer of marriage, and before she’d experienced the newest dream, had even told herself she’d find a way to be happy without love. She’d always assumed she couldn’t truly let herself love a man, because she’d need to keep secret her dreams and that would be a betrayal of trust.

  Yet . . . Owen knew her every secret, and though he didn’t believe in her gifts, he didn’t treat her as a pariah. He even wanted to marry her regardless. Oh, it was for their clans, she knew, but . . . he was making her rethink all her assumptions about marriage. She felt a pang of loss, knowing she’d never be able to explore that relationship with him—not if she wanted him to live.

  She was relieved to pull herself out of such thoughts by looking at the excited expression on her ten-year-old brother’s face. Brendan’s mother had died birthing him, and he’d never known the identity of his true father until recently. Having been raised by his grandmother, he’d never left the vicinity of Larig Castle. Now he looked in wonder upon the Duff stronghold.

  “Maggie!” he called. “There’s a moat!”

  She laughed. “And there are fish and frogs and lots of things ye’d like.”

  “Those are little boy games. I’m going to see the training yard.”

  “Oh, of course. I’m sure ye’ll enjoy that, too.” But she hid a smile as she watched him look down over the bridge at the water with eagerness.

  Next came her cousins, Dorothy and Helen, waving to her from the center of the traveling party. They looked upon Castle Kinlochard with wonder and excitement. They were sisters, Dorothy a redhead and Helen a reddish blond, and it was the amusement of the clan at how different they were from each other. Dorothy was forthright and passionate about her opinion, whereas Helen was demure and ladylike in her pursuits. Surely one of them would appeal to Owen.

  Her own mother wore a tremulous, worried smile, as if she had lived in fear for Maggie. Maggie gave her a reassuring smile in return, but she wasn’t so sure she’d convinced her mother. Theirs was an unusual relationship. The two women loved and understood each other, for both good and bad. Her mother was there to comfort and listen, had never disregarded her dreams, even when Maggie was a child. She’d kept Maggie’s secrets, and in return, Maggie had tried to comfort her over the mistakes that had driven Hugh away. Lady McCallum had known that her husband abused young women and been powerless against him, except to remove her children from his influence. It had taken years for Hugh to learn to forgive her for not confirming to the world that a serving girl’s bastard child was her husband’s and not Hugh’s. Lady McCallum had been terrified of her husband, damaged, unable to stand against him. Maggie had sympathized and found herself hovering between Hugh and Lady McCallum for much of her life, soothing both sides, trying to encourage a healing of their bond. Hugh’s wife, Riona, had helped bring that about, and Maggie would always be grateful.

  And then she saw Owen’s sister, Cat, and their mother, Lady Aberfoyle. Cat searched Maggie’s face as if she was desperate to know that all had gone well with their betrothal. Cat would be disappointed when Maggie and Owen separated. Maggie smiled at her, and Cat smiled in return. Apparently Maggie wasn’t all that successful in her reassurance, because Cat’s smile faded and she seemed to search the castle as if looking for her brother.

  “Need a ride?” Hugh asked, and reached down for Maggie.

  Smiling, she clasped his hand, and as he lifted, she found the stirrup with her foot and used it to turn and sit across his thighs.

  As they approached the gatehouse, she saw Owen standing on the far side, arms folded over his chest, his expression impassive. She had the urge to beg her brother to gallop away from here, before her heartache grew even worse.

  “Are ye well?” Hugh asked with quiet concern.

  Did he sense something? She didn’t want to worry him, so she gave him a bright smile. “I am. Everyone here has been kind. I’ve simply missed my family.”

  He searched her gaze much as Cat had done, but then glanced up and saw Owen, so he said nothing. Maggie let her breath out quietly in relief. She would have to tell Hugh something soon, for he’d understand exactly what was going on when she threw Dorothy and Helen in Owen’s path. Or maybe Hugh already suspected her motives.

  “So everyone will welcome McCallums to their Duff festival with no qualms?” Hugh asked dryly.

  “I didn’t say that . . .” she admitted, thinking of Gregor.

  “But you have felt safe here?” he demanded.

  “Owen makes certain I am safe.” And that wasn’t a lie.

  They left the darkness of the gatehouse and emerged into the gloomy overcast sky that hung over the castle, as if anticipating what was to come. Owen reached both hands up to her, and she leaned forward and let him take her waist and lower her to the ground. Again, he put his arm around her, reminding Hugh of his claim.

  Her brother dismounted and reached to clasp Owen’s hand. “Aberfoyle.”

  “McCallum,” Owen answered.

  She wanted to roll her eyes. The two men had been on first-name basis before, but apparently the defensiveness hadn’t gone away.

  Grooms came forward to take the horses as one by one the guests dismounted. Four clansmen had ridden along to guard the party on the journey, and Owen had ordered rooms in the barracks prepared for them. He and Maggie led the rest of the group up the stairs to the first floor great hall. At last Owen released her to go to his sister, whom he hugged fervently.

  Cat smiled up at him, cupping his cheek. “You look good, Owen, bronzed by the sun. You’ve been out with your men, I see?”

  “The competitions have continued,” Maggie said. “Your brother finally won one of them.”

  Cat laughed. “Let me guess—target shooting.”

  Owen gave nod. “You know me too well.”

  Lady Aberfoyle came forward next, and Owen dutifully leaned down to kiss her cheek. As he did so, the countess studied Maggie. The disdain she’d originally offered Maggie seemed gone, so at least the visit to the McCallums had done some good. That would be a relief for Owen, whichever McCallum he married.

  “Margaret!” her mother cried, throwing her arms about her daughter.

  Maggie hugged her tightly back, and to her surprise, felt a sting of tears. It felt like ages since she’d had someone to confide in—Euphemia had briefly stood in for her mother, but since she’d been able to help so little, she hadn’t eased Maggie’s concerns. Her mother wouldn’t be able to either, but still . . .

  As they parted, Maggie saw Brendan bow his head to Owen.

  “Lord Aberfoyle, I like your castle,” Brendan said.

  “Thank you,” Owen replied, smiling. “I hope you explore it as if it’s your own.”

  “I may?” He shot a look at Maggie. “Oh, that’s right, my sister’ll be mistress here. I’ll be back.” And he ran outside.

  Maggie gave Owen a grateful look.

  “And who are our other guests?” Owen asked.

  Maggie recognized the faintly sardonic tone of his voice as he regarded the lovely sisters. The two young women squealed as Maggie rushed forward to embrace them both at the same time.

  “Oh, Maggie, ye were so kind to invite us,” Helen murmured, gazing around at the great hall with awe in her eyes. “Who would have thought we’d ever be dining in the Duff castle?”

  Dorothy shook her head. “There’s been peace between our families for years, ye silly lass. ’Twas bound to happen.” And then she smiled at Maggie. “But truly, ye were gracious to think of us.”

  I hope ye still believe that after the festival, Maggie thought. She t
urned, linked both her arms with her cousins, and presented them to Owen. “Lord Aberfoyle, may I present Dorothy and Helen McCallum, sisters to each other and cousins to me.” She cocked her head toward Dorothy. “’Tis our grandfathers who were first cousins, were they not?”

  Dorothy nodded, and then said as an aside to Owen, “We might be distant cousins to the chief, but when Maggie was home, she made us feel close.”

  Maggie felt a twinge of regret for being away so much and losing the close bond she’d once shared with her cousins. But with her father there, there was little else her mother could have done to keep her safe.

  Owen bowed like the gentleman he was, and Helen’s face turned a becoming shade of pink as she blushed, though she said nothing. The sisters curtsied as if forgetting Maggie still held their arms, and she stumbled forward as they sank.

  Hugh laughed aloud, and she shot him a sisterly frown, even as Riona elbowed him. Maggie had known the moment she met Riona that the woman was perfect for her brother. It had just taken some sacrifice on all their parts to make it happen.

  A sacrifice Maggie couldn’t continue with, and her guilt threatened to swamp her. She reminded herself that she had other options, then gently pushed her cousins forward a step. “Owen, would ye show Dorothy and Helen to their room? I’ll guide the rest of my family.” She grinned at Cat and Lady Aberfoyle. “You ladies already know your own way.”

  To her surprise, Lady Aberfoyle went to Lady McCallum. “I promised to show you our home, Sheila. Come see what we’ve done.”

  “I’ve been looking forward to it, Edith,” said Lady McCallum.

  Maggie gaped as the two older women set off together, disappearing down a corridor. While Dorothy and Helen began discussing the tapestry as the two knowledgeable weavers they were, Maggie turned wide eyes on her brother, and Owen regarded his sister curiously.

  Hugh spread his hands. “We don’t know how it happened, but they’ve become friends in but a sennight. When first they met, they eyed each other like rival cats about to hiss and claw.”

  “Hugh,” Riona scolded mildly. “The women aren’t animals.”