by Gayle Callen
And yet she wanted him to walk in on her naked? She groaned and put her head back on the rim of the tub. She really was a simpleton. A lovesick simpleton. That could be the only explanation.
She had less than a half hour—she’d better hurry.
When he knocked again, precisely on time, Kathleen was still lacing her gown into place.
“Just a moment, my lord,” Kathleen called.
“I should have had you write him a note,” Maggie said. “Then he would have given us more time.” She watched the maid out of the corner of her eye.
“Aye, no matter. I’m about done.”
Maggie nodded and tried not to sag with frustration. It was pointless to question Kathleen—surely Gregor could write.
At last, Kathleen opened the door, bobbed a little curtsy to Owen, and departed. Owen shut the door behind him and stood there.
Maggie hadn’t known how she’d feel when she saw him again. He was studying her with those dark eyes, and she felt uncomfortably aware of what he’d done to her in the night, the intimate things he’d . . .
Oh, damn, now she was blushing.
“Yes?” she asked, trying to sound cool and unaffected.
And then she realized that he was carrying a tray.
“I brought you breakfast. May I sit down?”
She gestured to the little table near the window, where he proceeded to place individual plates, a bowl of porridge, as well as a platter in the center piled with bacon, salted herring, and fried eggs. It felt strange to have him serving her, but he owed her a lot more than that.
She sat down and placed a napkin across her lap, and watched him do the same. He filled a small bowl with porridge for her, then set a small helping of everything else on her plate, even as she broke open a warm bannock and sniffed appreciatively. They ate silently for several minutes, until at last Owen eyed her.
“You look refreshed this morning. I trust you slept well?”
She sighed. “Not really. I had a difficult time falling asleep.”
“I’m sorry.”
She wanted to ask him exactly what he was sorry for, but she didn’t. The words were an easy thing to say and were seldom meant.
“Before we discuss the letter, I wish to discuss our lovemaking,” he said.
Maggie lifted up her head sharply. “Ye cannot mean that.”
“I wanted you to know I did not plan it, that I would never deliberately try to trap you into marriage.”
“I didn’t think ye did.”
“I am relieved. But regardless, if there’s a child—”
“Then we will discuss it.”
“I will not allow a child of mine to be born a bastard,” he said firmly.
“I didn’t say I would either. But Owen, if we marry, ye could die!”
“We’re all going to die. But before I do, I’ll have ye to wife.”
She closed her eyes. Did he know what he did to her when his brogue peeked out? And why was he so bloody dense?
She took a calming breath. “Let’s discuss the letter.”
He touched her arm again. “I had a strong reaction to it. I can only imagine how it was for you. You are a composed young woman to have handled that without running for help.”
“And what would that have done? I want whoever this is to think he’s cowed me, to think he’s succeeding. And besides, think ye I’ve not had terrible information before that I could share with few people?”
He only nodded, took another bite of bacon, and chewed before swallowing. “Is this the first open threat?”
“Aye, ’tis the first threatening me with serious harm, but there’ve been other issues that have demonstrated how upset this villain is.”
“Both fires and the talisman,” he said.
She nodded. “I’m assuming it’s the same person, although we can’t be certain right now. When we were up on the mountain leaving the standing stones and I fell? I’d already traveled that path three times, between accompanying Euphemia and you. Those rocks weren’t there before. They were placed right where we came over a crest in the path, and couldn’t see them without tripping over them.”
He slowly set down his knife. “Why did you not tell me this?”
“It seemed . . . foolish, and there was no way to prove I was correct. But now, with the letter, ’tis no longer just a few things to annoy me. I told ye about what I overheard Gregor say against me—which he’s done more than once, I believe.” She arched a brow.
“Yes, he did try to talk me out of marrying you. Do you think he’s the one who’s taken this so far?”
“He’s not the only one angry with me, but yesterday I confirmed that Martin Hepburn can’t read.”
“Ah, I wondered why you were talking to Nellie.”
“Ye’re not going to ask if I revealed too much?”
“I trust you.”
Stunned, she stared at him. It took everything in her not to refute that, because if he trusted her, he’d respect her fears about his death. But she had to admit, Owen had shown a small amount of trust: he hadn’t taken control of the investigation, told her not to worry about it and let a man handle it. Her brother probably would have, at least before his marriage to a strong woman.
“And there’s Gregor,” Maggie finally continued, “he’s not from here, not really. He’s spent most of his life in the colonies and only heard the stories of the feud. He hasn’t experienced the pain of needless death and destruction.”
“None of us have, at least between Duff and McCallum, since the marriage contract signed at Cat’s birth.”
“Then why would he want to resurrect that all over again?”
“I don’t know,” Owen mused. “And we can’t say for certain it’s him.”
“Nay, we cannot.”
He sat back in his chair and took a sip of his ale. “I must admit it’s hard for me to believe one of my own people would be so cruel to a woman. I fear what will happen if I don’t send you away.”
“Ye’re not sending me away. I’m not a coward, Owen, and I won’t be coddled.”
“So you’re saying you refuse to back down before this villain and you’ll marry me regardless?”
“I’ll make sure the contract is satisfied in some manner.”
He frowned and spoke coldly. “You’re not marrying a cousin of mine. If you’re carrying my child—”
“I thought we agreed not to bring that up!”
As if his words had power, she remembered again his naked body on her, in her, the way he set her afire, the way he could make her moan. She kept her gaze on her plate until her thoughts were under control.
“What if I question Kathleen again?” she asked.
She glanced up at him, only to find him gazing pointedly at her cleavage. She cleared her throat.
He looked up and blinked several times. “Forgive me, what did you say?”
“I said I could question Kathleen again.”
“No, we don’t want her to alert her brother. I had a chance earlier this morn to talk to my uncle. He says that Gregor has relatives in Ledard, a village not too far from here. Perhaps they know something about Gregor or his parents. I will go and speak to them today.”
“I will come with ye,” she said solemnly. “Who knows what danger I would be in here without ye to protect me?”
He grimaced. “My uncle is my war chief. I imagine he can keep you safe.”
“He’s getting old.”
He exhaled. “Very well. Can you be ready in an hour? It’s several hours’ journey.”
“I’ll ask Mrs. Robertson to see to provisions for us.”
He stood up and began to gather their breakfast.
“I’ll do that,” she said. “You go see to the horses.”
He was looking at her with such intensity that her breath caught. She tried to remain composed, but it was difficult. At last he nodded and left her alone, and she could breathe easier again. Somehow she would find a way to deal with him and not let her emotio
ns show.
If he knew she’d fallen in love with him, he’d have even more ways to manipulate her into marriage.
CHAPTER 18
It was a rare cloudless day in the summer, and the blue sky was like a tent stretching from mountaintop to mountaintop. Maggie breathed deeply once the castle was no longer in sight, and she realized how oppressive it had felt, knowing people hated her being there. She rode easily on the mare’s back, and Fergus and another clansman lingered far enough behind Owen and her that if they wanted to talk, they wouldn’t be overheard.
“I cannot fathom why you look so content,” Owen said, riding beside her.
She squinted at him in the sun. “Because I haven’t left that castle in almost three weeks. I feel like I can breathe again.”
“You despise my home so much?”
“Ye ken that’s not what I mean,” she said impatiently. “I feel a rising dread there, Owen, every time ye speak about marrying me.”
“If you’re so worried about me dying, then you must feel something.”
“I don’t want your death on my conscience.”
He looked straight ahead at that, and his expression smoothed right out. She eyed him curiously. Was he, perhaps, thinking that the chance of him becoming wounded was greater, now that the threats against her were escalating?
“You haven’t brought me any books that you’re studying lately,” Owen said.
Changing the subject. Interesting. “There hasn’t been time, what with the festival and my family’s visit.”
“There are so many things we could discuss. I wanted to tell you about an invention I saw demonstrated in London, a diving bell for breathing under water. They lower it into the water, and when the swimmer stays beneath it, the air is trapped so he can breathe. They even replenish the air with weighted barrels of air sent down from the surface.”
“Are ye wishing to breathe under water, Owen?” she asked quietly, feeling the first touch of sympathy for him over Emily’s drowning. Had it affected him more than he let on?
He gave her a confused look. “It is simply a fascinating device.”
“Emily drowned. And now someone’s threatened me with drowning. And ye bring up the diving bell.”
“You’re reading too much into my curiosity, Maggie.” And he faced forward again.
She knew a dismissal when she experienced it. She let him mull her words.
At Ledard, a small collection of stone cottages at the edge of a hill roamed by cattle, Owen tried to keep their arrival low-key, but when they had to ask for Gregor’s relatives, word spread. By the time they were heading to a small home on the outskirts, Maggie turned around and saw at least a dozen people gathered together on the central green, talking and watching them. Once she would have made a joke about his celebrity, but she held back now.
Owen dismounted and came to help her, but she slid down before he could. The less touching, the better, she thought. He knocked on the door, and an elderly woman’s voice could be heard, calling for patience. It was a long minute before she opened the door, her back hunched beneath a rounded hump, her hand braced on a cane.
“Aye?” she asked in a high-pitched, querulous voice.
“Mrs. Kincaid?”
She put a hand to her ear, and he raised his voice and repeated himself.
“Aye, and who are ye?” She squinted at both of them with interest but not suspicion.
“I’m Owen Duff and this is my betrothed, Maggie.”
He left off his fancy title, Maggie saw, and her surname, as well.
“Ye’re Himself!” Mrs. Kincaid said in obvious delight. “Come in, come in!”
Owen nodded to Fergus, who waited outside with the horses, then had to duck to enter the single room with its earthen floor. Mrs. Kincaid had them sit down at her wooden table side by side on a bench, and after putting two tankards of ale before them, she took the chair.
“O’ course new chiefs like to know their clan,” Mrs. Kincaid said, “but to think ye’re paying a call on me!”
They each took a sip of ale to be polite.
Owen smiled. “We do have business to discuss, Mrs. Kincaid. I understand you’re related to Gregor and Kathleen Duff?”
“Two of my sister’s children. They live in the colonies.”
Maggie’s eyes widened when Owen glanced at her before speaking.
“They’re recently returned and have taken up residence at Castle Kinlochard. Kathleen is a maid, and Gregor works in the smithy.”
“Ah, his misfortunes followed him, I see.”
“Misfortunes?”
Her eyes were still sharp beneath heavily wrinkled eyelids. “So ye don’t know much about them?”
“Very little, which is why I’m curious.” “Have they done ye wrong?”
“I don’t believe so, but I know little of them and wish to be prepared.”
“And ye’re not saying why the chief himself would be visitin’ an old lady.”
Maggie hid a smile, and Owen said nothing.
Mrs. Kincaid sighed. “Weel, I believe in supporting Clan Duff. All I have is the letters I received from the family over the years. Do give them back to me when ye’re done.”
“Of course I will,” Owen said.
After accepting the care of a packet of old yellowed letters tied with string, Owen paused when Mrs. Kincaid laid a hand on his arm.
“Remember that the family suffered for their decision to leave us,” the old woman said quietly. “I know not what has happened to them that brings ye here, but they’re my sister’s children, and I need ye to try to understand them.” She looked at Maggie, as if she needed a woman’s confirmation.
“We will, ma’am, and thank ye,” Maggie said. After the door shut behind them, she whispered to Owen, “Those letters sound intriguing.”
“They do, but they must await my business in the village.”
Maggie accompanied Owen for an hour spent in Ledard, introducing himself to those who didn’t know him and hearing their concerns. Maggie held back, not wanting her McCallum name to be debated. After they left, they traveled a mile or so to reach a meadow beside a stream, some distance from the village, for their midday meal. Maggie offered a wrapped package of beef and cheese to Fergus and the other guard, who went off a distance to see to the horses.
“Ye’ve got wise men there,” Maggie said, as she removed more packages from her saddlebag.
He only nodded, showing little interest in the food but much interest in carefully untying the letters so as not to damage them. There were dates on each, so he read them aloud in order. Many were concerning an important event or tragedy, Mrs. Kincaid’s sister’s death first, the deaths of the other children, the smithy that their father built which struggled along, then his death and Gregor taking over.
Owen frowned as he studied the final letter.
“What is it?” Maggie asked.
“This last one was written by Kathleen, defending her brother.” Owen read silently a moment, then looked up at Maggie. “She’s insisting that their Scottish relatives not believe the worst of Gregor, that he had good reason to publicly accuse a local woman of being a witch.”
Maggie’s mouth sagged open, and suddenly she didn’t think she’d even be able to eat another bite. Her worst fear, that she’d be accused of witchcraft . . . and Gregor had done that to someone. Could he somehow know about her dreams, and that was why he was targeting her, why he might have put the talisman in her bed? Was it more than her just being a McCallum?
Owen reached across the blanket and briefly clasped her hand. “Stop. I can see every thought crossing your face. Gregor knows nothing about you.”
She nodded, knowing he was probably right, but her mouth was dry and it was proving difficult to swallow. He handed her a flask of cider and she took a deep swallow. “What else does it say?”
Owen read the words aloud, “‘Dear Gregor had good reason to believe this woman a witch. He’d courted her himself and had seen the signs.’�
�
“She’d probably rejected him, and this was how he repaid her,” Maggie said coldly.
Owen nodded. “A logical conclusion. ‘This evil woman rallied her family and neighbors against Owen, and his business suffered. I don’t know how much longer we can remain here.’” He looked up. “And that’s it. They must have made the decision to return to Scotland right after this letter.”
“How lucky for us,” she said sarcastically. Then she gave Owen a searching glance. “Is this enough to believe he’s the one out to frighten me away? It seems his goal is to end the peace between clans, not do me bodily injury.”
“It is enough to question him, perhaps even confine him, before bringing it up at the next assembly of gentlemen,” Owen said grimly.
Maggie sighed. “I don’t know how I’ll tell Kathleen. He’s the only brother she has left. How many siblings died?”
“Five others.”
She hugged herself. “Should I ask her about the witchcraft charge he made?”
“Why? I know it feels personal to you, but I doubt even more information on the subject will matter to us. It’s enough to know he behaved dishonorably to another woman, and came here in desperation. I imagine they thought the childhood they left behind was rosier than the reality.”
“I know she said Gregor wasn’t happy to be working for someone else.”
Owen shrugged. “If you cannot afford to buy a business, you have to save for it somehow.”
“I imagine that is the fault of the McCallums, too.”
They finished their meal mostly in awkward silence. At last Maggie wrapped the remains and stored them away while Owen tightened the saddle girths. When it came time to help her mount, he put his hands on her waist, she looked up into his eyes, and for just a moment, she wished so many things could be different, that they were just two people looking ahead to marriage, without the complications of clans and enemies both internal and external. Then she heard their two guards talking near the road, and she looked away from Owen and all of her sad what-ifs.
The journey back to the castle was uneventful, with little to discuss. Maggie mostly dwelled on sad thoughts until they were beginning the climb up the final hill before leveling into the meadow surrounding the castle. Suddenly a crack sounded, Maggie felt a whistle of air past her, and her horse reared. Controlling the animal took all her concentration, and by the time she looked up, Fergus and the other guard were already halfway up the hill, their horses taking the incline easily. Owen was in front of her, standing in the stirrups, blocking her with his body as he tried to see into the distance. She saw no telltale sign of blood on his clothing, and tried to relax her galloping heart.
