The Groom Wore Plaid
Page 27
“Kathleen, come back,” Maggie beseeched. “Let the Duffs help ye; let your brother help ye.”
“I’m done here. They’ll never trust ye now without me to blame everythin’ on. The Duffs will triumph over the McCallums.”
“Kathleen!”
But the woman stepped overboard and sank with barely a splash, leaving only a few bubbles to pop on the surface.
Maggie waded into the water, screaming the maid’s name. By the time the cold water hit her waist, she felt it pull at her skirts, threatening to drag her under, to drown her. Had Kathleen somehow known Owen’s first betrothed had died by drowning? Nay, how could she have? Yet she’d threatened Maggie with drowning, and then gone through with it herself.
Maggie heard voices, shouting, and then clansmen passed her to wade out toward the boat and eventually swim.
“She’s under water!” Maggie yelled, and watched as they all began to dive. She stumbled into a hole and went down on one knee. The cold water seeped into her clothing, shuddered across her skin. Sodden, she struggled to get to her feet, gagging on a deep gulp of water.
And then Harold had her by the arms, lifting her upright, holding her against him as she coughed. After he helped her to shore, they both watched as the men continued the search.
“Was she trying to get away?” Harold asked quietly.
Maggie shook her head. “She—she put rocks in her clothes and killed herself.”
The boat continued to drift. It took some time before they found Kathleen’s body. Only when they brought her to the surface, white and lifeless, did Maggie turn and retch onto the ground. And then Harold wrapped her shoulders within a big arm and led her away to the horses.
OWEN ate breakfast quickly, ravenously, knowing he had to be strong for Maggie. It was Gregor who’d told his guard what had happened, that Maggie had gone to stop Kathleen. Harold had followed Maggie to the loch, but as yet, had sent no word back. Owen couldn’t lie in his bed, knowing she was out there, alone against a killer. He demanded his shirt and plaid.
“My lord!” Fergus cried, both hands before him as if he’d push Owen back down, but didn’t dare lay hands on him.
“My wife is in danger,” Owen said angrily, tossing the blankets aside. The stitches in his back burned with each movement but he barely noticed it. “Now help me don my shirt or by God—”
Fergus found one in a nearby chest, and helped it over Owen’s head. Lifting his arms was surprisingly painful, but he didn’t let that stop him. While he breathed heavily, Fergus laid out his plaid and belt on the bed. When it was ready, Owen lay down upon it and belted it around him. Fergus helped him don his stockings and boots like he was a child. As Owen rose unsteadily and walked past Fergus, the bodyguard grabbed the ends of the plaid and threw it up over his shoulder.
“Do ye want the brooch, my lord?”
The free ends slipped down to his waist and, frustrated, Owen permitted Fergus to clasp the excess in place with the brooch. Owen thought he’d walk all the way to the barracks, but he realized that wasn’t going to happen. He sat in his big thronelike chair on the dais in the great hall, sent everyone away, and told Fergus to bring Gregor to him.
But before that could happen, Harold entered the far double doors, and to Owen’s utter relief, he held Maggie by the arm. His wife looked white with strain and grief, but she was alive and apparently unharmed.
“Maggie!”
When he shouted her name, her head came up. Their gazes met, and all the love and relief he felt practically unmanned him. And then she was running toward him, and he rose to meet her. She came into his arms, hard against his body, and he did his best not to stagger. She was soaked and shivering.
Burying his face into her neck, he kept murmuring her name. She was crying softly, and it was some moments before he could understand the words.
“I should have known . . . I should have realized . . .”
And then more quiet words of regret and guilt.
He took her arms and gave her a little shake, until she looked up at him with wet, dripping eyes.
“Maggie, she tried to kill ye, and she could have succeeded.”
“She tried to kill ye, too, and blame it on me,” Maggie said, her voice hoarse. “But . . . such terrible things happened to her.”
“Tell me.”
He sank back in his chair, drawing her onto his lap. Mrs. Robertson handed him a blanket, and he wrapped it around Maggie. He saw when the McCallums entered but they stood back and listened as Maggie recounted her talk with Gregor, the man’s fear, Kathleen’s crazy confession just before killing herself. Lady McCallum and Riona held on to each other with silent weeping, then reached toward Cat when she arrived and drew her into their embrace. Hugh looked grim and full of frustrated anger. Owen knew just how he felt.
Owen kissed Maggie’s tearstained face. “Hush, lass, let it go. She was warped by what happened to her family. Ye did nothing to her, yet she couldn’t see that.”
“I know, but . . .”
And then Gregor was brought into the hall between two guards, Harold following behind.
Gregor took one look at Maggie and realized the truth, collapsing to his knees with a cry of grief. “She’s dead?”
Maggie nodded, her face spasming with sorrow.
“It’s my fault, my fault,” he cried over and over. “She thought to avenge us, to rescue me, but I couldn’t—couldn’t—”
“What did she say to ye?” Owen demanded.
“It’s not what she said, it’s what I didn’t do.” Gregor threw his hands wide. “I didn’t protect her. I spoke of my rage at fate and blamed the McCallums. I blamed everyone but me and my stupid pride and my temper. I lost my business in the colonies when I couldn’t have the woman I wanted. I tried to punish her with my wild accusations and instead I impoverished my sister. And when I realized ye’d made peace with the McCallums, who’d been the cause of our flight from Scotland—” He broke off when he saw the chief of the McCallums himself. He hung his head and it was difficult to hear his words as he admitted, “I set the fires. I told my sister what I’d done. I was so angry. I had no idea she’d take it farther.” He collapsed onto his hands and knees, head hanging, and sobbed.
“Let him go, Owen,” Maggie whispered, taking his hand in hers. “Let him find his fate somewhere else. He’s a broken man.”
“If ye wish it, lass. Now come with me and let me take care of ye.”
MAGGIE felt so exhausted, it was as if she was removed from herself. She hugged her family, both old and new, and then allowed Owen to lead her away, back to the room they would now share. Every trace of blood was gone, but she knew it would be a long time before it was erased from her memories, her very soul. He’d almost died.
“Go back to bed,” she suddenly said, worried that so much exertion was too much for him.
“Nay, I’ll sit here and be with ye. I’m no infant to lie there and drool.”
She finally gave a shaky smile, even as he slowly sank into a chair with a sigh. Once again, he pulled her onto his knee.
“Owen—”
“Enough of your worry, woman. I’ll touch ye as I want. Ye’re my wife and I didn’t even have my wedding night.”
She never thought she’d smile again, but she did so, even as she allowed him to tuck her head beneath his chin. They sat that way for several long minutes while she told herself all was well. Owen was safe and whole. She shuddered and pressed herself even closer to him.
“I believe in ye, Maggie,” he said after a while, his voice a rumble in his ribs beneath her ear. “Why did ye not wait for me to make things right?”
“I couldn’t,” she whispered. “I knew she’d get away, and it was my fault I didn’t see how twisted she truly was. She almost killed ye, Owen. I love ye so much, it was as if she stabbed me, too. All that blood. I thought—I thought—”
She felt his gentle hand tilt up her chin, and she saw through eyes blurred with tears that he was regarding her with
sweet tenderness.
“I love ye, too, Maggie,” he said quietly, “more than I ever thought possible.”
She drew in a breath, searching his face with desperate eyes, listening to the beloved brogue of Scotland in his voice. “Ye . . . love me?”
“I do. I don’t deserve your love, but I’m humbled that ye offer it.”
Maggie’s eyes filled with glad tears. “Our love can be the start of a new life, where we celebrate the ways we’ve changed. You’ve changed. Ye sent for the physician!”
A corner of his mouth twitched.
“Ye could say ye were taking care of all possibilities,” she said, “but to me, it felt like ye believed in me.”
“I do, lass, I do. I may never be able to explain or prove the things that’ve happened to ye, but it doesn’t matter. Maybe someday ye’ll tell me about your dreams of our childhood.”
“And that’s not looking for proof?” she chided.
He reared his head back. “Nay, it’s about needing to know everything about ye and experiencing again this connection we’ve had since before we even knew each other.”
She leaned up and kissed him, trying to show all her feelings because words alone didn’t seem enough.
“Maggie,” he whispered against her mouth, then kissed her cheeks and forehead. “Maggie, it scares me how much I love ye. When I knew ye’d left to confront a madwoman on my behalf, it was as if I’d been stabbed again. I can’t lose ye. I can’t lose your smile and your wit, and the way each of life’s experiences is something new to be understood and embraced. Ye tried to protect me, even when it meant risking your life. Your loyalty to your clan was something I never doubted, but you, Maggie, everything ye are—” He broke off, then bowed his head until their foreheads touched. “Ye humble me, lass.”
She was crying again, but this time she was smiling, too. “Oh, Owen, how could I have known what we could share? If I’d had a dream about this, I’d have followed ye to England and back until I made ye see that what we have is—is—”
“Like magic,” he whispered against her lips.
She carefully put her arms around his neck and held on. “Aye, like magic, and I promise that we’ll never let it die. I never let myself get too close to anyone, afraid to reveal myself. But you and your family and your household have shown me I’ve been wrong. I’ve made good friends here, and I count your sister as the most important friend yet. I won’t stand on the outside any more, like a coward. I love ye, Owen.”
“I love ye, too, Maggie. I can’t hold back my emotions anymore because they spill out of me every time I see your face. Let me show ye how I feel.” He began to stand and move toward the bed.
“Nay, that won’t be happening.” She planted her feet on the floor and refused to be budged.
“But we missed our wedding night,” he said with indignation.
She chuckled. “Lucky ye are that we already had it, and it was so powerful that we made a babe. Now go lie down and recover.”
“Woman, I’ll have ye know—”
“I didn’t say ye’d be recovering all alone in that big bed.”
He blinked at her. “Well then. I do believe I’ll need to be recovering all day long.”
Laughing, she took his hand and led him to their marriage bed, which she planned to put to good use for many years to come. Just not today.
EPILOGUE
That night, safe within her husband’s arms, Maggie dreamed. Their future came vividly to life, the five children she would bear, a mix of girls and boys. She saw Owen giving lectures in Edinburgh, saw herself at his side, discussing their research, involving their children, teaching a love of learning and science that would extend for generations and produce great minds who solved scientific mysteries that had once seemed like only superstition or magic.
But it was their obvious love and respect for each other that molded their children, that provided the safety and security for exploration of the mind and of the soul.
And when Maggie awoke, her head pillowed on Owen’s broad shoulder, she smiled a secretive smile, and told herself this was one dream she could show him by living it rather than foretelling it. Although maybe she’d tell him their first child would be a boy . . .
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
After a detour through fitness instructing and computer programming, GAYLE CALLEN found the life she’d always dreamed of as a romance writer. This USA Today bestselling author has written more than twenty historical romances for Avon Books, and her novels have won the Holt Medallion, the Laurel Wreath Award, and the Booksellers’ Best Award, and have been translated into eleven different languages. The mother of three grown children, an avid crafter, singer, and outdoor enthusiast, Gayle lives in Central New York with her dog, Uma, and her husband, Jim the Romance Hero. She also writes contemporary romances as Emma Cane. Visit her website at www.gaylecallen.com.
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ALSO BY GAYLE CALLEN
THE GROOM WORE PLAID
THE WRONG BRIDE
REDEMPTION OF THE DUKE
SURRENDER TO THE EARL
RETURN OF THE VISCOUNT
EVERY SCANDALOUS SECRET
A MOST SCANDALOUS ENGAGEMENT
IN PURSUIT OF A SCANDALOUS LADY
NEVER MARRY A STRANGER
NEVER DARE A DUKE
NEVER TRUST A SCOUNDREL
THE VISCOUNT IN HER BEDROOM
THE DUKE IN DISGUISE
THE LORD NEXT DOOR
A WOMAN’S INNOCENCE
THE BEAUTY AND THE SPY
NO ORDINARY GROOM
HIS BRIDE
HIS SCANDAL
HIS BETROTHED
MY LADY’S GUARDIAN
A KNIGHT’S VOW
THE DARKEST KNIGHT
COPYRIGHT
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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THE GROOM WORE PLAID. Copyright © 2016 by Gayle Kloecker Callen. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
EPub Edition MARCH 2016 ISBN: 9780062268013
Print Edition ISBN: 978-0-06-226800-6
First Avon Books mass market printing: March 2016
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