The Groom Wore Plaid: Highland Weddings (12 page)

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.”

C
HAPTER
7

I
t 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.

O
WEN
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.”

“But your sister was to leave us to marry. Bringing a McCallum here might have changed things.”

And there was nothing to deny about that. Maggie had changed everything—including his plans to choose his own wife, someone perfect for him. What those “perfect” characteristics might have been, he’d never had the chance to narrow down. But he was a logical man, and having regrets wasn’t logical. He’d
made his choice, and the rest of the Duffs would just have to accept it.

“Have you made certain the patrols will pay particular attention to such out-of-the-way places in the future?” Owen asked.

Harold nodded. “I’ll have another discussion. This will not happen again. But will we be able to find the culprit?” He spread his massive hands and shrugged.

Owen didn’t like such uncertainty. He was the chief, his people’s protector. Someone out there was determined to cause problems, and Owen had to be the one to stop it. He wouldn’t have Maggie in danger. Just the thought made something cold and ugly settle deep in his chest, and he didn’t bother to examine it too closely.

T
HAT
evening before dinner, Maggie prepared herself carefully, choosing her plainest gown and watching as Kathleen wrinkled her nose but said nothing. The lace “decorating” the stomacher looked as if a five-year-old had sewn it on, and after the maid had gone, she’d carefully ripped the hem. She pulled a few strands of her hair out of its neat chignon, loosened the laces of the bodice, and strategically placed several folded petticoats inside as if she was gaining weight. She looked at herself in the standing mirror and had to grin.

In the great hall, she saw Owen glance at her, then glance again, but he displayed no emotion. To her dismay, he put on a show before his clan, kissing
her hand and leading her in triumph to the dais. She was prominently on display, the subject of wide-eyed stares. She hoped Owen felt embarrassed, even if only secretly.

She also couldn’t help wondering who in the crowd had been with Gregor, wanted her gone, perhaps was even setting fires to gain Owen’s attention.

Maggie pointedly set her law book down on the table beside her plate and saw Owen look at it, then at her. After giving him a polite smile, she put her head down and began to read, painstaking though it sometimes was.

At one point, Harold came and said something quietly to Owen, then left the dais again.

Maggie frowned and tried to keep her nervousness hidden. “Is something the matter? Is it another fire?”

He arched a brow, then said with obvious reluctance, “It was about the last fire.”

“I was told ye went to see it today.”

“There are no secrets among the clan,” he said dryly. “You and I have several,” she reminded him.

He ignored that. “There was nothing to see there, and Harold just informed me that although the men searched long and hard, they found nothing to implicate anyone.”

“I wish ye would have told me you were going. I would have come with ye.”

“Assuming I would have permitted it, and I would not have.”

“And why not?” she asked, affronted.

He leaned toward her. “You’re telling me you won’t be my wife. Why would I give you a place at my side?”

“So ye’re punishing me now for telling ye the truth?”

“This isn’t a punishment. If anything, I’m granting you my protection. I won’t risk you being hurt, Maggie.”

“So ye really think the fires are happening because of me.” She wilted a little inside.

“I believe the fires are happening because of
me
and my decision to change the contract. My people do not know me as perhaps they should. The patrols have been increased. It will not be so easy to find a solitary target to burn.”

She regarded him solemnly. “I do believe ye’re trying to make me feel better.”

“I am not.”

“Good, because ’tis unnecessary. I can handle anything that happens here. Since I’m involved, I wish to be told the truth and not kept in the dark.”

“If I deem it safe.”

She groaned and said heatedly, “You are not my father, Owen.”

“No, I am even more important in your life—your future husband.”

“I’ve already said—”

He held up a hand. “Don’t bother saying it again. Now I suggest you finish your meal.”

Darkness had fallen by the time dinner was done, and when she would have retreated to her room, Owen took her arm.

“Come with me to the library,” he said.

Suspiciously, she clutched her law book to her chest, in case he tried to take it from her.

With a sigh, he said, “I have the telescope prepared for you to see the moons around the planet Jupiter.”

Reluctantly, her imagination was captured. “There are moons around Jupiter? I remember ye telling me about the planet long ago.”
When ye were trying to seduce me while lying to me about your betrothed.
“Have ye not changed your tactics to get a woman alone?”

He leaned in and gave her his most seductive smile. She caught her breath, even though she knew he was putting on a show.

“Do you wish to come or not?” he asked.

“I’ll come. I don’t want to make ye seem rejected before your clan.”

“Your concern moves me,” he said dryly.

When he would have straightened, she drew him closer and spoke with a sincerity she hadn’t planned. “It
is
concern, Owen, whatever ye might think. I fear for ye.”

They looked into each other’s eyes for a long moment. And then he shook his head, and the rejection pierced her, though she should be used to it with him.