Page 10 of Highlander’s Torn Bride

She marched them out of the house altogether, taking them around the exterior of the house, where a large collection of tables and benches were being assembled beneath a simple, white pavilion. Servants were running between the tables, scattering vases of roses and polished goblets.

“Ann?” Margaret called out, and the woman suddenly appeared, rushing toward them and heading off any other servants who tried to come forward to assist them instead.

“Yes, my lady?”

“Would you please bring Laird Mackay something to eat?”

Ann rushed away while Margaret and Alexander took two seats on the benches. As he sat, Alexander watched Ann rush from the door she had disappeared behind, walk several paces to the left, and then disappear into a different door. Before he could ask if anyone knew where the kitchen was, he noticed Rob and Kenna emerge from the very same doorway, each with a stack of bannocks in hand.

“Why are they here?” Margaret asked, and Alexander turned back to see her staring at him.

“They are the queen’s witnesses to our marriage. They were the queen’s first experiment at matchmaking and forcing political alliances,” Alexander said. “They were ordered to wed just before the Gordon Rebellion broke out in earnest. It worked out for them; they are annoyingly happy. Which, of course, makes the queen happy.”

“How so?”

“Well, since they get along rather well, the queen can be confident that if Lady Kenna ever hears word of another Gordon uprising, she will report it to her husband out of loyalty to him. He, then, will report it to the queen,” Alexander replied, though he felt silly giving the full explanation, for he did not presume to think that she cared about the political forces at work all around them.

“So, they are not witnesses to us, but we are witnesses to them,” Margaret replied, tapping her finger on her arm and staring at the couple with a bit more thoughtfulness.

Her words caught Alexander off guard, for it was far more insightful of a comment than he thought she was capable of. What she said was probably true: by sending the Frasers, the queen was showing Alexander and Margaret what she wanted from them. And, in an instant, Margaret had seen that. She was more formidable than he had thought.

“Who are you, Lady Margaret?” Alexander asked, surprising himself by speaking the question aloud.

“I am sure that you will find me to be exactly the woman you were expecting,” she said with a thin smile, as if that was supposed to reassure him. If only she knew that that had been the one thing he had not wished to hear.

When Alexander had been properly fed on a small lunch of bread and cheese, followed by a delectable pastry stuffed with roasted apples of Ann’s own making, Margaret insisted on bringing him to his room so he could rest. The house had long, winding hallways of unadorned stone and, with no tapestries hung on the walls to absorb the sound, every step they took resulted in an echoed twin. It was an almost eerie sound, one that made Alexander want to look over his shoulder to see if the footsteps had manifested into some sort of haunting behind him. He imagined any ghost in this house would look exactly like Gavin.

He wasn’t sure why he was so on edge, but he could most certainly determine that the reason lay in the silent beauty before him. His eyes roamed her, examining every point where the silk curved around her body, revealing just a hint of what may lay beneath. With a bit of a blush, he realized that he was poised to see more than just a hint soon enough, and that stirred a new feeling in him that attacked the place beneath his kilt. But, before his body could get too carried away, his mind reminded the rest of him of her less savory points; those things which his wandering eyes were refusing to see.

Who the hell was Margaret Gunn? In one breath, a haughty, arrogant noblewoman, and, in the next, an intelligent enigma that was as immovable as a mountain. He wanted nothing more than to glean the truth of her, to dive into her deepest points as one dove into the sea in search of pearls. But she, as she was now, would never let him that far within her, not unless he did something grand to earn him some of her favor.

A simple plan that was made more difficult when it came to the details. He hadn’t ever pursued a woman in earnest, for they had always been the ones pursuing him. But, if they hadn’t come to him so quickly, what could he have done to bring them to his side? What was the commonality between all the women he had known?

“Margaret?”

“Aye?” she responded, just barely turning her head back to him and not slowing her pace in the slightest.

“I would like to provide you with a gift. Just something to commemorate the occasion of our union,” Alexander said, feeling a sudden puff in his chest. Perhaps the harsh lesson taught by women of his past would prove useful.

“Hmm,” she said, her hum a low vibration that was made louder as it reverberated up and down the hall. “As much as I appreciate the offer, I must admit that there is nothing I could ask you to give.”

“There is no need to be coy about it,” he said, rushing forward to step in front of her, stopping her where she stood. “Just tell me what you are hoping for.”

“Tis not being coy if the answer is truly nothing,” she said, her brow furrowing.

“But, it canna be nothing. Women always want something from men.”

“Do we?” she asked, her brow shooting up while she crossed her arms and shifted so that she was leaning her shoulder up against the stone wall. It was a rather unladylike pose, yet it seemed so naturally to come to her that he barely even realized the wrongness of it.

“Aye. Tis why you all jostle for the man with the fattest purse and the tallest castle. Some women prefer something they can hold, like an expensive bauble. Otherwise, something not seen but felt, like some favor or promise of protection or—you ken what I mean. Whatever you wish, though, I’ll be sure to provide.”

“I am afraid I do not have any wish like that, but I will thank you anyway, as you revealing your thoughts on the inner workings of a woman’s mind has proven to be a gift in and of itself. I am otherwise perfectly satisfied.”

“Are women ever satisfied with what they have? Tis my impression that women can never be satisfied, as they must rely on a man to give them everything they desire most,” Alexander said, unsure of why it was that her face was turning so red.

“Well, Laird Mackay, I think you’ll find that I have already taken the things I desire most for myself,” she replied, the echo of each angry word coming back to hit him for a second time.

Alexander’s eyes widened. How was this going so wrong? He had wanted to please her, to willingly surrender to her the one thing that he had never been willing to give any other woman. In his mind, it was a romantic gesture laced with realistic logic and understanding. Yet, here she was, hot-faced and fuming, pulling away from him as no woman ever had. He didn’t like it.