“A house full of guests is hardly the moment for escape,” he said, but she shook her head.
“On the contrary, it is a perfect time, since no one will miss you. I crept out as the guests became drunk, and my father fell asleep at the table. My mother and sister had already retired, and nobody noticed as I made my escape. I took with me only a bundle of food, some money, and a dagger, wrapping myself in a shawl and making for the forest. I knew it would be morning my disappearance would be noticed, and once I was clear of the house, I ran through the trees, never stopping until I couldn’t run a step further,” she said, recalling the terror and danger of that night.
She had run through the darkness, losing herself deep in the forest before daring to stop and catch her breath. It had been very dark, the trees close and forbearing. She had been startled by the hoot of an owl and the rustling of animals, looking nervously through the gloom and imagining danger everywhere.
But no one had followed her, and, as the dawn came, Margaret found herself far from home, finally having made her escape. She had lain down in a dell, beneath a mossy overhang and slept a broken sleep, awoken with a start by the sounds of barking dogs in the distance. She knew it would be her father out looking for her, accompanied by his men. But the sounds were far off, and she made her way deeper into the forest, praying for safe deliverance.
“And ye crossed the border? Despite the dangers, ye knew lurked here? Were ye nae scared? And why would an English woman wish to escape her kind and flee north? Ye would be leapin’ from the cookin’ pot and into the fire, lass. Surely, ye knew that?” Hamish said, his tone still suspicious and questioning.
“I have always loved Scotland, ever since I was a child. You must believe me when I say that I am not like my family. I am a Musgrave in name and not in nature. I spent much of my youth on the borders. I told Rory that it was my parents' farm that was attacked and burnt. It was not, but the memory of such a place was real. As a child, I would play with my dear friend Agatha. Her family lived deep in the forest by a stream, and her father tilled the land and planted vegetables. It was such a happy memory, and I always longed to live there,” she said, remembering fondly the childhood which had seemed so innocent compared to the current world.
It was for that reason she longed to teach the children and help them to learn. She had led such a privileged childhood. Sheltered from the storms of the world outside and the thought of helping other children learn and grow brought joy and gladness to her heart. It made her truly happy, and the thought of losing that pained her deeply. Would Hamish take all this away, simply because she was a Musgrave?
“But what of Rory? How did ye come upon him and Duncan?” Hamish asked.
“I was not as clever as I thought. It was three days after my escape, and I had put many miles between myself and my family home. I had thought myself safer with every passing hour. But how wrong I was to think that. My father would stop at nothing to see me returned home, and his soldiers were patrolling the countryside. It was on the third day that I awoke to a shout from up ahead. I roused myself and ran through the forest, but the soldiers had already spotted me through the trees,” she said, her heart beginning to race at the memory of that fateful day.
“But they attacked Rory and Duncan, nae ye,” he said, shaking his head, as though he did not fully understand her explanation.
“I hid again, watching as they emerged onto the path, which leads to Lanercost. It was then to my horror that I saw Rory and Duncan walking along. I knew my father’s soldiers would surely kill them. They are murderous men and would think nothing of doing so. I prayed that Rory and Duncan would take shelter, but Rory is too bold and stepped forward for the fight. I had with me the dagger, and I knew well enough how to use it. It was not difficult to see one of the soldiers perish, and then the others tried to flee. But as I approached Rory and Duncan, I was suddenly overcome with the full horror of what had occurred. You know the rest,” Margaret said, letting out a deep sigh.
“Aye, I know the rest, well, most of it. Tis’ a tale and make nay mistake,” he said, his eyes still fixed sternly upon her.
“One you do not believe?” she asked, and he shook his head.
“I believe that the Musgraves are a wicked and treacherous family and one I have nay desire to be a part. I am glad I never married into it, and I can see why ye yerself would wish to escape them. But I still cannae understand why ye came north to Scotland when ye could have gone in a dozen other directions,” he replied.
“I was making for the Highlands, but I find myself here with you and the others. I had hoped I could hide here in plain sight. No one knows me, except for you, and so it seems that the choice is yours now, Hamish. What will you do? Will you make an example of me and tell the Laird the truth? Do you still believe me to be a spy, intent upon sticking a dagger into your backs while you sleep?” she asked.
It angered her to think that Hamish believed such things about her. She had no evil intentions in her heart; all she wished for was to be rid of the Musgraves and leave her lineage behind. She would have been happy as the poorest of peasants, living amid the beauty of the Highlands. But now, she found herself in the Elliots’ company, and all Margaret longed for was the peace and safety of anonymity.
“I will ask ye what yer intentions towards Rory are,” he replied, and Margaret felt her cheeks blush, even in the coolness of the autumn moonlight.
“My intentions? I do not doubt that you spied our kiss across the gardens; is it not obvious that we care for one another? I do have feelings for him. Feelings that run deep and which I know are reciprocated. You do not know the entire truth, Hamish. I did not want to feel like this for Rory. I resisted as long as I could. I knew that if it were discovered who I truly am, the hope of anything more between us would be dashed. You have that power over me now, Hamish. How will you use it?” she asked, fixing him with a determined gaze.
He paused for a moment, as though considering his next move, before shaking his head and smiling at her. She barely knew him, though she had respected him when he had come to the home of her parents and sister. He had not been like so many other men, men who spoke in coarse and vulgar terms, men who sought only her affections through lewd and ungracious talk, men who thought they could possess her merely by their existence and rank.
She had been happy for Isabella at first, though she had known that Hamish was allowing himself to be taken in by a woman of subtle and terrifying charms. Her sister was scheming and manipulative, a woman who no man nor woman should cross if they wished to remain safe from danger. To marry Isabella would have been like stepping into a lion’s den, and Margaret knew how much Isabella hated Hamish and desired to see revenge enacted upon him.
“Dae ye love, Rory, Margaret?” Hamish asked, and Margaret blushed.
She had spoken only of her feelings for Rory to him and him alone. She had no confidant. The closest woman to her was Evie, and even she was merely an acquaintance, for they had hardly known one another long enough to class themselves as friends. Rory was her intimate, and the most she had told him was that she cared for him and possessed feelings beyond that of friendship.
Did she love him? It was the strongest of words. But the thought was a happy one. As the days and weeks had gone by, her feelings towards Rory had grown. She did love him, that much she could admit to herself. She had never been in love, not with any man, and she doubted that any man had ever been in love with her. Margaret, always eclipsed by the haunting image of Isabella, for who many men had the eye, but few admitted.
“I do,” she said, knowing that it was foolish to hide anything from Hamish.
It was his decision that happened next. He could expose her as a Musgrave, and she would be told to leave Kirklinton at once, or worse thrown into the dungeons. Or he could keep her secret and allow her to remain happy and in love. He had that power, and it overwhelmed her.
“Then ye must tell him,” Hamish replied.
“Tell him what? That
I love him or that I am a Musgrave?” she asked, and he nodded.
“Everything, Margaret. For if ye daenae tell him, then I shall. I cannae keep yer secret. When it is discovered that ye are Isabella’s sister, and it will be sooner or later, whether I tell or nae, then they shall ask if I knew. They will know that I knew, Margaret,” he said, his voice now worried, realizing his potential jeopardy.
“You place me in a difficult position, Hamish. No one needs to know. The Elliotts have no idea that I am a Musgrave,” Margaret said.
How could she possibly tell Rory the truth? He could not love her if he knew the truth. He would surely banish her back across the border, and she would be forced to marry Thomas Mackley.
“And when tis’ discovered that ye are Isabella’s sister, then we shall both find ourselves in trouble. They already speak of yer strange accent and yer learnin’ and education. ‘Tis’ nay peasant’s daughter that,’ they say, and they are right. Ye are the daughter of our most sworn enemies. A lass who we are duty-bound to despise. I am givin’ ye a chance, Margaret. Tell Rory the truth, and perhaps things shall be well for ye. Tis’ a convincin’ enough story ye tell,” Hamish said.
“It is the truth,” she said.
She wanted to cry out, to plead with him, and to tell him how foolish he sounded. Would he make her suffer only for his gain? But she knew that he was a good man, for any man who rejected Isabella must surely see the truth of her wickedness.
“Then tell Rory, Margaret. Tell him this truth and tell him how ye truly feel. If ye dae love him, then ye will, and if he loves ye, then he will accept ye for who ye are. Daenae forget, there was a time when the McBrydes and the Elliotts were sworn enemies too. If it had nae been for Evie and me bein’ determined to love one another, that divide would still exist, and we would all be the worse for it,” Hamish said, and turning on his heel, he marched off across the garden.
Margaret wiped the tears from her eyes, wrapping the shawl tightly around her and swallowing her emotions. In Rory’s arms, she had felt safe and happy. But now, she knew that such happiness was only an illusion. It could so easily be destroyed with one word from Hamish.
Would he go at once to the Laird and tell him everything? It seemed he had considered himself generous in giving her time to tell Rory the truth. But how much time would he give her? Was she to go at once to him and admit the truth? Or could she remain in the perfect happiness felt only moments before their confrontation? Now, that happiness seemed gone, and all she could imagine was the anger on Rory’s face when he discovered the truth of who she was and the lies she had told.
She let out a deep sigh, confused as to what to do and when to do it. Hamish had been clear in his ultimatum, but would he betray her? He had nothing to lose and everything to gain from it, she was in his power, and she knew it. Fresh tears rose in her eyes, and she made her way across the garden, pausing by the gate and looking up into the sky above.
A shooting star passed overhead, its brightness lighting up the garden for a moment. The shadows seemed long and foreboding, closing in and taking her breath away. She startled, the full force of her emotions now flooding through her as she sank back against the gate and began to weep.
It shouldn’t be like this; she had allowed herself to become embroiled too readily in the affairs of the Elliotts. She thought of running away, but such an action would only serve to prove Hamish right, even when he was wrong. She was no spy, no traitor, no collaborator. She loved Rory dearly, and the events of that night had only served to show that. If she did not love him, then perhaps she could have made her escape and traveled far into the Highlands for safety.
But Margaret loved Rory, and he loved her. If he discovered the truth, that would change, surely it would. But it would be she that told him, not Hamish, of that, she was certain. Wiping the tears from her eyes, she turned and opened the gate, just as a noise behind startled her.
It was the sound of rustling in the leaves, as though someone or something had just moved in the shadows. She strained her eyes, but in the darkness, she could see nothing. No further sounds came, only the gentle breeze blowing across the garden. She did not call out, but instead turned tail and fled, not stopping until she was back inside the safety of the keep.
“Ah, Margaret, I thought ye had gone to bed,” Isla said, emerging from the doors of the great hall.
“I have a slight headache, I took a little air in the courtyard” she replied, turning her face away, lest Isla should see the fear in her eyes and the tears on her face.
“Will ye nae come and dance the final jig? Rory would like to dance with ye, I am sure,” Isla asked, but Margaret shook her head.
“Nay, I must go to my bed,” she said, hurrying past Isla and upstairs.
She did not stop or look back until she was safely in her chambers, the door locked behind her, and, having checked under the bed and the wardrobe for any intruders, she lay down to sleep. It was a restless and broken night for Margaret, her mind filled with thoughts of Hamish’s words and the threats he had made towards her. She could not despise him, for he thought only of his family’s safety, and yet she knew herself to be telling the truth, even if it would be her downfall.
All I want is to remain here, she said to herself, as she rolled onto her side and closed her eyes, willing herself to sleep, all I want is happiness.
Chapter Sixteen
Rory was disappointed when his mother informed him Margaret had returned for some air in the courtyard but had not wished to dance. None of the other women at the feast were of interest to him, and despite the best efforts of several, he made no moves to dance. He had eyes only for Margaret, and it was with her that he wished to dance.
He found his father in good spirits and wishing only for his presence so that he might make a toast to the clan. It puzzled Rory why Hamish had been so persistent, and it puzzled him further why it took his brother in law so long to return from escorting Margaret to her chambers.
“Where have ye been? Is Margaret all right?” he asked Hamish, and his brother in law nodded.
“Aye, I saw her safely back to her chambers. She complains of a headache or some such thing. She is away to her bed now,” he replied, and Rory had been puzzled since he thought Margaret happy in his company.
But he had not pressed the issue, choosing instead to dance with Evie as Hamish had gone to speak with the Laird. He watched Caitlin dance with Hector, grateful that his once jealous thoughts were replaced by little more than indifference. His heart had once been so enamored by her that it had taken years to see beyond his love. In Margaret, he had found the woman to put an end to his youthful fancies for Caitlin, a passion he should have quashed long ago, given her failure to respond.
His mood dropped as the evening continued. But his father remained in good spirits, offering loyal toasts to the clan and congratulating his men on their victories, victories now long past.
Rory left before the feast came to an end, causing his father to call out angrily that he was setting a poor example to the rest of the clan. But Rory did not care, and shut himself away in his chambers, longing for Margaret at his side. The kiss they had shared had been a perfect moment, one he would remember for the rest of his life. His feelings were deepening by the moment, and he fell asleep, imagining her in his arms, their lips pressed tightly together.
It was that image with which awoke, and lay in the stillness of his chambers, picturing Margaret at his side. He imagined her soft skin against his body, the taste of her lips, and caress of her hands. How beautiful she was, how delightful. Until now, he had barely allowed himself to think such thoughts, believing them to be futile and unsure of whether she would reciprocate his feelings.
But now, he was sure of her feelings towards him and allowed his mind to wander, his longings to arouse. He would seek her out that morning, and perhaps they would walk together again in the woodlands by the pool. There, they would share a kiss and possibly more. He imagined her slipping into the waters of the
pool and beckoning him to join her, their passions aroused in the place where his boyhood dreams had lain unfulfilled.
Then I cannae lie here all day, he thought to himself, smiling as he rose and pulled on his tunic.
The sun was shining over the moorlands, and despite the autumnal month, it was still warm. He could see his father’s soldiers on the battlements and hear the whinnying of horses in the stable. It was another ordinary day at Kirklinton, but in his heart, Rory felt as though everything had changed.
No longer was Margaret the distant object of his affections, but instead the recipient of them. He longed to be in her presence, and quickly dressed and made his way downstairs in search of her.
It was his mother whom he encountered first, emerging from the great hall, followed by Evie and Hamish. She smiled at him, as the other two nodded, though Rory could not help but notice the strange look which his brother in law gave him, a look of worry and concern.
“Ye should have stayed later with us last night, Rory. What wonderful celebrations we enjoyed,” Isla said, and Evie nodded.
A Highlander Marked by Fate: Scottish Medieval Highlander Romance (Highlanders of Kirklinton Book 3) Page 15