“And why would you do that?”
“Perhaps I understand, one woman to another, how it feels to be powerless over our fates. It isn’t right. There should be more justice.”
Margaret now saw Dara in a new light. The woman had experienced few choices in her life, and, of course, she would assume that it would be the same for Margaret.
“Thank you, Dara. That is considerate of you.” Margaret wasn’t certain she meant those words.
“I’m not being considerate. According to Rowlly, you are most fortunate to be alive,” she answered. “We have some responsibility for that. If you do decide to return to London, I shall help you make your escape. Your brother is quite ill, is he not? I would think you would want to be with him.”
She did. Dara knew what argument to use.
“And I would hate to see you forced to do anything against your will,” Dara said. “We, women, are honest in our emotions. Men can be expedient.”
Dara’s suppositions found their mark.
For all her poise, deep inside Margaret was a place that was very vulnerable. Perhaps it came from an excess of pride, as many had suggested.
Or perhaps it was because she was already in love with the laird of the Macnachtan.
In love. Margaret immediately rejected the notion. She had always sworn she didn’t understand what the words meant. Her parents hadn’t been in love. Neal and Harry were both “in love” and she thought they were fools. Love would cost them their lives.
And yet, Heath Macnachtan was not like any other man of her acquaintance.
But what if, like most men who had wooed and courted her, he did see her only as a commodity? What if he had made love—there was that word again!—to her for no other reason than what Dara suggested, that he wanted to trap an heiress in marriage?
What if, like Mark, he was not the man she thought he was?
If that was true, her first instinct should be to run, to take Dara up on her offer of helping her return to London. But there was more at stake now than just her pride. She’d come to Loch Awe to save her brothers. She couldn’t leave until it had all played out. Owl’s presence was a sign there was more to come.
Besides, she had too much sense to fall in love with anyone, let alone the Laird of the Macnachtan.
“I appreciate your offer, but I should wait for Rowan to improve,” Margaret said.
“Such loyalty to a servant is to be commended,” Dara answered. “Although you needn’t worry. We’d see to his welfare until you can make arrangements. You could leave on the morrow.”
“Are you planning on leaving, Lady Margaret?” Anice’s voice said. She’d caught the tail end of the conversation and now circled her horse around to join them.
Dara gave her a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “She plans on leaving eventually. I was explaining that she didn’t have to make her plans in advance. We are happy to help.”
“Yes,” Anice agreed, readily accepting Dara’s explanation. “Of course, we would help.”
Heath heard what they were saying. Anice’s voice always carried. His back stiffened but he didn’t turn around. He seemed to have decided that since she was determined to ignore him, he would ignore her.
Margaret didn’t know how she felt about that.
However, he did set his horse off at a trot, and all the others started trotting with him. It was an effective way to end all discussion and to keep her mind on her riding.
Within the half hour, they reached Marybone.
Heath reined in his horse in front of the house. “Rowlly, see to Admiral.”
“Aye, Heath.”
Heath jumped down, threw the reins toward Rowlly, and started to help the women dismount, beginning with Dara.
Margaret didn’t wait for him but dismounted herself. Her intent was to seek the solace of her room. She needed to think clearly and she realized she couldn’t do so with Heath around.
As she started up the front step, he called out. “Lady Margaret,” he said, “I need a word with you.”
“Perhaps later,” she replied, already moving into the house.
“No, now,” he answered in a tone that brooked no disobedience. “Laren, Lady Margaret and I would appreciate baths. It was a long night. Will you see that Cook heats water, and have the stable lads carry Lady Margaret’s bathwater upstairs for her?”
“Of course,” Laren answered.
Margaret had not obeyed his command to stop. She moved toward the stairs. If she didn’t look back, if she ignored him, he would be forced to leave her alone.
She was wrong.
Just as she climbed the third step, strong hands took hold of her waist. Before she knew what she was about, she found herself physically deposited over Heath’s shoulder.
She didn’t know who was more surprised, she or Laren, Anice, Dara and anyone else a witness to this indignity.
Margaret grabbed hold of his jacket, thinking to pull herself off his shoulder. He hefted the shoulder, repositioning her, and marched down the hall. Before she could think to do anything, he walked into the library, kicked the door shut and set her on her feet.
In the time it took her to regain her balance, his arms came around her and he kissed her.
This kiss was an order, a demand, an insistence. She kissed back, her lips hard to let him know her resistance, her own independence . . . and then softening in her desire.
Yes, even though she was furious at him, she still enjoyed kissing him.
Their kiss came to an end when they were both mellow enough to think.
“One moment,” he whispered, and turned back to the door. He opened it to reveal Laren and Anice eavesdropping. They appeared scandalized to be caught and quickly hurried off. He shut the door. “Sisters,” he said with a shake of his head before leaning back against the door and considering her.
Margaret raised a hand to her kiss-swollen lips. She liked the feeling of them.
“Why didn’t you wait for me back in Innis Craggah before you joined the others?” he asked.
She shifted her weight. “I thought you were gone.”
“No you didn’t,” he said, reading her correctly. “Why didn’t you want to wait for me, Maggie?”
She moved toward the desk, placing it between them.
“Why did you leave?” he pressed.
“Because I didn’t want you to think you owed me anything.” She held her head high. It took some effort.
“You know we must talk about last night,” he said.
“No, we don’t. There is nothing to discuss.” She spoke firmly, but perhaps too quickly. Here was what Dara had predicted and she didn’t want to think that he did not have strong feelings for her beyond lust. “I know what you are going to say. You are going to offer marriage. You are an honorable man. You feel duty-bound to make an honorable offer. You may do so. Know that I will reject it.”
“What?” he said, as if he hadn’t heard her correctly.
“I will reject it,” she assured him. “I know what you must do and you should know I don’t consider you accountable for what happened between us last night.”
“You have churned everything over in that mind of yours, haven’t you?” he said.
“I just know what is coming and I don’t want you to say the words. I don’t want to embarrass you by refusing you.”
He sat on the end of the desk, his expression one of confused disbelief. “Maggie, what are you talking about?”
“You,” she said. “I’m explaining to you that you don’t need to offer to marry me. I will not accept your proposal.”
“Well, that is comforting,” he replied. “Are you also going to share with me why you will refuse this offer I have not made yet?”
She had expected him to be angry. Instead, he sounded more bemused.
And then she realized she really had no reason to withhold the truth. Heath would not betray her trust as others would. If anything, he probably knew her secret.
“I can’t accep
t your offer,” she said, a tightness forming in her chest. She kept her chin up. “Because you have not compromised me in any form. I am not a virgin.”
There it was. The truth.
She discovered it a bit freeing to confess aloud her shame and she braced herself for his censure.
Instead, he answered, “I’m not, either.”
Margaret frowned. Perhaps he didn’t understand?
“No one expects you to be pure,” she said. “You are male.”
“Oh,” he said as if with sudden understanding. “You were saying that to make me jealous—”
“I was not. Why would saying something like that make you jealous?”
“Well, because I like you,” he replied, as if it should be obvious. “But if you didn’t say it to make me jealous, perhaps then you were saying it so that I didn’t feel alone. I appreciate that,” he announced, coming to his feet as if she’d done something clever. “I was feeling as if I was surrounded by virgins. It is difficult being the only one who is not one. Then again, Dara is not a virgin,” he continued, as if weighing the merits of the matter, “that is, if my brother did his duty. And I certainly hope my sisters are because that is what brothers should think, no?”
His cavalier attitude was not what she had expected. “Are you mocking me?”
“Yes, I am,” he said.
“I don’t like that.”
“I didn’t believe you would,” he answered. His manner grew serious. “However, perhaps it is about time someone took you off your high horse. You aren’t the only one involved in what happened between us last night.”
But Margaret’s temper, the one she tried carefully to control, took off. “I’ll have you know, sir, that I feared this day when I would feel the need to admit my terrible secret. In my mind, the receiver of such news would castigate me before shunning my presence. I didn’t imagine he would think this a jest.”
“Jest? Yes!” he said with a touch of his own displeasure. “I didn’t have you pegged as someone who would walk off as if I meant nothing.”
Her anger evaporated. “I didn’t walk off.”
“Yes, you did,” he said. “When I returned for you, you were gone and your leaving didn’t have anything to do with the boat arriving, did it? This was all some grand scheme in your mind where you were the tragic heroine and I was what? The actor in a small part who is of no importance? Or is this the way you react whenever anyone grows too close to you? We were very close last night, Maggie. And it was important. It was meaningful.”
For second, Margaret was tempted to storm out of the room—but she didn’t . . . because he was right.
What happened between them had been important, but couldn’t he understand what she was trying to explain? And why it should be important to him, the most amazing man she’d ever met?
“You don’t recognize what I am saying to you,” she said. “In London, there are those who, if they ever found out what I’d done, would ruin me. Society has long memories and unforgiving natures. I’ve trusted you with information I’ve not told another soul. But also,” she continued, “you need to know that I’m not special. I’m not important. You must not see me as someone I’m not.”
Heath moved toward her until they stood almost toe to toe. “What I see is a woman who loves her brothers and her family honor enough to battle demons for them,” he said. “I don’t know the story of your deflowering, and I don’t want to,” he hurried to add. “I’m no saint, Maggie. I can be jealous, but I’m also not the king of France. Purity is not my first consideration for a wife. You see what my sons stand to inherit. Marybone is a sad thing right now but it certainly doesn’t call for the sacrifice of a virgin. What I don’t want is for you to act ashamed of what happened between us last night, because I’m not. I have no regrets.”
He took a step closer to her. “Don’t run from me, Maggie. Don’t ever run from me.”
Margaret had spent years carefully constructing walls around her heart. They started to crumble in the face of his honesty.
“I didn’t run. I was helping you. Heath, you don’t understand the burden of the curse. I’m the first female of my line. We don’t know what will happen with me, with my children. They could carry the curse. Of course, you don’t believe in the curse.”
“I might surprise you,” he said soberly. “This morning I woke to find a wee cat with folded-over ears staring at us.”
“You saw Owl? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You weren’t there when I returned, remember? And I did more than ‘see’ the cat. I touched her. I felt her fur. She wanted me to chase her.”
“So that is where you went. Where did she take you?”
“Back to the graves. My intention was to capture her and bring her back to you so that you could see she was real and not a ghost. But when I reached to pick her up, my hands went right through her.”
“That’s not happened before,” Margaret said. “I’ve always been able to hold her.”
“Perhaps she doesn’t like men?” Heath suggested.
“Or perhaps she isn’t going to be with us much longer.” Margaret walked a few steps past him, thinking furiously. “If she is the reincarnated soul of Rose Macnachtan, then it may be she must return to where she belongs.”
“Why would you believe her to be Rose?” he asked. “Could she not be Fenella?”
Margaret considered the matter a moment and then shook her head. “Fenella would not help us. You heard that man Swepston. Those who believe in the curse think the Chattans should remain afflicted until the end of time. But what if Rose is trying to help us?”
“Then you don’t want her to disappear.”
“Exactly.”
He held up his hands and took a step away. “I can’t believe I’m having this conversation.”
“I can’t believe you saw the cat,” she said. “No one else has seen her save for Harry and . . .” She paused. “His wife first saw the cat. Before Harry did.” She frowned at Heath. “Why do you think Owl has revealed herself to you?”
Before he could answer, there was knock on the door. “We are not to be disturbed,” he barked.
Dara’s voice said, “I must disturb you, Heath. Owen Campbell is here. He said it is urgent he speaks to you.”
Heath’s whole manner changed. Tension straightened his shoulders. His brows came together. “What the devil is he doing here?”
“Who is he?” Margaret asked.
“Someone I don’t want to talk to,” Heath answered.
“And yet you must?”
“And yet I must,” he agreed, his expression grim. He opened the door where Dara waited for him. “Where is he?”
“In the sitting room. Is something the matter, Heath?”
He didn’t answer Dara but turned to Margaret. “We will finish this conversation. And by the by, you may be the first female in your line, but I’m the last male. Perhaps that means something.” He took off with a purposeful step down the hall.
Dara peeked into the library. “What was that about?”
Margaret ignored Dara’s question, asking instead, “Who is this Owen Campbell?”
“He’s a relative of the Duke of Argyll,” Dara said. “I know he’s interested in purchasing Marybone.”
Margaret looked around the cozy library. She liked this house. Yes, parts of the building and most of the furnishings were shabby, but it had good bones and a comfortable air. “Will Heath sell?”
“He may have no choice,” Dara answered with a distracted air. “Excuse me, I must go and find out what I can.” She left.
Margaret stood a moment, and then decided she might want to know more about why Owen Campbell was calling as well.
She waited a few beats, and then followed Dara down the hall. She found Dara with Laren and Anice huddled on the staircase, out of the line of sight of the sitting room but close enough to hear everything.
Margaret joined them.
Chapter Fourteen
Owen
Campbell fancied himself of the Corinthian set. He was a handsome, lean man ten years Heath’s elder. He wore his graying hair in the windswept style, a silly affectation where the hair was combed forward over the brow and ears as if a great wind blew it from behind. The style also hid Campbell’s growing baldness.
Heath didn’t trust a man who spent a goodly amount of time thinking about his hair. Yes, all the young bucks in London were vain but there came an age when a man put a comb through his hair in the morning and didn’t think of it the rest of the day.
Campbell’s hair wasn’t his only pretension. He sported a spur on one highly polished boot just for show. Heath had noticed that single spur even in church. No true horsemen would ride around with one spur. He’d be riding in circles.
It stood without saying that Campbell’s clothes were finely tailored and definitely from London. His greatcoat had no fewer than seven capes, and it must have taken a bevy of tailors to style his breeches just right so that the padding used to fill out Campbell’s manly form would not be noticed.
The man had built his fortune with the East India Company. Heath had met a number of nabobs during his naval career and there wasn’t one whose greed didn’t turn his stomach.
Campbell stood by the fire and as Heath walked into the room, he swept back his elegant coat, placing one gloved hand on his hip as if posing for his portrait. Heath could even imagine the title, “Corinthian Visiting Lowly Country Laird.” Campbell’s hat was on small table by the door and Heath was determined to put it in his hand and direct him out onto the front step as quickly as possible.
He had a conversation to finish with Margaret, and she was far more entertaining and interesting than Campbell.
Campbell smiled his greeting while giving Heath’s rough appearance a critical once-over. “Good of you to see me, Laird.” Campbell didn’t have a title, not even a lowly one like Heath’s, but he would like one.
“You said you have business of an urgent nature?”
“I do.” Campbell’s voice was full of confidence. He walked over to the liquor table that held the decanter of whisky and glasses. He poured himself a healthy measure. “You should be a better host. Always offer your guest something to quench the thirst from the road.”
Cathy Maxwell - [Chattan Curse 03] Page 17