Chapter 2
Margaret’s feet ached, yet she kept her pace steady. While she was no longer in England, no longer within the confines of Duke Cunningham’s influence, she knew that she had to find somewhere safe to rest her head. She didn’t want to risk her luck with stray Highlanders.
She thought, not for the first time in the last few hours, that she should have asked the couple who allowed her to ride in their carriage until the sun rose to take her to a village.
They’d only promised to keep her from getting caught by bandits, and she hadn’t wanted to take advantage of their kindness.
I’m sure that lying low in the forest here would provide better protection than any place back home. It’s not like the Duke can get me here. He has no idea I’m not in England any longer. I won’t be abducted nor beaten. I’m safe.
Despite her exhaustion, Margaret was giddy with the revelation that she’d managed to escape without Duke Cunningham noticing. It seemed that her plan had worked. She’d succeeded in protecting her family.
Now, the only thing she had to worry about was protecting herself. She’d been blessed not to have encountered another soul, save for the couple, on her journey, but she was not daft.
If she didn’t find somewhere to stay, she was opening herself up to all the horrors she’d heard about in the stories she’d been told.
Thankfully, after a long day of traveling, she spotted a beautiful village. As she hurried forward, the thatched roofs of the stone houses became sharper. Green overflowed from the gardens, and women were milling about outside.
Relief pulsed through Margaret when the grassy road she’d been walking on gave way to well-trodden dirt. She pushed into the town, taking in the homes of the villagers who lived there. A few times, she caught the eye of someone, but they’d looked away quickly.
They can’t know I’m English just by looking at me, can they?
Margaret’s hands rested over the front of her dress, smoothing it slightly, an unfortunate nervous tic of hers. When she looked down, she realized the reason for their gazes was the state of her gown.
It was torn around the hem and spattered with dirt and mud from her travels. She looked as if she were a vagrant though she supposed that was what she was now.
I wouldn’t mind settling here, though. It’s quaint.
With that thought at the forefront of her mind, Margaret set off to find a seamstress. She had traveled light, and her current dress might as well be rags now. Luck seemed to be smiling upon her, for she spotted exactly the kind of storefront she was looking for.
“Aye, lass,” a woman with a warm accent said the second Margaret walked into the shop. “Ye’re in desperate need of some help.”
“I… I am,” Margaret said, her eyes sweeping over the racks of half-sewn dresses and gorgeous fabrics. “My dress got a little torn.”
“It’s more than a wee bit torn,” the woman replied, finally stepping out from behind a dress-form. “It seems as if ye’ve traveled the whole night.”
“You could say that I have,” Margaret said, squeaking when the woman grabbed hold of her wrist.
“And what a bonnie thing ye are,” she continued, tugging Margaret toward the racks of fine silk and soft cotton. “That accent of yers isnae from around here either.”
“Ah, no, it’s not,” Margaret replied, nodding when the seamstress held up a bolt of green fabric.
“Well, we’re glad to have ye. I’m Agnes, and this is me shop,” Agnes said, grabbing hold of her measuring tape. “And what’s yer name, lass?”
“I’m Margaret,” she replied, barely stopping herself before giving her surname. It was best to keep her true identity close. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Agnes gave her a warm smile, reaching around Margaret’s body to measure her slim waist. “So, what brings ye to the Highlands? Mayhap ye’re lookin’ for a husband?”
“Ah, no,” Margaret said, shifting uncomfortably as she tried to come up with a story.
I should have thought ahead. What would Eva say?
“I… I actually wanted to come see the countryside,” she said after a moment, channeling her cousin’s sense of adventure.
“So ye ken nothin’ about what’s happenin’ here in the Highlands, aye?”
Margaret shook her head. Agnes’ eyes lit up, and immediately, she launched into gossip about villagers that Margaret might meet if she chose to stay here. Agnes worked fast and thoroughly, chattering the entire time.
“Ye ken, the McGhee clan’s been scramblin’ since the last Laird passed,” Agnes said, prodding Margaret to make her turn.
She’d been going on about the clan for the last ten minutes, and Margaret felt as if she could write a tome on their history.
“The problem is the current Laird cannae seem to find a woman that’ll satisfy his fancies. ”
“He’s looking to get married?”
“Aye,” she replied. “Though, he’s likely just lookin’ for someone to give him a bairn. Our last Laird died before he had a child. The clan’s eager for an heir. Cannae have one of those without a lady, aye?”
Margaret hummed, but her mind was a whirlwind. Completely unaware of her inattention, Agnes continued to speak, breezing by the bit about the Laird looking for a wife.
Perhaps the two of us could help one another.
It didn’t feel like a feasible possibility, yet she was desperate.
If she were a married woman, she’d be offered protection from Duke Cunningham.
He’d have no reason to go after her family, nor a reason to seek her.
And if Laird McGhee were to take her as his wife, she could shelter him from the hounding of his clan.
Once Agnes was finished with her measurements, she set to work repairing the worst of the tears on Margaret’s dress. Her mouth never stopped moving though Margaret didn’t catch another mention of the Laird she was suddenly interested in.
The more she considered the idea, the better it seemed.
Her apprehension of Highlanders remained, but if she were betrothed to one, they wouldn’t touch her, surely.
And she wouldn’t be a wife with many demands.
Her safety was all she’d ask, and in return, she’d play the part of his betrothed without complaint, fulfilling any duties she was bestowed.
Though I’m not so sure about giving him a child.
“There ye are, lass,” Agnes said as she stood up, resting her hands on her hips as she admired her work. “I admit, it’s nae perfect, but ye look much better now. And I’ll get a rush on yer new gowns.”
“Thank you, Agnes,” Margaret said, glancing down at the patches that the seamstress added. She noted that most of the repairs were nearly invisible. “You’re quite talented.”
“Ye daenae need to flatter me,” she replied though the smile on her face betrayed her joy of receiving the praise. “This is me job, after all.”
“It’s not flattery if it’s the truth,” Margaret insisted, stepping off the raised platform.
Agnes waved the statement away. She gathered the bolts of fabric they’d chosen and grinned at Margaret.
“Now, I work fast, but I willnae have yer gowns finished for a few days,” she said. “Do ye have a place to stay?”
“I don’t,” Margaret admitted. “This was my first stop when I got here. I suppose I value my clothing more than where I’ll sleep.”
The look that Agnes gave her was nearly enough to make Margaret wither away. But after a long moment, she shook her head and said, “Ah, I suppose that’s the English sense of humor. Well, if ye need a place, ye can pop into the inn down the road. Let them ken I sent ye.”
“Thank you again,” Margaret replied, tension leaving her shoulders. “You’ve been more help than you could possibly know.”
“I wouldnae want to give ye the wrong impression of us,” Agnes said. “Now go on, lass. Ye look like ye need a warm bed and a hot meal.”
Margaret gave her a parting curtsey before hustling out the door. As she walked to the inn, she felt bolstered by the formation of her plan. Once she was well-rested and had a dress that hadn’t been worn out by travel, she’d find a way to approach Laird McGhee.
Though perhaps she could have asked Agnes if she knew why the Laird hadn’t yet chosen a woman to marry.