CHAPTER 20
At supper that night, his aunt embraced him and gushed over how he’d saved her son, and the men toasted him until Finn was drunk enough to decide to take his uncle’s advice to try to hold on to Margaret—and drunk enough to believe he had a good chance of succeeding.
Alex told the story about Seamus two or three times, embellishing the tale more each time, as any good Highlander was expected to do. Then Alex told them again about the stag they were tracking when Seamus interrupted their hunt.
“Ye should have seen the size of him!” Alex said. “Finn said we’d go back tomorrow and try to pick up his trail again.”
“I’m sure Finn will get that stag,” Curstag said in her throaty voice. “A brave man can get what he wants.”
Finn hoped so. When he caught Margaret darting glances at him, he smiled to himself. Now that he was the hero of the day, she just might be willing to overlook his shortcomings for another night together. One night could lead to two, and two could lead to more.
True, things had ended badly last night—verra badly—but Margaret had a cautious nature. Perhaps she just needed time to become accustomed to the notion that they would be together.
His thoughts came to an abrupt halt when Margaret rested her hand on his arm. As she leaned close, the light scent of wildflowers from her hair filled his nose. Lord above, he wanted to have her in his arms again, to hear her soft moans when he kissed her breast and—
“Can ye come to our chamber after supper?” she whispered.
“Aye, lass!” He could not help grinning like a fool. She wanted him. He could tell by the way she blushed.
As he followed her up the stairs, he watched the graceful sway of her hips.
He was sorely tempted to pull her sweet bottom against him and kiss her neck, but then he recalled how last night had ended and decided it would be wise to follow her lead.
He was usually good at reading women, particularly in bed.
But if Maggie had shown any sign of distress before bursting into tears last night, he’d missed it entirely—and unlike now, he’d been stone cold sober.
When she closed the bedchamber door behind them, he leaned against the bed, folded his arms to keep from reaching for her, and waited to see what she’d do.
Her delicate features were strained, suggesting she had not slept any better than he had last night.
She held herself very still, revealing in tension.
“Ye did a fine thing today,” she said. “I’m so happy neither you nor Alex was hurt.”
Despite her complimentary words, he had an inkling this conversation might not be leading to the two of them rolling around on the bed. But that was all right. He could be patient. She was worth waiting for.
“No need to be nervous,” he said, glancing at her clenched hands. “’Tis just me.”
“I think it’s best I leave,” she blurted out.
“Leave?” Finn could barely get the word out. “What in the hell do ye mean, leave?”
“I want ye to take me to my sister Sybil’s,” Margaret said. “She’s married to the MacKenzie.”
“Ye never told me ye had a sister with the MacKenzies,” he said, though her failure to mention that was the least of his concerns.
“I didn’t tell ye about Sybil because she’s all the way at Eilean Donan Castle, and I knew ye couldn’t take me before.” Margaret paused and licked her lips. “But now that you’ve proved yourself and the earl is so grateful to ye for saving Alex, I thought—I hoped—ye could take me.”
Her sister. The MacKenzie. His mind was making no sense of the words.
“Are ye leaving me?” he asked.
Finn told himself not to assume the worst, but when she would not meet his eyes, fear like he’d never known on the battlefield clutched at his stomach.
“Ye can hardly call it leaving ye when we’re not truly married,” she said.
“Ye can’t mean it,” he said, gripping her arms. “Look at me and say it.”
When she raised her gaze to his, her brown eyes were damp, but her voice was firm. “I have to go.”
He was suddenly sober—and wished to God he was not. How could she leave him now that he wanted her so much? He’d begun to think she actually cared for him.
“Staying will only make us both miserable in the end,” she said.
“Don’t speak for me,” he bit out. “But if you’re set on leaving, I’ll take ye.”
If she thought he’d beg her to stay, she was mistaken. He’d salvage what little pride he had left. He should not be angry with her, but he was.
He was angry that she did not think he was good enough. Angry that she was not willing to sacrifice a life of servants and fine things to be with him. Angry that she would not give him a chance to prove he could make her happy despite all he lacked.
Her decision may be practical and wise. But it was still wrong.
“I’d take ye right now—tonight, if I could,” he said. “But I need to speak with my uncle.”
“Of course,” she murmured, dropping her gaze to her laced fingers.
“I’m sure he’ll grant me leave to go,” Finn said. “I promised to hunt for that stag with Alex tomorrow. But first thing the next morning, I’ll take you—and Ella.”
It tore at his heart to realize he was losing Ella as well, which made him all the angrier that Margaret would do this. He slammed the door as he left.
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Margaret brushed the tears from her cheeks and pulled the satchel out from underneath the bed. She hated to leave, but the longer she stayed, the harder it would be to go. Finn deserved a woman who could give him many children. He would make such a wonderful father.
She wondered where he slept last night after storming out and slamming the door.
If she stayed, she would spend countless restless nights and long, long afternoons wondering who he was with.
She had no faith she could keep his interest or weather his disappointment when she failed to give him the sons that every man wanted.
Leaving was the only thing she could do.
When she heard the chamber door open, she looked over her shoulder to see Una standing in the doorway with her hands on her hips.
“What are ye doing, lass?” Una asked in a tone that could only be called disgusted.
“I’m packing,” Margaret said, and returned to the task.
“What’s Finn done?” Una asked.
“Nothing.”
“Then ’tis just your own foolishness to blame?”
“Aye.”
“’Tis plain as day ye don’t wish to go,” Una said. “Tell me the reason you’re throwing away what ye want for what ye don’t.”
Margaret shook her head and swallowed back her tears.
“Put on your cloak. I’m taking ye to the spring,” Una said, and turned toward the door. “I’ll fetch Ella from her nap.”
“Why the spring?” Margaret asked, calling Una back.
“To see if I’m right about your future.”
“I don’t understand.” Did the old woman think she was a seer? And what did a spring have to do with it?
“There’s a pool fed by the spring that comes out of a faery hill,” Una said in a hushed voice, though no one could hear them.
“A faery hill?” These Highlanders and their faeries.
“Aye, the faeries come out of the hill to play in the water,” Una said. “If they favor ye, they’ll sprinkle their magic healing dust over ye.”
“If we go, how will I make the faeries favor me?” After all, Margaret could not be sure there were no faeries.
“Ach, do ye know nothing of faeries, lass?” Una shook her head.
Margaret searched her memory for stories her old nursemaid had told her about faeries. “They like shiny things, like silver coins.”
“Aye, though ye never really know with the faeries,” Una said, and then pointed her finger at Margaret. “Just be careful not to insult them, or instead of sprinkling their magic dust, they’ll cause ye to lose your footing in the pool and drown.”
The old woman had been kind to her and her daughter, and this seemed important to her, so Margaret put on her cloak.
As they started down the path along the river, Ella skipped ahead gathering flowers as usual. Seeing how happy her daughter was, Margaret felt guilty for taking her away. Ella was blossoming here, and she’d become attached to Una and Alex—and, of course, Finn.
Ella adored Finn.
Ella came running back, her smile gone, and lifted her arms to be carried. When Margaret looked up the path to see what had frightened her, she saw Isabel kneeling on the ground with a basket, gathering herbs. Margaret could not face the surly woman today.
She and Una exchanged a look.
“We’ll take the other path,” Una said under her breath, and without another word, they changed directions before Isabel saw them.
“Is the spring much farther?” Margaret asked when she noticed Una was leaning heavily on her cane.
“’Tis a bit longer this way,” Una said. “This is the path to my grandson Lachlan’s cottage, but it will take us by the spring.”
A short time later, Una ducked through the bushes beside the trail. Margaret followed, holding Ella’s hand, down a gentle slope shrouded in greenery
“’Tis lovely!” Margaret gasped when they pushed through the last tall bushes to find the dark pool with white and pink water lilies floating on the surface.
Margaret could imagine little winged faeries leaping from lily to lily. Whether it was truly magical or not, it was a beautiful, restful spot.
Una placed a small silver coin on a flat rock among the reeds at the edge of the pool.
“Do we have a gift for the faeries?” Ella looked up at Margaret expectantly.
Una had been filling Ella’s head with stories of faeries since they met, and Margaret did not want to disappoint her. Besides, if faeries did exist, this was a place they would be—and Margaret could not afford to offend them.
In her former life, she had more silver jewelry than she could ever wear—combs, brooches, necklaces, bracelet, rings. Even the box she kept them in was made of silver. She removed the bag of onyx from her belt, picked out two small shiny pieces, and gave one to Ella.
“We have no silver or sparkling trinkets to give you,” Margaret called out, facing the pond. “Instead, we brought bits of magical stone imbued with a mother’s love.”