Chapter 18
Margot retired to her chamber and paced around it for a while, trying to work off some of the fierce anger that had been caused by meeting Lachlan Ferguson.
She was used to being looked down on for being English, so much so that any insults or innuendoes had long since ceased to bother her.
As well as that, most people now knew that insulting Margot Tewsbury was an exercise in humiliation because she always gave as good as she got—and more.
However, something inside her had instinctively hated Eileen’s brother since the first moment she saw him, a visceral reaction that was a mixture of anger and revulsion.
His snide derogatory remarks had hit home, not because they had been aimed at her, but also at two of the best people she knew, and she hated bullies with a passion.
Margot gave a deep, irritated sigh before she turned and saw Juliet’s letter lying on her desk. She had read it twice already, but now she picked it up again so that she could once more rejoice in Eliza’s good fortune.
Dear Margot,
I am glad to tell you that Eliza is safe, well, and married to Laird Duncan Sinclair, whom she tells me is the best and most handsome man she has ever seen.
She assures me she is deeply in love and the best news of all is that she is expecting a baby! I am so glad to hear you are safe and well, and rest assured that things here are no better or worse than they were when you left. I think of you every day and I love and miss you, my dear sister.
Your own,
Juliet
Margot smiled as she read the short message again. She decided that she would write to both Eliza and Juliet at once to reassure them that all was still well with her, but just as she sat down at her desk a firm, loud knock sounded at the door.
A guard dressed in the livery of the Ferguson Clan was standing outside her chamber holding out a sealed letter. “I was told tae give this tae ye urgently, mistress,” he said, then bowed and strode away.
Margot tore the seal off the missive straight away, and read,
Meet me at the village within the hour.
— Eliza
Margot read the note one more time to make sure she was not mistaken, since the writing was a hasty scrawl and quite hard to decipher. How had Eliza found out where she was? Perhaps Juliet had sent her a letter as well.
Without another second’s thought she threw on her cloak. But why on earth was Eliza here at Kilmuir? Was she in trouble? Margot’s heart leapt at the thought, but she told herself to be cautious until she knew more. As soon as she was ready, she ran to the stables.
Just as she reached the small dark corridor that led into the stalls, a heavy hand snaked out and clamped over her mouth.
Her first reaction was to scream, but the hand muffled the sound, and before Margot could do anything else, a searing pain shot through her skull as something hard and heavy hit the back of her head.
She remembered no more as darkness descended, blotting out everything before her eyes.
Callum was slicing the venison on his plate in unaccustomed silence, trying to think of Margot, partly to block out the constant drone of Lachlan Ferguson’s voice, but mostly because he loved the memory of having her in his arms. He shifted uncomfortably as his body stiffened at the very thought of her.
Lachlan Ferguson seemed to have temporarily forgotten about the matter of the betrothal, since his conversation had shifted to the weather and the land, the subjects Callum had been trying to divert him with earlier.
“Did you have a good harvest this year?” he asked as he sipped one of Callum’s best wines.
Callum shrugged. “Average,” he replied. “The rye and barley both gave good yields, but I lost a few sheep to scrapie, although fortunately, we managed to stop it from spreading.” Scrapie was a very infectious disease that could wipe out whole flocks of sheep.
He looked across the table at Eileen, who was unnaturally pale and pushing her food around her plate without eating it.
She looked utterly miserable: Callum could not blame her, and felt extremely sorry for her.
She had been forced into the betrothal not only by a sense of duty to her clan, but by the bullying of her brother.
He felt thankful that he had no meddling family members to interfere with his wants and needs, but the problem still loomed before him like an elephant in the room.
He had to settle the matter of the betrothal before Ferguson left the next day, but it seemed that Eileen’s brother now wanted to completely ignore the subject.
This made Callum extremely suspicious, especially since Lachlan had told him he left all his estate matters to his steward, and as he listened to the other man, his wariness strengthened as his determination grew.
He would rather not be related to this disgusting specimen of humanity.
At last, after what seemed like a month, the meal ended and Lachlan sat back in his chair, wiping his hands with his napkin.
“You have a very good cook,” he remarked with unusual politeness.
“Thank you,” Callum replied, surprised. He suddenly had an awful feeling of foreboding as Lachlan smiled at him.
“I will be waiting for the wedding announcement,” he said, and this time the apparent civility in his tone was laced with spite. “I hope it will be soon.” He began to try to get to his feet, but Callum’s dark, unwavering stare pinned him to his seat.
Callum stood up and leaned across the table so that he was almost nose-to-nose with Ferguson, and his deep voice throbbed with anger as he said, “You will be waiting a very long time, Ferguson. There. Will. Be. No. Wedding.” He said the words slowly and deliberately to add emphasis. “Do I make myself clear?”
Lachlan, however, did not cower or seem at all intimidated. He gave Callum a slow, derisive smile. “Perhaps you will change your mind soon,” he said, before he rose and gave Eileen a swift hug.
Before Callum could demand an explanation of his cryptic comment, Lachlan left, with one backward glance at Callum that sent a shiver down his spine.
Eileen had seemed sad and fearful during their meal, but now her face was a mask of rage. “Sometimes I wish I were a man,” she said bitterly. “I would kill him with my bare hands.”
Callum put an arm around her shoulder. “I know how you feel, Eileen,” he said, “but we are better people than he is, and we will solve this problem peacefully.”
Lachlan strode into the courtyard. The guard who had delivered the letter to Margot walked up to him and saluted him respectfully.
“Is it done?”
“Aye, M’Laird, they are seein’ tae it now.”
Ferguson gave a slow, satisfied smile. “This will teach a Sassenach to mess with Lachlan Ferguson,” he said, chuckling. “Get my horse.”
The guard hurried away to do his bidding and Ferguson stood smiling to himself as he contemplated what he was about to do next. There was nothing he liked more than taking revenge on those who had wronged him, and this Englishwoman was going to be very, very sorry!
When his horse was brought, he summoned two guards, and they rode away into the night. Ferguson laughed with dark glee as he anticipated the humiliation he was going to inflict on the Englishwoman who had tried to get in his way.
Margot regained consciousness with a sudden jolt, her head pounding with excruciating agony, but when she tried to move her hand to rub her forehead, she found that she was unable to.
Because she had not quite come back to her senses, it took her a moment to realise why, but when she did, she gave a gasp of pain and horror.
Her hands were tied behind her back with rough rope that was chafing her skin, and she was bound so tightly that her palms were almost numb. All around her was the foul stench of rotten straw, mice, and animal faeces.
Margot let out a groan of pain, then heard a low snigger coming from the half-dark in front of her. She looked up to see Lachlan Ferguson approaching, then he sat down on a tree stump and fixed her with a wide, malicious grin.
Margot had thought it was a pity that Ferguson was not an ugly man because he was so hideous inside. However, now his true nature was being shown in its full disgusting shape by the repulsive expression on his face.
She was lying in a pile of filthy straw and could feel nesting mice moving around her, making her feel nauseous.
Margot might have cowered backwards in fear, but her rebellious nature came to her rescue just in time, and she stared relentlessly back at Lachlan Ferguson.
She had beaten him at this game once before, and she did so again as he looked down to take out a hip flask of whisky from his jacket, avoiding her eyes.
He took a large swallow, then, to her surprise, he held it out to her. “If you want some I will help you,” he offered, nodding at her bound hands while he gave her a snide grin.
“I want nothing from you!” Margot snapped. Her fear had disappeared and been replaced by a searing rage. “Especially not anything your disgusting mouth has touched.”
“I was trying to be a gentleman,” Ferguson said sarcastically. “I thought the whisky might help with the pain in your head.”
“My head would feel much better if I were not looking at your ugly face,” Margot spat, glaring at him.
Ferguson threw back his head and laughed heartily at her words, but when he looked back at Margot his eyes were as hard as flint, and his voice was throbbing with pure hatred. “I am nothing if not a merciful man, wee Sassenach. You will not have to look at it for much longer, I promise you.”
He stood up and took a step towards her, and this time Margot had to tilt her head back to look at him, which put her at a disadvantage. She wished her hands were free, and she had a club or a heavy rock to hit him with, but she was utterly defenseless.
He thrust his face so close to Margot’s that their noses were almost touching.
“You have interfered with all my careful plans,” he told her.
“I have had Callum Mackintosh in my sights for years. He is ideal for Eileen—wealthy, handsome, with all the social connections I could wish for. But then you came along. Do you think I am blind, woman? I see the way he looks at you; he is utterly besotted. But Eileen and Callum will make an ideal couple, and you will not stand in their way. Do you know why?”
Margot tilted her chin up defiantly. “No, but I am sure you are going to tell me,” she replied, her tone scathing. “You seem to enjoy talking about yourself and your plans.”
Ferguson laughed again. “You think you are really clever, do you not, Sassenach?” he asked as he sat down again.
He stared at Margot for a moment then looked away. He took another sip of whisky and gifted her with another evil smile.
“Let me tell you what my plan is,” Ferguson said as he leant forward, leaning his elbows on his knees and steepling his hands. He paused for a moment to draw out the tension. “At this moment two of my men are outside digging your grave.”
Margot’s heart leapt in horror and fear, and this time, despite all her willpower and defiance, she could not hide her emotions, which showed in her wide eyes and sudden gasp of terror.
Looking at Lachlan Ferguson’s triumphant, sadistic expression, Margot knew her fate was sealed.
“If you are a woman of faith, Sassenach,” he said, chuckling, “I suggest you start praying.”
It took Margot only a moment more to recover her spirit, however. If she were going to die, she would not go quietly, but go down fighting, and if she possibly could, she would take Lachlan Ferguson down with her.