Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
The entire manor fell silent. All Margo could hear was the furious rush of blood in her ears and Eleanor’s gasping cries that she was desperately trying to stifle. Laird MacLeod’s eyes were locked on Margo.
Clearing her throat, in perfect Gaelic, her accent carefully constructed by her mother’s instruction, Margo said, “Pòs mi. Tha i ro òg.”
Marry me. She is too young.
The surprise on the Laird’s face would have been amusing in any other situation. Almost as quickly as it appeared, the surprise faded. Then, in Gaelic, he asked, “Where did ye learn to speak like that?”
“Mo mhàthair,” Margo replied, unable to hide her pride.
“What are you saying?” her father demanded, his face twisting the same way it did when her mother was teaching her the language. “Do not have conversations in front of me that I cannot understand.”
“I will take her,” Laird MacLeod said, his tone sharp and clipped.
In her arms, Eleanor went slack. Another helpless sob came from her, her hands gripping onto Margo’s dress. Margo patted her back, trying to calm her cries.
“Excellent!” their father said, completely uncaring toward his daughters’ distress. “Come into my study. We will draw up the agreement.”
As the large, brutish Highlander followed her father down the corridor flanked by two of his men, he stopped to murmur something she could not hear to one of the guards nearby. Then, after he and her father disappeared, the guard looked at her and said, “Prepare yer bags for the journey.”
“No,” Eleanor whispered, though she did nothing to stop Margo from walking the two of them into her bedroom. Once they were alone, she cried, “You cannot go! You cannot let Father send you away!”
Margo grabbed hold of her sister’s face, cupping her cheeks and rubbing her thumbs over the ridges of bone there. Fiercely, she said, “I will come back for you, Eleanor. I will not leave you here alone. Do you understand?”
“I don’t want you to go at all!” she argued.
“Do you understand?” Margo repeated again.
Despite the terror that she felt at the fact that the men just a few rooms away were bargaining away her life and her body, she could not show it, not when Eleanor was almost hysterical.
“I am not leaving you. I will send for you the second I can. You are much safer here than alone in another country.”
“But what about—”
“I will be fine,” Margo cut her off. “Now, help me pack so that I am comfortable in my new home.”
Eleanor nodded, wiping away her tears before she pulled away from Margo. She went forward with her task with a kind of focus that impressed Margo. As Eleanor began pulling out each of Margo’s best gowns, Margo walked over to her nightstand.
From within the depths, she extracted the only object she had left from her mother. It was a small, golden pendant. She ran her fingers over it, squeezing the edges into her palm. Then, she tucked it into her bodice, careful to keep it hidden; even from her sister.
I still don’t know why I’m supposed to keep this hidden, but I cannot just leave it behind.
She and Eleanor finished packing quickly.
As they latched her trunk, Eleanor sitting on top of it to keep it closed, the door to her chambers flew open.
Margo froze, turning around to see Laird MacLeod standing there watching her.
His arms were crossed over his chest, and there was a tightness to his jaw that told Margo the negotiation had not gone the way he had anticipated.
Fear and uncertainty flooded her at the realization that he was the one who would be controlling her life. She knew nothing about him, only that he seemed willing to accept a girl as payment.
“Me guards will take yer luggage,” he said, looking between the two of them. “We will leave shortly.”
Then, he was gone, his men storming into her room. Eleanor scrambled off of the lid, watching as they carted the trunk away. Margo’s eyes were focused on her sister, though.
Pulling Eleanor into another tight hug, Margo said, “I love you, Eleanor. I will write as soon as I can. And I will send for you immediately.”
“Please be safe,” Eleanor whimpered, sniffling as her tears threatened to return.
“I will,” Margo promised. A few seconds later, they separated. As Margo memorized the details of her sister’s face, she said, “You be safe as well.”
“I will,” Eleanor said. Her eyes darted to the door behind them. Softly, she said, “They’re waiting for you. You… You should leave.”
Her eyes filled with tears, Margo leaned in and pressed a kiss to Eleanor’s cheek. Unable to say another word, Margo turned around, walking toward the guard. As she got closer, she couldn’t parse out his intentions.
Is it too much to hope that he is not unkind?
Being led through the manor felt almost like she was being led to the gallows. The staff members that had not fled stood by, watching as she was taken away from the only home she had ever known. Notably though, her father was nowhere to be found.
Outside, a light drizzle had started, the clouds obscuring the morning sun. Laird MacLeod was overseeing his men as they loaded the carriage. As if sensing her presence, he turned, those sharp brown eyes meeting hers once again. His hair was resting on his shoulders now, wet from the rain.
“Ye will ride in the carriage,” he informed her. “Our journey will take three days.”
He did not wait for her response, barking an order to ready his men before walking to his stallion. She watched as he pulled himself into the saddle with a grace that shouldn’t have been possible with his size. Then, she walked forward, not wanting to give the guard beside her reason to touch her.
Once she was safely inside, the door was closed behind her. Less than a minute after being loaded in, the caravan moved. The wheels rattled on the streets, and without any pomp and circumstance, she was moving on to a new life.
“How did this happen?” Margo asked, leaning her head back and closing her eyes.
As they traveled, the rain only became more violent. Thunder cracked, and wind wailed. They did not slow down, though. It seemed the riders were more than comfortable moving through treacherous weather.
How will I manage? I have only heard stories of the Highlands. I know that those could never capture my own situation. And Eleanor… What will happen to her now that I’m gone?
She had begun to drift off to sleep when shouts jerked her into wakefulness for the second time that day. Her heart pounding, Margo began to slide toward the closed window. Just as her fingers brushed against the edge, the carriage came to an abrupt halt, sending her straight onto the floor.
Her hip collided with the wall, a jolt of pain shooting through her leg. Gritting her teeth, she pushed herself up. Just outside the thin walls of the carriage, she heard the sharp clang of metal meeting metal. Swords were drawn, and each yell and grunt was one borne of battle.
The door was yanked open then, and Laird MacLeod was standing in front of her, serious and unyielding. Without a word, he roughly took hold of her, dragging her from the carriage. As soon as she got her footing, a flaming arrow whizzed past her head, embedding itself into the carriage wall.
“Run,” he told her, pulling his own bow from his back.
As Margo followed his instructions, he loosed a few shots in return.
She focused on the ground, somehow managing to avoid tripping over the roots and sticks on the forest floor.
The blood rushing in her ears was so loud she couldn’t make out the orders that Laird MacLeod was giving to her and his men.
When they got close to the same stallion that he had ridden away from her father’s manor, his hands found her waist. He lifted her with surprising ease and settled her into the saddle before climbing up behind her.
His arms bracketing her body, he tightened his grip on the reins and dug his heels into the horse’s side.
As they shot away from the chaos, Laird MacLeod leaned in close and said, “I’m takin’ ye to the border.”
He said nothing else as he continued to ride the horse hard. Margo struggled to understand what had happened. Had it been bandits? Enemies of Clan MacLeod? Or something more nefarious?
Their flight did not slow down for what felt like hours. Laird MacLeod pushed further ahead, thunder rumbling above them and icy raindrops peppering her face like tiny needles. It was not until they came across a tiny village with an inn on the outskirts that he finally slowed.
“We will stay here for the night,” he said, nearly having to yell to be heard over the storm. “It is gettin’ dark. Ye’re soaked to the bone.”
Without another word, he dismounted. He helped her down, his hands lingering on her hips as he ensured she was steady. Somehow, despite how long they had been riding in the chilled air, his fingers were warm. Her breath caught, but before she could react, he let go of her.
Margo stood frozen for a moment as the Laird headed for the entrance. If it weren’t for the crack of lightning above them, she was not sure how long she would have stood there. By the time she caught up to him, he had already commanded the innkeeper's attention.
“One room then, sir?” the owner asked, brightening at the prospect of business. The entire dining room was empty, but a hearty, rich scent floating wafted from the kitchen.
“Nay, two,” Laird MacLeod said, glancing at the tables. “And two meals. I will also require boardin’ for me horse.”
The man lifted an eyebrow, but his voice remained bright when he said, “Of course.” He leaned back, plucking two keys free and passing them to Laird MacLeod. “I will take your horse to the stables, sir. Please, take a seat.”
The Laird took the keys, handing one to Margo before he disappeared into the depths of the inn. She watched him go before settling at a table. A cook appeared almost immediately, placing a bowl filled with stew in front of her.
She ate her meal quickly. Then, she stood up and made her way to her room for the evening.
Once inside, she stripped off her wet gown, carefully fanning the fabric out on a chair in front of the fire.
Keeping her chemise on, she stood in front of the hearth, willing the last of the dampness out of her clothing.
“I should be tired,” she sighed, turning around to dry her back. “I don’t know what to make of what happened.”
She heard movement in the room next to her, shuffling around, moving items, opening and closing windows. It could only be Laird MacLeod. It was distracting, and though she did not want to dwell on it, the anger that she had pushed aside for the better part of the day came back in full force.
Her anger swelled when she heard him leave his room. She was not quite certain what compelled her to follow, but her feet were carrying her into the corridor before she could stop to think. When she did not see him, she continued walking until she came to the main room.
Sitting alone near the hearth, his shirt off, the firelight flicking over his sculpted muscles. Her breath caught, her mouth going dry at the sight of him. For a moment, she forgot her anger. But when he looked at her, when he spoke, it washed over her once more.
“What are ye starin’ at?”