Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
“And there is our new Lady,” a kind, older woman said the second Margo stepped into the hallway. “It was quite a surprise to learn ye’d be with us. I’m Mrs. Campbell. And this is Tilly!”
Margo blinked, following the nod of her head. The girl standing next to her, Tilly, was young, barely more than seventeen. She watched Margo with curious, bright eyes, her auburn curls pushed away from her face.
“She will be yer maid now, Lady MacLeod,” Mrs. Campbell announced.
The title startled Margo. It did not matter that she had been introduced as such after a kiss that had somehow been both too much and not nearly enough. She was notcompletely present. Now, though, she was fully aware of the weight the word carried.
Tilly beamed at her, giving an excitable bow, her hair bouncing with the force of it.
It seemed as if she were under the impression that Margo had done something wonderful rather than disastrous.
That, she thought, was much more disarming than the way the members of the MacLeod Clan had watched her when she entered the Hall or the way the very land felt unwelcoming.
“I will show ye to yer chambers now, Lady MacLeod,” Tilly said excitedly. “This way!”
She made her way down the corridor, a spring in each of her steps. Margo stared after her for a beat, her mind reeling from the events of the day. It seemed that the whirlwind would only continue.
Quickly coming to her senses, Margo took off after the maid. When she caught up, she matched Tilly’s pace. The maid slowed down a bit, glancing over at Margo and apparently observing her bone deep exhaustion.
“It was an honor to watch ye get married,” Tilly said kindly. “None of us were expectin’ it. It was a nice surprise.”
“Would you believe me if I told you that I was not expecting it either?” Margo said, dazed.
Tilly laughed as Margo had just told a joke.
Her joy was so infectious that Margo found herself laughing along with her.
As the sound bubbled out of her chest, the tightness in her shoulders eased a bit.
She still didn’t feel comfortable or completely welcomed, but somehow sharing a laugh with her maid was a balm to her soul.
“I truly did not know that there would be a wedding as soon as we arrived,” Margo said when she had gotten a hold of herself.
She smoothed her skirt, a bit ashamed of how tattered it was.
“Of course, I knew that I would be wed to Laird MacLeod quite quickly. I merely assumed that I would have the opportunity to change first.”
“Aye, I do wish that Laird MacLeod would have given us time to get ye prepared,” Tilly said with an almost dramatic sigh. “I ken we daenae have a weddin’ gown for ye, but we could have gotten ye into somethin’ that wasn’t travelled in. And I would have loved the chance to cover ye in jewels.”
“Perhaps there will be an occasion that you can,” Margo said, her eyes catching on a painting of a wolf. She wanted to linger, but Tilly showed no signs of slowing down. “I may have collapsed from how tired I am if we took the time to get me properly prepared for the ceremony.”
“Aye, ye travelled most of the mornin’, didnae ye?
” Tilly said, touching Margo’s elbow, pushing her to turn right down the next corridor.
“Mrs. Campbell has the servants preparin’ a bath for ye.
It should be ready when we arrive. I’ll wash ye, and then ye are free to rest for the remainder of the day.
I will also bring ye yer meals so ye daenae have to worry about comin’ down to the Great Hall. ”
“Thank you,” Margo muttered, feeling a bit of warmth.
Tilly reminded her of Eleanor. She was sweet, eager. It was as if the World hadn’t shown her its nasty underbelly yet. Margo hoped that both of them were spared that horror.
It may be too late for Eleanor. And that is the fault of Laird MacLeod.
When Tilly came to a stop in front of a door a few moments later, Margo kept walking several steps. As soon as she realized she was moving mindlessly, she stopped, turning around and smiling bashfully at Tilly. The maid, to her credit, didn’t seem the least bit perturbed by the transgression.
“I must be more exhausted than I thought,” Margo admitted shyly as entered the quarters.
She was immediately overwhelmed by the strong smell of cedar and pine; and, underneath it all lay a scent that was uniquely particular to Laird MacLeod. This space wasn’t hers in the least.
As she looked around the room, she realized it was not like anything she’d imagined. For some reason, with every story her mother told her, she was convinced the Highland castles’ sleeping chambers were tiny. This one, however, was enormous.
“Ye can go behind the privacy screen,” Tilly said, closing the door and walking to the large, steaming tub in the middle of the room. “If ye need any help, ye can call for me.”
“Yes, of course,” Margo said.
She looked around the room, spotting the screen nestled amongst the lavish furs and thick velvet curtains. It looked almost too delicate. And, because she felt the same about herself, she felt an inexplicable kinship with the object.
Saints, I’m so tired that I’m trying to form a bond with a screen.
Taking her time, Margo undressed. Even though the gown she wore was tattered and dirty, she folded it with reverence. The rest of her things could still be scattered across the English countryside. This dress, even though it could likely never be worn again, she folded with a soft kind of devotion.
As her fingers carefully loosened her corset, she looked around the room. Every part of it clearly testified that Laird MacLeod was living here. The chairs near the hearth were lopsided as though someone had thrown themselves into them. A path on the floor was scuffed, likely from hours of pacing.
“Do ye need any assistance, me Lady?” Tilly asked, her footsteps coming closer.
Panic rising in her chest, she fished out her pendant and shoved it beneath a fur. Her mother had told her to keep it hidden, and now more than ever it felt important. By the time Tilly peeked around the edge of the screen, Margo was in the process of removing the last of her garments.
“I’m nearly finished,” she said, dropping her hands so Tilly could take over the rest of the task.
“Aye, but I can tell ye’re in need of some rest,” Tilly replied easily. Once Margo was completely stripped, Tilly led her toward the water. “Let’s get ye in. I will wash the dirt from ye and get ye into a dressin’ gown.”
Margo did not have the words to respond. The feeling of warm water embracing her body, soothing the aches of the road, was heavenly. It was the carress she hadn’t realized she’d been longing for.
Tilly hummed a happy tune as she grabbed a flannel. She rubbed a fresh bar of lavender soap against the fabric, then brought it to Margo’s body. Thoroughly, and with a touch that reminded Margo of her mother’s softness, Tilly washed away the dirt and grime.
When she finished, she dressed Margo and helped her settle onto the mattress. Softly, Tilly said, “I will brush yer hair, then I will leave ye to rest.”
Margo nodded, too tired to speak. Her eyes closed as Tilly carefully worked the tangles free that had accumulated over the previous rough days. She must have drifted off, because it seemed that as quickly as the pampering had begun, it was finished.
“I’ll leave ye be now,” Tilly said as she moved toward the door. “I will have someone come to get the tub in a few hours. Ye look as though ye could use a long nap.”
“You’re right,” Margo agreed, lying back. “Thank you once again.”
“Ye daenae have to thank me,” Tilly said, her voice much softer now. “It’s a pleasure to help ye, me Lady.”
“Ye can just call me Margo.”
Tilly looked over her shoulder, giving Margo a soft smile. “Aye, Lady Margo.”
Then, she left the room without another word. As soon as she was alone, Margo tried to will herself to sleep; but she could not, not when the reality of her situation rushed back.
She was married now. To a Highland Laird that she did not know. And tonight, he would be in this bed with her.
Cameron marched down the corridor leading to his chambers the same way that he’d walk onto a battlefield. With the Council elders confirming that he must produce a legitimate heir for the MacLeod Clan now that he was married, he knew that he had no other choice. This was merely duty.
Hardening his resolve, he paused a few steps away from the door. There was a strange kind of anticipation in his chest. It felt dangerous; as though every instinct urged him to consume her.
But I willnae. I am much stronger than that.
The hinges creaked as he slowly pushed the door open. When he stepped inside, his eyes were instantly drawn to her. She was standing there, beside the bed, in nothing but a pale shift.
As she turned her head to look at him, her honey curls fell loose around her shoulders. She inhaled sharply; a steadying gesture that nevertheless drew his attention to her rising chest. A soft candlelight danced across her soft features, making her look ethereal.
She looked untouchable.
“Laird MacLeod,” she whispered, her voice carrying through the air.
“Cameron,” he grunted, closing the door behind him and creating a bubble of privacy around them.
She nodded, but said nothing else. He tracked the way her throat worked as she swallowed. Desire struck him; low, immediate, and relentless.
The Highlander in him wanted nothing more than to cross the room. His fingertips itched to strip the delicate fabric from her body. The burning coil of need in his gut was telling him to claim what both law and ritual now said belonged to him.
Margo’s hands were slightly trembling at her sides. Her fear was palpable, infusing the air with a sour and anxious scent. A dark, terrible part of him enjoyed seeing her like this; at his mercy. The knowledge he held power over this feisty little thing tantalized him.
Staying where he was, maintaining the distance between them, he slowly began removing his weapons. Her eyes tracked each movement, her expression unchanging; his eyes never left hers.
When each of his weapons had been set aside, Cameron pulled off his coat and hung it on the rack near the door. His hands reached for his doublet, taking it off slowly. Across the room, Margo stared as he exposed his chest.
As she took in his form, his muscles, her face turned a deep shade of pink. The flush travelled down below her chemise, and reached up to the tips of her ears. Her gaze trailed lower, dipping to the waistband of his kilt.
Lass…
It only took a few more seconds, the anticipation building heavily, before he couldn’t hold back any longer. He crossed the room in long strides. The only thing he could think about was how irresistible she looked and how badly he wanted to touch her.
His hands roughly landed on her shoulders. When his grip tightened, his touch burning through the thin fabric, she shivered. Though the fear was still there, her pupils seemed to dilate.
God, she is so soft.
Slowly, with a gentleness that he did not know he possessed, he started pushing the straps down her arms. Gooseflesh rose in the wake of his fingertips. She let out a small, involuntary sound; something between a gasp and a sigh.
“I’ll need guidance," Margo said quietly, the words breaking the spell as she began to tremble harder. “I do not know how to do this.”
His hands paused, the pressure lessening on her smooth skin. He realized with startling clarity that just a few short days ago she had been sleeping safely in her bed in a home she knew well. Now, she was standing here barely dressed in the bedchamber of a man she never knew or wanted.
We have both been pushed here.
It was the fault of debts and duty, of contracts and desperation. The men that surrounded Margo bargained around her life. And he was one of them. Like everyone else, he was also pushing, eager to dictate how she would live.
That is nae the kind of man I want to be.
Cameron stepped back, dropping his hands away from her shoulders. His gaze swept the room, landing on the robe that Tilly must have found. He grabbed it, then shoved it on her, softly guiding her arms into the sleeves.
“We have weeks ahead of us,” he said, tying the garment around her waist.
Margo stared at him, fear giving way to shock. Those seemed to be the only two emotions he had seen from her. Part of him cursed the fact that he was the reason for it.
Though it pained him to do so, he stepped away from her.
Not allowing his eyes to drift away from her face, he said, “I will sleep in the adjoining chamber tonight.” He turned away and made for the door with his hands clenched into fists at his sides.
He paused at the threshold; without turning to look at her, he quietly said, “Rest well, Lady MacLeod.”