Chapter 36
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Margaret did not sleep easily the night the plan was set. It was not fear that kept her wakeful, nor doubt in what they had resolved to do, but the mere fact that before anything, she had to make sure that her sister was safe.
The knowledge of her father’s reach sat too sharply within her to be ignored. He had spoken with certainty, and Margaret had learned, long ago, that he did not deal in empty threats.
By morning, her decision had settled.
“I must see her,” she told Domhnall right after breakfast.
He did not pretend to misunderstand. They stood in the outer chamber, and the day already begun around them. Cameron had just departed to oversee preparations, leaving them alone for a moment that felt, to Margaret, far more consequential than any council discussion.
“It is nae wise,” Domhnall replied.
“Perhaps nae,” she agreed. “But it is still necessary.”
His gaze held hers, and despite that, Margaret did not waver.
“If he kens where she is,” she continued, more quietly now, “then every moment we delay is one in which he may act before we dae. I willnae sit within these walls and wonder whether she is safe. We must make certain she is beyond his reach before we proceed with anything else.”
He inhaled deeply, acquiescing. “All right.”
And so, they departed before midday. The escort was small, as Domhnall preferred for such journeys. It was enough to ensure protection, but not so many as to draw attention. The road inland stretched before them in long, winding lines, with the land rising gradually as they left the coast behind.
Margaret rode beside him. The air was cool, though not unpleasant, carrying the scent of damp earth and distant rain. The sky had begun to shift, with clouds gathering in slow formation across the horizon.
She noticed it, and so did he.
“We should make better pace,” Domhnall said, and everyone obeyed.
The hours passed in steady rhythm, while the landscape changed as they moved and the coastal wind gave way to the deeper quiet of the Highlands. Trees thickened along the road, hills rising higher.
Margaret paid no attention to the landscape. Her mind was focused on the croft, on Eleonor and on the fragile safety that might already have been compromised.
They were close. The land began to take on a shape she recognized from her sister’s words.
And at that exact moment, the sky broke.
The storm came all at once, not giving them any warning.
Wind struck first, sharp and sudden, bending the trees and pulling at cloak and rein alike.
Then unrelenting rain fell in sheets so thick the path ahead blurred to shadow.
Margaret tightened her hold on the reins, while her horse moved apprehensively beneath her as thunder rolled across the hills.
“Domhnall…” she called out to him.
“We cannae press through this,” he said at once.
The ground had already begun to soften beneath them, and they both knew that the path was becoming treacherous with mud and loose stone. Visibility narrowed to mere yards, as the storm swallowed distance and direction alike.
“There!” One of the guards called, pointing ahead.
A structure was barely visible through the rain. It stood off the road, half-hidden by trees and time. It seemed to be made of stone, with its roof partially intact.
It would suffice.
They reached it quickly, dismounting with practiced efficiency despite the weather. The guards moved at once to secure the perimeter, with two remaining at the entrance while the others checked the surrounding ground. Just like Domhnall, they were used to such conditions.
Margaret stepped inside. The structure had long since been abandoned, its purpose forgotten or no longer needed. What remained offered little comfort, but enough shelter from the worst of the storm.
Domhnall followed. The sound of rain against the roof filled the space, loud, constant and leaving no room for anything else.
There was an old blanket in the corner, which had seen better days, but Margaret knew that the floor would be colder and more unforgiving. She removed her gloves, her hands still cold despite the ride, and moved toward what remained of a hearth, though there was little to be done with it.
“We will remain here until it passes,” Domhnall said, looking around.
He crouched before the cold hearth and, with the quiet certainty of habit, drew flint and steel from his belt, striking them together until sparks fell into the small bundle of dry tinder he had gathered.
He bent close, shielding it from the draft, and breathed steadily until the ember caught and deepened into flame.
Only then did he feed it with kindling and broken wood, building the fire with measured care until warmth began to take hold.
The guards remained outside, leaving the interior of the structure theirs alone.
Margaret turned slightly, intending to return, perhaps, to the matter that had brought them there, but the words did not come.
Instead, she became aware of him, of his presence in the space, closer now than it had been all day.
“Ye are cold,” he said, with his eyes drinking in the sight of her.
Margaret drew a breath, though it did little to warm her.
“A wee bit.”
He stepped closer. The distance between them narrowed without effort, without need for invitation. His hand came to her arm and drew her nearer. The warmth of him was immediate, and the fire helped, too.
She lifted her gaze to his. There was no need for words. All she needed was the warmth of his touch, and his soft breath on her body, reminding her that she was his.
It was as if he was able to read her mind, gently leaning over to her.
He had one arm around her, keeping her close, while he gently caressed her cheek with the other hand.
His kiss was soft, and even though thunder roared outside, she felt safe and cherished inside.
His kiss became hungrier, and all she could was return the favor.
She turned to him more fully, climbing into his lap and settled there. She had forgotten all about her wet clothes and the cold that reigned outside. The kiss was warming her up, and already, her insides were on fire, yearning for him.
“I want ye,” she murmured against his lips.
He didn’t say anything to that. She felt his response underneath her, pressing against her, throbbing and demanding to be taken. She didn’t want to wait a single moment. She wanted him inside of her, stretching her, filling her all the way.
She adjusted herself, her fingers frantically searching for his manhood. He was so hard and big she could barely wrap her fingers around it. The thought of feeling him inside of her sent a million little goosebumps down her back.
The moment he slid inside of her, sensation bloomed. Her mind exploded into a million colors, all blending one into the other. Pleasure filled every inch of her body and she started undulating in his lap, moving forward then backward, feeling his hands on his buttocks, gripping her tightly.
The fact that she was the one dictating the rhythm this time made her ravenous with desire. She moaned against his lips, biting him, tasting him, licking him. She sunk he fingers into his dark curls, holding his head as she kissed him.
She couldn’t think of a single thing other than the pleasure that was seizing her. She never wanted to stop. She kept thrusting, grinding against him, hitting that perfect spot that made her see a million little stars the moment she closed her eyes.
When the tidal wave of ecstasy hit her, she felt her deep inside of her channel, filling her with his seed, making her his, now and forever more.
When the last ripples of pleasure subsided, he kissed her softly, and she felt his lips smiling through the kiss.
“Are ye still cold?” he teased when she pulled away.
She laughed melodiously, resting her forehead against his. She knew that with him by her side, she would never be cold again.
Morning did not arrive with gentleness, but with clarity.
The storm had spent itself in the night, leaving the land washed and quiet. Margaret stepped from the shelter of the ruined structure and paused, drawing in a steady breath as she looked out across the softened hills.
Everything appeared calmer. But she knew better.
“Ready?” Domhnall asked.
Margaret turned to him, with a smile. “Aye.”
They did not delay. The escort gathered quickly and the mounts were readied with efficient silence. The road, though still damp, was passable, and they pressed forward at once, leaving behind the remnants of the night as though it had no claim upon them.
The land rose gradually as they traveled, narrowing into paths Margaret recognized now not from memory, but from anticipation. Each turn, each stretch of ground brought them closer to Eleanor.
She had not allowed herself to consider what they might find if they were too late. She would not begin now.
The croft appeared at last, small and unassuming, tucked into the fold of the land as though it sought not to be seen. Smoke rose faintly from its chimney, a sign of life that struck Margaret with such force she did not immediately realize she had drawn her horse to a halt.
“She is there,” she said, more to herself than to him.
Domhnall did not answer. He had seen it as well. They approached and the door opened before they reached it. Eleonor was standing in the threshold.
For a moment, neither sister moved.
“Margaret…”
The name broke whatever distance remained.
Margaret dismounted even before her horse had fully stilled, crossing the small space between them without thought, without care for propriety or restraint. They met as sisters did: fully, without hesitation and without the careful composure Margaret had carried for so long.
“Ye are well,” Margaret said, though her voice caught slightly despite herself.
“I am,” Eleonor answered, drawing back just enough to look at her. “And ye…”
“I am well, too.”
It was not untrue. But it was not enough. There was no time to soften what had to be said.
“We cannae remain,” Margaret said quietly, though the urgency beneath her tone was unmistakable. “Ye and Stephen must leave, at once.”
“What has happened?” a familiar voice asked, and only then did Margaret see her sister’s husband behind her.
Margaret smiled, although there was no time for proper introductions.
“He kens,” she said, addressing them both. “Faither kens where ye are.”
Eleonor’s breath stilled.
“How…”
“It daesnae matter,” Margaret replied gently, though her hand tightened around her sister’s. “What matters is that he has threatened ye. Both of ye.”
At that, Stephen stepped forward. “We willnae be taken easily.”
Margaret believed him, but belief was not enough.
“Ye willnae be taken at all,” she answered. “Because ye willnae be here when he comes.”
Domhnall had already begun to move. While Margaret spoke, he and Cameron conferred quietly with the guards, in low voices. Orders were given without delay. Men were dispatched to prepare horses, to gather what supplies could be spared.
There was no confusion, and no hesitation, only action.
“Me husband has arranged it,” Margaret said, glancing briefly toward Domhnall before returning her attention to her sister. “Ye will go north, farther than ye had planned. There are routes, safe ones, and ye shall have papers that will allow ye passage without question.”
Eleonor’s eyes widened with disbelief.
“Ye have thought of everything.”
“Nay,” she smiled, glancing again at Domhnall. “He has.”
Domhnall returned then, with a small purse already in hand, along with folded documents sealed and prepared.
“Ye will take these,” he said, addressing Stephen directly, his tone leaving no room for refusal. “Coin enough tae see ye through, and papers that will carry ye beyond reach. There are men who will ride with ye, discreetly. They willnae be seen unless needed.”
Stephen accepted them with a firm nod.
“Ye have me gratitude.”
Domhnall inclined his head once.
“Keep yer words,” he said. “And use what I have given ye tae ensure I dinnae need tae hear them again under worse circumstances.”
There was no offense taken. The two men understood each other perfectly.
Everything moved quickly thereafter. Supplies were gathered with what little could be spared from the croft: bundles wrapped, essentials taken, the rest left behind without regret. Horses were readied, reins were checked and saddlebags were secured.
There was no time for sentiment. Margaret stood apart for a moment, watching as it unfolded. This was what it meant to act, not to hope or to wait, but to ensure.
Eleonor came to her again as the final preparations were made.
“This is nae how I wished tae leave ye,” she said softly.
Margaret smiled, though it did not reach her eyes.
“Ye will come tae me,” she assured her, “when this is done.”
Eleanor held her gaze. “I will.”
There was no doubt in it. They embraced once more, briefly this time, but no less fiercely for its brevity.
“Go,” Margaret said quietly, her voice on the verge of tears.
Eleonor nodded. She did not look back as she mounted. Neither did Stephen. It was better so.
Within the hour, they were gone. The escort rode with them, not close enough to draw attention, but near enough that they would not be unprotected. Their path turned north, then further still, until they were no longer visible against the land.
Margaret stood where she was long after they had vanished from sight. Only when Domhnall stepped beside her did she draw breath again.
“They will be safe,” he promised.
Margaret did not look at him. She watched the empty road, the quiet left in their wake.
“Aye,” she whispered. “They will.”
And this time, she believed it.