The Groom Wore Plaid: Highland Weddings (34 page)

“Come back, Kathleen! Gregor is so worried about ye!”

To Maggie’s horror, Kathleen picked up a rock and tucked it down inside her loose bodice, wearing a satisfied and calm smile all the while. Gregor had been right about his sister’s plans. Maggie raced to the other boats, only to find holes bashed in them. Maggie had been in such a rush to confront the woman before she could get away, so worried she’d be stopped, that only Gregor knew her plans. Would he send help—and would it be on time? Once again, she’d acted without enough forethought, just as Owen had accused her.

“Kathleen, talk to me. Tell me what happened and why ye’re so angry with me.”

“I didn’t want to be angry with ye,” Kathleen said, her tone casual and almost chatty, even as she put another rock in her bodice. “Ye were just a victim of this foolish contract between two old men. At first Gregor thought we could make everyone angry with ye. I was willin’ to let him try. I even helped. Remember that
ball gown during the welcomin’ banquet? Och, I knew ye’d make a bad impression in such finery.”

Maggie well remembered how she’d felt, looking so fancy when most were hardworking simple clansmen.

“But Himself—he was agog with that gown, and I was angry, even though ye were puttin’ off marriage and my plan was workin’. Ye should have been frightened off by that talisman. But then ye started diggin’ into my brother’s past, hurtin’ him. Ye started to fall in love with his lordship, and I knew ye’d eventually give in and marry him. I couldn’t have that,” she explained, her eyes wide with sincerity. “It took me some time to realize I couldn’t just kill ye—although I did try. I was so angry when ye went to my aunt. And then I realized how much better it would be if I made it look like ye killed his lordship. It would ruin ye and yer clan.”

“But why, Kathleen?” Maggie hoped by keeping her talking, someone would come by soon and be able to help. Yet the boat was drifting farther away every moment, the fog’s eerie tendrils wrapping themselves around Kathleen’s skirt now, moving higher, as if it would soon take her for its own. “Why do ye hate McCallums so much? Ye spent most of your life away from Scotland.”

Kathleen’s eyes suddenly seemed to blaze, and the hatred in her voice sent Maggie back a step. “The McCallums are the reason we lost everythin’! Ye stole my father’s cattle, made him lose our cottage, our land.”

Maggie knew what kind of a man her father had
been—if he’d ordered cattle thieving, it would have happened. It also could have been in retaliation for reiving by the Duffs. There was no way to know the truth. But Kathleen wouldn’t care about the truth, not anymore.

“I could have killed ye any time,” Kathleen continued, her voice back into that awful singsong sound, “but I wanted ye to suffer as ye made us suffer. Do ye ken what it’s like to see your brother lose his life’s work? Do ye ken what it’s like to be just a little girl on a big boat to America, with my mother dyin’ beside me? No one found me for hours and I laid there as she got cold, so cold.”

Her voice trailed off, and her eyes had a wild, faraway look. The boat rocked beneath her, and she flung her arms wide to steady herself.

Maggie covered her mouth with one hand, horrified by what Kathleen had suffered. It must have changed her, destroyed her.

“Kathleen, come back,” Maggie beseeched. “Let the Duffs help ye; let your brother help ye.”

“I’m done here. They’ll never trust ye now without me to blame everythin’ on. The Duffs will triumph over the McCallums.”

“Kathleen!”

But the woman stepped overboard and sank with barely a splash, leaving only a few bubbles to pop on the surface.

Maggie waded into the water, screaming the maid’s name. By the time the cold water hit her waist, she felt
it pull at her skirts, threatening to drag her under, to drown her. Had Kathleen somehow known Owen’s first betrothed had died by drowning? Nay, how could she have? Yet she’d threatened Maggie with drowning, and then gone through with it herself.

Maggie heard voices, shouting, and then clansmen passed her to wade out toward the boat and eventually swim.

“She’s under water!” Maggie yelled, and watched as they all began to dive. She stumbled into a hole and went down on one knee. The cold water seeped into her clothing, shuddered across her skin. Sodden, she struggled to get to her feet, gagging on a deep gulp of water.

And then Harold had her by the arms, lifting her upright, holding her against him as she coughed. After he helped her to shore, they both watched as the men continued the search.

“Was she trying to get away?” Harold asked quietly.

Maggie shook her head. “She—she put rocks in her clothes and killed herself.”

The boat continued to drift. It took some time before they found Kathleen’s body. Only when they brought her to the surface, white and lifeless, did Maggie turn and retch onto the ground. And then Harold wrapped her shoulders within a big arm and led her away to the horses.

O
WEN
ate breakfast quickly, ravenously, knowing he had to be strong for Maggie. It was Gregor who’d
told his guard what had happened, that Maggie had gone to stop Kathleen. Harold had followed Maggie to the loch, but as yet, had sent no word back. Owen couldn’t lie in his bed, knowing she was out there, alone against a killer. He demanded his shirt and plaid.

“My lord!” Fergus cried, both hands before him as if he’d push Owen back down, but didn’t dare lay hands on him.

“My wife is in danger,” Owen said angrily, tossing the blankets aside. The stitches in his back burned with each movement but he barely noticed it. “Now help me don my shirt or by God—”

Fergus found one in a nearby chest, and helped it over Owen’s head. Lifting his arms was surprisingly painful, but he didn’t let that stop him. While he breathed heavily, Fergus laid out his plaid and belt on the bed. When it was ready, Owen lay down upon it and belted it around him. Fergus helped him don his stockings and boots like he was a child. As Owen rose unsteadily and walked past Fergus, the bodyguard grabbed the ends of the plaid and threw it up over his shoulder.

“Do ye want the brooch, my lord?”

The free ends slipped down to his waist and, frustrated, Owen permitted Fergus to clasp the excess in place with the brooch. Owen thought he’d walk all the way to the barracks, but he realized that wasn’t going to happen. He sat in his big thronelike chair on the
dais in the great hall, sent everyone away, and told Fergus to bring Gregor to him.

But before that could happen, Harold entered the far double doors, and to Owen’s utter relief, he held Maggie by the arm. His wife looked white with strain and grief, but she was alive and apparently unharmed.

“Maggie!”

When he shouted her name, her head came up. Their gazes met, and all the love and relief he felt practically unmanned him. And then she was running toward him, and he rose to meet her. She came into his arms, hard against his body, and he did his best not to stagger. She was soaked and shivering.

Burying his face into her neck, he kept murmuring her name. She was crying softly, and it was some moments before he could understand the words.

“I should have known . . . I should have realized . . .”

And then more quiet words of regret and guilt.

He took her arms and gave her a little shake, until she looked up at him with wet, dripping eyes.

“Maggie, she tried to kill ye, and she could have succeeded.”

“She tried to kill ye, too, and blame it on me,” Maggie said, her voice hoarse. “But . . . such terrible things happened to her.”

“Tell me.”

He sank back in his chair, drawing her onto his lap. Mrs. Robertson handed him a blanket, and he wrapped it around Maggie. He saw when the
McCallums entered but they stood back and listened as Maggie recounted her talk with Gregor, the man’s fear, Kathleen’s crazy confession just before killing herself. Lady McCallum and Riona held on to each other with silent weeping, then reached toward Cat when she arrived and drew her into their embrace. Hugh looked grim and full of frustrated anger. Owen knew just how he felt.

Owen kissed Maggie’s tearstained face. “Hush, lass, let it go. She was warped by what happened to her family. Ye did nothing to her, yet she couldn’t see that.”

“I know, but . . .”

And then Gregor was brought into the hall between two guards, Harold following behind.

Gregor took one look at Maggie and realized the truth, collapsing to his knees with a cry of grief. “She’s dead?”

Maggie nodded, her face spasming with sorrow.

“It’s my fault, my fault,” he cried over and over. “She thought to avenge us, to rescue me, but I couldn’t—couldn’t—”

“What did she say to ye?” Owen demanded.

“It’s not what she said, it’s what I didn’t do.” Gregor threw his hands wide. “I didn’t protect her. I spoke of my rage at fate and blamed the McCallums. I blamed everyone but me and my stupid pride and my temper. I lost my business in the colonies when I couldn’t have the woman I wanted. I tried to punish her with my wild accusations and instead I impoverished my
sister. And when I realized ye’d made peace with the McCallums, who’d been the cause of our flight from Scotland—” He broke off when he saw the chief of the McCallums himself. He hung his head and it was difficult to hear his words as he admitted, “I set the fires. I told my sister what I’d done. I was so angry. I had no idea she’d take it farther.” He collapsed onto his hands and knees, head hanging, and sobbed.

“Let him go, Owen,” Maggie whispered, taking his hand in hers. “Let him find his fate somewhere else. He’s a broken man.”

“If ye wish it, lass. Now come with me and let me take care of ye.”

M
AGGIE
felt so exhausted, it was as if she was removed from herself. She hugged her family, both old and new, and then allowed Owen to lead her away, back to the room they would now share. Every trace of blood was gone, but she knew it would be a long time before it was erased from her memories, her very soul. He’d almost died.

“Go back to bed,” she suddenly said, worried that so much exertion was too much for him.

“Nay, I’ll sit here and be with ye. I’m no infant to lie there and drool.”

She finally gave a shaky smile, even as he slowly sank into a chair with a sigh. Once again, he pulled her onto his knee.

“Owen—”

“Enough of your worry, woman. I’ll touch ye as I want. Ye’re my wife and I didn’t even have my wedding night.”

She never thought she’d smile again, but she did so, even as she allowed him to tuck her head beneath his chin. They sat that way for several long minutes while she told herself all was well. Owen was safe and whole. She shuddered and pressed herself even closer to him.

“I believe in ye, Maggie,” he said after a while, his voice a rumble in his ribs beneath her ear. “Why did ye not wait for me to make things right?”

“I couldn’t,” she whispered. “I knew she’d get away, and it was my fault I didn’t see how twisted she truly was. She almost killed ye, Owen. I love ye so much, it was as if she stabbed me, too. All that blood. I thought—I thought—”

She felt his gentle hand tilt up her chin, and she saw through eyes blurred with tears that he was regarding her with sweet tenderness.

“I love ye, too, Maggie,” he said quietly, “more than I ever thought possible.”

She drew in a breath, searching his face with desperate eyes, listening to the beloved brogue of Scotland in his voice. “Ye . . . love me?”

“I do. I don’t deserve your love, but I’m humbled that ye offer it.”

Maggie’s eyes filled with glad tears. “Our love can be the start of a new life, where we celebrate the ways we’ve changed.
You’ve
changed. Ye sent for the physician!”

A corner of his mouth twitched.

“Ye could say ye were taking care of all possibilities,” she said, “but to me, it felt like ye
believed
in me.”

“I do, lass, I do. I may never be able to explain or prove the things that’ve happened to ye, but it doesn’t matter. Maybe someday ye’ll tell me about your dreams of our childhood.”

“And that’s not looking for proof?” she chided.

He reared his head back. “Nay, it’s about needing to know everything about ye and experiencing again this connection we’ve had since before we even knew each other.”

She leaned up and kissed him, trying to show all her feelings because words alone didn’t seem enough.

“Maggie,” he whispered against her mouth, then kissed her cheeks and forehead. “Maggie, it scares me how much I love ye. When I knew ye’d left to confront a madwoman on my behalf, it was as if I’d been stabbed again. I can’t lose ye. I can’t lose your smile and your wit, and the way each of life’s experiences is something new to be understood and embraced. Ye tried to protect me, even when it meant risking your life. Your loyalty to your clan was something I never doubted, but you, Maggie, everything ye are—” He
broke off, then bowed his head until their foreheads touched. “Ye humble me, lass.”

She was crying again, but this time she was smiling, too. “Oh, Owen, how could I have known what we could share? If I’d had a dream about
this
, I’d have followed ye to England and back until I made ye see that what we have is—is—”

“Like magic,” he whispered against her lips.

She carefully put her arms around his neck and held on. “Aye, like magic, and I promise that we’ll never let it die. I never let myself get too close to anyone, afraid to reveal myself. But you and your family and your household have shown me I’ve been wrong. I’ve made good friends here, and I count your sister as the most important friend yet. I won’t stand on the outside any more, like a coward. I love ye, Owen.”

“I love ye, too, Maggie. I can’t hold back my emotions anymore because they spill out of me every time I see your face. Let me show ye how I feel.” He began to stand and move toward the bed.

“Nay, that won’t be happening.” She planted her feet on the floor and refused to be budged.

“But we missed our wedding night,” he said with indignation.

She chuckled. “Lucky ye are that we already had it, and it was so powerful that we made a babe. Now go lie down and recover.”