“Where are you going?” Angus asked.
“To my room,” Margaret said. To get away from you. And Elizabeth. And your fiendish father. But mostly, she wanted to grab his shoulders and rattle him. Shake out any feelings he might have for the Lady Elizabeth. She was not the right woman for him.
Angus needed someone who could give him strength to fill in his weak spots. Like one would add plaster to a crumbling wall. A woman who understood the hells of this life. Not a fragile rose whose petals would blow off with every gust of wind.
But it could not be Margaret. No matter how he weakened her heart, it could not be her. She must disentangle herself from this household as soon as possible.
“Why do you do this, Meg?” he asked.
“Do what?”
“Hide yourself away. Dress like a commoner.”
“Because I am a commoner. And I am tired of being your charity.” Her father had had a title. A knighthood and the land to go with it. But whatever Margaret had had, it had been taken from her. She’d lived well enough, and she would go on living just fine without the benevolence of Angus Robson.
“You are anything but common. And the king himself could not force charity upon you.”
Margaret looked up at him. Slowly, she bent her knees, dipping into a deep and respectful curtsy, though it sent a wave of pain through her leg. “You are a good man, Angus Robson.” One of the best she’d ever met. “Go back to your guest. She is waiting for you.”
He stared at her, his mouth quirked in a lopsided grin. “This is, indeed, a day of miracles. The formidable Margaret Grey has given me a curtsy.”
“And that’s the first and the last you’ll get from me.” She gave him a smile, one she hoped said, I don’t have anything devious planned; I just need some peace. “I have a headache and will retire to my room now. I wish to be alone.” She turned and continued on her way.
He let her be, returning to the hall and the rest of his meal.
Osanna was already in the room when Margaret entered.
“We must leave here tonight,” Margaret said.
The twig girl nodded. “The bones already told me. I packed some food I lifted from the hall tonight, and I gathered our things.”
Margaret should not have been so quick to scoff at Osanna’s bones. Once again, they’d been right.
“Osanna. You need not come with me.” Margaret unwrapped the silver-trimmed veil from around her head. “You could stay here, where you would be watched after and out of harm’s way. You do not owe me anything.” Angus would never turn her out, and at Carrigdean, she would earn wages.
Osanna shook her head. “No, my lady. I am with ye.” The girl took a scrap of cloth and fitted it around Margaret’s head. Now Margaret truly did look common.
She drew a cloak across her shoulders. It was a risk to keep the girl with her. Not for Margaret but for Osanna. When Margaret did finally take her revenge, Osanna could be hurt in the process.
“What about Hamish?” Osanna asked.
The dog was out somewhere, gallivanting with his companions from the manor house. Angus had only lent Hamish to her whilst she was alone in her tower. Now she had Osanna.
“We will leave him here. He is Angus’s, after all.” It left a knot in her stomach to do so. Like leaving behind a part of her family.
Osanna frowned. She had come to love the mangy beast also. “If you think it best.” The girl picked up a small bundle and gave Margaret a nod. She was ready.
Margaret cracked the door open and peered out. With the feast still going strong, it shouldn’t be too difficult for the two of them to sneak away.
The corridor was empty, and she hurried toward the rear of the house where they could leave unnoticed. Osanna followed on her heels. They slipped out and hastened along the barmkin wall till they reached the gate with a worn path leading southward.
The sun rested in the vale of two hills, clinging to its last glorious rays before giving over to the night. It would take them several hours to get home. But the moon would be nearly full and the sky cloudless. If not for her leg, she would have looked forward to such a nighttime walk.
Once Carrigdean was out of sight, Margaret’s shoulders relaxed. The air was sharp and sweet with blooming gorse. The twilight cast long shadows across the heather. An owl called from a thicket of hawthorn, readying for his evening hunt. She would’ve liked to have Hamish here, warning her of what might be lurking in the shadows.
Margaret could not walk at her usual pace, and Osanna took full advantage of that by weaving back and forth across the path, exploring the plants.
“This is woundwort,” Osanna told Margaret. It was the hundredth plant Osanna had pointed out since they’d left Carrigdean. She bent and picked some. “We’ll save this for your leg. It will be perfect.” Osanna made her way to another plant. “And here is bittersweet,” she called out as she waded through the scrub along the stream. “I’ll just gather up a few stalks. ’Tis poisonous. My mother used it to catch rabbits.”
“Rabbits?” Margaret called back. She’d run out of both enthusiasm and responses to the girl’s unending excitement about plants.
They’d gone only about two miles, perhaps less, and Margaret’s strides were becoming slower and slower. She might not make it home without stopping to rest. And if so, they’d have to take shelter in the thicket. It wouldn’t be the first time Margaret had to sleep outside, nor would it be for Osanna, she imagined.
A distant roll of thunder carried softly over the moor. No. Not thunder. Horses.
“Hush,” Margaret said. She grabbed Osanna and dragged her behind a gorse. “Someone is coming.” Margaret peered through the branches as the horses rounded a bend and came into view, her hand firmly on her misericorde. She ducked down quickly. “Angus and Gillis.”
Mercy, that man was tenacious. She crouched lower—until a large gray mass of fur lunged at her, licking her face. Hamish.
Margaret fell back onto a clump of ferns. The sound of horses ceased, and a few moments later, Angus rounded the gorse bush.
He stared at her, shaking his head. “What are you doing?”
“Going home.” It wasn’t that hard to figure out. She had said, after all, that she wanted to leave.
“You said you had a headache.”
“It went away.”
He reached out a hand to help her up. “So you thought instead to leave in the middle of the night?”
She put her gloved hand in his, and he pulled her to her feet. “’Tis barely dusk. And I needed to go home.”
“I would have been happy to take you in the morning. You could not wait?”
“I could not.” She brushed the bracken from her skirt. Gillis waited for them on the path, holding the lead of two extra horses.
“Why are you here?” Margaret asked.
“You know why.”
“I’m not going back.”
“I know.”
Angus led her out to one of the horses Gillis was holding. It was not a large animal—none of these northern hobblers were. But they were strong and surefooted across the rugged moors and fens. Margaret had not ridden a horse for six years. Any sort of activity involving close contact with another living thing was something she had avoided.
She stared at the beast.
“What is the matter?” Angus asked. “Do you not ride?”
Margaret shook her head. “Not for a long time. Perhaps I’d be better off walking.” Even as she said it, she knew the horse would be much faster than walking on her leg.
Angus grinned at her. “You can ride with me, if you prefer.”
While that was tempting, it would never work. The danger of contact with Angus was much worse than with the horse. “No, thank you.”
Gillis stepped forward, holding the reins of a stout brown animal. He pointed to the saddle and frowned.
“He says sorry about the saddle.” Angus patted the leather seat. “This is rugged country. Not even my mother rides aside.”
It wasn’t the saddle that bothered her. It was the dish-sized hooves and the distance from the saddle to the ground. What if the animal shied and flung her onto some rocks? Or over the side of a gorge?
“You are a mystery to me, Meg.” Angus laced his fingers together, ready to help her mount up. “You think nothing of taking on the Hall brothers by yourself but are afraid to ride a horse.”
“I’m not afraid.” She put her right foot in his hands.
“Other foot,” he said. “Unless you want to sit backward.”
Gillis held the reins of her horse, his shoulders shaking in silent laughter.
She stepped back and tried again, placing her left foot into Angus’s waiting hands. He lifted her up and into the saddle like she was floating on air. The horse shifted his weight, and Margaret grabbed the raised front of the saddle.
“Don’t let go, Gillis.” She squeezed her legs around the beast to keep from falling and breaking her head on the packed earth. The horse pranced to the side. Gillis stopped him from doing a full circle. He shook his head at her with a scowl, making a gesture with his free hand.
“What? I don’t know what that means,” she said.
Angus’s hand landed on her leg, and she jumped, making the horse’s feet dance even faster.
“Relax,” Angus said. “You’re frightening him.” He put his hand on her knee again. “Loosen your legs. Sit still. Breathe.”
“I’m frightening him?”
He laughed. “Yes. He thinks there’s a mad woman on his back.”
Angus wouldn’t put her on an untrustworthy animal. She forced her muscles to relax. The moment she did, her horse stood still.
“See there.” Angus took the reins from Gillis. He lifted them over her horse’s head and handed them to her. “You’ll be fine.”
Gillis smiled and nodded. There was something very comforting about his silent approval.
Angus hoisted Osanna onto the other horse. She refused to abandon any of her herbs, so Gillis kept hold of her horse’s reins.
“All right, then,” Angus said.
Gillis took the lead, guiding Osanna’s horse. Angus and Margaret followed behind. Angus brought his animal up alongside hers when the terrain allowed, and Hamish bounded alongside them, covering double the ground as he explored the heathland on either side of the path.
It didn’t take long before she found her seat again, remembering how comfortable she’d been in a saddle in her youth. With only an occasional nudge from her, her horse followed along with the pack, leaving Margaret free to enjoy the bright moonlight and glow of silver shimmering off the moors. It didn’t take long for them reach Hartfell.
Before anyone could help her, Osanna swung her leg over and slid off her horse. “I’ll just go get these drying properly.” She ducked behind the tower to the larder, where the air was cool and dry.
Gillis dismounted and came over to help Margaret down, but Angus bumped him out of the way. He held up his hands, showing her his gloves. He understood her well. Gillis grinned and led the other horses off.
Margaret leaned forward and slid into his waiting hands. He set her gently on the ground, holding on to her longer than necessary. She backed out of his grip, but the warmth of his touch lingered on her skin. She drew her cloak tighter around her shoulders.
Angus fished an iron key out of his surcoat and fit it into her door. She’d been so foggy when they’d carried her away, she hadn’t noticed he’d taken her key from the box on the mantel shelf.
He pushed it open. “Home at last.”
“Yes. Thank heaven.” Home at last. She sidled past him into the house. It was cold and damp and in dreadful need of an airing.
“I’ll get a fire going.” Angus tossed some kindling and straw into the fireplace, then set to it with a flint. Gillis poked his head in, then knocked on the door, trying to get his brother’s attention. Angus looked over.
Gillis gestured elaborately, and Angus nodded. Then Gillis disappeared.
“What was that about?” Margaret asked.
“He saw a herd of deer a short way back. He’s going to get you one.”
Goodness. Venison would greatly improve their diet of bread, water, and whatever they managed to forage from the forest. “That is very kind.”
Angus blew into the smoke now trickling from the hearth. Flames flickered and sputtered to life. Small but growing. “He’s very fond of you, you know.”
“And I of him. His silence suits me well.”
Angus laughed, a deep and easy sound that brought more warmth to the room than the fire slowly coming to life in the hearth. Margaret pulled open the shutters to allow fresh air to come in, then turned and watched as he added wood, arranging it carefully for the best burn.
“Well.” Angus stood and brushed his hands off on his breeches. “There you are.”
“Yes.” She should make him leave now, but if he stayed a little longer, it wouldn’t be entirely unbearable.
Through the window drifted a song Osanna was humming to herself, but other than that, the room was silent.
Angus stood unmoving, watching her. Only the dried rush mat and worn cobbled floor lay between them, and not even the flame of the candle fluttered in the stillness.
He stepped closer, his eyes changing from misty gray to something deep and earnest. “I wish you wouldn’t insist on staying here by yourself.”
“I prefer the solitude.”
He came closer still. Until he was less than an arm’s length away. “Why is that?” he asked, his eyes still fixed on hers.
She tried to look away but found she could not. “I suppose I’ve been alone so long, it is the only way I feel comfortable.”
He moved closer once again. So close.
She backed away. He followed her step for step until she hit the wall and there was nowhere left for her to go.
Angus rested his hands on her shoulders. He’d taken his gloves off when he’d made the fire, but the high neck of her cloak covered her well enough.
“Do you feel comfortable now?” he whispered, his breath rustling the lock of hair that had come loose from her coif.
She shook her head the smallest bit. “No. Not at all.”
His lips rose into a tempting grin.
Too tempting. “Nor do I think Elizabeth would feel comfortable with your behavior just now,” Margaret said to turn his attention away from her and onto his true love.
He shook his head. “Elizabeth is heather. Pretty but common. One cannot turn one’s head without seeing fields of heather.” He fingered the strand of her dark hair. “You, Margaret Grey, are a corn-cockle. Beautiful and rare.”
She smiled. Such nonsense. “Cockles are poisonous.”
“Indeed, they are.” He leaned in. Already his nearness tingled her lips.
“Do not touch me,” she whispered, though she did not push him away. With only the smallest tip of her head, she could close the space between them. Press her mouth to his. Of course, she would never. His thoughts would rush into her mind.
The cold stone wall pressed into her back, leaching her warmth, making it even harder to resist leaning into Angus’s heat.