Angus removed his jerkin and tossed it aside. He closed the door and crossed the room to sit on the edge of the bed. “Come.” He patted the coverlet beside him.
Margaret obeyed, heat burning her cheeks. The ceremony had been a matter of necessity, securing her the Robson name and the protection that came with it. Now, in the solitude of Angus Robson’s bedchamber, it hit her fully that she was his wife.
Her mother would have been pleased she had Angus—even if he was a Scotsman. And today, against all she had ever thought possible, she felt she belonged to a family again. Lady Linkirk had embraced her. Even called her daughter. Most surprising of all, Lord Linkirk had defended her against the warden and his men.
“Angus,” she said. “How did you convince your father to come to my rescue? He hates me. I’m sure of it.”
“I told him I was going with or without him.”
“He cannot be happy about our marriage.”
Angus kissed the top of her head. “His is the heart that has turned to stone. My mother is the only person I think he truly loves, though he does little to show it. She threatened to retire to a monastery if he could not soften. I think he finally realized that if he did not change his ways, he would not only lose the last of his sons but also his wife. So he mustered the men and rode with me. In any case, he hates Dacre more than he hates you.”
“Well, at least I’m not the lowest in his eyes.”
Angus laughed. “In truth, I think he likes you more than me, so do not sell yourself short.”
“I’m sure that is not possible.”
“I lied to him for years about James. And I did so to protect Gillis, the son he couldn’t bear to see. He despises me.”
Margaret had been too quick to judge Linkirk. She had only seen the bad side of him. The side that cursed one son for killing his brother and loathed the other son for being mute. His heart was not stone. It was buried deep within a wall, like Margaret’s—still there for the person who was willing to dig deep enough to find it. “But he must also love you,” she said. “For him to ride with you to the warden’s. For him to allow our marriage. For him to stand before the warden and claim me as one of his own. There is a strand of love threaded through all these acts. I just did not see it before.”
Angus thought for a moment. “Perhaps.”
She unpinned her hood. It was pressing into the stitches Osanna had given her. She pulled the hood off, and her hair tumbled down.
Angus clutched his chest and groaned in pain.
“What is it? Are you injured?” She’d never asked if he had come through the fight at the warden’s unscathed.
“You are so beautiful it hurts.” He ran his fingers through her hair.
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I was completely in earnest. Now wait here while I go fetch something for you to eat.” He tipped her head to the side. “Also a bandage, I think, for you are bleeding again.” Angus left, closing the door behind him.
Her mind could barely think. She lay on the bed, resting her head gently on Angus’s soft pillow. It smelled of him, of heather and wind and the musky scent that was all his own. She buried her face in it, careful to keep her bleeding wound from staining the linen.
* * *
Margaret heard the door click. It had taken Angus a long time to return. But when she opened her eyes, it was Osanna carrying a tray of food. She set it down on the small table, then turned to Margaret.
“Oh, my lady. You’ve awoke.” She hurried over. “Been asleep all the day long, and now ’tis even’ again.” Osanna leaned in close. “But I told yer husband not to worry. The bones told me you were not ill, just needing rest.”
“Osanna,” Margaret said, though her throat was dry and raspy, “you cannot use your bones here. If they catch you . . . well, let’s just say it will not be good.”
Osanna glanced up, over Margaret’s shoulder, then nodded. “Yes, my lady,” she whispered.
Margaret turned to see what Osanna was looking at. Angus sat on the other edge of the bed.
“Good morrow,” he said.
Margaret’s cheeks burned. She hadn’t known he was there. “Angus,” she said for a greeting.
She tossed the coverlet aside to rise but found herself dressed only in her shift. Last she remembered was Angus leaving to fetch something and her lying down to wait, fully dressed. She pulled the blanket back up.
Osanna held out an object secretively. “Take this and put it under yer pillow, and yer marriage will be blessed,” she whispered.
It appeared to be a chicken foot and three small, gray feathers all tied together with a string of red wool. Margaret didn’t want to touch it, but it obviously meant a great deal to Osanna, whose eyes beamed.
“Thank you.”
Osanna slipped it into Margaret’s hands, then dipped in a curtsy and left the room.
Angus came and sat beside her. “How are you feeling?”
“Much better, thank you.” Though twilight set the world outside the window into deep shadows, for Margaret, it was the dawn of a beautiful new day. A new life. One she had never dared hope for. “My love,” she said with a grin, taking his hand. “You have given me a wedding gift, but I have not given you yours.”
His eyes lit up—until she pressed into his hand Osanna’s feathery thing.
“Osanna says it will bless our marriage.”
He lifted it cautiously between finger and thumb. “I shall cherish it always.” He sniffed it, then grimaced.
“It goes under your pillow,” Margaret explained.
“Of course it does.” He lifted the large pillow that ran the width of the bed and placed it underneath. “I’m sure it will bring us years of good fortune and health.”