Margaret crossed the courtyard toward the barmkin wall, Hamish bounding at her side. She’d awakened early, eager to get out and stretch her legs. Angus had kept her hidden inside for the past several days in case any of the warden’s men were lying in wait. But she couldn’t stay indoors any longer. A walk across the heath was what she needed, to stretch her legs and clear her lungs.
The tall form of Lord Linkirk rounded the corner of the house, striding with a purpose toward the stables. She had barely seen him since the day of the wedding and the warden’s visit. Margaret looked away, changing course to avoid him. But then she changed back until she came to a stop right in front of him.
Avoiding him would only widen the gap between them. And between Angus and his father. He had risked his life to help rescue her. She would do what little she could to keep that thin strand of love from snapping.
She dipped her head. “Good morrow.”
He stumbled to a halt.
“I want to thank you for coming to my rescue. Angus speaks very highly of your aid that night. He couldn’t have done it without you.”
He seemed surprised by that, tipping his head skeptically. “I highly doubt that.”
“’Tis the truth. He has said so on numerous occasions. Angus has great respect for you and your skill at managing the manor.” This may have been a slight exaggeration, but someone had to build some bridges in this household.
Linkirk’s eyes widened, then he let out a grunting laugh. “Now I know you are lying.”
She shrugged. “Think what you like.”
He smiled ever so slightly. “Do you think you can win me over with flattery? Heal the house with honeyed words? I see through you like you were made of gauze and lace.”
She had never been good at subtlety. Nor was flattery her strong suit. “Fine.” She met his eyes with her best glare. “But do not think that I can’t also see through you. You have a little piece of heart left, buried deep within your wall of stone.”
“And you think you will be the one to tear it down?”
“Course not.” For she had learned something about walls of stone. “The only person who can tear it down is the one who built it.” He started to speak, but she cut him off. “I understand very well about these walls. They offer protection; that is certain. But they also block the view.” She gave him a deep curtsy. “We are all here for you, when you are ready to clear your vision.”
He stared at her. A few days ago, this speech would have merited her a blow to the head. But Angus was right—he seemed to be making an effort, so his eyes narrowed, but his hands stayed at his side.
“Angus tells me you are riding north today. I pray you safe journey.” She snapped her fingers, and Hamish leapt to his feet. She did not look back as she crossed the courtyard and made her way to the pass-through in the barmkin wall. Once through, she stopped, pressing her hand over her heart. She had been far too bold with the lord of the manor. The Earl of Linkirk. Yet she sensed he was not a man to be won by adulations. He would see it as weakness, and he loathed weakness.
Margaret removed the linen wrap from her head, setting her hair free. She let the breeze blow away thoughts of Linkirk and his plague upon the house. Not even he could ruin this glorious day.
The moors beckoned to her. She climbed a craggy slope and perched at the top, turning slowly in a circle. From here, she could see for miles. The heather created a vast sea of purple and pink from horizon to horizon. Mounds of blooming gorse formed yellow islands throughout, and stands of oak and hawthorn streaked the lowland.
She gazed south. Miles away, across the border, Hartfell tower stood abandoned once again. And probably burned. She had no doubt the warden would have sent men to raze the place to the ground.
She could never show her face across the border again. Not while William Dacre was the warden. Timothy would be surprised when word reached him about her hasty marriage. Perhaps he already knew, for news traveled fast in Redesdale.
The warden would declare her a traitor. Her head would be wanted. She was a Scot, now and forever. It mattered little to her; she felt no loyalty to England. England had given her naught but grief.
She had Angus now, and that was more than she deserved. Mercy, he told her—not for the warden but for herself. For six years, she had lived with nothing but hatred. It had burned in her heart like a great fiery furnace consuming everything.
Though she did not forgive the warden, the time had come to let her hatred go. She would not waste the remaining years of her life consumed by it. It was the devil’s tool—a trap to prevent her from using her life for better things. This was the mercy she bestowed upon herself.
Hamish jumped to his feet from where he’d lain in a patch of soft bracken, his tail wagging.
“Here you are.” Angus came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her.
“What are you doing here? I thought you were meeting with the steward today.”
“I missed you,” he said.
She leaned back into his chest. “I’ve been gone less than a quarter hour. You really are a sticky fly.”
“I’m still not convinced you won’t cross the border and make one last attempt on the warden.”
Margaret shook her head. “I gave you my word. I am done with him. Done with all of it.” Angus had freed her in every way—from her curse, from her revenge, and from her guilt. “Thank you,” she said.
“For not abandoning you to the likes of William Dacre? You are welcome. But take care. I’ve sworn off reiving, so I’ll not be doing something like that again.”
Margaret shook her head. “Not for that—although, I am grateful for the rescue.”
“Do you mean for marrying you and making you the luckiest woman in all of Scotland?”
She turned to face him. “For not giving up on me. So many times I shooed you away, and you always came back.”
“I almost lost my life for it. You have a bit of a temper, you know. How many times have you threatened me with that knife of yours?”
She tried to push away, but he only held her tighter. She gave in easily. After so long avoiding any touch, she could not get enough.
“I still can’t believe you are here in my arms, Margaret Robson.” He held her bare hand. “So many times you warned me not to touch you. Over and over you sent me away.” He stroked her hair and sighed. “Gillis would have been happy to see us together.”
“It was one of his last thoughts.”
Angus leaned back to see her face. “What do you mean?”
“I didn’t tell you at the time, but one of the last images I saw in his mind was that of you and I being wed. As always, he had keen insight into our souls.”
“I am not surprised,” Angus said, his voice soft. “He knew from the start that I was taken with you.”
“I’m sorry for the loss of your brother. I miss him also,” she said. “I know you loved him greatly.”
“I’m sorry as well. He loved you too.” Angus stood quietly for a while, his eyes on the horizon.
The sweet scent of heather wound around them, carried on the wind. A hawk called, hovering over the heath, following some sort of creature winding its way through the bracken. The hawk folded his wings and dove, landing for an instant on the ground, then rising again with breakfast clutched in its claws.
Angus leaned down closer to her ear. “I should get you back. Osanna bade me bring you home. She is concerned you haven’t been eating enough these last few days.”
“She is always worried about something. Poor girl.”
“But tell me,” he said. “Are you sure she is not a witch? Sometimes she says the oddest things.”
Margaret laughed. “I am not sure. I think she might be. Though she does not really know it herself.” She turned to face him. “You will not turn her out, will you?”
“No, of course not. But it would be best if my father and mother do not know.”
Margaret agreed. She would talk to the girl again about keeping her bones and other dead things away from the eyes of the house. “Osanna told me something very interesting yesterday even.”
“What was that?” Angus asked.
“She said that within the year, we would be blessed with a son.”
Angus chuckled. “How does she know this? From the chicken foot in our bed?”
“No. She has this bag of omens. Shells and bones and a crow’s beak. She consults them regularly for all sorts of reasons.” Perhaps she should not be telling Angus about it, but she did not want there to be secrets between them.
“Is she ever right?” he asked.
“Surprisingly so. She knew about Gillis’s death before I had a chance to tell her. And she advised me numerous times that the bones said I should not keep sending you away.”
“Well, now I am a believer. You should have heeded her omens sooner.” He kissed her forehead. “We shall have our son, and we shall name him Gillis.”
That sounded perfect. “But what if it’s a girl?” Margaret grinned. “We can name her Elizabeth.”
Angus laughed out loud, and Hamish lifted his head to see what was so funny. “Never. If it is a girl, we shall name her Corn-Cockle, after her mother.”
Now it was Margaret’s turn to laugh. “I shall move back to England if that is the name.”
He lifted her head, kissing the tip of her nose and then her lips. Margaret closed her eyes. Her mind silent. Her mind her own.
“Come,” he said. “Mother is also asking for you. She is eager to know you better. She’s very excited to have another woman in the house.” He took her hand and led her off the hill, back toward Carrigdean.
Margaret went willingly, her hand in his. No gloves needed.