She looked horrified. But also contrite.
“Have you seen her?” he asked. Marjory shook her head. “How about young Comyn?”
She shook her head again. “I saw his sisters standing by the entry a few minutes ago.”
Eoin grimaced. He didn’t much like Comyn’s sisters. Frankly, they reminded him too much of his own. Mean-spirited, judgmental, and gossipy. He and Marjory were going to have a long talk later. He could no longer pretend she was going to grow out of it.
There was a small, screened-off section of the Hall between the main entry and the corridor to the kitchens. With the garderobe nearby, the ladies tended to gather there to wait in groups. That was where he found them.
He stood near the entry and seeing no sign of Margaret was about to leave when he heard her name. He thought it was Elizabeth Comyn who spoke—John’s eldest sister. In addition to Joan, Comyn’s other sister, there were a few other ladies Eoin didn’t recognize.
“Margaret MacDowell? You thought wrong! My brother would never consider marrying a woman like that. If her father is fool enough to think my brother would marry someone so utterly in lack of dignity, manners, and morals, that’s his fault. Have you seen her? She might as well wear the yellow hood of a harlot with the way she dresses and looks; I wasn’t surprised to hear she seduced Finlaeie MacFinnon.” The woman who must have spoken first tried to put up some argument, but Comyn’s sister shut her down. “They were seen. What more proof do you need? If there was any question before—which there wasn’t,” she emphasized, “there isn’t now. My brother will not marry soiled goods.”
If Eoin were the kind of man to strike a woman, Elizabeth Comyn would be in grave danger right now. Not trusting himself to listen to another minute of this shite without saying something to straighten these harpies out—something that would only worsen the gossip—he was about to leave when one of the women complained, “Who is taking so long in there?”
The door to the garderobe opened and a woman stepped out. “The soiled goods,” Margaret said.
Shite. That was the moment Eoin knew what was wrong with him. He knew what he’d been trying to deny. He knew why instead of focusing all his efforts on impressing his kinsman for a job of which he could only dream, he was chasing down a woman to the garderobe.
His blood drained to the floor. The truth hit him square in the chest as she stood there like a damned queen, facing their condemnation with defiance and a look on her face that told them to go to hell.
I’m in love with her.
Bloody hell, how could he have let this happen? It didn’t make any damned sense! He didn’t want to believe that he could do something so completely and utterly stupid.
But he had. She was wild, outrageous, and didn’t dress or act anything like a noblewoman should, but seeing her standing there, facing those women, with more pride and dignity in her tiny slippered foot than those women could ever hope to have, he knew he loved her.
God knows he didn’t understand it, sure as hell wasn’t happy about it, and didn’t know what he was going to do about it, but neither could he deny it.
Regally, head held high, she walked across the small room. The women seemed stunned—and not a little shamed—and parted instinctively before her. Margaret’s pride, her bravado, never faltered. Until she turned the corner of the partition and saw him.
Their eyes met, and he could see that she knew he’d heard every word. Her golden eyes widened. Her fair skin paled. And then her proud, beautiful face simply crumpled.
He glimpsed something he’d never thought to see in her expression: vulnerability, and it cut him to the quick.
He reached for her. “Margaret, I’m sorry—”
He didn’t get to finish.
“Oh God, please... please, just leave me alone!” With a soft cry and sob that tore right through his chest, she twisted away from him and fled out the Hall as if the devil were nipping at her heels.
He’d heard. He’d heard every horrible word, every lie they said about her.
Margaret felt the tears sliding down her cheeks as she ran across the yard. For the first time in her life she wanted to run away. She wanted to crawl in a hole and hide. Shame was a new emotion for her, but it burned through every limb, every bone, and every corner of her body.
They thought she’d seduced Finlaeie MacFinnon. They thought she dressed like a whore so she must be one? Is that what Eoin thought? God knows with what had happened in the library he had every reason to.
She heard him call her name, but it only made her run faster. She didn’t know where she was going, only that she had to get away. She’d headed to the stables without even realizing it. A solitary stable lad sat at the entry. He took one look at her face and made himself scarce.
That was when Eoin caught up with her. He took her by the arm again. This time his grip was firm. When she tried to shrug away, he held fast. Blast it, he was strong, and right now, she hated all those muscles she so admired.
“Let go of me,” she cried, in between sobs that tore through her lungs like fire.
“Margaret—Maggie—look at me.”
She didn’t want to, but there was something in his voice that would not be denied.Maggie? She lifted her gaze. Dark, velvety blue eyes met hers. Not with condemnation but with understanding. And something else. Something that looked like tenderness.
“I’m not going anywhere until we talk,” he said in a voice that was both firm and gentle.
