10
Seamus regarded Brodie carefully; his eyes were narrowed, his bushy eyebrows drawn together. “I must say that I am rather disappointed in ye, young MacKenzie. If I had known that just one goblet of whiskey would erode yer morals so grievously, I would not have poured it for ye.”
“Once again, sir, I apologize from the bottom of my heart, and I assure you—”
Seamus held up a hand, silencing him. “Ye have made yer apology, and it has been sufficient. The fact of the matter is that in standing before me and making this confession, ye have intrigued me as well. Yers is a crime committed by almost every lad yer age, in one form or another. Many young men in yer position would have lit out like cowards in the night to dodge all accountability. Some, having stayed, would even have shown the audacity to call my daughter a liar and worse by pointing the finger at her when it was he who took advantage. Ye have chosen to do the right thing, the brave and honorable thing. I respect that. It tells me that ye may yet be a fine laird to the MacKenzies, and to the MacLeods someday as well. You may marry my Isla at once in order to right this wrong, and I wish ye all the happiness in the world.”
“Thank you, sir. You are most gracious indeed.”
But even as Brodie breathed a sigh of relief and bowed before Seamus, he still felt as though his heart was breaking.
All those years spent imagining his eventual marriage, and in his mind, it had never looked anything like this. A union with one he did not love, proposed from convenience and cemented by a shameful lapse in judgment on his part. He had always meant for his wedding to be a glorious affair, the most marvelous moment of his entire life. Now it would be tainted by compromise and ignominy.
And what of Margaret? How could he marry Isla when he was in love with her maid? Would Margaret continue to serve Isla, her daily presence tormenting Brodie? Or worse, would she be sent away and lose the position she held so dear, all from the injustice of having Brodie enter her life at the wrong time?
He couldn’t bear it. The romance he had sought for so long, just out of his reach forever?
And then, there she was. Just a few feet away from him.
How could it be that Margaret always seemed to appear just as he was thinking of her? Was it some deeply shared instinct between them that drew her to him at such moments, or was it simply that he wasalwaysthinking of her—always imagining her soft curves and fair features?
He did not know. In that moment, all he knew was that he needed to speak with her. To make her understand that although he had to marry Isla, his heart belonged to her.
Brodie took her by the hand, and although she stiffened at his touch, she allowed him to guide her to one of the lesser-trafficked halls behind the kitchen.
She knew that hallway well. She had retreated to it many times for minutes at a time when she had been a scullery girl, trying to briefly hide from Elspeth’s tantrums. It had been a place of comfort and safety to her then. Now that she was sharing the narrow space with Brodie, though, the air between them seemed to crackle and roil, like the moments before a thunderstorm.
She did not feel safe there at all anymore. Rather, she felt as though her own emotions were tossing her about like a rag doll, and she was helpless to gain control over them.
“Please listen to me, Margaret,” Brodie begged. “I refuse to believe that anything untoward happened between myself and Isla.”
“Whether you believe it or not—or whetherIwish to believe it or not—we both saw the evidence for ourselves on the sheets,” Margaret replied, trying to keep her tone steady. “I am not angry with you, sir, if that is your concern. Men act as they act, especially when they have indulged in whiskey. Besides, you and she were promised to each other anyway, so what does it matter?”
He continued to clutch her hand tightly. The pressure hurt a bit, but still, she did not pull away from his touch. She was afraid that someone might see them. However, she was more afraid of not knowing whether this might be the last time she would feel his hand gripping hers, and so she resolved to memorize every moment of it, every sensation, to keep her warm during cold and lonely nights to come.
“It matters tome,” he insisted. “It matters that you believe that I would not do such a thing.”
“You do not wish me to think that you would dishonor Isla so?”
“No,” he answered. “I do not wish you to think that I would dishonoryouso by putting you in a position where you might have to witness such a thing…knowing how I feel about you.”
“But do you not see?” she implored, blinking back tears. “I am Isla’s maid, Brodie. As such, I shall doubtless be forced to bear witness to that same sight many, many times over once the two of you are wed. And it shall surely hurt my heart each time.”
“What can I possibly do about that?” he asked helplessly.
She sniffled. “Nothing. There is nothing either of us can do about it. It is simply the way of things, and we shall both have to accept it so that your marriage may be harmonious.”
Before he had a chance to answer, Brodie glanced over Margaret’s shoulder…and froze. She turned to follow his gaze, and her hand went to her mouth at once.
Isla was standing at the far end of the hallway, watching them.
Her expression was blank, her face pale, her jaw slack as a single tear glistened upon her cheek. She hesitated for the briefest of moments, then turned and darted away.
“Isla!” Margaret called out, reluctantly pulling her hand from Brodie’s grasp and hurrying after her.
Brodie watched them go, feeling as though his legs had been turned to stone.
Margaret pursued Isla all the way up to Isla’s bedchamber. Isla had not bothered with closing the door, and so Margaret entered, shutting it behind her so that no one would hear what was spoken between them.
