“Ye intend tae revise me tariffs without consultation?”
Margaret did not start. She had grown accustomed enough to him now that his presence no longer startled her. She lifted her gaze slowly, only to see Domhnall standing just inside the doorway, with one shoulder braced lightly against the frame and his arms crossed. There was something unmistakably amused in the set of his mouth.
Margaret tilted her head slightly.
“I was under the impression,” she said evenly, “that a laird benefited from a well-informed wife.”
His brow lifted. “Aye.Ifshe is well-informed.”
Margaret’s lips curved faintly. She closed the book and rose to her feet.
“And ye believe I am nae?”
He pushed away from the doorway then, crossing the room at an unhurried pace.
“I believe,” he said, his gaze dropping briefly to the book in her hands, “that ye are reading about maritime levies and trade routes in an effort tae stand on me good side.”
Margaret considered him for a moment. “I thought I already was.”
The words were light, but the meaning beneath them was not. Domhnall seemed even more amused now.
“A bold assumption,” he grinned.
Margaret stepped closer, closing the distance between them without hesitation.
“I have never been anything else.”
He watched her now not as one might watch a challenge, as one might study something unexpectedly… compelling.
“And what,” he asked playfully, “dae ye intend tae dae with this knowledge, should I grant that ye possess it?”
Margaret held his gaze. “I intend tae make meself useful.”
The answer was simple and honest, without being sharpened into defiance or softened into submission.
“Ye alreadyarethat,” he told her, catching her off guard.
Margaret stilled. In truth, she did not know what to do with the words. They did not come wrapped in challenge, nor edged with command. There was no expectation beneath them, no demand to prove herself further. Just like her own words, his were the truth plainly spoken, as he did all things.
And it unsettled her more than any argument might have.
Her fingers tightened slightly around the edge of the book, though her gaze remained on him.
“Ye are easily satisfied, then,” she said lightly, though something softer threaded beneath the words.
“Nay,” he said, refusing to allow her to diminish the worth of the words that were just exchanged. “I am nae.”
The quiet certainty of it lingered between them. Margaret felt it settle somewhere deep, steadying rather than unbalancing her this time. Before she could answer, however, his gaze flicked once more to the book in her hands, and something of that earlier amusement returned.
“And while I would greatly enjoy testing ye,” he went on, “asking questions from that tome tae see whether ye have truly been paying attention…”
Margaret arched a brow.
“I would nae fail,” she said.
“I dinnae doubt that,” he replied, entirely untroubled. Which, annoyingly, robbed her of the satisfaction of proving him wrong. “But,” he continued, reaching into the inner fold of his coat, “I believe this reading material would make ye happier.”
Margaret blinked, as the shift in subject caught her unprepared. He withdrew two folded letters. Her attention sharpened instantly. He extended one toward her and Margaret took it without hesitation. The moment her fingers brushed the paper, something in her chest tightened and then, just as quickly, leapt.
