The certainty of the words steadied her more than she expected. Before she could reply, he bowed his head in a brief, restrained gesture that somehow felt more intimate for its restraint, and stepped back. Without another word, he turned and withdrew down a side passage, already shedding the role of escort for that of laird.
Margaret watched him go, but something lingered in the space he left behind.
Then Annabel gestured gently. “This way, me lady.”
They started walking and Annabel filled the silence at once. “Oh, I’m so glad ye’ve arrived safely.” Her voice was soft and bright, and the words tumbled out in a way that felt truly relieved. “There’s been such a stir all evening, fires lit, linens aired, the housekeeper nearly in a state. It’s nae every night the laird returns with news like this.”
Margaret smiled faintly, grateful for the sound of an ordinary voice after so many hours of tension. “I imagine nae.”
Annabel glanced at her. Her big blue eyes were quick and curious, but not impertinent. “The castle isnae often taken by surprise. But when it is, it moves very quickly.”
They stopped before a heavy wooden door. There was a torch burning steadily beside it. Annabel opened it with a small flourish, stepping aside to allow Margaret to enter first.
The chamber was vast, warmed by a generous fire that chased the chill from stone walls draped in rich hangings. A bed stood near the far wall, its linens freshly turned down. Candles were placed carefully at intervals as though to soften the space. A dressing table waited near the window, laid with combs, pins, and a small arrangement of flowers that looked newly gathered.
It was unmistakably a woman’s room. It was not a space borrowed or hastily cleared, but one considered and prepared, as though someone had imagined a woman living there and had taken care to make room for her.
“Oh,” Margaret breathed.
Annabel beamed. “The housekeeper insisted everything be ready. She said if a lady was tae come, she wouldnae be made tae feel like an afterthought.”
Margaret crossed the room slowly, allowing her fingers to brush the back of a chair, then the smooth linen of the bedcover. It unsettled her more than any hostility might have done.
This was kindness… quiet, deliberate kindness.
Nothing about it matched the stories she had heard of Domhnall Campbell, the ruthless laird, the iron-handed ruler, the man whose name was spoken with unease in courtly circles. And yet, from the moment he had claimed her, he had offered protection, not cruelty.
She found herself struggling to reconcile the beast with the man who had stood between her and her father, who had jumped into a river for her, who had spoken of right and wrong as though the distinction mattered to him.
More troubling still was the awareness that had settled beneath her ribs: she was attracted to him. The realization was unwelcome in its timing and undeniable in its truth. It had been there on the ride, in the closeness of the saddle, in the warmth of his voice when he spoke her name, in the certainty of his hands when he lifted her from danger.
Margaret sank onto the edge of the bed, suddenly exhausted.
Annabel hovered at once. “Shall I draw ye a bath, me lady? Or perhaps ye’d rather sleep?”
Margaret looked around the room once more, taking in the firelight, the careful preparations, the sense that she had been expected even before she arrived.
“Aye, please,” she said softly. “I think… I think I would like tae stay here a while.”
Annabel smiled, as though she understood more than she said.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Domhnall did not linger in the corridors.
Once he had seen Margaret safely delivered into the care of the household, he turned his steps toward the upper council chamber, shedding fatigue as he went. Whatever else the journey had cost him, there was work yet to be done and he did not pause for sentiment.
The Council was already assembled when he entered.
Men rose at once from the long table, captains, stewards, and senior kin, all wearing grave faces. A map lay unrolled across the stone, weighted at the corners, while candles guttered low beside it. The air was thick with anticipation rather than surprise.
“Ye all ken,” Domhnall said instead of a greeting, taking his seat at the head.
“A rider came before ye,” one of the men replied from his place at the table. “The message was clear.”
One of the elder captains leaned forward. “Then I will speak plainly, me laird. The speed of this union invites scrutiny. Drummond will nae accept it quietly.”
“Nor will MacGregor,” another added.
