Page 12 of Highlander’s Torn Bride

“Is Gavin a choice you made because you wanted him? Or was Gavin a choice you made because it made more sense to rely on him than to rely on Alan?”

Margaret scoffed. It was a ridiculous question, with an answer so clear that she wanted to declare from the roof of her uncle’s house—or to shout through the kitchen, since finding it may have been a more impressive feat at this point. At the very least, Margaret would declare her resolve to Ann, yet, when she tried to form the words, nothing came to her.

It was a ridiculous question. Or, at least, she wanted it to be.

When Margaret sat in silence for too long, Ann said, “Listen, tis not a question I expect ye to answer. All I ask is that ye use that merchant’s mind to see that Gavin is no longer a choice if you wish for Mariah and Laura to remain here. Then, if the question is between giving Alexander a chance to make ye happy, and not, then ye ought to try opening yer heart.”

“Fine,” Margaret said, coming suddenly to a stand. “I am off to see Gavin.”

“Is that the conclusion you reached from this?” Ann said, her voice the same shrill pitch she used when talking to her misbehaving sisters.

“I guess so,” Margaret replied, not able to give any further explanation because she had none to give. The declaration had surprised her as much as Ann. With follow through seeming to be the simpler option than sitting to parse out her feelings, Margaret left the room, shutting the door softly behind her this time.

Margaret found Gavin right about where she had seen him last, crowded around a fire with the other men that her uncle sent riding with him to do whatever it was that they did. Margaret didn’t approach, deciding that it was better to wait for him to notice her than to approach him in the middle of a crowd. When his eyes found her immediately, Margaret gave a quick tilt of her head and carried forward. She walked along the creek for a time, continuing the journey even as the gardens gave way to a small wooded area. Though no one from the house could see her through the trees anymore, Margaret kept walking until she came across the tree she was looking for: a massive oak right along the edge of the creek. It was so close, in fact, that the earth surrounding half of its roots had washed away, exposing the ugly, misshapen twists that served as the foundation for something so impressively beautiful.

She stared up at the tree, remembering days when she used to climb it while Isobel sat at the bottom, throwing a fit about how she couldn’t follow without ruining her dress. Margaret would go as high as the branches let her, not caring about whatever she left behind or whatever dress she ruined to do it.

Now who is stuck on the ground in a pretty dress while the other escapes to a new world? Margaret wondered, feeling a smile flit across her face. Even though Isobel’s departure had ruined every plan Margaret had made, she was glad that Isobel had finally dared to climb.

“So, how is he?”

Gavin’s voice pulled her back from her visions of days gone by and the dreamy-pink softness that seemed to surround those peaceful memories. The reality of the present was far bleaker, with Gavin’s very presence before her reminding her of rainy days and trampled flowers.

He stood at least five paces away from her, probably the furthest away that he had ever stood from her by his own choice. Even from this distance, she could see the redness of his eyes and the dark shadows beneath him.

“You look awful,” she said.

“Havena been sleeping. Not a wee bit since the day I found out about all this, lass, ye should ken that.”

Margaret winced. She hadn’t been the one to tell Gavin the news. Her uncle had accidentally taken on that task when he had, unbeknownst to Margaret, gone to visit with Gavin and his father when Margaret and Ann had gone upstairs to pack their things. Gavin had shown up in her home soon after, barging into the house and demanding her confirmation. When she had given it, he had begged her to change her mind, promising to go and wed her the very next day if that is what she wanted. But then, before Margaret could answer, Ann had come into the room to say that she could see light from Laird Gunn’s lantern coming up the road, and Gavin had disappeared into the night.

Though it had taken her uncle longer than expected to reach the house after that, he had behaved as if nothing was amiss. The next day, when they had set out for Braemore, Gavin and his father had joined their party and, other than signs of a sleepless night, Gavin had not shown a bit of weakness. That was a strength of his, though she wished that he did not exclusively reserve moments of emotional release for her. If he hadn’t, maybe he would have dared to ask her uncle for her hand sooner and they would be living happily together in Thurso at this very moment.

“I’m sorry,” she said, not sure what else could be said without breaking them both.

“No, ye aren’t, for, if ye were, ye would leave this place with me right now.”

“But the clan—”

“Will he want ye for who ye are?”

No, Margaret thought. He wants an Isobel.

Though she hadn’t spoken it aloud, Gavin nodded, and Margaret knew that he had read her thoughts within the silence, for they had been as deafening as a thunderclap.

“I’m not a fool, Margaret,” Gavin said, slowly stepping forward to close the gap between them. “I ken that if ye do not go through with this tomorrow, the queen will have all our heads. Maybe that is why she sent Rob Fraser here: to be her executioner. But, I may have a way to help us save both the clan and our love.”

Margaret studied his face, unsure if it was madness or the exhaustion that was making his eyes look so crazed. “How?”

“Do not consummate the marriage,” he said, lifting her calloused hands and pulling them gently to his chest.

Margaret immediately pulled away. “How can I possibly—”

“He is a polite lad. If ye tell him ye need a few days to adjust, he’ll give it. Donna believe me? Do ye recall the way he shook like a leaf before you earlier? You think that is a man that will push the issue?”

Margaret pressed her hands to her temples, exhausted. She would soon be like her uncle with streaks of gray shooting through her hair. “I just—”

“Promise me,” Gavin said, grabbing her hands again, pulling them away from her face and back to his chest. “Promise me ye will refrain from consummating the marriage for at least a few days.”