Page 33 of Highlander’s Torn Bride

Margaret pursed her lips. “I do not have that much energy.”

Alexander knew who it was that Margaret truly missed, and it was not Ann. It was her sisters, Mariah and Laura. Alexander had learned their names from Margaret as she called out for them in her sleep, telling one not to play on the rocks, and the other to stop making such a fuss over a torn boot.

Knowing that Margaret had filled every day of her prior life with both the care of her sisters and a heavy workload on the dock, he was not entirely sure how she would manage to fill her days now that she was here living a life of leisure. Alexander and Jonah had younger siblings she could have cared for, but they were with their parents in Tongue and had no plans to return soon. As for work, it was still too dangerous to risk any sort of exposure of her identity via her acting too against the mold. While Alexander had forgiven her of anything relating to the original deception, his parents, the queen, and a good number of their allied clans would feel no such tenderness.

So, all that remained for Margaret was to mope about the castle all day, searching for new friends and hobbies wherever she could, but finding none. Over the past few weeks, Alexander had seen a void widening in her heart; it was a void that had formed when she had given up the part of herself that she had created in Thurso. For a time, her constant monitoring of her speech and action had preventing her from feeling the full force of the emptied space, but now, with nothing better to do, it was growing more noticeable.

Margaret had tried to find ways to fill her time by asking the servants to give her some sort of manageable task. They had, in return, given her a tidy needlepoint project or suggested she practice her music or drawing. This had vexed Margaret, whose education as a merchant’s daughter had not extended to such fine arts.

“I could check the mathematics on your reports,” Margaret asked one day, begging him for something to do. “Or, I could create a report examining the clan’s current assets.”

“Or, you could go practice your needlepoint,” Rob had replied, grinning at her. He hadn’t been trying to be cruel, but she had already created a report for him that week, and the clan’s business was not so complex that it needed an update just yet. She had stormed from the room anyway, snatching whatever book she happened to pass as she went, so long as the cover was unfamiliar to her.

While her boredom had been amusing at first, Alexander started to see it take a toll on her, with a bit of the twinkle in her green eyes fading with each passing day. Since then, he had done his best to try and devise some sort of activity for her, but nothing had come to him and he was forced to instead watch her waste away before his very eyes. No matter how deeply he loved her, she would never be fully happy and content if something did not change.

“Laird Mackay,” a servant lass said, rushing up to him with a quick curtsey. “There are guests waiting for yer attendance.”

“I do not have time to hear local grievances today,” Alexander objected.

“Apologies, Laird Mackay, but they are noble guests. A Lady Isobel Gunn and her attendant, Gavin, also of Clan Gunn. Shall I fetch Lady Margaret?”

“No need,” Alexander said, feeling a coldness slip down his back.

What in the devil are those two doing here? he asked himself. It did not bode well to have two enemies united against him under his roof.

Alexander was led to his father’s study, a room he had taken over for himself in father’s absence. Gavin, a man he recognized far too well from some awful dreams, sat in the large leather chair behind his father’s desk. The other figure in the room must have been Isobel. At some point, when Margaret had described her cousin, he had thought she might have been exaggerating. It would have been unlike Margaret, as she always was rather to the point and clear when she said anything, but he had not believed that all she said about Isobel could be true. The person she had been describing had been an impossibility. But now, with her standing before him, he realized that, in at least some of her descriptions, Margaret may have been too kind.

Objectively, he admitted that she was a beauty, with perfectly porcelain skin and green, almond-shaped eyes. But, that was where his compliments for her ended. Her hair, a lovely brown shade that reminded him of chestnuts, had been so overworked with braids, curls, and pins, that it looked more like a bird’s nest on top of her head than anything that could have been deemed fashionable. Her figure was what most men would have considered ideal, full of splendid curves with a contrasting narrow waist, but she covered it with a gaudy bright red velvet dress that was studded with hundreds of pieces of shattered amethyst and a gathering of fabric flowers at the waist, as if a bouquet had been tucked into her belt. Not only was the dress not particularly pleasing, but it was clearly more expensive than it should have been, and it did not suit the present company, as he and Gavin were each dressed in average, day-to-day clothing, which could be described as nothing finer than clean. Finally, her face was so coated in powders, rouge, and kohl, she had more the appearance of a painted corpse than a living girl who had agreeable features without the interference of cosmetics.

Gavin nodded at Alexander when he entered. “Laird Mackay. We’ve come to make some negotiations with you in regard to the lass you currently claim as your wife.”

“Indeed,” Isobel said, her voice just a bit too high-pitched to be pleasing. It reminded him vaguely of the squealing pigs he and his brother used to chase through the yard. “We have some news that ought to shock you.”

“You do not have to veil your words, Lady Isobel. That is who you are, tis it not?”

The lass curtsied, her smile revealing a rather unpleasant expression that reminded him of one of the nasty cats that lurked in his stables, “Aye. A pleasure, I am sure.”

“No, not particularly,” Alexander said. “Why are you here?”

“To correct some things,” Gavin said.

“Aye, particularly this whole marriage situation,” Isobel continued.

“Correct it?” Alexander asked, raising an eyebrow in amusement.

“Aye. You see, I am the one the queen intended for you to wed, and so it shall be made so,” Isobel said, as if it was such a point of fact that he would not dare to doubt it.

“I thought you found me intolerable and ran off?”

“Oh dear, is your pride sore? While it may be true, I found that I did not enjoy the options available elsewhere and came to the discovery that this was, in fact, the superior choice.”

“Flattering, but forgive me, you’re a wee bit late to that conclusion. Your cousin and I are wed.”

“Aye, but you can seek an annulment,” Gavin said, shrugging. Annulment seemed to be his answer for everything, a final point of success he was determined to see done.

“Afraid not, laddy. I think any excuse for that has long been dispatched with. We participate in all of our marriage duties rather vigorously,” Alexander said, smirking at Gavin and enjoying the way his eyes were now two tiny slits with rage. Alexander was ready for him to strike as soon as he stood and rounded the desk, and he was also ready to return whatever blow was dealt with the beating when Isobel intervened, stepping between them and placing a hand on Gavin’s arm.

“Do you have proof, Laird Mackay?” Isobel asked, turning to face him with eyes so cold that they could have been carved of ice. “Did anyone witness her, well, loss? Anyone keep the sheets?”