Thankfully,after a long day of traveling, she spotted a beautiful village. As she hurried forward, the thatched roofs of the stone houses became sharper. Green overflowed from the gardens, and women were milling about outside.
Relief pulsedthrough Margaret when the grassy road she’d been walking on gave way to well-trodden dirt. She pushed into the town, taking in the homes of the villagers who lived there. A few times, she caught the eye of someone, but they’d looked away quickly.
They can’t knowI’m English just by looking at me, can they?
Margaret’s handsrested over the front of her dress, smoothing it slightly, an unfortunate nervous tic of hers. When she looked down, she realized the reason for their gazes was the state of her gown.
It was tornaround the hem and spattered with dirt and mud from her travels. She looked as if she were a vagrant though she supposed that was what she was now.
I wouldn’t mind settling here, though.It’s quaint.
With that thoughtat the forefront of her mind, Margaret set off to find a seamstress. She had traveled light, and her current dress might as well be rags now. Luck seemed to be smiling upon her, for she spotted exactly the kind of storefront she was looking for.
“Aye, lass,”a woman with a warm accent said the second Margaret walked into the shop. “Ye’re in desperate need of some help.”
“I… I am,”Margaret said, her eyes sweeping over the racks of half-sewn dresses and gorgeous fabrics. “My dress got a little torn.”
“It’s morethan a wee bit torn,” the woman replied, finally stepping out from behind a dress-form. “It seems as if ye’ve traveled the whole night.”
“You could say that I have,”Margaret said, squeaking when the woman grabbed hold of her wrist.
“And what a bonnie thing ye are,”she continued, tugging Margaret toward the racks of fine silk and soft cotton. “That accent of yers isnae from around here either.”
“Ah, no, it’s not,”Margaret replied, nodding when the seamstress held up a bolt of green fabric.
“Well,we’re glad to have ye. I’m Agnes, and this is me shop,” Agnes said, grabbing hold of her measuring tape. “And what’s yer name, lass?”
“I’m Margaret,”she replied, barely stopping herself before giving her surname. It was best to keep her true identity close. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Agnes gave her a warm smile,reaching around Margaret’s body to measure her slim waist. “So, what brings ye to the Highlands? Mayhap ye’re lookin’ for a husband?”
“Ah, no,”Margaret said, shifting uncomfortably as she tried to come up with a story.
I should have thought ahead.What would Eva say?
“I…I actually wanted to come see the countryside,” she said after a moment, channeling her cousin’s sense of adventure.
“So ye ken nothin’about what’s happenin’ here in the Highlands, aye?”
Margaret shook her head. Agnes’eyes lit up, and immediately, she launched into gossip about villagers that Margaret might meet if she chose to stay here. Agnes worked fast and thoroughly, chattering the entire time.
“Ye ken,the McGhee clan’s been scramblin’ since the last Laird passed,” Agnes said, prodding Margaret to make her turn. She’d been going on about the clan for the last ten minutes, and Margaret felt as if she could write a tome on their history. “The problem is the current Laird cannae seem to find a woman that’ll satisfy his fancies.”
“He’s looking to get married?”
“Aye,”she replied. “Though, he’s likely just lookin’ for someone to give him a bairn. Our last Laird died before he had a child. The clan’s eager for an heir. Cannae have one of those without a lady, aye?”
Margaret hummed,but her mind was a whirlwind. Completely unaware of her inattention, Agnes continued to speak, breezing by the bit about the Laird looking for a wife.
Perhaps the twoof us could help one another.
It didn’t feellike a feasible possibility, yet she was desperate. If she were a married woman, she’d be offered protection from Duke Cunningham. He’d have no reason to go after her family, nor a reason to seek her. And if Laird McGhee were to take her as his wife, she could shelter him from the hounding of his clan.
Once Agnes was finishedwith her measurements, she set to work repairing the worst of the tears on Margaret’s dress. Her mouth never stopped moving though Margaret didn’t catch another mention of the Laird she was suddenly interested in.
The more sheconsidered the idea, the better it seemed. Her apprehension of Highlanders remained, but if she were betrothed to one, they wouldn’t touch her, surely. And she wouldn’t be a wife with many demands. Her safety was all she’d ask, and in return, she’d play the part of his betrothed without complaint, fulfilling any duties she was bestowed.
Though I’m not sosure about giving him a child.