Mr. Pepper didn’t press her further, but she noticed that the moment Worthing appeared, Pepper was at his side, whispering in his ear. How long did these two men intend to remain at Balhaire? They really served no purpose other than to make her anxious. She would be much more at ease in her odious task if she didn’t feel as if someone was constantly watching her.

When she finished her breakfast and was certain she’d not be accosted by either Mr. Pepper or Sir Worthing, Margot put on her hat and gloves and went out into the bailey in search of Sweeney.

She found him easily enough. “A horse please, Sweeney,” she said after she’d greeted him. “Preferably one a bit smaller than the one you saddled for me earlier this week. One that I might actually ride without fear of being thrown. Oh, and if you please, a proper saddle.”

“Proper,” Sweeney said, his nerves apparently calmer today.

“Yes. One suitable for a lady to ride.”

His eyes narrowed. “I’ll have a look around, then,” he said, and disappeared into the stables. When he at last reemerged, he was leading a black Fell pony behind him. The horse had a shaggy, thick mane that covered his eyes. He was broad, but much shorter than the one she’d ridden two days ago.

“Oh, this one is lovely,” Margot said, stroking the horse’s nose.

“Aye, he’s a good-tempered mount, and sure-footed, he is. He’s good with inexperienced riders, aye?”

“Yes, well. I suppose that would suit me perfectly.” She sighed.

Sweeney cupped his hands for her and helped her up onto a sidesaddle so ancient that it was cracked across the seat. It took her several moments to find her balance, but when she felt as if she was sitting as confidently as she could, she said, “Should anyone inquire, I am calling on a friend.”

“You are?” Sweeney asked, clearly dubious.

Margot looked pointedly at him.

“Aye, mu’um,” Sweeney said with the confidence of a man who knew no one would inquire.

After she made several attempts to get the pony to move, Sweeney resorted to giving the beast a slap on the rump. Margot eventually rode out, the pony trotting out the gates as sure-footedly as Sweeney had promised.

She rode down a wide, flat path that took her through fields of heather before becoming noticeably steeper. The path moved from there into the woods, where patches of primrose and harebells grew, and the air was sweet with the scent of honeysuckle. There wasn’t a sound in the air besides birds chirping and the tide coming in to shore, and Margot very much appreciated the solitude. Remarkably for a woman who was estranged from her husband, she never had solitude. Someone was always watching her. Her father, her brothers. The man Arran had sent from Scotland.