“The laird?” the man said. “But he’s gone to Coigeach,” he said, moving closer.

Margot’s short breath turned to sheer panic. She imagined this man tossing down his cap just before he tackled her. She’d fall like a rock, as she’d never be able to hold her balance on this ridiculous sidesaddle. Arran was right—he’d once said she should have a pair of buckskins fashioned and learn to ride astride. If she lived to see another morning, she would do precisely that.

As he moved closer, he shoved one hand in his pocket.

“Dear God,” she murmured. She expected him to produce a knife and tried to pull the fool horse around. But the horse wouldn’t budge at first, confused as to what Margot wanted. She jerked hard to the right and the horse came around halfway.

“Milady!” the man said, walking faster.

Margot begged the beast with the pull of the reins and her heel to turn around—

“I’ve something for you, I do,” he said. “A gift.” He had reached the pony’s head and grabbed the bridle, holding the horse in place.

“Let go,” Margot said, her voice shaking with fear.

The man pulled his hand free of his pocket and held it out to her. In his palm was a small, exquisitely carved figurine of a woman, dressed in a court dress. One of her legs was extended, and she held the sides of her skirt up in her outstretched hands, bowing over it. But one of her arms had been broken off at the shoulder.

Not a knife. A figurine. She tried to understand what it was, what it meant.

“One of them boxes, it was dropped, aye? The china, it’s packed tight in straw, so we lost only a few fine things. But a few come up broken, and Cap’n said to throw it all overboard, he did. But I fancied it. Thought it would make a fine gift, aye?” He held up his hand to Margot. “Her arm’s broken, but she’s bonny all the same. A gift for the laird’s lady. If you’ll have it.”

“You mean to give it to me?” Margot asked uncertainly.

“Aye, mu’um. Please,” he said.

Margot hesitated. She gingerly lifted the figurine from his hand. “Thank you.”

“I wasna stealing it,” he said. “I donna thieve.”

“No, no—I never thought so.” Of course she’d thought so, and he knew it.

“I only put it in my pocket to give the laird, aye? But then we heard his wife had come beg—” He blanched at what he’d just said and looked down, ran a hand over his head.

“That she’d come back, I mean to say,” he hastily corrected himself. “And I thought it a fitting gift for ye, then. To welcome you to Balhaire once more.”