She blushed, bent her head to examine the figurine. “Well, at least I have crawled back for a fine gift, haven’t I?”

The poor man looked stricken, and Margot had to laugh. “Thank you, sir. You cannot imagine how I appreciate this.” Or how much she appreciated he did not mean to harm her, but to greet her.

The man nodded and stepped back. “No’ all of them are happy to see you. I’d be a liar if I said otherwise. But a man needs his wife, aye? Me, I didna know how much I needed the wife ’til she’d gone.”

“Gone?”

“Black fever.”

“Oh. Oh my. I’m so—My condolences, sir.” She didn’t know quite what more to say to that. She couldn’t imagine how devastating that would be. She and Arran had their differences, but to think of that possibility...

Margot swallowed. “Thank you again.” She tucked the figurine into her pocket for safekeeping.

This time, she managed to pull the pony around.

She thought about what the man had said as the pony picked its way up the hill to ride along the low cliff above the shore. She had never pondered if Arran needed her or not—she’d thought only how she’d needed him.

Did he need her? How could she ever be useful beyond her dowry to a man like him? She was more burden than helpmate.

She looked out to the sea. From here, she could see the ship more clearly. It was a small ship, the sort designed for speed. She was no expert on sailing vessels, but she was aware that the ships carrying troops were generally larger. This was absurd—she would never find evidence of Arran’s treachery by riding around the land, looking for clues. It was absurd.

She turned the pony away from the sea and rode up the glen. Her progress was slow as she didn’t know how to persuade the pony to do more than plod along. It hardly mattered—she was entranced with the landscape. She had forgotten how the green Highlands turned gold in a certain light, purple in another light. The air smelled of wet leaves and the musky scent of peat.

Presently she heard voices, and as the pony followed the path out of the forest, she rode past crofters working to cut and bind hay. Such a simple but meaningful existence. These people worked to fuel their lives and raise their children. They didn’t worry about social standing or connections.

It was quite easy to see that Balhaire was prospering. It made no sense that Arran would jeopardize all that he’d built here to put James Stuart on the throne. What would he have to gain from it? Nothing! He had everything to lose.