His frown deepened, and something shuttered in his blue eyes, making them look as icy as a winter morning. He knew she was dissembling, any fool could see that she was. But Arran pondered her a moment, as if debating if he was going to press her. At last, he glanced down at his hand and said, “No’ today. We need grouse for the hall tonight.” He glanced across the bailey, to where Sir Worthing was leaning over Mr. Pepper’s shoulder, whispering in his ear. “And I think you’d best come with me.”

“Come with you...to hunt?” she asked uncertainly. She was a poor rider, a worse shot.

“I will have you at my side today, Margot. There is no more to be said about it. Go, then. Dress properly for hunting. Meet me in the bailey in a half hour.” He turned away from her to have a word with Sweeney.

* * *

NELL WAS IN quite a state as she helped Margot search through her clothes. “Hunting!” she said, pausing to put her hands on her broad hips. “I beg your pardon, milady, but I’ve never known you to hunt.”

“I have no choice,” Margot muttered. She was still feeling on edge from her encounter with Worthing and all the lies and doubts that were swirling around her.

Nell sighed. She fingered the sleeve of one of Margot’s gowns when she should have been helping her assemble attire for the hunt.

“What is the matter with you? I need something to wear.”

“I shouldn’t like to bother you,” Nell said, and resumed her task.

Privately, Margot was relieved. She had enough on her mind without Nell’s complaints.

“Oh, all right,” Nell said, as if Margot had pressed her. “It’s that man.”

“Jock?” Margot asked, distracted as she held up a wool riding skirt.

“Yes, milady, for there is no one else who comes tromping about the master’s chambers without so much as a knock.”

“What did he want?” Margot asked as she searched through a selection of riding coats.

“I wouldn’t know.” Nell sniffed. “He looked around, quite closely.”

Margot’s stomach dropped. She slowly turned her head and looked at Nell. “What do you mean, he looked around closely?”

“I mean that he looked round here and there. And I says, ‘What’s the matter? You think something’s gone missing?’ And he says, ‘I wouldna be surprised if it had. Never knew an Englishman who was true.’ And I says, ‘How dare you speak of milady in that way? And I’d rather be English than a barbarian Scot.’ Then he says, ‘Well, thank the saints that you’ll never be a Scot, lass, because you don’t have the fortitude.’ Me! No fortitude! I says to him he’s no idea of my fortitude, and perhaps I’m not a beast like him, but I’m quite strong.”