THE LAST BIT of road to Norwood Park was much more tedious now that Margot was wearing a gown, because she had to sit with her legs draped to one side over Roger’s back, and it was difficult to maintain her balance. But at last they began to pass through woods that were familiar to her. Past crofter cottages with the smoke of the morning fire rising from their chimneys. Past cattle grazing in the fields, and then sheep. There was the church spire in the distance, and down in the valley, through the trees, she could just make out the dozen chimneys of Norwood Park.

As they approached the gates, Arran slowed. He spoke low to his men in their native tongue. Whatever he said was met with some resistance. One of them in particular—Ben Mackenzie—seemed to argue with him. And then three of them turned their mounts about, and one of them led the way through the gates.

“Where are they going?” Margot asked as the three men rode away.

“They will remain behind for the time being. If necessary, they will carry a message to Balhaire.”

Margot clucked her tongue. “You are too cautious. You’ll see—we’ll be inviting them to dine.” She spurred her horse to canter so that Arran would not see just how her heart pounded with the anxiety from the tiny tendrils of doubt that were wrapping around her. What if I am wrong?

They trotted beneath the branches of the towering sycamores that lined the long drive and along the trimmed hedgerow and gardens bursting with summer flowers. They rounded the large fountain in the middle of the drive, and as they came around to the front of it, the door opened and two liveried footmen hurried out to help them dismount. One of them produced a block so that Margot could step down. “Welcome home, milady,” he said.

“Thank you, John.” Margot felt suddenly exhilarated. She looked around for Arran. He’d swung off his horse, had handed his crop to the footman and now held his arm out to her so that he could formally escort her into Norwood Park.

“Lady Mackenzie, you are most welcome,” said Quint, the family butler, coming out to greet them. “We were not expecting you.”

Margot was so happy to see the old man she almost hugged him. “Thank you, Quint.”

“Welcome, my lord,” Quint said to Arran.

Arran nodded.

“Shall I have your luggage taken up?”

“Please,” Margot said. “To the green suite, if you please. I’ve always admired the view from there.”