“A hunting lodge,” he said. “One that has belonged to a Mackenzie for two centuries. It was abandoned, but Griselda has decided it will be used again. She’s done a bit of work.”

At one end of the room was a long table with a pair of benches for sitting beside a small stone hearth. At the other end was a larger hearth and chairs gathered before it. Directly across from the entrance was a corridor that led to sleeping rooms, and beyond that, kitchens, a small terrace and a barn. Griselda was to be commended—the floors were swept and scrubbed, the walls scraped clean of smoke and tar. Mackenzie plaids now hung on the walls to warm the room.

Margot walked unsteadily to a wooden settee and sank onto it, then down, until she was lying on her side. Arran squatted beside her and caressed her dirtied face. “I’ll tend to the horse and make a fire, aye? You rest.”

“Mmm,” she said. Her eyes were already closed.

Arran stabled the horse before it was completely dark, brushed him and fed him oats, which, thank God and Griselda, there seemed to be quite a lot of in two large urns. When he was satisfied his horse could rest for the night, he grabbed the food Mackenzie had given them and returned to the lodge.

Margot was still asleep on the settee when he returned. He built a fire in the great room, then went into the kitchen and built another. With that fire burning, Arran went in search of a bucket. He found one and took it out the back door to the well. After a few strong-armed pumps to force the rusted lever, he filled the bucket, returned it to the kitchen and put it over the fire to heat. It was the best he could do for bathing.

When he had water warm enough for his wife to wash, Arran returned to Margot’s side. She was curled on the settee, one arm bent to pillow her head. He nudged her with his hand.

“No,” she murmured.

“I’ve hot water if you’d like to bathe.”

She slowly opened her eyes and turned her head. “Truly?”

Arran caressed her arm. “I’d no’ tease you about something so important, would I?”

She slowly pushed herself up. “For your sake, I hope not.”

He chuckled low and helped her to her feet. Then, with an arm around her waist, he led her to the kitchen. Margot peeled off a layer of filthy clothes, down to a filthier chemise, and plunged her hands into the water. She sighed with contentment, then bent over it and began to scrub her face.

Arran found a cloth for her and watched in mute fascination as she scrubbed herself clean with the hot water. When she had finished and had wrung her auburn hair as dry as she might, she said, “I haven’t anything to wear.”