As she bubbled on about the garden she’d found, and how she did once accompany her grandmother to pick brambles from the bramble bush and could certainly do that again, Arran knew he would have lost his mind if she’d gone.

Her words filled the space around them, swelling up and surrounding him while a river of love for the woman burned through him.

It burned bright.

Chapter Twenty-Four

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

IT HAD ALL seemed like a dream to Margot. From the moment Knox had ridden away from her, and every moment that passed as they moved farther north, she had grown more and more uncertain about her choice. The thought that she would never see England again, or Norwood Park, or Knox and Lynetta, began to weigh heavily in her heart.

And then to arrive at this deserted lodge at the end of a deeply remote loch to fend for her life? It was all too much to bear. She was unprepared for this. She didn’t have the slightest idea what to do in a kitchen, had scarcely been in them at all, save those few times she went in search of an apple or orange. And that was only the beginning of her ineptitude.

As a result, she and Arran stumbled through the first few days at the lodge. Of course he was more adept at making do than she was, but he was no more accustomed to keeping a house than she was, really. They had quite a row when he proudly presented her with a duck to pluck.

“Pluck?” she echoed, looking at the bird in horror.

“Aye, the feathers.” He held it out to her.

“But...how?”

Arran looked at her strangely. “You remove them. Pluck.” He jerked a feather free of the bird.

Margot recoiled.

He frowned. “Do it, Margot. I canna do everything.”

“I am aware!” she snapped. She took the bird and, wincing, began to pluck. It was a horrible, wretched mess. She fought tears for the damn bird—such indignity in his death! Or was she fighting tears for the loss of her dignity? But she plucked it clean, and when she presented the battered carcass to Arran, he was not impressed by her effort. “Aye, I see. And now you must clean it.”

“I will not!” she cried, and fled the kitchen when Arran seemed determined to force her.

Later, after Arran had cleaned it and cooked it, Margot had to admit the duck made for an excellent meal.

When Arran gave her a duck a few days later, Margot could pluck it well enough and without complaint.