“No,” Knox said with a shrug. “Although he may well wish he had. The queen has stripped his title and bestowed it on me, and has decreed his holdings to be divided between his only daughter and his bastard son.” He glanced at Arran. “Begging your pardon, laird, but the queen refused to bestow any of the English holdings on a Scottish laird, not with all the unrest.”

Arran shrugged indifferently.

Margot suddenly sat down, the weight of this news too much to hold. “What of Bryce?” she asked weakly.

Knox smiled thinly. “I suggested he look into the vicarage.”

“The Mackenzie name is cleared, then,” Arran said.

“I cannot speak for your side of the border, but your name has been exonerated in England,” Knox said proudly.

Arran looked at Jock. “Ach, you know as I do that Highlanders are a distrustful lot, aye? There are those who still doubt you,” Jock said. “But more who donna doubt. It’s safe to return to Balhaire.”

Arran shifted his gaze to Margot. She could see the same conflict in his eyes that she felt swirling in her. “Well, then,” he said. “This is quite a lot of news, is it no’, Lady Mackenzie?”

“Quite,” she managed. She should have been happy to be freed from this exile, but she felt only an overwhelming sense of melancholy. She was grief-stricken at the loss of her father, devastated that he’d wrought this tragedy in their lives. She felt grief for the loss of the life she’d once had and uncertainty about what came next. But her agony went unnoticed—Jock had brought ale, and the men drank, exchanging tales of what had happened in the last few weeks.

It was decided, given their mean surroundings, that they would leave on the morrow. Leave this place of peace, she thought morosely, where she and Arran had, for the first time, really, lived as a married couple ought. The sense of loss was now overwhelming, and Margot excused herself, retiring to the small room she shared with Arran.

Arran joined her sometime later and wordlessly slipped into bed with her. Margot had not slept; her mind had been racing with the sudden change in their existence. She felt his hand seek hers, lacing his fingers with hers. They lay wordlessly on their backs beneath a woolen plaid, staring up into darkness, each of them, she supposed, trying to take in all the astounding news. After living on the edge of emotion and fear, to have it all suddenly released from them was not as freeing as she might have imagined.

“You must be relieved,” Arran said at last.

Was she relieved? She felt sick with sadness. “Do you know that I really rather liked it here.”