Margot had no choice but to follow him out of the great hall. She averted her gaze each time he paused to speak to someone in his clan—she didn’t know what to say, to be quite honest, particularly when she was not properly introduced—and she did not look up until she was pressed by him.

Arran’s expression grew darker as he led into the twisting corridors, returning to what she assumed was the foyer, then up a staircase that was twice the width of any she’d seen in even the finest of homes. They walked down another dark corridor, this one lit even more poorly, as only every other wall sconce held a candle.

At the end of the hall was a pair of thick wooden doors. Arran slid the latch and pushed it open, then turned back to Margot.

She stepped hesitantly across the threshold into a masculine room. The furnishings were trimmed in leather. Thick woolen draperies had been pulled across three separate windows. And oddly, a quiver of arrows was propped against a very large chest of drawers.

But there was a bath before a roaring fire, and two young men were busy pouring hot water into it. Margot stood patiently to one side as they continued to tromp in and out of the room, each of them with two buckets, until Arran deemed the small tub sufficiently full. One of them laid a towel and a cake of soap on a stool, and then they went out.

Arran closed the door behind them. His gaze flicked over her. “There you are, then. A bath. I’ll leave you to it.” He walked out of the room through what appeared to be a dressing room. She heard another door open, heard it close.

Margot remained standing in the same spot a long moment after he’d gone. He hadn’t even offered her the assistance of a maid. Well, no matter—there was a hot bath waiting for her and she was going to avail herself. She managed to discard her clothing and then sank into the tub, closed her eyes and, for a few moments, allowed herself to pretend she was back at Norwood Park, in a proper bathing room, with towels and perfumed soaps and scented candles.

When she’d finished bathing, she dressed in the nightgown from the small portmanteau someone had thought to bring up from the coach. She didn’t know what she was to do now, but she was exhausted, and she crawled into the massive four-poster bed and pulled the covers up to her chin. The wind was howling again, bringing the scent of the sea with it. A storm was brewing off the coast.