Margot resisted the overwhelming urge to elbow him in the ribs and then run.

They walked up the wide staircase that curled past paintings of Mackenzies, past historic armor that men liked to display for reasons that completely escaped her, past an array of swords fanned above the arched entrance to the hallway. Arran kept his hand on her as he steered her toward the two oak doors that led into the master’s chambers.

Their arrival startled two boys in that long hallway who were replacing candles in the sconces.

“Light the laird’s chamber!” Jock bellowed from behind them, startling Margot. She hadn’t even known he was there. The two lads scurried ahead, into Arran’s private rooms.

When they reached the doors to the master’s chambers, Arran glanced over his shoulder and said to Jock, “We are no’ to be disturbed by anyone, aye? We’ve a bit of bad business to conduct.” He reached around Margot and gave the door a push, then pushed her through. He just as quickly ushered the young boys out, then closed the door and turned the lock.

He slowly faced her and leaned against the closed doors, his head down, his gaze terrifyingly hard. Bad business. What did that mean, exactly? She had never thought him violent. Whatever he meant, she would likely die before he did anything—her heart was beating that wildly.

“The chamber pot and a basin are just in there,” he said, nodding to a door at the far end of the room. “Avail yourself.”

Margot glanced at the closet door warily and walked away from him and into the closet to collect herself.

When she emerged, he was still standing at the door. He suddenly pushed away from it and strolled to the sideboard. He poured two goblets of wine and held one out, offering it to her. “For my wife, who has, remarkably, returned to me. To my bonny wife, who gave me no’ a word of apology, nor hope, nor explanation, who now claims to have missed me. Aye, what a day this has become.”

His expression was so stormy that Margot felt herself begin to shake as she dried her hands. She had to be as convincing as she’d ever been in her life. “People have a change of heart all the time,” she said, and turned around to him. She took the wine he offered, drinking more than was polite in the hopes it would calm her nerves.

Arran didn’t drink. His goblet dangled between two fingers as he watched her.

Margot warily lowered her goblet.

His gaze moved casually over her now, lingering on her bosom and her hem. But then he clenched his jaw and turned away, as if he couldn’t stand the sight of her. “You’re as beautiful as ever, then. Boidheach,” he said low, and tossed back his wine in one long swallow.