“Good day, Sweeney.”

He looked surprised to see her. “G-good day, m-m-milady,” he stammered.

She’d always found his stuttering curious, as it seemed to affect him only when he was very anxious. And he did seem quite anxious—he glanced at the young man beside him as he tugged so anxiously at his wig that it began to tilt to the left.

Margot looked at the men. None of them could look her in the eye, and all of them seemed unduly apprehensive. Was it her? Was she so reviled? She shielded the sun from her eyes with her hand so she could better peer at them. “Is everything all right?”

“Ah...m-m-madam,” Sweeney began.

“Is the laird here?” she asked, pointing to the door.

Sweeney shook his head.

What in blazes was the matter with these men? “Has he gone far?”

“N-no, m-mu’um. He’s training the m-m-men.” Sweeney seemed pleased to be able to offer up this information, at least.

“Well, then. You can take me to him.”

Sweeney’s throat bobbed on a deep swallow. “J-J-Jock, he’ll t-t-take you, aye? We’re to t-t-take your things, that’s all.”

Her things? “What things, Sweeney?”

Sweeney’s face reddened. One of the men behind him jabbed him in the back and muttered something under his breath.

“I think you are mistaken, Mr. Sweeney. Nell is still unpacking my things. You must mean to put my trunk away, is that it?” she asked, her gaze narrowing on the poor man.

Sweeney looked helplessly to the man beside him, but that man was staring at Margot, his expression one of pure dread.

Margot stepped closer. “It would appear there is something I should know,” she said coolly.

Sweeney shook his head and studied his feet.

She shifted her gaze to the young man beside him. He was only sixteen or seventeen years old. “You,” Margot said.

Sweeney pushed the lad forward, and he bobbed his head and fixed his gaze on Margot’s shoulder.

“Perhaps you can tell me what has you all standing about so uneasily?”

He pressed his lips together and shook his head. His gaze slid lower, to her hand, and fixed there.

Margot took a step toward him, dipping down a tiny bit to look in his eyes, but the man would not allow it. “Why did Sweeney say he is to take my things?” she asked, her voice as smooth and as pleasant as she could make it.

The man glanced even farther to the right...to the wall. “I donna know, mu’um.”

“Oh, but I think you do,” she said, stepping even closer. He would have to step back or look at her. He seemed to debate his options and finally looked at her, and when he did, his companions seemed to shuffle away from the poor man, crowding in together, looking at their feet, the sky, each other.

“Tell me what you’ve heard.”