“A splendid idea!” Margot had exclaimed with false cheer, and Arran, damn him, had knowingly smiled with the pleasure of having riled her.

After the disaster of the ball he’d tried to give her, she knew what to expect. Singing in a language only Highlanders understood and dancing chaotic reels with a lot of hopping about and kicking of legs that the Scots seemed to prefer. He meant to intimidate her with this so-called celebration.

But Margot wasn’t going to allow that to happen. If her husband wanted her to dance and sing to prove herself to him, then she would oblige him, and in high style, too. She might be the most ungainly dancer, but she would console herself by being the most finely attired one.

Margot and the beast Sweeney had saddled for her thundered into the bailey, and Margot managed to slide off without revealing too terribly much of her leg to the groom who had run out to attend her. She straightened her skirts and her bodice...and noticed that her hair had come undone. She was trying to tuck it back into its pins when Jock came striding out of the castle doors. The lad Arran had sent up to inform Fergus of the celebration was close on Jock’s heels.

Jock slowed his step when he saw Margot. He clenched his jaw as he passed by.

Margot muttered a few choice words about Arran’s ridiculously loyal cousin, gave up on her hair and stalked inside. As if her day could possibly get any worse, Pepper and Worthing were just emerging from the hall when she entered, their wigs freshly powdered and their lace cuffs and neck cloths pristinely white. Frankly, they looked ridiculous in this rugged Highland castle.

“Dear God,” Mr. Pepper said, his gaze sliding down Margot and up again. “Have you been assaulted?”

“Assault—No!”

“Then what has happened?” he asked, holding up his hand as if to keep her at a distance.

“Nothing! I’ve been riding and I... Never mind,” she said.

“Madam, if I may,” said Worthing. He stepped closer, glanced around and said softly, “He cannot turn you out and send you to England, not without consequence. There are laws governing marriage.”

“Laws!” Margot snorted. “What law is it that prevents a man from banishing a wife who once abandoned him, sir? Don’t speak to me of laws—men may do as they please. But you may rest assured he is not turning me out. We’ve had a slight misunderstanding, that’s all, and everything has been set to rights.”

Her two keepers exchanged a dubious look.

She suddenly wished these two men were not here to complicate her return. “When did you say you’d be returning to England?”