Worthing frowned. “We did not,” he said. “But I shall be more than happy that we take our leave when you have a message for your father. Have you any message for him, Lady Mackenzie?”

“As a matter of fact, you may hasten back to tell his lordship that I’ve arrived safely at my destination. I’m certain he’s on tenterhooks waiting for that word.” She smiled, dipped a pert curtsy and stepped around her keepers.

When she reached her chambers at the top of a long and winding staircase—rooms she had chosen when she’d first married Arran, insisting that it was proper for a lady to have her own set of rooms, and finding those as far from her husband as she possibly could—she found that Nell had finished the unpacking.

Her maid was sitting in a chair, her feet up on an ottoman. She started so badly when Margot threw open the door that she fell haphazardly out of the chair. “I beg your pardon!” she said frantically as she righted herself and her lace cap. “I meant only to rest my back—”

“Be easy, Nell. I don’t care,” Margot said. “Mackenzie intends to have a soiree of the Scotch variety tomorrow evening. I’ll need my best gown. One that is entirely unforgettable.” She had no doubt that every eye at Balhaire would be on her, searching for the reason she’d returned.

“Ah,” said Nell. She nodded, understanding. “The blue mantua, with the birds embroidered on the stomacher.”

“Yes, that’s perfect,” Margot agreed. The gown had been made for her in London. Tiny birds fluttered about the stomacher in vivid colors. The damask pattern of the silk gown had been sewn with both gold and silver threads so that when Margot moved, it looked as if the skirt was rippling around her.

“Anything else, mu’um?”

Margot looked around her. “Yes,” she said thoughtfully. What a silly choice to have taken these rooms! She’d always felt like a bird in a cage up here, at the top of a tower. It was true she had a stunning view of the castle and the lands around it, which she supposed had drawn her to this room in the beginning. She could even see the sea from here. But she couldn’t hear a sound—not a voice, not a sheep’s bleating, not even a barking dog. She was practically suspended above the world, isolated from all the Mackenzies.

Arran had wanted her to share his chambers. He’d made a set of rooms adjoining his master’s chambers available to her for sitting and dressing, but Margot had been too prim, too proper and, God, so naive.

Well. She was no longer that foolish girl.

She looked at Nell and winced apologetically. “We must change rooms.”

“Pardon?” Nell asked disbelievingly.