Tonight, three dogs ambled in from the master dressing room, pausing to stretch and yawn. Margot had already put herself in bed, feeling miserably alone and a little uneasy. Though she’d never cared for dogs freely roaming the house, tonight she was not altogether cross when their heads popped up over the edge of the bed, their tails swishing on the floor, their gazes hopeful.

“Very well, then.” Margot sighed, feigning impatience, and tapped the bed. The three of them leaped as one over her, circled about and finally settled themselves in with their backs pressed up against her.

She remembered the wintry afternoon Arran had brought her down to the kennels to see a litter of puppies, hoping it would cheer her. It had. She remembered how he would cradle them one by one in his hand against his chest, stroking their heads. “This one shall be a fine herder, aye? But this one... I suspect he will spend his time digging beneath fences.” It had been a lovely afternoon.

There’d been a few occasions like that with Arran, moments where they had been content with each other. Margot had thought of those moments at Norwood Park from time to time. Sometimes, when ennui consumed her, she’d thought of those moments rather wistfully.

By morning, not only had Margot been nudged to the edge of the bed by her bedmates, but also two more had found their way inside and were laid out on the carpet at the foot of the bed.

The only thing missing from this rather domestic scene was her husband. Was he still in the village of Lochalsh? Surely there was no treason to be done there, so what business could he possibly have? Perhaps he hadn’t gone there at all.

No matter where he’d gone or what he’d done, Margot could not let anyone see her apprehension. It was imperative that she appear the repentant wife.

She shooed the dogs out with a command to go and find their breakfast. She called Nell to her and dressed. She went down to the great hall as she ought, greeted as many Mackenzies as would look at her, forced herself to eat something, then quit the great hall as servants began to clear the hall, preparing the room for the celebration to take place that evening.

As to that, Margot had a plan. She donned a cloak and left the castle, walking down the main road, past Mrs. Gowan’s shop, then turning a corner onto a well-worn footpath. She hopped over puddles and sidestepped a pair of chickens searching the road, and arrived at her destination: a small square of a house, with two small windows facing the path. She rapped on the door and waited. As she knew he would, a wizened old man opened it and squinted at her.

“Good morning, Mr. Creedy.”

He stared at her.

“I’m Lady Mackenzie. We met a few years ago.”