THE DAY WENT quickly enough—it seemed there was quite a lot to do, settling into new rooms and reacquainting herself with Balhaire. And still, there was no sign of Arran.

That evening, when Nell came to her to help her dress, she was full of news.

“The laird has come back,” she whispered. “He’s come with two men, and quite a lot of fish hanging from a line.”

Margot twisted about on her seat to see Nell. “He went fishing?” she asked incredulously.

“I don’t know, mu’um. I only know he’s come back with a lot of them.”

All right, she wasn’t going to allow her hackles to rise. At least, she told herself, he’d come back.

When she’d finished dressing, Margot took a moment to admire herself. She looked like a queen; a crown was the only thing missing from the ensemble. Her hair was an artistic construction of loops and curls, fastened to her head with pearl-tipped pins. Her mantua was as rich as anything the queen might wear, and Margot felt quite regal in it. But tonight, the jewel-encrusted stomacher she’d been so proud of was covered by a swath of plaid, fastened at her hip with a brooch that had belonged to her mother.

Unfortunately, effecting that regal look had taken a bit longer than either Nell or Margot had anticipated, and she arrived at the great hall a little late for dinner. She paused outside the big oak doors to compose herself. There was no footman here to see her in, no servant to whisper to Arran that she’d arrived so that he might escort her in.

She felt jittery. As if she were standing on the edge of the cliff above the cove about to jump to the sea below. She was afraid. Of what, precisely, she wasn’t certain, but enough that she had to force herself to take a deep breath. She lifted her chin, and allowing herself not a sliver of hesitation, she pushed through the door, pausing just over the threshold to ensure she was seen.

Oh, but she was seen, all right. Her entrance had the desired effect—everyone paused and all heads in the hall turned toward her. Conversations were dropped and forks were put down. And there, on the dais, sat her husband, his gaze fixed on her. His hair was combed back and bound in a queue, and he was clean-shaven. He looked like the laird of this castle. He looked strong and powerful, and Margot’s heart began to skip along with anticipation. She felt warm, felt that strange sensation that he could see past her gown and right inside her.

And yet his expression was inscrutable—if he was impressed with her appearance, she couldn’t say.