“That, my lord, was not distrust. That was utter disdain. And it’s your fault.”

“My fault?” He looked astonished.

“Yours! You told Jock I was difficult and made it quite clear you didn’t care for me.”

“What the devil? I’ve no’ said any such thing.”

“I believe your exact words were that you’d married a fishwife clad in silk and lace.”

Arran laughed. But then his brows sank into a dark frown. “I didna.”

“You did. Right there,” she said, pointing to the massive hearth. “Don’t you recall it?” It had been a stormy, snowy night. Margot obviously hadn’t been meant to hear, but with the wind howling, Arran and Jock hadn’t heard her come into the great hall.

“No, I...” Arran paused. Clearly he recalled it now, his complaining to Jock about his impossible English wife. “Hmm,” he said, his gaze moving over her face. “I had forgotten it.”

She smiled. “I haven’t forgotten anything.”

“Ach,” he said with a flick of his wrist. “A woman’s memory is as long as a loch.”

“And a man’s attention is as short as an inchworm.”

“That’s no’ necessarily so, leannan. There is quite a lot I remember, as well.” His gaze moved lower, to her mouth, lingering there. “I remember that your list of complaints was quite long.”

She could feel the skin of her chest heating beneath his study of her. She had to look away or be devoured by that penetrating gaze. “Were they complaints? I always rather thought them pleas to help me reconcile to my new surroundings.”

“Ah, is that what they were, then?” he mused. His hand found her leg. “My apologies. I thought you meant to list all the ways Balhaire didna suit you.”

She slid her hand over his and squeezed it before peeling it free of her thigh. “I meant to list all the ways I needed you,” she said truthfully, and looked at him then. His gaze had gone dark and cool. “Perhaps I was inarticulate.”

“And a wee bit shrill,” he reminded her.

A curl of nausea swam through her. He would never forgive her. The peculiar thing was that for the first time, she wanted his forgiveness. “Perhaps I was,” she admitted. “I hope one day you can forgive me for not understanding the best way to capture your attention. At the time, shouting seemed to be the only way that you’d notice me at all.”

“Diah,” he muttered as Jock approached with the ale. “Was there anything I did to please you, Margot? Or was it all to your disliking?”

“On the contrary—there was much you did that pleased me very much. Was there anything I did to please you?”