“No’ here, mu’um, no. I learned the Scotch reel from my aunt, aye? I took dance instruction in France before the war. Here, then, is your seat.”

Margot allowed him to hand her up onto the dais. “Thank you,” she said. “Again, my sincere apologies for the many times I kicked you.”

He laughed, bowed low once more and disappeared into the crowd.

Arran laughed as she resumed her seat. “Your face is as red as a robin’s breast,” he said, making a circling motion around his own face.

“It was quite diverting!” she said gaily, still panting slightly.

“I owe you an apology,” he said. “You were right, then—you are indeed a horrible dancer.”

Margot wanted to grab her husband by the collar, toss him to the ground, leap on him and pummel his face. But as she couldn’t do that, she laughed. “I quite liked it! What a wonderful way of dancing you have here in Scotland. I never would have believed a lot of hopping about with no direction in mind could be so engaging. Now you must come and dance with—”

“Oh, I think no’,” he said, and suddenly stood. “I’ve an early day on the morrow.”

He was going to leave her here with her hair half down, her cheeks stained red with exertion and her feet aching? Alone? Knowing full well that most people in this hall couldn’t abide her? And to make matters worse, she noticed that Worthing and Pepper had taken seats on the dais, staring down their angular noses at the dancing. “You’re not leaving me,” she said, disbelieving. “You said this was to be a celebration.”

“Aye, that I did. And it is. And I’ve celebrated.” He smiled, slipped two fingers under her chin and lifted her face to him. “And now is the perfect opportunity for you to acquaint yourself with your clan, Margot,” he said, and kissed her lightly on the lips. “The plaid is a nice touch, it is. Good night, then.” With that, he proceeded down off the dais.

When that rotten, distrustful boar had disappeared into the crowd, Margot slowly turned her head around to her keepers. They were staring at her as if she’d just risen from the crypt. “My husband is exhausted,” she said cheerfully. “Have you danced, Mr. Pepper? It’s quite exhilarating.”

“No,” he said, sounding as horrified as he looked.

She shrugged and glanced at the crowd. She felt entirely self-conscious, which, of course, was Arran’s intent, that damn rooster. Adding to her humiliation was the knowledge that in England, she would be surrounded by friends now. But here? Everyone who remembered her hated her, and those who didn’t recall her in the least were afraid of her. The only person who looked at her with any sort of kindness at all was young Gavin Mackenzie.