Page 19 of Taken By the Savage Highlander

“What is this?” Margo asked, bringing the drink to her nose and inhaling.

When her brow furrowed, Agnes giggled and said, “That’s true Highland whisky, Me Lady. I promise ye that there is nothin’ like it down South.” She raised her own glass, saying “Slàinte! To the health of our new Lady!”

“To her health,” Cameron said, clinking his glass with both Agnes’s and Margo’s.

All three of them sipped at the same time. Cameron’s face remained unchanged, while Agnes grimaced slightly. Margo, however, felt as though her throat had suddenly caught fire.

She tried to restrain her coughing fit, not wanting to be rude, but she could not help herself. She sputtered, a gasping sound that immediately caught the attention of the other two. As Margo covered her mouth, Cameron outright laughed.

“Laird MacLeod!” Agnes chastised with a chuckle as Margo glared at him. “That is nae a kind thing to do, laughin’ at yer wife.”

“Aye, ye’re correct,” Laird MacLeod admitted as he dropped his hand. “I remember the first time I sipped yer whisky. It was just as unkind to me as it was to ye, Margo.”

“You could have warned me,” Margo grumbled, her throat still burning. “It would have been nice to know what I was getting into.”

“Nae warnin’ ye is part of the tradition,” Agnes said easily. Then, so warmly that Margo’s entire body heated, “Ye’re one of us now, Lady MacLeod.”

Lacking the words to respond, Margo only nodded, smiling. When the woman held out her hand to accept the glasses from the two of them, Margo was reluctant to hand them over. But, as soon as she did, Cameron led her away to the next shop.

The line of little shacks was a sensory delight. Smells of cooking fish, soft pelts hunted in the nearby woods, and candies that melted on her tongue. Every single time, the most impressive thing to her was the way Cameron interacted with the villagers.

Though he did not speak much with her, it seemed as if he knew exactly what to say to the people of his clan. He belonged here, she thought. He was part of the landscape.

But I am not. I could never blend in here. I could never truly be a part of this. But England is no longer my home, either.

Wrapping her arms around herself as they left the last shop, Margo looked at the distant cliffs. They had been calling to her since they arrived. If she could get to know them, understand the sheer energy of the land, she might be able to work with it. Even if she felt that she couldn’t truly belong, she was sure she could still feel connected.

“I would like to see the cliffs before we return to the castle,” she said when the stables came into view once more.

“The winds are dangerous,” Cameron said, though his own gaze drifted to them. “Ye can feel how strong they are here. They are much worse up there.”

“I am a competent rider, Laird MacLeod,” Margo said, a bit indignant that he was implying she couldn’t handle herself.

“I’m nae sayin’ that ye arenae,” he replied, his tone flat. It was carefully constructed, though. Margo had come to realize that this meant she had a bit of give, that she could push.

“Then why, pray tell,” she continued, her voice as innocent as she could keep it, “would you not take me to see the cliffs?”

There was a long beat of silence that stretched between them. Then, with a sigh, Cameron said, “If ye insist, Lady MacLeod, then I will show ye the cliffs. But daenae complain if the winds are as strong as I said they were.”

“I will complain if I please,” she retorted.

“Aye,” he said with a scoff. “I daenae ken why I expected anythin’ else.”

CHAPTER TEN

As they rode, the wind screamed around Cameron’s head. He knew that this was a mistake, that he should have insisted that they go back to the castle. But Margo’s energy was intoxicating.

“Daenae get too far from me!” he called after her.

She turned back to him, flashing him a grin before she continued on her way. She did not pull too far ahead, but she went far enough to test his resolve. Instead of yelling again or forcing her back, he picked up his own pace, refusing to let her out of his sight.

Something deep-seated and instinctual seemed to be yelling for him to follow her anywhere. She was the kind of woman that shouldn’t be held back. She thrived in these situations.

At least, in this moment, it seemed as though she did.

He knew that his body, the bubbling desire he had for her, was controlling his mind, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop it. Her joy felt worth his animal brain running the show. If true danger presented itself, he would intervene. That’s why he had to stay so close.

“The wind is pickin’ up!” he called just as the weather began to shift.