Page 36 of Taken By the Savage Highlander

I seemed childish and out of control.

As she continued on her path, she reasoned that it must not have been too off-putting. Cameron had gone looking for Miss Crusoe and found her. Then he came looking for her.

And when he found Margo, he had kissed her.

Pushing the thought out of her head, she let herself into his study. Standing there with her hands on her hips was Mrs. Campbell. She was looking down at the desk, shaking her head.

“There is nay way that Laird MacLeod would approve of ye bein’ here,” Mrs. Campbell tutted, stepping forward to gather the creature she was speaking to.

“Did you happen to find Miss Crusoe?” Margo asked, shuffling toward the woman.

Mrs. Campbell turned around at the sound of her voice. In her grasp was one of the tabby kittens, completely limp as if he had accepted that his plans had been foiled. Margo grinned, though she worried more about where Miss Crusoe had wandered off to.

“Nay, just this one,” Mrs. Campbell said, holding the animal up a bit higher. “I’ve been findin’ all of them all over the castle. This one seems to be attemptin’ to help out, though. He was swattin’ at the quill when I walked in.”

“Perhaps we’ll put him to work when he gets a bit bigger,” Margo said, getting the kitten and stroking his head.

“Ach, name him Treasurer,” Mrs. Campbell suggested, putting her hands on her hips. “He seems to be interested in the numbers.”

“Treasurer,” Margo hummed, holding him up. “Perhaps we simply call him Treasure. His proper name can be Treasurer.”

“And the orange one that seems so keen on followin’ around Miss Crusoe should be called Friday,” Mrs. Campbell said as she walked over to the basket of freshly folded linens sitting in the corner of the room. “After the lad that follows Robinson around as thanks for savin’ him.”

“That only leaves two of them waiting for names,” Margo said, laughing as Treasure turned around in her grasp. “I will let Eleanor and Tilly discuss the matter over.”

“We’ll have a good team of mousers when they get a wee bit older,” Mrs. Campbell said as she turned around. Then, the fabric in the basket began to wiggle. “What on earth is that?”

A weak meow answered back. The wriggling got more intense, and another panicked meow sounded from within. Sighing, Mrs. Campbell set the basket on the floor and knelt before it.

“I believe I ken why Laird MacLeod has moved this basket here, then,” she said as pulled the second tabby kitten from within the linens.

“Cameron moved it himself?” Margo asked, letting the kitten in her hands down so he could run over to his sibling.

“I assume so,” Mrs. Campbell said as she moved the basket back to its corner. “I had seen him workin’ on it in his quarters.”

Margo frowned thoughtfully, walking across the room and kneeling next to the basket. It was woven with willow and cane, and the linen inside seemed to be carefully folded and arranged. She reached out, letting her fingertips graze the intricate, careful work.

“He made it?” she asked, the words finally connecting in her mind.

“Aye,” Mrs. Campbell said, shifting away as the two kittens came rushing toward the object. “Said somethin’ about wantin’ them to have somewhere they ken is safe to hide from the storms. I thought he’d want to put it in yer chambers.”

Margo barely heard the last sentence. Not only had Cameron made this impressive basket, but he’d also made it specifically for the kittens. It seemed almost as if he had a soft spot for tiny, fragile things, and it made her heart skip a beat.

“You are sure he made it?” she finally asked, looking away from the Laird’s handiwork.

“That man is full of surprises,” Mrs. Campbell said with a maternal laugh. “He’s quite skilled with his hands. Growin’ up, he loved helpin’ the fishermen. He and Gavin used to disappear from the grounds for days at a time to help the men at sea. I’m fairly certain he learned to weave from one of the men that lives near the shore.”

“Oh,” Margo murmured, folding her arms over her knees as she kept her gaze on the kittens snuggling into their bed.

“I ken he may seem cruel or cold at times,” Mrs. Campbell said after a few long seconds of quiet, “but he isnae.”

Margo nodded. She was slowly learning the truth of that statement. Though the way he operated confused her beyond reason, she was beginning to get a better idea of the contradictions that made up Laird MacLeod.

“A few years after he inherited the Lairdship from his father, we were facin’ a hard winter,” Mrs. Campbell said, the desk creaking as she leaned against it. “The storms had completely wrecked our ships, and we dinnae have much food stored for the clan. He made the difficult decision to sell family heirlooms to feed our people.”

“He is a good leader,” Margo said softly.

“Aye, he cares more about his people than vanity,” Mrs. Campbell agreed. “Though he cares about more than just the clan. There are isolated villages that he watches over. During particularly harsh storms, he brings them supplies so they can rebuild their homes. And I’ve never kent him to forget a widow that was left behind by famine or war.”