Page 48 of Taken By the Savage Highlander

Margo nodded before she sat on the ground and began her task. When she opened the first letter, she skimmed its contents, a secret thrill running through her at getting to read these records. She couldn’t deny that she had an insatiable curiosity about the inner workings of the clan.

“I will be respondin’ to correspondence as well,” Mrs. Campbell said as she settled in. “I will get to any missives ye find tomorrow. To be safe, separate anythin’ that we received within the last month.”

Margo nodded, her fingers dancing over the documents. Though the task was mundane, she couldn’t help but feel a little thrill at being included in clan matters. It seemed as if she’d grabbed an older box filled with mostly old ledgers and contracts. That did nothing to squash her eagerness.

Father always guarded his own records so fiercely that I wouldn’t dare to think about the cabinet he kept them in.

For the next hour, she immersed herself in all of the fine details that kept the MacLeod Clan running. She was impressed by the sheer amount of fish the village brought in. Under Cameron’s leadership, they’d nearly doubled their hauls.

“I did not realize just how many people the village supplied with seafood,” Margo said when she got to the bottom of her crate.

Mrs. Campbell looked up from the pile of parchment on her lap, giving her eyes a moment to focus on Margo. She smiled, her body radiating a quiet pride as she said, “Aye. And they’ve kept us from goin’ hungry more than once.” She glanced at the desk, then. “Once we sort through that one, we can start puttin’ them in chronological order.”

“I’ve been trying to do so with what I’ve already gone through,” Margo said, tapping her fingertips against the top of the contracts.

She rose to her feet smoothly, taking a moment to stretch the stiffness from her limbs. Looking at the overflowing crate of records, she saw a page that looked much newer than the rest sitting on top. Her interest peaked, she padded over and plucked it from the pile.

Without sitting down, she turned it over in her hands. The writing was familiar. It was addressed to Cameron.

Margo’s blood ran cold, her fingers beginning to shake as she opened the envelope. Her eyes darted to the bottom of the page as soon as she unfolded the parchment. And there, written with the flourish that she’d seen her entire life, was her father’s name.

I should not read this.

Even as the thought crossed her mind, she could not stop herself from devouring the words. Her stomach turned. Her fingers tightened on the edges. Each one seemed to shine more and more light on a fear that she hadn’t realized was still there.

Cameron had been the one to suggest that they provide an heir to receive her dowry. Her father had written it plainly: he was awaiting updates, and he was glad Cameron had provided the stipulation. It didn’t make sense to her. He had allowed her to read the contract and had acted as if he was just as inconvenienced as Margo.

He added this clause? What could the point possibly be? Was it some savage desire?

Anger bubbled in her chest; the same fury that had manifested when her fate was first being discussed. It was immediately, almost nauseatingly, tempered by confusion. He’d add the provision, yet now he seemed to be doing everything he could to stay away from her.

Why marry me and add this impossible stipulation if this is how he was planning on behaving?

Swallowing down the bile that climbed up her throat, she put the missive back in its envelope. She turned, stiffly dropping it on top of Mrs. Campbell’s pile of correspondence. Then, she took the crate from Cameron’s desk and returned to her spot on the floor.

“Ye look a bit pale,” Mrs. Campbell said, setting the parchment in her hand aside as she stood up. She walked over, pressing the back of her hand against Margo’s forehead. “Ye’re nae warm, but ye daenae look well.”

“I’m just a bit tired,” Margo said weakly, hoping that it was enough to convince the woman to drop the subject.

“Then perhaps ye should go and rest before supper,” Mrs. Campbell suggested, helping Margo to her feet before she had the chance to protest. “Ye’re of nay help to me if ye collapse over yer work, lass.”

“Of course,” Margo said, giving her a tight smile before she walked to the door.

There was a sinking sensation in her chest, and she couldn’t help but mourn the loss of a distraction; though she could not deny Mrs. Campbell may have a point. Knowing that she’d been nothing more than a thing to be traded for made her head spin. If she thought about it too long, she felt she could surely faint.

Didn’t I already know?

“I have been thinking,” Marian said during a lull in conversation at the table, “that since we did not get to go attend your handfasting ceremony, you should make sure to invite us to the ceilidh to celebrate your union.”

“There willnae be a ceilidh,” Cameron muttered, his voice barely audible above the drone of the Great Hall.

“I think ye have a point, Marian,” Lachlan said, choosing to ignore Cameron’s protests. “I’m sure that everyone could use a bit of rest and cheer. The storms have been relentless this year.”

“Perhaps we could have the gathering after the worst of storm season has passed,” Marian suggested, her eyes dancing as if she were already planning every detail of the event. “Lachlan informed me that you did not even have a wedding feast. Did you do anything to mark the occasion?”

“I informed her of her duties,” Cameron said flatly, deciding to focus on his plate rather than the woman whose voice reminded him of Margo.

Marian set her fork down slowly. She leaned forward, lowering her tone so that only the three of them could hear her when she said, “Every day I am surprised by how foolish some brilliant men can be.”