Page 67 of Taken By the Savage Highlander

“I do not like this,” Eleanor said, taking a second sip of the wine. “Why do all women seem to love this?”

“It tastes far better than whisky or ale,” Margo said, smiling softly as she sat down next to her sister. “But I will admit the wine here is quite dry. I prefer it when it’s on the sweeter side.”

“I don’t think I would like it even if it were sweeter,” Eleanor decided, passing the now-empty glass to a maid. “Perhaps I will not drink.”

“Your opinion may change,” Margo said warmly, noting the way Eleanor’s features were beginning to emerge from beneath the layers of youth. “The first time I tasted father’s scotch, I thought everyone must be mad to sit around sipping it. Now I can appreciate it and the way it warms you from the inside out.” She reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind Eleanor’s ear. “Though I must admit I still think it tastes a bit like liquid wood.”

Eleanor burst out laughing, her hand flying up to her mouth to muffle the sound. A few heads turned toward them, curious about who still had the energy to express such glee. Margo nearly laughed along with her sister, but she caught the eye of a rather serious-looking man approaching, and every bit of joy drained from the situation.

“Lady MacLeod,” the man said, likely a servant if she had to guess, though she had not seen him during her stay at Glen Carrick. “I have been sent to inform ye that Laird MacLeod has requested yer presence in the courtyard. He asks that ye come alone.”

Something in her mind twisted, a confusing flurry of emotions raining down on her all at once. The request was surprising, though she supposed that after their encounter earlier in the evening it should not come as a shock. It was welcome.

The servant… I just do not know what it is about him, but there’s something off.

The thought of keeping Cameron waiting was too strong a deterrent for her to question this man. Her mind was off from the long day. She was so used to waiting for something terrible to happen that she was looking for reasons to be upset or flee. Glen Carrick was enormous. Of course, she would not be able to memorize the faces of every servant in a short trip.

“Did Laird MacLeod send you with a message?” Margo asked when they stepped out of the Great Hall.

“Nay,” the man said, catching her eye over his shoulder. “He only said that he would like to see ye alone.”

Margo nodded, allowing excitement to bubble in her stomach once more. She was certain she would have to be the person to show initiative; that Cameron would be too respectful of her space to call on her again so soon. As the servant stepped aside, allowing her to exit alone, she did not bother to conceal her grin.

I’ve never experienced a night so lovely.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

As Margo stepped outside, the crickets sang. She took a deep breath, filling her lungs with the sweet scent of the night-blooming flowers dotting the space. The stars twinkled overhead, the half-moon gleaming brighter than usual, somehow.

Her heart pounded against her ribs. She told herself that it was excitement, that she was seeing her husband and that his whispered promise was making her pulse race. But there was a skip in the beat that felt almost sinister.

Something about this isn’t right… I should go back inside.

Nearly at the center of the empty courtyard, Margo stopped in her tracks. She should have trusted her gut in the Great Hall. She should not have let her desire to see Cameron overrule her self-preservation. As she turned, a sudden movement caught her eye and her entire body froze in place.

No.

“My love,” a deep, familiar, English voice said. Margo whirled around just in time to see her father stepping out from the bushes that were making the air fragrant. “It has been such a long time.”

“You did not come here to offer your congratulations,” she said, backing away. Her eyes darted around, hoping to find anyone. Yet, it seemed that they were truly alone.

“How could you think that?” Lord Abbott said, putting on a false tone of hurt. “I am looking forward to meeting my grandchild.”

“You were not invited to this ceilidh.” Margo could not believe a word out of his mouth. She knew now that he was a liar, that he would twist phrases or posture as something he was not to get what he wanted. She took another step back. “It would be best if you left. If you wish to speak with Laird MacLeod, you should arrange a visit.”

“We are family,” her father said, walking toward her at a steady pace, eliminating the distance she had put between them. “I would welcome you and your sister back at the manor at any time.” His hand shot forward, his fingers encircling her wrist and trapping her in place. “In fact, I think that you should come back with me now.”

“I would rather not,” she said, her voice rising as she attempted to pull herself free.

Her father acted fast, grabbing onto her upper arm hard enough to bruise as he positioned his mouth right next to her ear. “Do not make a fuss, Margo,” he growled, sounding like a complete stranger, so much more dangerous than she had ever known him to be before. “I am not alone here. You just cannot see my men.”

She gulped, the sound deafening to her own ears. Taking a long, steadying breath, she nodded. There was no telling what he might do to her. No longer was she being treated like his daughter, but like an asset. She was being stolen back, for whatever reason she could not yet tell.

“You do not have to do this,” she said, airy with fear and anxiety. “Cameron is a reasonable man. Whatever it is that you are trying to accomplish, I am sure he will be open to negotiations.”

“Women will simply never understand the way business works,” Lord Abbott said with a sneer. “Your mother was the same way. Always with the insistence upon negotiations.” Roughly, he dragged her away, straight toward the gardens. “What you, and her, do not understand is that sometimes you need leverage when you are negotiating.”

Margo did not respond, twisting in his hold in an attempt to get free. Grunting, he grabbed onto her other arm, forcing her to walk in front of him. Just as she was considering taking the risk of screaming for help, she caught sight of one of her father’s guards tucked away. The sharp edge of his blade glinted in the moonlight.