Page 72 of Taken By the Savage Highlander

“Aye, Me Laird,” Gavin said, already running out of the room.

Cameron looked at the remaining men who were gathered. “I will brief ye on me plan as we walk to the courtyard. I amnae givin’ up on Clan MacLeod, nor am I givin’ up on Margo.”

“Hurry inside,” Lord Abbott barked several hours later.

Margo jumped as he threw the door open, flinching when he grabbed onto her forearm and yanked her out of the carriage. She nearly fell as her toes caught on the uneven stones beneath her feet. When she righted herself, she took in the imposing structure before her.

A castle. The Highland hills rolled just behind it, seeming to go on forever. Her father had not brought her back to Abbott Manor. This was land that she had never laid eyes on, somewhere that Cameron likely would not be able to find her.

“Where are we?” she demanded, her voice shaking with fear that she was desperately trying to stifle.

“The land I’m trying to protect,” Lord Abbott said, dragging her up the stairs impatiently. “Your mother always told me it was just as worthless as the lands I sold. It seems that she was trying to hide their value from me, but I still have not come up with a reason why.”

I can think of several.

When they walked inside, the foyer looked as if it had been frozen in time. Margo was not a design expert, but she was certain the chairs tucked into the alcove were fashionable at least fifty years prior. There was a fine layer of dust over everything; she was deeply curious to know what had happened, and how this place had turned into a museum.

“Do not touch anything,” her father hissed, pulling her along faster. The two of them were nearly running now. She felt his anxiety, knowing that his swiftness and need for overpowering control, even when she was bound, was his way of hiding how frayed his nerves were. “You will stay in the Study while I wait for Nicolas.”

He then wrenched open a door at the end of the corridor, shoving Margo inside so hard, she nearly tripped for the second time within the last five minutes. By the time she had righted herself, he had slammed the door closed behind her. The last thing she heard from him was the sharp, definitive click of the lock and his boots retreating down the hallway.

“How did any of this happen?” Margo asked, her heart pounding in her chest as she looked around the room. When she spotted a window concealed by a curtain, she rushed over to it. “Did he really leave me with a way out?”

The thought was immediately silenced by the sight of a guard standing just outside the window. She dropped the curtain back into place immediately, spinning around and shaking her hands trying to banish the excess nervous energy. There must be something she could do, but she would not be able to figure it out if her brain was overloaded.

“For now, I am safe,” she told herself, hoping that saying the words aloud would make them true. “I cannot leave, but there is no threat to my body.”

After a few deep breaths, her fingers finally found the pendant she had tucked away, and this seemed to calm her. She looked at the rest of the room. The walls were lined with beautifully made bookcases loaded with a wealth of knowledge that had not been touched since the place was vacated. If she truly wished to know the place’s history, there was a neatly organized row of ledgers on the bottom shelf.

I do not have time for reading. There must be something more immediate I could do.

Sitting right in front of her, centered in front of the window, was a stationary desk. It seemed almost out of place. Everything else was solid, thick with utility. The wood the desk was made of was lighter than the rest of the furniture, and it was more gracile in its construction.

Margo ran her fingertip along its surface, leaving a streak in the thick layer of dust. Though it did not look particularly sturdy, she could tell that it was built to last. It would not surprise her if this desk outlasted everything in the Study.

“There’s something about you,” she said, speaking directly to the piece of furniture. “What are you hiding?”

Though she did not get her answer immediately, a tiny lock on the bottom drawer caught her eye as soon as the words had left her lips. The dust on the brass had been wiped away recently. Judging by the trails in the dust, whoever tried to open it did not possess the key, and they tried brute force instead.

It must have been Father. I imagine he’s searched all of the lands that used to be Mother’s.

The pendant seemed to burn against her skin, and something hopeful bloomed in Margo’s chest. She shoved it down, refusing to get ahead of herself. After glancing over her shoulder to ensure the curtains completely blocked her from view, she pulled her pendant from where it was tucked within her bodice.

Her hands shaking, she used her nail to pry the object open. The key slipped from its casing and into her waiting palm. Visually, it looked like a match for the lock. She had never felt as confident about the other places she had tried the key.

“It could be nothing,” she murmured as she slid the key into the keyhole.

She paused, taking a steadying breath. Then, pinching the bow between her thumb and forefinger, she turned the key. Without any resistance, the pins gave way, the lock disengaging.

“No,” she whispered with disbelief, pulling the drawer open.

At first, she was not sure what she was looking at. It was mundane, nothing more than a stack of parchment. But picking up the packet of documents revealed a ribbon, knotted in the same manner that her mother would mindlessly tie any length of string or thread.

She was here.

Trembling from the gravity of her discovery, Margo took the papers and settled herself near the unlit hearth. The page at the top was a report on one of the lands that her father had sold to Cameron. It contained information on the amount of grain grown on the lands and the number of people that it could, in theory, feed. There was more; details on the size, the status of the primary residence, and which repairs needed to be made. At the bottom of the page, there lay an appraisal of the value.

“Did he… falsify the documents?” she asked breathlessly, knowing the walls would not give her the answer she was searching for. In her heart, she knew she was right, though. “Could he have chosen the man doing the inspection or…?”