The Groom Wore Plaid: Highland Weddings Read Online Free PDF Page A

horror as the brief scene unfolded. All she could see was herself rushing to Owen’s side, his face pale, blood pooling beneath him, her own gown stained as she grabbed and held him, screaming. What was terrible and frustrating was that she had no idea what had led to such a tragedy. Try as she might, nothing else came to her, no glimpse of a clue she’d missed. It was just her and Owen in a dark room, and his imminent death.
    She paced for long hours, too wide awake to sleep. She didn’t know what she was supposed to do with the information fate had granted her. Her family, her entire clan, was dependent on her to make this marriage work, or they would lose the land they cherished, and be unable to produce the whisky that helped them survive the lean years. Not to mention the resumption of a feud that had caused too many deaths over the centuries.
    But how could she marry Owen if it would cost him his life? Yet she wasn’t even certain he would die, and confusion and fear chased each other around in her mind.
    She was simply going to have to tell him the truth.
    She started second-guessing herself almost immediately, because she well remembered his mocking disbelief the last time she’d told him about her dream. But she couldn’t tell him that she wouldn’t marry without offering a plausible reason. She would be honest and convince him that there had to be another way to satisfy the contract, because she wasn’t going to marry him and be responsible for his death.
    At last she crawled back into bed and huddled there. Her eyes wouldn’t close, and at dawn she gave up and went to sit in the window seat, watching the courtyard as it came to life.
    Feeling like she needed to be close to those she loved, she sat down at the delicate writing desk and began to compose a letter to her family. She wrote it to Hugh, knowing he’d share it with the others. She told superficial stories of her first view of the castle, of how polite and considerate Owen had been, and how the castle residents seemed friendly. Silently, she wondered how friendly they’d be if they knew she dreamed things that came true.

C HAPTER 2
    A s if used to aristocratic ladies who rose late, the housekeeper did not arrive with a tray of bannocks and chocolate until several hours later. Maggie felt weak with hunger, exhausted, and worried about her coming discussion with Owen. She had to find the right time to speak with him—as if there was a right time, she thought grimly.
    Mrs. Robertson was tall and thin, with a long gray braid wrapped about her head like a crown and topped with a lace cap. The crown idea wasn’t far off; she was a reserved woman who took her position as head of the household staff with the seriousness reserved for a head of state surveying her kingdom. After a double look at Maggie’s different colored eyes, Mrs. Robertson served her with silent efficiency, but Maggie sensed a faint whiff of disapproval that Mrs. Robertson would never deign to admit out loud. Hospitality was important to Scotsmen, and it was part of Mrs. Robertson’s position. But Maggie was a McCallum, after all.
    Once Maggie had been taken away from the oppression and constant fear of her father’s household,she’d discovered the joy of being around people who knew her only by what she showed the world. She’d been happy, lighthearted, pretending that she was like any other girl. Owen and the heartache that had followed had changed her, made her realize she might never have a normal life. But she’d vowed to find her own way, wouldn’t allow herself to wallow in regrets. She’d changed from a girl into a woman who’d understood caution. And then Owen had returned, stirring up her anger all over again.
    “Will there be anything else, Mistress McCallum?” Mrs. Robertson asked, when the items from her tray were neatly arranged on a small table.
    Maggie had many questions, but none she thought the housekeeper the right person to ask. “Nay, ye’ve taken