Page 4 of The Laird's Masked Desire
Eleonor lowered her hand slowly from her mouth.
“Ye have thought of everything.”
Margaret did not smile. “I have thought of enough.”
It was not the same thing.
“What if Faither sees me before I get away?”
“He willnae be looking fer a maid.” Margaret’s tone hardened, not from cruelty, but necessity. “And if he is, then ye must lower yer head and keep walking. Fear is natural, but hesitation will ruin us.”
Eleonor nodded, though her tears had not yet ceased. That made Margaret gentle slightly.
“Once ye are gone, ye must nae attempt tae send word at once. That would be foolish and too easily discovered. We will agree upon a place, somewhere neither too near nor too obvious and one week after the ball I will meet ye there, if I can. If I cannae, ye must wait nay longer than a day and then continue on.”
“A week,” Eleonor repeated, as though fixing it into her soul.
“A week,” Margaret agreed. “Enough time fer me tae ken whether I am suspected, and enough fer ye tae be at a safe distance if all goes well.”
Eleonor took a step toward her. “Ye speak as though ye are certain.”
Margaret met her gaze. “I am determined. That must serve.”
Her sister’s face crumpled then, not with childish helplessness, but with the gratitude of one who has been offered hope at the very instant she believed none remained.
“I cannae ask this of ye.”
“Ye arenae asking,” Margaret replied, taking her by the hand. “I am offering.”
That, at last, produced the faintest, most broken little laugh. It vanished almost at once.
“But what will happen tae ye?” Eleonor suddenly asked. “When Faither learns? When they discover it was ye?”
Margaret’s heart gave one hard beat against her ribs. She had thought of it. She had merely refused, until now, to dwell upon it.
“He will be angry,” she answered with more calm than she felt. “He may be furious. But by then, ye will be gone, and that is what matters. Naething is yet signed. Naething is yet settled. And he cannae drag ye back if he cannae find ye.”
Eleonor searched her face as if trying to distinguish bravery from recklessness. Perhaps Margaret could not have distinguished them herself.
At length, Eleonor whispered. “And if something goes wrong?”
Margaret took both her sister’s hands this time and held them tightly.
“Then ye must nae stop,” she urged tenderly. “Dae ye understand me? If anything goes wrong, if I am delayed, if I am questioned, if there is confusion, ye must still go. Ye must nae turn back fer me. Ye must nae wait.”
Eleonor shook her head at once. “I could never leave ye.”
“Ye must.”
“Nay.”
“Ye must,” Margaret repeated, and there was such force in her voice now that Eleonor at last fell silent. “Because if ye dinnae, then all of this is fer naething.”
The room seemed suddenly too small to contain them both. Outside, the castle carried on in its usual manner, utterly indifferent to the fact that two daughters within it had just decided to hazard everything against a father’s will.
At last Eleonor nodded, only once, but it was enough.
Margaret drew a careful breath. “Then it is settled.”
