Page 21 of Caught By the Cruel Highlander
She looked up at him then. He was watching the bairn with an expression that was neither cold nor indifferent. It was the look of a man who didn't know what was being asked of him and was afraid the answer would cost something he hadn't accounted for. The firelight caught the dark brown of his eyes, making them seem momentarily warmer.
"Ye'll take me to the village," Margaret said.
Fergus blinked. "What?"
"This afternoon. The village." She handed Lilly the cloth to investigate and looked Fergus directly in the eye. "The bairn needs proper clothin'. What she arrived in willnae last another month. I need wool and linen, and I need to see where things can be bought in this wilderness."
"I'll send Maisie."
"Ye'll take me," she said. Her voice was even. "That was the arrangement, Fergus. Yer time. Yer presence." She held his gaze, refusing to be the first to look away. "It's one afternoon. I think the Laird MacKenzie can manage it."
He said nothing for a moment. She saw him calculating. He arrived at the conclusion that this was not a battle he would win.
"After the second hour," he said, his voice a low scrape.
"I'll be ready."
* * *
The village was a twenty-minute ride, a proper Highland settlement. Stone buildings crowded along a wide, muddy track. The market square was bustling in the afternoon sun. Margaret had not known what to expect; she had imagined something smaller. She had not imagined this vibrant, noisy life.
"It's busy," she said, pulling her horse up beside his stallion.
"Market day." Fergus scanned the square with the automatic habit of a man assessing a tactical space. "Once a fortnight."
"Ye might have mentioned that, Fergus."
"Ye might have asked."
She gave him a sharp look.
He nearly, nearly let a ghost of a smile flicker across his face. Then he dismounted and reached up to help her down, his large hands gripping her waist for a moment longer than necessary. The heat radiating from him through her cloak shocked hermore than she expected. He set her down, and they walked into the market.
The wool merchant was three stalls down. She was a broad woman with red hands and a keen eye for quality. Margaret recognized the type right away. They began talking about weights, weaves, and the merits of different fleece. The price of linen. The availability of dyes.
Fergus stood two steps behind her. He said nothing.
Margaret didn't need him to speak. She was aware of him at that frequency he emitted, which she couldn't tune out. She was also aware that the merchant was watching him. Every person in this square was deciding what they thought of their new Laird.
Every exchange Margaret had was an introduction. She introduced herself accordingly. She was the Lady of the MacKenzie clan.
The baker's wife offered her a piece of bannock. Margaret accepted, ate it, and inquired about the grain. An older woman recognized the MacKenzie plaid and stepped forward. She had questions regarding a wall on the eastern boundary. Margaret listened closely. She asked three clarifying questions and promised to discuss it with the Laird.
"That's him there, is it nae?" the woman said, squinting past Margaret's shoulder.
"It is."
"He's a large one."
"He is," Margaret agreed, her voice softening for a moment.
She looked back at Fergus. He had moved and was now standing near a stall selling ironwork, talking to the blacksmith. He spoke in that low, direct way he always did, with no wasted words. The blacksmith was nodding—it was a genuine nod, a sign of respect.
She watched him for a moment. He caught her watching. He looked away first, a muscle twitching in his jaw.
She turned back to her wool and did not smile where he could see it.
They were nearly done. The wool was purchased. The linen was arranged. Margaret had a small package of dried herbs for Lilly's gums tucked under her arm. Then, the man appeared.
