Page 12 of The Lady’s Guide to Being Snowbound with a Scottish Laird (The Lady’s Guide to Love #9)

Bounding back up the stairs, Finlay could hardly control his excitement. Every minute away from his bride was a minute too long, as far as he was concerned.

While preparing the bath, he’d been formulating a plan.

Now Dunrannoch Fine Soaps was thriving, he could rely more on the foreman at the workshop, and the two managers he’d appointed—one to handle distribution and invoicing, the other to oversee the resourcing of all that was needed, from their ingredients to the packaging for soaps and other products.

In fact, there was very little that commanded his close attention anymore, on a day-to-day basis.

He had the services of a man of law, to draw up all commercial contracts and maintain a record of accounts.

Beyond a trip to Glasgow every quarter to keep an eye on things, he could take several steps back.

If he was based on the moor from now on, he could supervise the harvesting of the heather and transportation, while trusting his employees to run the other aspects of the enterprise.

Which leaves plenty of time for me to accompany Mags to Edinburgh, whenever she wishes to be there for the publishing house. She might even like to come with me to Glasgow, on occasion.

With a spring in his step, he entered the bedchamber, ready to whisk her into his arms. However, as soon as he set foot over the threshold, his heart sank.

She was no longer naked but wearing the nightgown, and no longer in bed but standing beside it. Moreover, she was holding the bagpipes.

“I take it this is what I heard last night, after you’d reminded me of the legend of the ghostly piper! I was looking under the bed for an old pair of slippers or some such.” Her eyes flashed fire, but she also appeared to be holding back tears.

“’Twas only a jest. You can’t be cross over some daft bagpipes.” Finlay laughed nervously.

“You made me worry, and you manipulated me. It was dishonest. I need to know I can trust you; that you aren’t just going your own merry way without thinking about how it affects me!”

“Come now, Magsie, you’re reading too much into this.” Finlay shifted his feet awkwardly.

Damn the bagpipes!

What had possessed him to shove them under the bed!

“We were made to be together. Who else could there be for me, or for you? I know we’ve lost our way, but when we’re good, we’re so good, Magsie. It’s effortless.”

“Perhaps that’s the problem.” Her shoulders sagged. “It’s all been too easy. You never had to woo me, because I’ve loved you for as long as I knew what it meant to love.”

“Mags!” He stepped closer. “You must know this is real. The night we’ve spent together. It’s the happiest I’ve been since…you must see, Margaret, I need you!”

“Do you?” She sounded weary. “From where I’m standing you seem to have been managing perfectly well. All those years of study, then building your business. You all but disappeared as soon as we were betrothed. What does that tell me? Even this past year, did you once try to seek me out?”

He was caught off guard. This wasn’t at all the way things were supposed to go, but he wasn’t doing the best job of steering them back to his way of thinking.

“I didn’t think you’d want me to and…I thought you’d come back on your own—especially after seeing how successful the business was becoming. ”

“Is that what you thought? That I’d change my mind on seeing you had coin in the bank!

You think I’m so shallow?” She gave a strangled, half-sob.

“We all know the coffers of Dunrannoch were in a poor state when you inherited them, but I loved you all the same. When did I ever give you cause to think differently?”

“That’s not what I meant. I…” Finlay’s mouth was parched. “Perhaps you’re right. I took you for granted, thinking you’d always be here, waiting for me, but we can change things, can’t we? You can’t deny, we’re good together. Last night—”

She cut him off. “What do you want? For me to sit and wait for the times you visit, while you live a whole other life elsewhere?”

“Nay, it’s what I was about to tell you. I have it all worked out. A plan!” He took another step toward her, but she held the bagpipes between them. “Look, I’m not such a dunderheid. I’ve wronged you, lass, and I’ve regrets. If I had the time again, I like to think I’d do better. I will do better!”

She stared at him. “What regrets? About taking my brother’s money without telling me?”

“Aye.” He swallowed. The conversation was becoming more and more uncomfortable, but he couldn’t run from it.

“I love you, Magsie. I always have, and it never occurred to me you’d think I wanted you for some other reason.

But I understand why that doubt might have crept in.

I was so wrapped up in myself, I didn’t see what you needed. ”

“All I wanted was your time!” The look in her eyes speared him through. “To believe I was important to you! We announced our betrothal and then I hardly saw you.”

He felt sick to the stomach, seeing how she was hurting, and that he was the cause. He’d thought she’d always adore him, unconditionally, regardless of how he treated her in return.

Finlay’s tongue felt thick as he tried to find the right words. “I don’t know why I did that. I was caught up in the business but…I know that’s no excuse. In my mind, I always pictured us here after we were wedded. A new page for Dunrannoch—you and I together.”

She pushed the heel of one hand to her eyes. “It’s what I wanted too.”

He seized on that like a drowning man to a raft. “You’re right, Mags, and we’re going to spend more time together, I promise. You and I, bringing life back to Dunrannoch. You can get the place shipshape. New curtains, whatever you like! And you can keep working with the books.”

“How very gracious of you.” A touch of flint entered her voice. “I’m glad you’re being so accommodating. That makes this easier. I hope you’ll now release me from the marriage.”

It seemed, suddenly, as if he had ice in his veins.

“Perhaps us being here is a blessing, after all,” she added. “If you care for me as you say, you’ll petition for what I ask—a divorce, so we can go our separate ways.”

“Nay, Mags. Please!”

What had gone wrong? Had he not said the right words, or had she not heard him? He had it all worked out. She was supposed to tell him she loved him back, and that everything would be wonderful.

Finlay went to embrace her, but she jabbed the bagpipes at him hard enough to send the dust flying, making him sneeze.

“I’m not staying.” She spoke determinedly. “I’d appreciate it if you went to the stables. I see it’s stopped snowing, so there’s no reason you shouldn’t ask Jamie to ready the carriage.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He was starting to feel angry. “The snow’s likely too deep. It’s not fair on the horses nor the lad.”

However, she was having none of it. “I’ll ride back alone if necessary. Whichever horse is strongest. I’m confident in the saddle.”

“You’re acting on impulse. Come now, Mags.” He knew it wouldn’t help for him to lose his temper. “Don’t let your emotions rule you.”

“Like they did when I fell in love with you, and promised to be your wife?” She punched the bagpipes, sending up more dust. “Like they did when I thought these dratted things were being played by the ghost of Camdyn and I screamed in fright?”

Finlay sneezed again, and then found he couldn’t stop.

By the time he’d thrown the awful instrument on the floor, Margaret was across the room and heading toward the wardrobe.

“Might there be a cloak in here? Some old coat of yours would do, or your father’s? I don’t care, as long as it covers me up.” She began opening one of the doors, obliging him to race over and stand in front of it.

“No coats. Those are…in the boot-room, I should think, although I’ve a feeling my mother gave away most of my father’s things, and she was wearing her cape when she left for Oban.”

His mind was racing. Mags wouldn’t be able to leave if she had nothing appropriate to wear.

However, she was not to be deflected. Suddenly she was propelling him out of the way. Flinging the door wide, she gaped in disbelief. “What’s this?”

She fingered the thick red velvet of an evening gown, and one beside it in emerald.

There was a costume of russet worsted wool, and a blue riding habit.

Rifling through, she seemed stunned at the number of garments and the quality of the fabrics, some beaded, others embroidered.

Most were heavy enough to provide the wearer with necessary warmth, but there were also some lighter gowns, in fluid silk, rustling taffeta and fine-woven cambric.

Gazing at the upper shelf of the wardrobe, she took in the selection of newly-tooled footwear: indoor slippers and kitten-heeled shoes, as well as soft-leather boots, clearly made to her size.

“They’re all for you, Mags—a marriage gift.” Finlay hastened to explain. “I hope they’ll serve. Of course, you must have whatever you wish made. There’s more, in the chest at the foot of the bed—chemises and such, all manner of underthings.”

He looked at her expectantly. Surely she would look more kindly on him, knowing how he’d considered her needs. He’d been remiss in not spending more time with her prior to the wedding, but she’d been constantly in his thoughts.

“All this?” She was frowning. “All this was here, last night, while I was sitting cold downstairs—with not so much as a dry pair of stockings to put on!”

“I could hardly…you must see, Mags. How would it have appeared? You’d have thought all the more that I’d something to do with bringing you here.”

“And of course, you didn’t!” She glowered at him. “That would require you being bothered to take action, which you clearly weren’t. It took a scheme—no doubt instigated by my sister-in-law—to bring about this farce!”

For a moment, Finlay thought she might slap him, so furious did she look, but her energy was diverted to pulling out the riding habit and some sturdy footwear.

The riding habit!

Margaret really was going to saddle up for Balmore. If he refused her a horse, she might attempt the distance on foot—bloody-minded as she was!

She went to the chest, tossing out an assortment of frilled apparel, and Brucie trotted over, sniffing at the pile, while she sat upon the lid.

“You don’t want...to bathe?” ’Twas a ridiculous question, but he could scarcely believe what was happening.

She refrained from answering, merely pausing from the rolling of a stocking to give him a withering look.

Turning her back upon him, she threw off the nightgown, stepping into bloomers and petticoats, then donning a camisole and wide-sleeved shirt.

The boots came next, while she could still bend easily.

The skirt of the riding habit, she struggled with but eventually managed to fasten the waist. Contorting herself, she shrugged on the jacket.

At no point did she request his help, and he was not foolish enough to offer it. Only with the upper buttons of the jacket did she grow exasperated but, rather than ask his assistance, she left them undone, simply tying the matching cravat loosely at her throat.

He marveled at how very lovely she was in the dark blue costume, which set off the red tints in her hair.

Though there was a brush upon the dressing table, she wasted no time in making use of it.

Hastily, she brought her hair over her shoulder, plaiting its length before tucking it under the back of the cravat.

She cast one final look at the bed, where the sheets were still rumpled, then her eyes met his for the briefest of moments. He saw there an agony of feeling. If there was regret, it was buried beneath her sense of betrayal and disappointment.

Her voice was rough, as if she struggled against tears. “Don’t follow me.”