The Groom Wore Plaid: Highland Weddings Read Free Page B

because of the McCallums.
    When the worst of his hunger had been assuaged, Owen took a sip of whisky.
    Maggie studied him with those affecting eyes. “Is that the whisky ye’ve made from our lands?”
    He arched a brow. “Your lands?”
    “Aye, my family’s lands. The marriage contract between our families permitted ye to share in its bounty, not own the land itself.”
    Owen knew there was no point launching into a deeper discussion of the contract. The decision had been made, and there was no going back. “This whisky is from—”
    “Never mind my question,” she said. “I’ll tell ye if my guess is right.”
    And Maggie plucked the glass out of his hand and took a sip. She didn’t cough or wheeze or even make a distorted face, as so many women did trying the Water of Life.
    “I assume you don’t imbibe regularly,” Owen said dryly.
    Ignoring him, she narrowed her eyes as she considered the taste on her tongue. “Aye, this is from our land. But ye’ve done something . . . different.”
    “Have we.”
    As if she hadn’t heard him, she studied the glass. “Ye’ve changed the proportion of the peat, I believe. The smoke of the peat fire is used to dry the malt.”
    Her voice was a tad slow, as if explaining to a simpleton.
    Maggie sighed, then spoke with satisfied pride. “Och, well, ye had to alter it somehow, or everyone would have thought it was ours. We do distill the best in the Highlands.”
    “You did.”
    She swished the liquid in the glass and sniffed. “Believe what ye’d like, my lord.”
    He took the drink back. “You called me Owen not too long ago.”
    “Ten years is a long time—Owen,” she said brusquely.
    After the wary distance she’d shown him during her brother’s wedding celebration, he found himself relieved for the renewal of her spirit. He didn’t want to be married to a martyr.
    “Ye seem familiar with each other already,” Harold interrupted. “Is that why ye decided to marry?”
    “Nay, no familiarity involved there,” Maggie said with a dry tone in her voice. “At least none that mattered. I do believe he offered for me because it was the only honorable thing to do to keep the peace.”
    Owen stiffened. “Honorable? You cannot possibly question me about that after what your brother did.”
    Her smile faded and they looked at each other intently.
    In a mild voice, Harold said, “Shall I play the role of arbiter, as well as war chief?”
    “That won’t be necessary, Uncle,” Owen said. “You asked me to explain what happened and I shall. You knew that Maggie’s brother Hugh was engaged to my sister since her birth. It was our fathers’ attempt to bring peace to the clan, to offer a dowry to the McCallums, and to share the land where they distilled their whisky. After Hugh became chief, he came to collect his bride, and my father behaved dishonorably by secreting her away and putting our cousin Riona in her place.”
    Harold stiffened, but his expression remained impassive. He well knew the cruelty his brother had often practiced.
    “Hugh took the wrong bride and fell in love with her,” Owen finished.
    Maggie’s gaze shot to his face, and she didn’t hide her surprise. Had she thought he’d continue to berate her brother’s choices, the way the man had kidnapped Riona and wouldn’t believe the truth? Hugh’s mistakes were in the past, and after all, Owen’s father had played his own part. But the earl was dead, and it was up to Owen to make things right. His father managed to control him in the end, even from beyond the grave.
    “So the marriage contract was broken,” Harold said slowly.
    “Maggie and I decided to set it aright,” Owen answered. “We will marry and seal the bond between our clans. I don’t want animosity to ever erupt again.”
    Harold looked from him to Maggie and back again. Maggie was simply pushing her food about her plate, her expression pensive, perhaps even sad.
    They’d been forced into a marriage they didn’t want