On a Highland Shore by Kathleen Givens

hall. Fiona’s father was there with Margaret’s father, both laughing, as Rignor shook the dice. Lachlan was not with them. Margaret looked around again, willing Fiona to be here among the clanspeople. But Fiona was gone as well.
    “No,” she said loudly. “No. This canna be!”
    Her mother clasped her arm, her voice low and tense. “Let it go. It’s ye he’ll marry, ye who will bear his children. People are watching ye. Smile. Let none of them see yer distress. Ye’re not the first woman to discover her man fancies another. Be quiet now and smile.”
    Margaret pulled away, but her mother tightened her grip, her tone and touch harsh. Margaret had seen this woman a few times before, this fierce, unrelenting woman who had somehow in the last few years replaced the loving mother of her childhood. The concern in her mother’s eyes was not for Margaret, but that others might hear them.
    “Where are they?”
    “Ye’ll no’ shame me by following them, Margaret MacDonald. Swallow yer pride. Fiona’s a lovely lass. She was sure to catch someone’s eye.”
    “Did ye ken this, Mother? Did ye ken and not tell me?”
    “I kent ye’d discover it soon enough. What difference does it make?”
    “What difference? It changes everything!”
    “It changes nothing, Margaret. Look away, ye willful child.”
    “I canna…I willna!”
    “Aye, ye will,” Mother hissed. “Think on all that rests on this marriage and not just about yerself. Why should ye be any different than the rest of the women in the world? He willna be faithful to ye, not now, not after yer wed. Ye best set yer mind to accepting that. Look away. I did.”
    “I am not going to suffer in silence while my husband plays me for a fool!”
    Her mother recoiled. “Like me? Is that it, Margaret? Ye willna do as I did? Well, if ye think ye can do it better, then ye’re the fool, lass. Ye’ll be sharing yer man. Accept it.”
    “I will not accept it! How can he do this to me? How can Fiona? She is my friend!”
    “Inghinn was once my friend. Before she became yer father’s mistress. She was not the first of his women, nor will she be the last. It is the way of men, and it’s time ye learned that. Now smile, Margaret, and dinna disgrace me! People are watching.”
    “Let them watch!” Margaret ran down the stairs and through the guardroom.
    She was halfway across the courtyard when Nell caught her.
    “Mother wants ye to come back!” When Margaret did not reply as she passed through the gate, Nell followed, her voice rising with worry. “Margaret! Ye must come back!”
    “I need to see if it’s true.”
    “It is true. Everyone’s kent for weeks…”
    Margaret spun around. “And no one told me! Did ye ken?”
    “No, no! I would ha’ told ye.”
    Margaret nodded tightly, then stalked through the village, ignoring the rain, ignoring the guards who watched her, ignoring Nell, who hurried just behind her. She slipped once on the wet stones, caught herself, and plunged ahead, pushing her sodden hair out of her eyes. At the weaver’s hut, light spilled from under the door.
    “Dinna go in there,” Nell whispered. “Let’s go back.”
    Margaret opened the door. The room was lit by the fire in the corner and by the candlestick on the table, the one that had been in Lachlan’s room. Her mother had brought the silver candlestick with her when she’d come to Somerstrath as a new bride, and now her mother’s precious beeswax candle illuminated the small space, flickering in the wind that swirled past Margaret into the room.
    Lachlan’s shoes were by the door, his shirt nearby. And on the narrow bed on the other side of the room, Lachlan, naked, writhed above Fiona. Fiona clasped his shoulders, her head thrown back against the coverlet, her legs wrapped around his. Margaret watched, frozen in shock, her breaths coming in huge heaving gasps, as Lachlan bucked one more time, then fell against Fiona, his breathing audible. Nell’s stifled cry and the wind