Free Knight in Highland Armor by Amy Jarecki

prefer to be down in the inn with the men listening to their merriment and music. Though she wouldn’t dance with Colin. Making a French knot, Margaret paused and gazed into the log fire. Her husband said he didn’t care to dance. Were her days of carefree dancing over? Her heart sank. Dancing was the exercise she enjoyed above everything else. Would he take that away from her?
    Margaret’s mind drifted to the day’s events. She’d be a mite more comfortable with her lot if Colin had been open and discussed their destination before setting out. She hated being treated like chattel. He seemed not to care for her in the slightest, at least until they’d arrived at the inn.
    Heaven’s stars, she’d nearly died when Colin marched up to her by the stables. She’d already braced herself for a dismount. Her husband had ignored her the entire day—why would she expect him to attend her once they arrived at the inn? She practically jumped out of her skin when he wrapped his big hands around her waist. He lifted her with such force that at first she thought the brute would throw her over his shoulder. But he placed her on her feet as if she were as fragile as a dove.
    Then her heart had fluttered, as if she actually thought the man handsome. Well, of course she’d already determined he was pleasing to the eye before they’d been properly introduced. But nothing about Colin Campbell fit the list of attributes she desired in a husband…the first being love, followed by respect, a good sense of humor, and most especially, a fine appreciation for dancing .
    Blast him and blast his brutish ways . She wrung her hands. In no way would she allow him to take away everything she in which she found delight.
    Merciful madness, before she’d met Colin, she’d enjoyed watching men spar. But when they stopped for their nooning, he’d blatantly tried to impress her by fighting two at once—whilst stealing glances her way. His arrogance defies all reason .
    A light tap resounded at the door. Margaret bristled and said nothing. The matron had already brought her tray, winking and carrying on as if Margaret was a happy bride.
    The door cracked open. “Lady Margaret? Is everything all right?”
    Must his voice be so deep? Colin’s sound rumbled within her and she clapped her hand to her chest to quell it. “Y-yes. All is fine.”
    Without her invitation, Colin stepped inside and closed the door, wearing his arming doublet and thick woolen chausses.
    “No coat of arms?” She bit her lip. Would he punish her for such a remark?
    His brows drew together. “There’s little chance of attack here. I frequent this inn often on trips to court.” Thankfully treating her jibe as an innocent question, he watched her out of the corner of his eye while he took a seat on the opposite side of the hearth and stretched out his legs, crossing them at the ankles.
    She stared at him for a moment—a man reclining in her chamber—a complete stranger, in all honesty. Black Colin, enforcer of the laws of Christendom. Her husband. Margaret lowered her eyes and whipped a few stitches, willing her hands to steady.
    Very aware of the bed sitting across the room, she tried to think of anything she could say to prevent him from coaxing her there. “Why must you return to Rome?”
    He didn’t answer straight away, creating an uncomfortable pause that made Margaret’s brow perspire. “The grand master sent me a dire request. I received it on the eve of Jon…er…Duncan’s birth.” His gaze darted to the fire, pained like he’d been stabbed in the arm with a dagger.
    The same night his wife passed . Margaret contemplated his profile—bold, angular, deadly, yet sad. He must have loved her very much . “Have you any idea when you shall take your leave?”
    He rubbed his hand over his jaw. “I must first ensure the building of my keep is set to rights and see you settled at Dunstaffnage with Duncan.”
    “Dunstaffnage—the king’s lands? Why not