The Border Trilogy by Amanda Scott Page A

she said. I know it’s here somewhere.”
    “I have it, Father,” said the dark-haired young woman who had been standing silently behind him. “Only wait, I’ll find it.” Margaret Douglas jammed her hand into her overstuffed saddlebag, withdrawing it a moment later with the crumpled note. A vivacious young lady, taller and built along more generous lines than her hostess, Margaret had the look of her handsome brother about her, particularly in her hair and eyes. She laughed when she held out the, note. “I hope you will not take offense, Mary Kate, but I have read it. ’Tis all polite nonsense, of course, and does not begin to express my lady mother’s true feelings.”
    “Margaret!” two masculine voices protested in chorus.
    “Oh, hush, both of you,” she retorted with a chuckle. “Mary Kate will hear the whole from Mother herself the minute she meets her. Besides, you have made her think now that Mother does not approve.”
    Indeed, though Mary Kate had first been astonished to discover that neither Margaret nor Lady Strachan seemed to fit the mold for border women as she knew it, she was thinking precisely what Margaret expected. She said a little shyly, “I hope she does not disapprove.”
    “Of course not,” Margaret said. “She is delighted. She practically cheered when Father read her Adam’s letter.”
    Her brother interrupted this discourse, saying wryly, “Do you think you might fold your tongue behind your teeth long enough to follow the others inside. Mary Kate is shivering with the cold.”
    Margaret only laughed again, but she allowed herself to be bundled into the house, nonetheless. Mary Kate was delighted with her. She had expected Douglas’s sister to be a timid creature, especially since she was also the daughter of a man who could supposedly make Sir Adam tremble in his boots. She chose to disbelieve that particular tale, however, for Lord Strachan’s gruff kindliness put her too much in mind of Duncan. Though Strachan was a border lord and therefore no doubt possessed many of the same faults as his son, there was nothing the least bit frightening about him.

5
    M ARY KATE TOOK MARGARET upstairs to tidy herself after her journey, and they soon found themselves happily laughing and chatting together. Mistress Douglas confided that she, too, was soon to be wed.
    “He is Sir Patrick Ferguson of Craigdarroch, and we have known each other since I was a child. He’s older, of course, but I like him well enough, and our families are pleased.”
    “When do you marry?”
    “In late August, I believe. My father means to take me to my aunt and uncle at Ardcarach House in Edinburgh in July, and the rest of the family will join us soon thereafter. You must come, too, of course. But, tell me, Mary Kate,” she added abruptly, “do you really wish to marry Adam?”
    Caught off guard, Mary Kate barely stopped herself from answering with an automatic negative. Though such a reply was clearly ineligible, she did not wish to commit herself with an unqualified affirmative, so she merely smiled in what she hoped was an enigmatic manner.
    “Well, I should not wish to be his wife,” declared Margaret frankly.
    “And a good thing that is, too,” Mary Kate told her with a laugh, “but why not?”
    “He is too domineering. I am far more comfortable with Patrick, for over the years he has got into the nicest habit of letting me have my own way about things.”
    Perversely, Mary Kate could not help thinking that being married to a man who always let one have one’s own way might become boring. Pushing this disturbing reflection out of her mind, she said, “You do not seem to me to be particularly daunted by your brother.”
    “Not as a general custom,” Margaret agreed, “but I take good care not to anger him, I can tell you, for he inherited his devilish temper from our father. Neither one is easily aroused to anger, thank heaven, but when their tempers are stirred, I prefer to be elsewhere.