Jane's eyes widened. "But his name is MacClaren."
"Ruel refused to go by any other name even though his father refused to acknowledge him. He wanted nothing to do with Glenclaren, but he ever loved to stir up trouble and knew it annoyed the laird."
"But Ian always spoke as if . . ." Jane shook her head in confusion. "I don't understand."
"Ian never tells anyone about Annie. I've tried to tell him he bears no guilt for the way the laird treated Ruel, but he won't listen to me. Ruel was his brother and he feels it was partly his fault his father refused to marry the woman and denied Ruel was his son."
"Why did he do that?"
"Glenclaren. The laird already had a son and didn't need another and Annie was not a virtuous woman." She added dryly, "Though that fact didn't seem to make a difference to him until he grew tired of her. At first he was quite mad about her. From what I've heard she was as comely then as Ruel is now. Everyone thought she had cast a spell over the laird."
A mandarin casting spells . . .
"Is she still alive?"
Margaret shook her head. "She went away to Edinburgh when Ruel was about twelve. We heard later that she died of influenza."
"She just left him?"
"He was well able to care for himself." Margaret moved her shoulders impatiently. "Enough about Ruel. The rascal always seems to garner the bulk of attention even when he's not on the same continent." She stood up and carried the potatoes over to the fireplace and poured them into the boiling kettle. "Now, tell me about the Chinese and that arrogant coxcomb who came with you."
Two hours later Margaret swept into Ian's chamber. "Have they made you comfortable?" She glanced at Kartauk sitting beside the bed. "We don't need you here any longer. You may go and find a place to set up your workshop. Jane tells me you may be here awhile and will need a place to putter."
"Putter." He said the word as if it left a bad taste in his mouth. "Dabble. You have no understanding of the importance of my work."
"But I have an excellent understanding of the importance of mine." She gestured toward the door. "Choose anyplace you like, but go."
Kartauk scowled. "What else could I expect in this cold, barbaric country." He left the chamber.
"And good riddance." Margaret crossed to the bed and sat down beside Ian. "I've arranged for the vicar to come to the castle in three days' time and marry us, so you must rest and get your strength back from the journey."
"We're not going to marry."
"Of course we are. Not that I didn't expect this foolishness from you." She gently pushed the hair back from his forehead. "I've watched you trying to save Ruel from himself since the moment he was born, and now you think I need rescuing."
"I won't be another burden to you. Your father—"
"Is fading fast and will soon no longer enter into the situation."
His gaze flew to her face. "You didn't write me."
"Why should I? Would it have helped him?"
"I would have come back to you."
Her expression softened. "Aye, I know."
"I share your sorrow."
She grimaced. "I wish I could feel sorrow, but we both know my father is not a loving man. At times I've thought perhaps God grew weary of his pretense at illness and gave him this true reason for lingering in bed." She smiled with an effort. "Which will probably cause him to send a bolt of lightning to strike me down."
"Never," Ian said softly. "No one could have been kinder and more dutiful than you, Margaret."
"He's my father." She shrugged. "And we both know duty and honor make the only difference between civilization and savagery." She changed the subject. "And speaking of savagery, how is Ruel?"
"The same." Ian paused. "And different."
"Well, that's clear. However, he appears to be displaying a newfound sense of responsibility. I received a draft for two thousand pounds from him yesterday with word he would send more as it became available."
"What!" He immediately shook his head. "That left him only a thousand for his own use. Send it back to him."
"I'll do no such thing. Glenclaren needs it. You need it," Margaret said. "It will be good for Ruel to think of someone else for a change."
"He saved my life at risk of his own."
"Oh, Ruel's very good at those kinds of gestures. It's selfdiscipline he's lacking."
Ian laughed. "Lord, I've missed you, Margaret." His smile vanished. "But I will not let you wed a cripple. You've wasted enough of your life already."
"Who is to know if you will remain a cripple?" She went on quickly as he opened his lips to protest. "Besides, a strong body is all very well, but a strong heart and mind are more important."
"I cannot give you children. You love children, Margaret."
"Children may still be possible. I will talk to the physician."
He shook his head.
"And many couples are childless. God may have not seen fit to give us a child even if you were hale and hearty."
"No, Margaret."
"Very well, I will wait to wed you . . . until you're able to sit up for the ceremony. By that time you'll be on your way to recovery and won't be so stubborn."
"It can't happen. My back is—"
"It will happen. I'll make it happen." She leaned forward and kissed him swiftly on the forehead. "Now, try to rest, the journey must have tired you."
"Everything tires me."
"It will get better." She rose to her feet. "While I fetch a bowl of stew I'll send Jock in to bathe you. I suppose you're too proud to let me perform that task?" She nodded as she saw his expression. "I thought as much." She moved toward the door. "I can think of no reason why God gave the masculine gender such power over females when they're all so lacking in good sense."
Margaret closed the door behind her and immediately closed her eyes tightly as wave after wave of the anger, sorrow, and despair she could not allow anyone to see washed over her. Dear God, poor Ian.
And poor Margaret. Why was she expected to endure this new trial? Sometimes God seemed most unfair.
"You have an interesting face. I may be persuaded to do a head of you."
Her eyes flicked open to see John Kartauk standing a few yards away from her. She flushed as she realized he must have witnessed her moment of weakness. No, perhaps not, for his gaze on her face was appraising but completely dispassionate. She cleared her throat. "I thought I told you to go find yourself a workshop."
"I did." He was still staring at her face. "I've decided to use the scullery."
"The scullery?" she repeated, shocked. "You can't use—"
"Of course I can. I need a furnace, and it will save me the trouble of building one. I can wall up that huge fireplace." He took a step closer and lifted her chin on the curve of his finger. "At first I saw nothing worthwhile in your face, but I believe the jawline is tolerable and the molding of the cheekbones—"
She slapped his hand away. "I will not pose for you."
He looked hurt. "You don't realize the honor I do you, madam. After all, I did refuse Queen Victoria."
Her eyes widened. "The queen asked you to—"
"Well, no, I didn't give her the opportunity. It never pays to insult royalty, but I had already decided to refuse her." He turned and strode down the hall. "When you regain your senses, come and tell me. I must go to the scullery and toss out all those pots and pans."