A storm approached—the air was thick, heavy with the promise of snow. Meager light from inside the cottage dappled the gray graveled path leading toward the village road. Fog wisped lazily above the ground, and the clouds hovered low enough to caress the thatched eaves. Perhaps Innes Munroe would leave her alone until the storm passed. Perhaps Innes would spend the next ten days sotted, the drink would wipe his wish to claim her from his memory, and the New Year would dawn with new hope for Maggie’s independence. A pretty dream. It’d take a cudgel to the skull to make Innes forget his intentions when it came to her. A puff of cold air brushed Maggie’s face, and she closed the curtain against the chill that swept through her. Pulling a plaid tight across her chest, she knelt to tug on a second pair of stockings. Beyond the partition dividing the cottage into two rooms, one of the servants moaned softly in her sleep. It was late, and tomorrow would be a long day, for they’d planned to make the three-m ile journey to her cousin Torean’s castle for her annual fortnight-l ong visit.
