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satisfy your need for a wife.”
    Queen Mary raised her goblet. “I spied Lady Margaret at court, and her father was all too eager to tell me of her skills with the factor’s books and her ability to run a keep.”
    “True, my dear,” the king said. “She has the utmost qualifications to manage whilst Lord Glenorchy is in Rome.”
    Margaret gaped at him. “You’re off to Rome?”
    Colin reached for the ewer of wine and filled her goblet. “We have a great many things to discuss.” He poured for himself. “You have talent with figures?”
    Her gaze slid from the top of his head to the seat of his chair. “Among other things.”
    Colin shifted uncomfortably. “What about children?”
    She bit her bottom lip—blast her coyness. “Absolutely no experience whatsoever.”
    Groaning, Colin raised his goblet and guzzled. What in God’s name? He may have not mentioned a “matron” in his missive, but he’d made it clear he needed a mother for Duncan. His infant son was the only reason he’d gone through with this madness—of course, it didn’t seem like madness when he penned the missive, but presently, he feared he’d lost his mind. “You are aware the king arranged this marriage because I need a mother for my son?”
    Margaret lifted her goblet and sipped daintily. “Aye. ’Tis about the only thing in this whole affair that has been made clear.” She leaned in, blasting him with her damnable perfume. “But no one made mention that I’d be performing the task without his father.”
    Colin needed another drink—but something stronger than wine. Evidently the woman was skilled with her tongue as well as her quill.
    Trenchers laden with food arrived. Colin removed the gauntlets from his left hand and pulled off his gloves. Lord and Lady Struan smiled approvingly, out of earshot at the far end of the table.
    Margaret’s gaze roved over him again, making him bloody uncomfortable. “Your armor is magnificent. Why did you wear your gauntlets only on one hand?”
    He tugged at his collar plate. “I needed dexterity to handle your ring.”
    Margaret held her hand up to the candlelight. Colin had brought the sapphire back from the Holy Land, planning to give it to Jonet one day. But now another woman examined it in a silver setting.
    “’Tis a magnificent wedding gift. Thank you.”
    He sighed when he caught sincere appreciation in her eyes. “You’re welcome.”
    With no whisky in sight, Colin poured himself another goblet of wine then held up a trencher. Margaret selected a slice of lamb with her eating knife. She averted her eyes and focused on her food. He let out a deep breath and sipped his wine. He usually didn’t feel awkward around women. After all, this was his third marriage. He should be relieved the ceremony was over and on the morrow they could begin the journey back to Dunstaffnage.
    Eating, Margaret watched him out of the corner of her eye. He should say something to her, but damned if he could think of a thing. If he complimented her, she might just like him, and he wasn’t sure he wanted that. He looked to the vaulted ceiling. Bloody hell . Of course he wanted her to like him. Their interactions might be more palatable if she didn’t hate him, at least. But he would tolerate no nagging.
    Colin reached for the bread. Simultaneously, Margaret did as well. Their naked fingers brushed. Colin’s skin tingled and the hair at the back of his hand stood on end. With a gasp, she snatched her fingers away and nodded to the loaf. “You first, m’lord.”
    He raised his brows. She was nervous. He broke the bread and offered her a piece. “Allow me.”
    “Thank you.”
    Again the silence created a void between them. Roaring in his ears, the crowd’s hum picked up, and the king’s laughter rolled from the center of the table. Colin hadn’t paid a lick of attention to the royal party. He rubbed his fingers against the hem of his velvet doublet to quash the damned tingling. Colin never tingled.