Maggie stepped out into the drizzle to look up at the weather-beaten stone. Was this cold disagreeable edifice symbolic of the cold disagreeable laird living within? The notion chilled her. Why would a laird agree to wed a stranger unless there was something wrong with him? The chill became frostbite.

Another footman opened the door as they approached, giving them a formal nod as they entered.

At the back of the large entryway, an older man in proper attire bowed. "Welcome to Gloaming Castle." He gestured to his left. "His lordship is expecting you. Right this way." He led them through a poorly lit receiving room then pushed open the doors on the far wall revealing a dining room.

"Your lordship, Baron Connor and his daughter, Miss Magdalene Connor."

Her father walked into the room, removing his hat with a grand sweep. "It is an honor to meet you, Lord McLaren." He bowed.

Maggie stopped beside her father with a curtsy. Thick curtains on the windows and a meager fire in the hearth made it difficult to see much detail of the large figure sitting on the far side of the room.

"Connor. This is the daughter?" His voice emanated from the shadows as dark and inhospitable as the room.

"Yes," Maggie said, "this is the daughter." She heard her father gasp. "It is nice to meet you, Lord McLaren. It would be nicer if I could actually see you."

"Magdalene." Her father's tone was ominous. "Remember what we discussed."

"Oh?" Lord McLaren said. "What did you discuss?"

Maggie took a step toward the fireplace. "My father thought it best to not be myself."

"I see." The figure dipped his chin. "From your father's reaction, I assume you are having difficulty with the task." He paused. "Father Smythe is here. He doesn't have much time for the ceremony. I have already spoken with him. However, he wishes to speak with both of you in the chapel. Jarrett will show you the way."

Their escort cleared his throat. "This way, sir, miss."

"Oh thank you, thank you, milord," her father said, bowing once more before pivoting to follow the butler.

Maggie studied the silent figure for a moment before following behind her father. This was really happening. Her father had convinced the reclusive laird of Gloaming Castle that his eldest daughter would make a suitable wife. Neither had asked for or cared about her opinion on the matter. She was a burden her father no longer wished to bear and, for the millionth time, Maggie wished for one day of living like a man. Just one day of deciding her own fate.

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