Beloved Highlander

by Sara Bennett

  “But she came around. For my sake, rather than the Duke’s. She knew she was trapped, we were trapped, and she faced it like the courageous girl she is. I thought…I hoped all would be well then. But shortly afterward we heard the story from Shona, and although I told myself it was a lie, that I didn’t believe it—I didn’t want to believe it…” He pounded his fist against the arm of the chair with each word, “It…was…truth.”

  “Shona is an honest woman.”

  “She is. The truth was there in her voice, and I knew it. And soon we found that it was not only Shona who had a tale to tell concerning the Duke of Abercauldy. Then it was I who wept in my room, Gregor. For I realized I had signed my daughter’s life into the hands of a murderer, and I did not know what to do about it.”

  “You told him you had changed your mind?”

  “Of course. He would not hear of it. Meg gave him one of her tongue-lashings, but I think it just fascinated him the more. He is in thrall with her. I do not understand it, but Meg says he watches her every move when they are in the same room. He dotes upon her, Gregor. Nothing I say, or she says, will persuade him to stop this marriage. He goes about it as if everyone is in agreement, as if nothing is wrong. There is something unnatural in it.”

  Gregor had not realized just how strong Abercauldy’s feelings were, and it gave him a jolt. The frustration and misery in the old man’s voice gave Gregor some idea of what he and Meg had suffered. He knew the general was slow in getting to the point, but Gregor was content to wait, to let him reach it in his own time and in his own way. Gregor took another swallow of the whiskey, enjoying the sensation of it slipping down. The ache in his arm had almost gone, and what was left didn’t matter.

  “I saved you from being sent in chains to the plantations, Gregor.”

  Gregor looked up, surprised at the change in subject. “Aye, and I am grateful for it, sir.”

  “Are you?” Those cloudy eyes met his as if they would pierce the veil between them. “I wondered, sometimes, long afterward, whether you really were glad to remain in Scotland. You had nothing to go back to when they freed you from prison. You were just another landless laird. You might have preferred to go to the Americas, where others have made new lives for themselves. Fortunes, too!”

  Gregor thought for a moment. General Mackintosh was right, there had been times when he’d wished himself elsewhere—even dead! But he had survived, and now there was a kind of pride in that fact. “Whatever I thought then, I am grateful now. My life has not been too unbearable.”

  The general sighed. “Maybe, maybe. Do you know, you were the reason I came to Glen Dhui? I heard it was taken from you, and I was close by, on another matter, and I had an urge to see it. So I came.” He smiled. “I do not pretend I thought of you when I bought it, Gregor. As soon as I saw it, I knew I wanted to live here. I told myself that it was far better I had the Glen Dhui estate than someone who would not care for it and its people beyond the money to be made. I’m sure you’ve heard the stories of tenants being turned from their crofts to make way for black-faced sheep? But the real reason was entirely selfish. I fell in love with your glen, lad.” Gregor went to speak but the general did not let him. “Well, I have been a good master, I think. I have been a better master than I have been a father.”

  “Why am I here?”

  There, the question was spoken. The general hesitated, his fingers restlessly tapping now on the chair arm. Gregor leaned forward and covered them with his own hand, surprised by the other man’s bony fragility. The answer stopped his breath.

  “I need you to marry Meg. I want you to wed her and protect her with your name. Abercauldy will be angry, but if Meg is wed to another he will no longer be able to pretend everything will go on as he wishes. He will have to open his eyes to the truth. And I hope, with time, he will accept matters and turn his dangerous sights elsewhere.”

  It was so like his own thought, earlier, in the Blue Saloon. Wed Meg? Marry Meg Mackintosh? What would that make him? Laird of Glen Dhui, again?

  The blood drummed in his ears, the lightheadedness returning. Laird of Glen Dhui. Home, home again for good. Or at least until Abercauldy sent his army in to drive him off. Or kill him.

  “Gregor?”

  He felt the general’s fingers turn and clasp his, squeezing hard, bringing him back to the dim room and the scents of the glen through the open window.

  “Gregor?”

  “I am all right. Just…I am tired. There was a fight in Clashennic. My arm…”

  The general frowned, leaning forward. “You were hurt, lad? Meg did not tell me this!”

  “I…’Tis nothing. Are you serious in this proposal, sir?”

  “Of course. I never say anything if I do not mean it.”

  Gregor laughed despite himself. “No, ye never did! Sir, I…I dinna think I am the man for this. Your daughter wouldna wish…”

  “She has to marry someone, Gregor. It is the only way out of this mess. If she is wed, then Abercauldy cannot have her. It is not a perfect solution, I know, and there will be problems and likely repercussions, but Meg will be safe and that is all that matters to me now. I did not want her to wed someone from the glen, a Duncan Forbes or Jamie Farquharson. I did not want her to wed a finely tailored gentle-man from Edinburgh, or some Highland chieftain with more hair than wit. I have thought of it long and hard, and it seemed that you were the only one. I am thinking of Meg, Gregor, but it is also the fact that you lost Glen Dhui twelve years ago, and now you can have it back.”

  So Glen Dhui was the bait. Not Meg. Not Meg with her flaming hair and blue eyes and sweet lips. And her delicious curves. The general thought to tempt him with the glen, so that he would not mind if he had to wed Meg. Strangely, it wasn’t Glen Dhui that was in the forefront of his thoughts at the moment.

  It was the general’s daughter.

  “I could not marry her if she dinna wish it,” he said, and marveled that he was even contemplating it. Did that mean he was willing to do it? That he was agreeable?

  “She will wish it.” The general said it grimly.

  “From her own mouth, sir. I willna wed an unwilling woman. I dinna know if I will wed any woman, but in the circumstances I…I need to speak to Lady Meg.”

  The general gripped his hand harder. “Not yet, Gregor lad. Not until I have spoken to her. Let me talk with her, reason with her,” he ignored Gregor’s laugh, “and then you can broach the subject. Is it agreed then? Will you do this? Will you wed Meg and regain your lost lands?”

  Gregor closed his eyes. Madness, it was all madness, and yet he heard himself saying, “Aye, sir, I will. If she is agreeable.”

  Meg sat, staring into nothing, as Alison brushed her hair. The flaming tresses tumbled and curled about her, clean again from the bath Meg had taken earlier. Alison’s care helped take some of the sting out of her father’s stubborn refusal to share with her his reasons for bringing Gregor Grant to Glen Dhui.

  “Lady?”

  She blinked, looking up to meet the other woman’s dark gaze. Alison’s face seemed very pale. Meg remembered, uncomfortably, that there was more than herself suffering here.

  “I am sorry about Malcolm Bain,” she said gently. “Why didn’t you tell me? You never spoke of him. It was not until Duncan told me that I—”

  “Duncan had no right.”

  “I thought we were friends.”

  Alison twitched uncomfortably.

  “Does he…does he know about Angus?” Meg asked.

  Alison’s eyes flew, horrified, to Meg’s. “Nooo, he doesna know, and he must not! I dinna want him to know, Lady Meg! Promise me ye willna tell him!”

  Meg shushed her gently. “I won’t tell him, never fear. But he will find out, Alison, he can’t help but discover it, in time. You should tell him first, before that happens.”

  Alison looked away, blinking fast to stop the tears.

  Meg sighed and rose, wrapping her shawl about her plain white nightgown. Once she stepped off th
e thick rug, the floor was cold beneath her bare feet, and she quickly climbed into her bed. Alison bustled about, tidying up clothing and folding it away.

  “My lady,” she said at last, “I dinna wish to speak out of turn.”

  “Of course not. You can say whatever you wish to me, Alison.”

  “The laird…the Captain. He will bring trouble to the glen.”

  Meg narrowed her gaze, trying to see into the other woman’s mind. “How do you know that, Alison?”

  Alison shrugged uncomfortably. “I feel it, Lady.”

  Alison’s “feelings” were well known in the glen and not to be taken lightly; she was one of those with the second sight. Meg nodded soberly and thanked her. “I will take care. I will be watchful.”

  Alison gazed at her a moment longer, and then nodded her satisfaction with her mistress’s answer. “Verra well. Good night, my lady.”

  “Good night, Alison….”

  The door closed and Meg was finally alone. Alone in the darkness with a single candle. Alone to wonder what it was her father and Gregor Grant were discussing, and why it was she could not hear it.

  Chapter 13

  Malcolm Bain strode along the upper corridor, his mind preoccupied. He had spent the night in the stables, sleeping in a pile of less-than-sweet straw, while horses snorted and farted all around him. Now his back ached and even the cold water he had pumped over his head in the yard had failed to put a dent in his weariness.

  I am too old for this, he thought to himself. I should have stayed at the barracks in Clashennic.

  If ye had never left Glen Dhui, a voice whispered in his head, ye’d have a house of yer own now, with a family to welcome ye to it.

  He’d made a choice between family and duty. At the time he had felt he had had no choice. He still did.

  And now he must find Gregor Grant and rouse him for the long day ahead. There were men coming from all corners of the glen, carrying a motley collection of arms. Meg’s tacksman, Duncan Forbes, in his usual high-handed manner, had sent out word without waiting for instructions.

  Malcolm Bain did not see the plump, dark-haired woman step out of the doorway into his path. Not until he collided with her and all but sent her flying.

  “What the—” she began, turning to glare. Black hair and black eyes, big and round, and getting rounder. Alison Forbes actually quivered with anger.

  “I dinna see ye,” Malcolm Bain spoke cautiously.

  “Then ye’re blind as well as stupid!” she screeched back. “Ye great poopnoddy! What do ye mean by crashing about without looking where ye are going? I could have fallen and broken something!”

  He had meant to be unfailingly polite to her, to answer her with gravity and respect. But now her words had made him smile. He caught it before it could grow into a grin, but it was too late.

  “Wipe that smirk off yer face, Malcolm Bain,” she hissed. “Do ye think this is funny? Do ye?”

  “I…’tis just that if ye did fall, Alison Forbes, ye would bounce before ye broke. Ye are so delightfully soft.”

  Her black eyes flared like wildfire, her mouth pinched white at the corners, and he knew she meant to mortally wound him. In a flash, he was past her, and hammering desperately on Gregor’s door. A sleepy voice within bade him enter, and he did so, gladly.

  “Was that you shouting out there?” Gregor asked, yawning, and blinking in the early light.

  “Not me,” Malcolm Bain said grimly. “I bumped into Alison Forbes.”

  “Oh.” Gregor Grant hesitated, questions in his eyes, and then carried on. “’Tis barely dawn. What do you want?”

  “Aye, and there are already some men down in the yard awaiting ye. Duncan spread the word that ye were back, and that we mabbe in for a fight. They’ve brought their weapons to show ye, as ye requested.”

  Gregor groaned and ran his hands over his face. “I dinna mean at first light! Verra well, I’ll be down in a moment. Fetch me some water to wash in, Malcolm, so I can feel half alive.”

  “There’s always the pump in the yard,” Malcolm suggested slyly.

  His master eyed him uneasily. “I prefer my water warmed, if I can get it. Find a maid and send her for a ewer.”

  But Malcolm Bain lingered, shifting from foot to foot and glancing furtively at the door. Gregor’s mouth kicked up at the corner. “Are you afraid, Malcolm Bain?”

  “No!”

  “I think you are. You’re afraid wee Alison Forbes might be waiting for you out there. With a big carving knife.”

  Malcolm shuddered. “I wouldna put it past her.”

  “She’s not forgotten your leaving her then?”

  Malcolm’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “No, she hasna forgotten. She has it in her head that I wronged her.”

  “You should have stayed. I should have made you stay. If I’d been thinking straight at the time, I would have.”

  Malcolm eyed him in surprise. “Ye were but seventeen years old, Gregor, and I was your man. I was your father’s man before that. I couldna leave ye to face matters alone, I wouldna been able to live with mysel’, to sleep sound at night, if I had.”

  “So you put my welfare before your happiness?” Gregor sighed and sat up, rubbing his arm where the bandage encompassed it. “I am grateful, Malcolm—don’t let yourself be persuaded otherwise—but I’m sorry you had to make such a choice. If I’d thought…If I’d been capable of thinking at the time, I would have sent you home. Can I help smooth matters over between you and Alison?”

  Malcolm scratched the stubble on his jaw. “I dinna know,” he said moodily. “She hates me now. She’d like me dead, lad. I can see it in her eyes.”

  “Give her time. She’ll get over it.”

  Malcolm nodded, but it was clear he didn’t believe it. He took a deep breath, cracked open the door to check all was clear, and left the room.

  Gregor sank back against the pillows, gathering his strength and ordering his thoughts for the day ahead.

  Had the general really asked him to marry Meg? For her sake and the sake of Glen Dhui? Had he really offered Gregor the one thing he had longed for these twelve endless years? The one thing he had never in his wildest dreams thought to possess again?

  But to marry Meg…Meg!

  Gregor doubted she would be very pleased with her father’s grand plan. Would she want to marry him? She had told him she did not want to marry anyone, had only agreed to Abercauldy because her father had placed her in an impossible position. Her love for the general had driven her to accept something she would not otherwise have contemplated, let alone have agreed to. And what would her marriage to Gregor give her that she didn’t already have? Freedom from the duke’s attentions, for a time, but who knew what would come after? In this way were Highland feuds begun….

  But maybe there was more than the prospect of her own safety, and the safety of the glen, to sway her. Gregor remembered now the manner in which she had looked at him, when he had stood knee-deep in the cold loch outside Shona’s cottage. Looked at him as if he were her whole world. There had been desire in her eyes then, he had not been mistaken about that. She had wanted him, needed him, but her feelings had frightened her. He had frightened her. Could desire bind two people together, for a time? Could desire make a marriage, and hold it firm? Gregor didn’t know, but it was a temptation.

  She was a temptation.

  Could he persuade her to say yes? Did he want her to say yes? Did he want what the general had offered him? With an uncomfortable feeling in his belly, Gregor knew that the opportunity was too good to resist.

  Meg peeped out of the upper window at the wide lawn on the side of the castle. There were men everywhere. She recognized them, for they were all Glen Dhui men, some dressed in their best Sunday clothes, others in their everyday kilts. They had come to see Gregor Grant, and they had brought their weapons with them.

  Old, rusty claymores and swords, ancient muskets and pistols, pikes and dirks that had seen better days. They had brought whatever
they had, and they were eager to show Gregor what they were capable of. As Meg watched, hand over her mouth, eyes brimming with laughter, old Jamie Farquharson did a stumbling run with his broadsword, shouting fit to wake the dead.

  If enthusiasm could win a battle against the Duke of Abercauldy, then surely Glen Dhui would be victorious.

  The laughter faded from her eyes and she sat down on the window seat with a sigh. This was no laughing matter. When she arose this morning she had intended to go and see her father, to demand he tell her whatever it was he had told Gregor. She had meant to insist, to force him to tell her. Instead she was here, lurking in the small room she used for adding up the accounts and interviewing the tenants. And for hiding. This was her sanctuary, her retreat.

  Meg was afraid, and she was angry.

  She admitted it to herself. She was afraid of what her father had said to Gregor, of what they had said together. She was angry that he had felt able to discuss things with a near stranger, and yet he could not speak of them to her, his own daughter. She had done all he asked of her and more! She had found Gregor and brought him here, no easy task, and then he had sent her from the room like a child. It would not do.

  It would not!

  Meg glanced down at the bundle of thick pages she held in her hands. Old, faded sketches of the glen, some grand, sweeping vistas of mountains and cloud, others small, intimate portraits of a flower or a deer grazing on the hillside, or rain striking the burn’s surface. All of them beautiful, original, the product—or so she had always believed—of an exceptional soul. He had captured all that was special about this place, he had laid his heart bare with every line, every stroke.

  Meg did not believe that someone who had once drawn so exquisitely was entirely devoid of feeling. After all, she had seen his pain last evening, as they waited upon the crest of the road that overlooked the glen. She could understand why he had resisted returning, why he had not wanted to come home to the place he had loved. The glen was no longer his, he was no longer the laird, and that must hurt.