Beloved Highlander

by Sara Bennett

  And she believed him no better than those other men. He read it in her tense shoulders. She thought him a predatory creature who kissed her for no other reason than to gain her trust, and manipulate her to his own ends.

  Her pain reached out to him. All his chivalrous and heroic instincts rose up, drowning out what caution was left.

  “Tell your father that I will sign a document denying myself Glen Dhui. The estate is yours, Meg. If I marry you, the land stays with you.”

  He blurted the words out. Even as he spoke them he was wondering at himself. Was he mad? Glen Dhui was his, it belonged to him. How could he give away all that should be his, just to soothe Meg’s feelings?

  At least he had made her look up.

  Shock caused her freckles to stand out on her white face, and her lips parted to show that enchanting gap between her teeth. In another moment she had masked it, her pale eyes full of a fierce concentration, as if she were trying very hard not to let him see inside.

  “The people would still believe you their laird, whatever documents you signed.”

  “But you and I would know the truth, Meg,” he insisted. “Isna that what counts?”

  He had her. He could see the wavering in her eyes now, the confusion. She had never expected him to do this. How could she, when he had not expected it himself? What was it about him, Gregor wondered bitterly, that he could not resist playing the hero? It seemed he would do, say anything to turn a quivering feminine lip into a smile, and to dry a woman’s tears. But this wasn’t just any woman—it was Meg, and she was special.

  Meg had turned away. She stood a moment, as if gathering her thoughts. “I must think,” she whispered shakily. “This isn’t fair. You must give me time to think.”

  Gregor bowed. “Of course, my lady.”

  Before he had even finished the courtly movement, Meg was fleeing along the upper corridor. Her door slammed after her.

  Gregor stood alone. What had he done? Malcolm Bain, if he knew, would call him every kind of fool. He had played the part of the bloody hero. Again. Into the silence of the house crept the soft sound of a woman weeping.

  Meg.

  Gregor groaned and covered his face with his hands. He had meant to reassure her, and instead he had made it worse. Suddenly it mattered very much that Meg trust him, that Meg believe in him, that she want him.

  As much as he wanted her.

  Chapter 16

  This morning Meg rose early, as she had risen early for the last three mornings. She had spent hours tossing and turning, but so she had tossed and turned for the last three nights. For days now, she had locked herself away in her room, while the house tiptoed about her and Gregor Grant drilled his men. She felt like an animal in a snare, and this morning she wanted to be free.

  Quickly Meg dressed in her usual riding outfit of trews and jacket and, ordering her mare saddled, set out at a wild gallop down the glen.

  For a time she hardly noticed what she was doing. Her mind and heart were so full. But gradually the sensation of the wind tangling her long hair, the sting of it against her cheeks, the feel of the mare beneath her, began to overcome her tired confusion. Her thoughts cleared, ordered themselves. When finally she drew up at the edge of Loch Dhui, a narrow and long body of water set between high hills to the south, Meg was ready at last to properly consider her position.

  The fact that she thought she had anything to consider at all told its own story. When her father had put the Duke of Abercauldy before her as a possible bridegroom, Meg had rebelled instantly, refusing even to contemplate him. This time it was Gregor who stood before her, and instead of ranting and raving, here she was, staring into the black waters of the loch, reviewing his case as if she were seriously thinking of marrying him.

  And so she was! Meg admitted it to herself. She was seriously contemplating Gregor, but why, that was the question. Why had she been brought to this point, when the thought of Abercauldy had given her hysterics?

  His kisses. The way in which he held her. The heat of his mouth on her skin. He had made her heart beat faster, as if she were more alive than she had ever been. For the first time since she was a naïve young girl, who had yet to be taught the hard lesson that her handsome suitor was wooing her not for herself but for her property, Meg felt the urge to throw aside caution. Her skin tingled, her blood stirred, everything that made her a woman cried out to him….

  And there was her big difficulty.

  Whatever Gregor’s real motives, he held a physical attraction for her she simply could not deny. Meg was aware that, clever and practical as she was, she had never really had a passionate love. She had realized early on that the men arriving at her door all had their eye on her inheritance and not her person, and so she had kept her feelings locked away. She had not allowed herself to engage them, certainly not allowed herself the possibility of being hurt by falling in love with any of them.

  Only the dream of the young Gregor had stolen her heart, and he hadn’t been real. Maybe that was why she had allowed herself that one indulgence, because it was a figment of her imagination. A pretend passion, a safe love.

  The real Gregor was very different.

  She should have found him as unattractive as the rest, and yet he had been the one to crack her hard, protective shell. He did indeed make her feel as she had never felt before, as if there were new directions her life could take, that the things she had only previously experienced in dreams might actually be possible in real life.

  He is only wooing you because he wants Glen Dhui. The voice was coldly insistent, but Meg shook her head. “Then why did he say he would sign away his rights to the glen?” she asked aloud, her voice a little wild. “Why do that, if all he wants from me is Glen Dhui?”

  Meg could speculate as to the answer. Was it simply enough for him to live here? To be here? Or did he hope to persuade her to negate such a document later on? Did he think that he could work on her, make her so besotted with him that she would eventually change her mind?

  An osprey flew above the loch, floating on air currents, a dark shadow against the blue of the sky. Meg watched it dip and soar, wishing she could so easily escape her own problems. She had heard that some birds mated for life, remaining together till one of them died. Did they concern themselves with such things as land and property, and trying to guess at each other’s thoughts, when the mere fact of survival was difficult enough?

  The stark truth was that Gregor had promised to protect her.

  In these uncertain times, in this dangerous place, it was more than many brides were promised by their husbands-to-be.

  Meg slid down from the mare’s back, her boots crunching on the smooth, brown stones. She twisted the reins around a convenient fallen tree branch that had been washed up on the shore, and walked to the water’s edge, gazing out over the loch. Wild duck floated on the glassy surface, keeping a wary eye on her. Glen Dhui dozed beneath the summer sun, looking perfectly peaceful, as if nothing bad could ever happen here.

  The general had asked her if she wanted to stay, to live in Glen Dhui all her life. Of course she did! But Meg knew many women did not have that option. They wed, and they moved away. So it would have been with Abercauldy. And yet if she wed Gregor, she would remain in Glen Dhui. Nothing would change; it could all go on as before.

  Of course it would change! she told herself impatiently. She would be his wife, and he would always be there. He would be a part of the glen, and of her, just as she would be a part of him. Things must change, if she wed Gregor.

  You could marry him in name only. A marriage of convenience! What of that?

  In name only, when her body heated and hummed whenever he was close? Suddenly, standing here alone on the loch’s edge, Meg knew it was important to be honest with herself. Even if she kept her own counsel with her father and Gregor, she must not keep the truth from herself.

  She wanted him.

  And if he was to be believed—and she wasn’t at all certain about that!—he w
anted her. Her heart beat harder in her chest, and caused an ache that refused to go away. Meg knew that she would find it very difficult to go through with such a proposition as a marriage in name only.

  Besides, if she wed, she wanted a child. Children were important. There were many women who gained solace in their marriages from their children; children balanced the books against unhappiness.

  And what if you don’t marry him? What then?

  Meg stooped and picked up a smooth pebble, throwing it far out across the still water. The wild ducks took fright and flapped away, their wings beating against the cloudless blue sky.

  “Life would go on.” Meg answered her own question. If Abercauldy did not insist upon marrying her—and she had no intention of allowing him to win—then she would go on as before. The Lady of Glen Dhui. Years would pass, and she would have her small victories, overcoming the prejudice of men like Duncan Forbes, helping her people to carry on with their difficult and precarious lives. She would grow older, keeping her own company—but solitude had never been a concern to her. She would simply be happy remembering her achievements and being loved by her people.

  That was how she had always imagined it to be, for how likely was it that she would find love at her age? No, she had thought she would grow old at Glen Dhui, content and at peace with her decision to be alone.

  Except now, Meg realized with dismay, she no longer felt satisfied with that version of her future. They had spoiled it for her, the general and Gregor. They had put thoughts and hopes into her mind that had not been there before. They had allowed her to dream of what may be. She wanted more, and now she could not be satisfied with less. Now it would be twice as difficult to go back to being the solitary Meg Mackintosh she had been.

  “And what if you do wed him?” she asked herself softly, gazing into the cold, dark water. “What if you wed him and then turn out to be miserable with him?”

  Not a pleasant prospect, perhaps, but suddenly, not to wed him—not to take the risk—seemed a far worse option. Cautious Meg wondered how she had come to such a pass as this, to be willing to take such a chance, such a leap. For once she did make that leap, there would be no turning back. Not even if she wished to….

  Meg had walked back to her tethered mare, when the voice called out to her, echoing over the water. She saw the riders fast approaching from the south, galloping along the side of the loch. They had come upon her so swiftly and quietly, she had been unaware. Or maybe, dangerously, she had simply been too enmeshed in her own thoughts to notice their arrival.

  It was then, standing at the edge of the water, quite alone, that suddenly Meg realized how isolated she was. And remembered that Glen Dhui was no longer safe, not since the Duke of Abercauldy had turned his cold and acquisitive gaze in her direction. She could not ride out alone as she used to. She should have brought a manservant or two with her, to watch over her, and if she had been thinking clearly, if she had been thinking at all, then she would have done so.

  Now it was too late. Even if she had set off down the glen for home, they would have overtaken her. Nothing to do but stand and wait.

  They wore white. All white, as did the Duke of Abercauldy’s men. Nervously, her mind registered the fact that she was about to be surrounded by the duke’s soldiers.

  “Lady Margaret!”

  She recognized that voice. Turning her head she stared up at the Duke of Abercauldy’s favorite servant. Lorenzo wore all black, a startling contrast to the other men, but Lorenzo was the sort who liked to be noticed.

  And feared.

  According to Lorenzo he had been born in Italy, to a rich and aristocratic family fallen on hard times who sold him to a wealthy Englishman. Through various cunning ploys—[ ]according to Lorenzo—he had found his way into the duke’s service. Meg wasn’t sure how much of the story to believe, and her father insisted there was a hint of Glasgow in Lorenzo’s Italian. But the Duke of Abercauldy found him amusing and held him high in his estimation, so much so that sometimes Meg thought he treated him more like a friend than someone paid to serve him. And Lorenzo served him slavishly.

  With an effort, Meg stilled the fear in her heart and made her voice calm. “Lorenzo, you are far from home.”

  The other riders had drawn up at a distance, but Lorenzo came close, gazing down at her with the smile that never quite reached his doe-brown eyes. His eyes flicked scornfully over her windblown hair and man’s attire, as if she were beneath his contempt. He certainly thought her beneath the contempt of a man like the duke. Lorenzo’s insolent manner spoke the words for him, words that he did not need to utter aloud.

  “We are on a mission for His Grace.”

  Meg smiled back and waited, for it was clear that Lorenzo was big with some news. She knew him well enough to know he would not be able to keep it to himself. Lorenzo was a gossip, sometimes amusing but usually malicious. He used his tongue as other men used their swords, to wound and inflict pain.

  “As we passed south of the loch we stopped at the croft of Fiona MacGregor, my lady. She told us that you have a guest at Glen Dhui Castle, a man who used to be the laird before he went out for the Jacobite James Stuart. It seemed so strange, I hardly knew whether to believe her. Why would General Mackintosh offer his hospitality to a traitor? Lah, ’tis beyond my comprehension, and I don’t know what His Grace will say.”

  Meg spoke pleasantly, trying not to grit her teeth. “I do not know if it is either the duke’s or your business, but if you mean Captain Grant, then, yes, he is here. He and the general are old friends.”

  “Old friends?”

  Meg smiled.

  Lorenzo’s smile back was just as false as hers. “Fiona MacGregor says he is young. Young and very handsome, she says. A man to turn the head of any woman, no matter how discerning. And we all know how very discerning you are, my lady.”

  Meg frowned. “Fiona MacGregor is so old that any man under half a century is young to her, Lorenzo. Have you a message for me from your master? Is that why you are here? If so, please deliver it and be done.”

  Lorenzo bowed very slightly, giving the impression that he only did so because good manners meant he was obliged to. “His Grace says you are yet to answer his last letter, Lady Margaret. He is in need of a date for your wedding. He has great plans, you know. A fantastical celebration. His Grace works day and night to make this wedding something that will be remembered in the Highlands for many years to come. An occasion!”

  Despite the sun and the fine day, Meg felt completely chilled. Suddenly it seemed remarkably foolish of her to be dallying over a proposal from Gregor Grant when the implacable Duke of Abercauldy believed her to be his.

  “I have spoken to His Grace, Lorenzo, and he knows my thoughts on the matter of our wedding.” Meg’s voice sounded strained.

  Lorenzo waved a hand dismissively, in a manner very reminiscent of the duke himself. “Ah, you play games with him, my lady. He understands that; it is what ladies do to tease and make the chase more enjoyable. But now the time for games is past, and His Grace must have a date.”

  “I do not have a date,” Meg said stubbornly, her eyes fixed on his.

  “You do not have a date.” Lorenzo sighed dramatically. “Then I will tell him you will decide on one very soon, my lady. He is impatient. Such plans he has! Do you think this Captain Grant will come to your wedding?”

  The question startled her, and the look that accompanied it was sly and knowing. Meg moved closer to her mare, running the reins through her fingers as she considered her answer. Even though she had no intention of marrying Abercauldy, it was better he did not see Gregor as a threat. “I do not know. He may be gone by then. In fact I am certain he will be. How many people does His Grace mean to have at this wedding?”

  “Five at last count, my lady.”

  “Five?” Meg laughed.

  “Five hundred.”

  If Meg had been chilled before, she was frozen now. Her fingers and toes were icy and her skin rose in goose fles
h. Five hundred! It was an enormous number of guests. Of course Lorenzo might be telling lies, but she did not think so. His words had the shocking ring of truth. This was worse than she had thought, far worse, for how could Abercauldy back down without losing face, if he was inviting so many guests to a wedding that would never happen?

  “You must feel privileged to have stirred such powerful emotions in the bosom of such a great man,” Lorenzo murmured, dripping with insincerity.

  “You cannot possibly guess my feelings on the matter.”

  Lorenzo bowed again, but his smirk told her he was pleased with his troublemaking. “I am instructed to deliver my message to your father, my lady. It is for him alone.”

  “Then give it to me and I will be sure he gets it.”

  Lorenzo shook his head in mock playfulness. “No, no, Lady Margaret, I have my orders. Will you ride with us to Glen Dhui Castle?”

  “No!” Her anger betrayed her, and Meg swallowed it down. “No, I…I have something more to do first.”

  “Then I bid you adieu. Lady.” Yet another bow, another false smile, and Lorenzo was gone, waving cheerfully at the others to follow him.

  Meg stood and watched them go—a thin white spear with a dark tip, heading down the green glen. Her stomach fluttered. She had fooled herself into believing that Abercauldy would release her, that he would give up. Now she must face the fact that that was most unlikely to ever happen. He wanted her; he meant to have her. And nothing she had said so far, no argument she had come up with, had had any effect upon changing his mind or his plans for their future together.

  And now he would hear about Gregor—Lorenzo would make certain of that. Had she given herself away? Had he seen by her demeanour that she was enamored of this man? She did not think so, but Lorenzo had sharp eyes. Meg climbed upon her mare, using the tree branch as a mounting block, and slowly turned her head for home. She had lied to Lorenzo, she had nothing else to do, but she had had no intention of riding with him and being subjected to more of his stinging comments.