Beloved Highlander

by Sara Bennett

  Now he kissed her, but very gently, promisingly, with nothing like the wild passion of last night. It didn’t matter. Meg was certain that her legs were going to give way…again. His hands curved about her waist, sliding leisurely down to grasp her bottom. He drew her up, against his own hard hips, and into the rigid evidence of his arousal.

  “Come back to bed,” he whispered. His eyes were a hot, molten gold, and again Meg was tempted to forget the major altogether. She was finding it very difficult to resist him, but she must. For her own sake, she must.

  Meg took a deep and determined breath, and heard Gregor sigh as if he had read her mind. “Gregor, I owe the major a farewell. He has been a good friend to me and my father.”

  His eyes were sullen and sleepy beneath his dark lashes. “’Tis very unfair.”

  “Well, I’m sorry, but it cannot be helped.”

  He kissed her gently, teasing her lips with his in a way that made her ache and tremble. “But you will make it up to me, later?”

  Her lips clung to his despite herself, her fingers tangled in his hair. “Of course,” she murmured. Their kiss deepened. For a moment Meg closed her eyes and let herself be swept away by this new and wonderful experience, by the fact of being in love with her husband, of loving him so much she never wanted to leave his side. It would be so simple to stay here and let him do all those things to her that she had already learned to enjoy. So simple to pretend the world outside this room did not exist.

  Except that it did.

  Meg had responsibilities and duties, and those, as well as a sudden need to preserve what was left of her independence from being swallowed up by her feelings for him, made Meg realize she could not stay here any longer.

  She disentangled herself. “I must go and dress.”

  Gregor groaned and flung himself back upon the bed. “Verra well, Meg. I will follow you down in a moment. And Meg,” he called as she reached the door. She turned reluctantly, trying not to think of what an enticing picture he made, lying there naked upon the rumpled bedding. “I will most definitely be claiming my reward. Later.”

  The color swept into her cheeks, and it was with a very warm face that Meg hurried down the corridor to her own room.

  Despite the banquet of the night before, Major Litchfield appeared to have awoken with a hearty appetite.

  Meg, feeling more herself again in her position as Lady of Glen Dhui, served him another helping of seethed fish, and poured more ale into his mug. Gregor, seated on her other side, had filled himself with coffee and oatcakes, and was now leaning back in his chair with half-closed eyes, taking little part in the conversation.

  “You will write to let us know how you are?” Meg said, taking a sip of her precious tea.

  Major Litchfield smiled, nodded, and spoke around his full mouth. “I will indeed, Lady Meg. I believe I will miss Scotland very much.”

  Was there something more to his words than could be seen on the surface? If there was, Meg had no wish to delve into it. Instead she smiled and assured him, “We will all miss you, too. And I am sorry, Major, that my father cannot be here to say good-bye. He is very tired after yesterday, and I thought it best to leave him sleep.”

  Major Litchfield made a sympathetic moue. “I understand. He was most pleased with your union, Lady Meg. A personal dream come true for him, eh?”

  Yes, the general was pleased. He had played matchmaker for the second time, and finally made a success of it. His daughter was wed to a gentleman, and not just any gentleman, but a gentleman whom the general had always liked and admired. He must feel as though his world were full to overflowing. Completed.

  Was that why he was letting go? Because he had done what he set out to do?

  Meg chanced a glance at her new husband, and with a frisson of shock realized he in turn was watching her, his eyes alert beneath his dark lashes. When he caught her peeping, he gave a slow smile, as if she amused him, and then turned his attention to adding cream to his coffee.

  Meg fiddled with her napkin, desperately wishing herself miles away. This man was her lover—last night he had initiated her into the pleasures of the flesh, and she loved him. Did he already guess how she felt about him? Had he realized she was completely and totally besotted with him?

  She needed time to think, to consider her position.

  Last night, for her at least, had been something remarkable, something almost beyond her understanding. If he were to know how she felt, it might spoil this remarkable thing that they had. If he knew she loved him, he may change toward her. And suddenly she was very anxious not to do or say anything that might spoil what had occurred between them.

  Better to keep her distance, then, until she had decided upon her most sensible and practical course of action.

  Pasting on a bright smile, Meg turned her attention back to Major Litchfield and began to ask him about his imminent journey, listening as if every detail were a fascinating revelation. By the time the meal was done and the major had set off down the yew tree avenue, she felt completely exhausted.

  An awkward silence fell between Gregor and herself. Meg felt his gaze upon her, but she could not look at him. She didn’t trust herself.

  “There is still work to be done with the men,” Gregor said at last. “Mabbe I should get to it.” But he sounded as if he were asking her a question, and his eyes were fixed on her, as if seeking some clue as to her possible answer.

  “They will be sleeping off their whiskey from last night.”

  His eyes lit up.

  Meg had replied before she had thought, and now she wished she had said nothing. Clearly he had taken her remark as an invitation.

  His gaze slid to her and seemed to fix upon her mouth. She shivered, turning away, tightening her shawl about her as if it would protect her from his attentions. He must not think she was desperate to be in his arms, Meg thought feverishly. He must not think that she did not want him to go out to the men because she…well, because she…

  “Of course you must get to work with the men,” she said quickly, with a falsely jovial note. “What a good idea!”

  His mouth quirked up. “Is it? I have a better one, Meg.”

  But she was suddenly very busy, pretending to collect up some of the pewter plates that had been left out from last evening. “I must speak with Alison,” she murmured. “So much to do.”

  Meg heard him sigh. “Then I’ll leave you…if that is really what you want?”

  She did not dare to look at him. She knew just how tempting he would appear—tall and strong, his face so handsome, so appealing. No, she could not look at him. In another moment she heard him stride to the door, and then the sound of it closing after him. Meg sank into a chair and put her head in her arms.

  What must he be thinking? She was mortified by her own stupidity. How could she fall in love with Gregor Grant? It had been on the tip of her tongue to ask him to take her upstairs again, so that they could while away the afternoon in bed together. But she did not trust herself. She would blurt out the truth about how she felt, and then what? No, much better to wait, to collect up the pieces of her protective shield and fasten it about her once more. She must prepare herself well for her next encounter with her handsome husband.

  I must treat him as he treats me, Meg told herself. Enjoy him, yes, delight in him, yes, but never let him realize I am in love with him.

  “The men of Glen Dhui are quick learners.”

  Gregor nodded in agreement, and continued staring down the glen at nothing in particular, ignoring the line of men who stood eagerly awaiting his notice. Malcolm Bain was watching him—he could almost feel his friend’s eyes crawling over his skin. Gregor was used to keeping his true feelings hidden, and with anyone else, he could feel certain that he showed nothing of his inner emotions on his face or in his manner.

  But this was Malcolm Bain, and he knew Gregor very well. He probably knew that Gregor was thinking about Meg.

  Because he was. He seemed to have thought of li
ttle else since he first saw her.

  Gregor’s new wife was a revelation to him. He had not known what to expect, although he had certainly been looking forward to taking her to his bed. He had planned to enjoy his wedding night, but still, the sheer glory of it had come as a shock. Each time he had taken her, each time he had planted his seed within her, the need to do so again simply increased. This morning he could hardly bear for her to leave the bedchamber, and just now, when she had pretended not to understand that he was asking her to come back to their bedchamber with him, he had been aching with frustration.

  She was a new bride, he reminded himself. Maybe he had hurt her last night with his ardor and she was too shy to tell him so. No, Gregor smiled, Meg would have no qualms about telling him if he had hurt her. Probably she was just embarrassed at the thought of everyone in the household knowing they were in bed together again, after they had only just gotten up. It did not matter to Gregor if they knew—such things had never concerned him—but Meg was different. She liked to maintain a certain façade of purity and respectability: the Lady of Glen Dhui. He would not push her into a situation where she might turn against him.

  But neither was Gregor fool enough to believe she did not want him anymore. He had been with enough women to be clear about how she felt. Meg was in the throes of a genuine passion for him—for what they had done together last night. She was as enraptured by their lovemaking as he.

  Perhaps that was what had frightened her.

  That losing control of herself, that insatiable hunger for another human being, that sense of being swept away.

  Gregor didn’t blame her for wanting to take a moment to catch her breath, because so did he. He had wed her for a tangle of reasons, one of them being his desire for her, and another Glen Dhui. But he had never expected her to creep inside him like this, to make a home for herself where no woman had ever been.

  He would need to be vigilant.

  Gregor had been hurt too many times, used too many times, to ever trust a woman easily. And Meg was no exception, for wasn’t she using him, too? Using his strength and experience to protect Glen Dhui?

  “There he is!”

  Malcolm Bain’s harsh whisper brought him back to the present. Gregor blinked, and obediently turned to follow Malcolm’s pointing finger, over toward the stables. A lad was leaning against a mounting block, his fair hair bright against the gray stone wall, watching intently as the men drilled.

  “Is that your lad?”

  Malcolm Bain swallowed, as if his heart was too full for him to speak.

  “What is his name again, Malcolm?”

  Malcolm Bain clenched and unclenched his hands, fighting for control. When he spoke at last his voice was almost normal, except for the underlying angry tremor. “His name is Angus. Angus Forbes, they call him. By rights it should be Angus MacGregor.”

  “He looks like a fine, braw lad. I dinna see much of Alison in him.”

  “Aye, the stronger MacGregor blood has swallowed up the feeble Forbes strain,” Malcolm declared with relish.

  “How old is he?”

  Malcolm Bain sighed, all pleasure leaving him. “He’s twelve years old,” he said, desolation in his voice, and a sense of waste. All those years gone, and he had not known he had a son.

  “Give it time, Malcolm,” Gregor advised. “She’ll come ’round. She loved you once. She might again.”

  “She loved me, aye, Gregor, and I dinna treasure it as I should have. Instead I tossed her love aside, like a worn penny I dinna need.”

  Gregor could think of nothing to say to that. Besides, he felt a sense of guilt for being the cause of Malcolm Bain’s leaving Glen Dhui. Perhaps for that reason he should be the one to do something about it. He did not particularly fancy facing up to Alison’s famous temper, but maybe he owed it to them.

  “One more time through with the pistols and muskets,” he said brusquely, putting aside both his own and Malcolm Bain’s emotional problems. “Then we’ll send them all off home. I’m in urgent need of a dram, and you can keep me company.”

  Malcolm Bain gave a grim nod. “My head still hurts from last night, but I’ll be glad to, lad. If I drink enough, mabbe I’ll forget all about Alison and my son.”

  Gregor thought that was unlikely, but he didn’t spoil his friend’s delusion. In his experience, once a woman got under a man’s skin, there was nothing could get her out, not even the finest whiskey in all of Scotland.

  Chapter 21

  Gregor had been drinking. Meg could smell the whiskey strong on him when he came in for his midday meal. She said nothing—what could she say? If he felt the need to drown his sorrows in drink, then that was his business. But she thought it was more likely that he was keeping Malcolm Bain company while he drowned his sorrows.

  It had been clear from Alison’s behavior that all was still very wrong between Angus’s parents.

  Surely, Meg thought, if all feeling was dead between them, they would be completely indifferent to each other, wouldn’t they? Didn’t this amount of ill feeling mean that some spark still existed? Although whether it was a spark of love or hate was debatable.

  Meg had tried to speak to Alison while they and the other women were putting the Great Hall to rights, but Alison just shook her head. After a time Meg gave up, deciding it might be best to let them be. Eventually they might sort it out for themselves.

  Perhaps Gregor had come to the same conclusion.

  She didn’t ask him, she barely spoke to him as they ate, and she left the table before he had finished, pleading a dozen excuses. He gave her a look that was both patient and resigned, both qualities most unlike the Gregor Meg knew.

  Was he tired of her already? And was she so contrary as to want him to pursue her when she had already decided she needed space to think?

  Meg went to sit with the general for an hour or so. The old man had been overjoyed with the manner in which things had turned out. As if, Meg thought wryly, he had planned it that way from the beginning.

  “Now all we need to make the fairy tale complete is for the duke to be a gentleman and stand aside peacefully,” she couldn’t resist saying. “Do you really think that will happen, Father?”

  The general’s eyes were fixed on the window, as if he were not blind to the view outside. For a moment Meg thought he would not answer, but then he heaved a sigh and turned to her with a wistful smile.

  “I don’t know the answer, Meg. If we were speaking of an ordinary man, then I would say yes. If we were speaking of an ordinary man, then I would say that he would not want to appear foolish, so he would step aside. But we are speaking of the Duke of Abercauldy, and I have come to realize that the duke is no ordinary man. He frightens me, daughter, and I don’t frighten easily. He is so determined to have you, Meg, that I don’t know if there is anything we can do, apart from killing him, that will change his mind.”

  “Gregor released Lorenzo this morning.”

  Meg had not been present, but she had heard the details from Alison, who had heard them from Angus, and so on. How the duke’s favorite servant had sworn a terrible revenge upon them.

  “Lorenzo is not as important as he thinks he is,” the general replied dryly. “Do not be afraid of Lorenzo; Gregor could crush him with his little finger.” He smiled again, looking suddenly very tired and frail. “I am so glad you brought Gregor home. You have made me a very happy, old man, Meg, and I thank you for it.”

  “Then I am happy, too, Father,” she whispered, feeling tears sting her eyes.

  “I wish your mother were here to see you,” he murmured, turning again to the window. “She’s been gone so long. So very long. And I miss her.”

  It was not often the general spoke of his wife. Meg was not sure that his speaking of her now was a good sign.

  Leaving the general to rest, Meg found her way to her retreat. But once there, alone at her desk, she found herself sitting, staring at her books. It wasn’t that she had nothing to do. There were entries to be made,
notes to be taken, figures to be tallied. Meg had often thought it a pity she had been born a woman, for she would have made a very efficient factor for some great lord. She would have run his estate at a profit, and kept all the tenants happy at the same time.

  Why wasn’t her life as simple as adding up a column of figures?

  No, there was plenty to be done, but Meg did not feel like tallying profits or working on new crops she might bully her tenants into planting. This was the day after her wedding, and yet it was just like any other day. On the surface it was, anyway.

  Underneath was a different matter.

  She had fallen in love with Gregor Grant, the Laird of Glen Dhui. She had wed the boy of her girlhood dreams, and he was everything she had ever wanted. He was the man she had been waiting for, the man whom she had wanted to come and sweep her off her feet. Except that he didn’t love her.

  He was the sort of man who made all women feel quite wonderful, Meg was certain of it. If he turned that dazzling, golden gaze on a woman, then she was his. How could she not be? Meg knew that Gregor had not become such an accomplished lover by sleeping alone. There must have been other women, and plenty of them.

  He was attractive and women wanted him. Beautiful women. With so many to choose from, how could he ever love Meg Mackintosh, plain and freckled? He might like her, in fact he seemed to delight in her sharp tongue and peculiar ways, but he could never, ever love her. Best she come to terms with that right now and learn to deal with it, before she was drawn into yearning for the unattainable.

  Gregor had found some paper and charcoal, and secreting himself in a quiet corner of the Blue Saloon, set to work rediscovering his talent for drawing. At first his hands felt clumsy, more used to gripping a sword than making pictures, but gradually the lessons he had learned long ago returned to him. He had never really forgotten them. He didn’t attempt anything too difficult—not at first—but was content to make images of familiar objects. Yet he couldn’t resist a tiny, mocking sketch of Airdy Campbell as he had last seen him, wild-eyed upon his dun horse; and a reverent, rather melancholy sketch of the general, seated by his window, gazing at a world he could no longer see.