Beloved Highlander

by Sara Bennett

  Anger pushed through the bleakness in his blue eyes. “Why did she no’ get the letter, Lady Meg? I gave it to Duncan to give to her.”

  Meg tightened her grip on his arm, feeling the sudden rigidity of his muscles as the truth came to him. Rage and hurt burned in his eyes, and he was clearly longing to find Duncan and hurt him, too. But loyalty and obedience held him in place, rather than her feeble strength in comparison to his.

  “I don’t want a fight between you and Duncan,” she ordered him firmly. “Do you hear me, Malcolm Bain? He loves his sister, he cares for her, he thought he was doing what was best for her. He is sorry now, and Alison will make him sorrier. Any words that need to be said about the letter should come from her.”

  Gradually he began to relax a little, and then, to Meg’s surprise, he gave a hard laugh. “Aye, let Alison rip him up. She’ll tear him to pieces with that tongue o’ hers.”

  Meg allowed her hand to drop. “I don’t envy him,” she agreed.

  Malcolm Bain smiled, and now there was real anticipation in it. “Nor do I.”

  “Well,” Meg glanced at the gray stone house. Barbara was in there. Waiting. “I’d better go and see to Barbara Campbell’s blisters.”

  She had turned away when she heard Malcolm say behind her, “If Barbara is here, my lady, then Airdy will follow. And ye know what that means, don’t ye?”

  “It is up to Gregor,” she repeated, over her shoulder, and kept on walking.

  “No, lady,” Malcolm Bain called, “it is up to ye!”

  So, what was she hoping for? Meg wondered as she walked. That Gregor would drive the poor unfortunate Barbara from his door? Remembering his wounds, remembering stitching the sword slash on his arm, Meg knew that secretly that was her hardhearted hope. That he would loudly declare his love for Meg, and tell Barbara to be gone. Well, that was all very well, if she were watching a melodrama upon the stage, but it was doubtful that could be true life.

  He does not love Barbara, she assured herself as she walked. How could he, after she had turned from him, after he had won a duel for her? He must despise her. Or maybe he was just heartbroken? And now that she was returning to him, begging for his help again…

  Meg had known her happiness would have a limited time—it was far too wonderful to be the forever kind. Would her role as Gregor’s wife now go into its next phase—the helpmeet, the fellow ruler of Glen Dhui, the kind smile and sympathetic ear, and occasionally, the warm body in his bed? But the last would be a rare thing indeed, and would be restricted to procreation. Because they would need children, wouldn’t they, to inherit Glen Dhui? So whenever Gregor came to her bed, she would know it was purely to make an heir….

  Something hot and wet trickled down Meg’s cheek, and she put up her fingers to it, surprised to find she was crying. Meg never cried. For a moment she was too shocked to do anything, and then she wiped her face dry. A shaky laugh, and she shook her head at her own stupidity. She was not usually prone to flights of fancy, except where Gregor Grant was concerned.

  “He won’t turn to Barbara,” she told herself firmly as she walked. “Of course he won’t! He’s your husband, you foolish lass!”

  But her words sounded blighted. As if she were shouting them against a thunderstorm, with no hope of being heard.

  Gregor had been upstairs to Meg’s retreat, but it was empty. Only her perfume was there, to remind him of her. The smell of it was enough to make him twitch all over, thinking of her and the way she felt in his arms, the sounds she made when he did certain things to her.

  Disappointed—he had been looking forward to another tryst on her desk—he wandered back to the head of the stairs. Voices in the Great Hall caught his attention. Curious, he looked over the banister and felt a jolt of recognition right down to his toes.

  “I’m sorry I told you I was his kin,” that familiar voice was saying. That sweet voice he had last heard on a cold, misty dawn, sobbing for forgiveness in Airdy’s arms, while Gregor stood over them, dripping blood and wondering what the hell he was supposed to do now.

  Barbara? Barbara Campbell, here?

  “I was so frightened, Shona,” she said, as high and clear and innocent as a child. “I dinna know what to do. I said the first thing that came into my head. I do that. Gregor will tell you, I am sadly scatterbrained.”

  Gregor flinched. She made it sound as if they were still…Abruptly, his eyes narrowed. Where was Meg?

  Down in the Great Hall, Shona was making soothing noises, while Kenneth stood back and watched the scene with cool eyes. Alison Forbes was hovering in the doorway to the Blue Saloon, a little frown twitching between her dark brows, and her brother stood behind her. But no Meg.

  Gregor all but groaned aloud. Barbara Campbell, here at Glen Dhui! That was all he needed! As if the Duke of Abercauldy and Lorenzo were not meal enough, he had to have the sly-tongued Barbara on his plate as well. He wished her and Airdy to farthest ends of Scotland, and felt inclined to tell her so.

  At that moment she looked up. That blue gaze, so different from Meg’s, fastened on him like a bird of prey. Predatory and selfish, that was Barbara, while Meg was warm and generous and good. He watched, appalled, as her eyes filled with tears, and then she was running, but in an elegant sort of way, up the stairs toward him, all the while making little gasping sounds. She was wearing a yellow gown he remembered that he had bought her when she claimed Airdy was too mean to do so. He could ill afford it, but he had thought at the time she looked damned pretty in it.

  Now the sight of her left him cold.

  “Barbara,” he said in a flat voice, “what the blazes are you doing here?”

  Instead of answering, she flung herself at him, almost knocking him on his back, and he had no choice but to catch her if he wasn’t to tumble over the railing with her on top of him. As his arms went around her she burst into noisy sobs, clutching at his shirt with fingers that felt more like a hawk’s talons. She was soft and her hair brushed his nose, and once he would have melted at the sight and touch of her.

  Now the very feel of her repelled him.

  This was Barbara Campbell, the woman who had humiliated him and left him to his fate. This was Barbara Campbell, who manipulated men for her own ends and pretended to be what she was not. And quite suddenly he realized he had had enough of her, and women like her. Give him Meg any day! A woman who spoke the truth and looked a man in the eye, who smiled when she was happy and cried when she was sad, and none of it was to get her own way.

  Women like Barbara had too easily manipulated him, perhaps because of his mother, the queen of all manipulators. But no more. He would never again jeopardize his life for such a paltry reason, the life that Meg had given to him….

  Gregor opened his mouth to tell Barbara she had to go, and his gaze slid beyond her, down the stairs, and found Meg. The words died in his throat.

  She was standing as if she had turned to ice, her hands at her sides, her head tilted up. But there was nothing icy about her expression. She looked as if someone had run her through with a sword, and it had hurt. It had torn her apart.

  “Meg?” he cried, and then realizing that he still held Barbara Campbell in his arms, tried to set her aside. She clung even harder, sobbed even harder, and he struggled with her, cursing her under his breath. When he finally managed to get her away from him, and looked again to where Meg had been standing, he saw only empty space.

  Meg had gone.

  Bewildered, Gregor turned to look about the Great Hall from his vantage point on the top landing. The fact that Shona and Kenneth were there surprised him, and then Malcolm Bain, glaring up at him for some reason, Duncan looking pale beneath his tan, and Alison peering at him in open-mouthed astonishment.

  Gregor came down the stairs, ignoring Barbara’s wailing and floundering behind him. “Where’s Meg?” he demanded an answer.

  No one answered him. They looked embarrassed, except for Malcolm Bain, who looked angry.

  “WHERE IS SHE?” he rep
eated, in his best Captain of Dragoon’s roar. Were they deaf? Or did they somehow believe that he would betray Meg with that foolish woman?

  “I think she’s gone outside,” Shona answered uneasily, avoiding his eyes.

  “Ye great daft haddock,” Malcolm Bain declared, glowering at him under his bushy eyebrows, and confirming Gregor’s fears.

  Gregor raised his own brows. “Say what you have to say, Malcolm. I can see you’re bursting with it.”

  “Well, of course she’s gone! What did ye expect her to do, after she’s come upon ye and that piece there, clasped in each other’s arms? Ye’ve broken her heart in twa, ye thick beastie. Och, ye dinna deserve her anyway!”

  “Barbara threw herself at me,” Gregor replied, fighting his anger, and wondering why he’d been adjudged guilty when he’d done nothing wrong.

  “Oh, and ye couldna have held her off? Ye are a fool, Gregor Grant! If ye lose Lady Meg because of that baggage, then ye truly dinna deserve to be a happy man.”

  Gregor shot him a furious look, turned, and strode toward the door. From the corner of his eye he noticed Barbara hurrying to intercept him, but he ignored her and kept going.

  Behind him, Alison’s voice rose with temper. “A fool, is he? A fool, aye? I know who the fool is here, Malcolm Bain MacGregor!”

  Duncan’s murmur of, “Alison, hush, Alison, let me finish what I had to tell ye!” seemed to have little effect on her.

  Gregor allowed himself one small, vengeful smile as he stepped out into the afternoon sunshine. And stopped, hearing the thud of a horse’s hooves. A woman with red hair flew down the yew avenue and over the bridge, and turned up the glen.

  She was gone.

  He took to his heels, running to the stables. Angus was standing outside, and Gregor drew to a sliding halt in front of the boy.

  “Dinna you know better than to let her go by herself?” he shouted, needing to vent his fear and frustration on someone.

  The boy stared back at him, but there was no fright in his eyes, just a flicker of anger that reminded Gregor very much of Alison. “She ordered me to, sir. I didna have much of a choice, did I?”

  “She should not be out alone. She could be in danger.”

  Angus frowned. “I asked to go with her, sir, but she said she wanted to be alone. I suppose I should have made her let me go, but Lady Meg is a stubborn one.”

  Gregor looked at twelve-year-old Angus and sighed. The boy had done his best, and Gregor had no right to chastise him. “You have my gratitude, Angus, for making the attempt.”

  Angus flushed, and looked pleased and worried at the same time.

  “Go and get your fath—[ ]that is, Malcolm Bain for me, Angus. He’s in the Great Hall, or he was a moment ago.”

  Gregor could have bitten off his tongue, but other than a puzzled look, the boy didn’t seem to understand the error his laird had almost made. He took to his heels, hurrying toward the castle house and passing Barbara in her yellow dress, on her way to the stables.

  Gregor groaned aloud. “Oh, no!”

  “Gregor? Gregor, please…”

  “Barbara, has it never occurred to you that I may not want you here? That I am tired of being used by you? I have a wife and I dinna want you in the same house as her.”

  That tear again, running down her cheek. How did she do that? Was it something she had learned, like reading and writing? Gregor shook his head in disgust.

  “I am going after Meg. Stay here, Barbara. We will talk when I get back. Is Airdy somewhere behind you?”

  Barbara’s tears stopped as if by magic, and she pulled a sullen little moue. “How should I know? Probably. He follows me everywhere, Gregor. Wherever I go, he finds me. That is why I have come to you,” her eyes brightened. “You are the only one who can make him go away.”

  Gregor laughed despite himself, but it was without any real humor. The woman was so self-centered, so focused on her own problems, that it was almost amusing. So different from Meg, sweet, practical, bossy Meg who prodded her tenants to grow potatoes so that they would have something to eat when the oat crop failed.

  “I must go.” He was already heading into the stables to find his horse. Barbara trailed after him, looking disconsolate.

  “You’ve never spoken to me like this before,” she said sadly, watching as he hurriedly saddled the animal. “You always cared what happened to me before, Gregor.”

  Gregor turned to look at her in amazement. “I fought a duel for you, Barbara, and you went straight back to Airdy. Have you forgotten?”

  “I’d hoped you’d kill him,” she sighed, “and I’d be free.”

  Suddenly Gregor felt cold. He looked at her for a long, silent moment, and then he went back to saddling his horse. Behind him, Barbara was telling him how difficult it was to live with Airdy, how much she longed to be rid of him, but he was no longer listening. He was thinking about Meg and how he had to find her, how he had to explain to her that the sight of him and Barbara on the landing was not what she thought. That he had never loved Barbara, that he never could love a woman like Barbara.

  It was Meg he wanted. Meg he couldn’t live without.

  Gregor swung his leg over the horse’s back and rode it out into the yard. Malcolm Bain was running from the castle, Angus not far behind him. “Gregor!” he called. “Wait for me, lad!”

  But Gregor did not wait.

  “Gregor! Kenneth says he thinks they saw Lorenzo and his men, down in the glen. Do ye hear me?”

  Gregor heard him. His stomach clenched, his hands tightened on the reins. Lorenzo was in the glen, and Meg was alone.

  “Get as many men as you can!” he shouted over his shoulder. “We have to find her!”

  He dug in his heels and his horse shot forward, away toward the bridge over the burn, and then up the glen in the direction Meg had gone.

  Chapter 24

  What if I canna find her?

  The words went through his head, over and over again. They were taken up by the thud of his horse’s hooves on the ground. What if I canna find her? The thought left him feeling desolate, broken, a hollow man. If Meg was gone, then there would be nothing for him. He would have Glen Dhui, yes, he would be the laird again, and this he had longed for for twelve years, although he had not dared to speak his longings aloud.

  But now…

  Now all that was like rain on the wind, something that came and went and mattered not. It was Meg who mattered. Without Meg his life was nothing, he would be worse off even than he had been when he lost Glen Dhui. Meg was his future. He had not realized how much he had come to think of her as always being there, at his side. Until now, when he might very well have lost her.

  As if to add to his anguish, the sky had clouded over, with mist hanging low over part of the glen, and a rainstorm sweeping down the slopes of Liath Mhor.

  Where could Meg have gone?

  He drew up his mount, wiping the rain from his eyes and tossing back his hair. Think! Where would Meg go for shelter? Where would she go if she felt alone and threatened, abandoned and unwanted?

  Her retreat, of course. But if she could not go there, if she could not go home to Glen Dhui Castle, then where?

  Another shower of rain swept over him, stinging his face, blinding him, but Gregor hardly noticed it. He was thinking back to the warm day by Loch Dhui, when Meg had lay upon the stones and told him how, when she first came here, she had ridden the glen upon her horse.

  There had been a cave on Cragan Dhui, where sometimes she had sat for hours, looking down over the glen. Gregor had laughed, he remembered, and called her Queen Meg.

  Of course, the cave! Gregor, too, had hidden there as a boy, playing games, drawing, or just enjoying his own company and that of the other boys of the glen. He knew the cave, and he had a strong feeling that was where Meg was now.

  With a shout and a quick dig of his heels, Gregor set off at a gallop.

  Smoke poured sullenly from cottage chimneys. Cattle and sheep stood, their heads b
owed, beneath the driving rain. The linen shirt Gregor was wearing was soaked through, and his kilt dripped, but he hardly noticed, and if he had, he wouldn’t have cared. He rode on, with only one clear thought. Meg was in the cave, and he had to find her.

  At first he could not see the narrow opening in the lower slopes of Cragan Dhui at all. He could see the track, zigzagging across the side of it, but apart from that, the greenery appeared unbroken. There was an old rowan tree and bracken filling the hollows, and a hare went running, bounding through the grass. His eyes followed its path, and suddenly he spotted the cave. Like a thick, charcoal line, it cut through the green of the hillside.

  With a smile, Gregor urged his horse forward.

  As he moved farther to the left, the entrance to the cave opened up, becoming wide enough for a full-grown man to enter, if he stooped. He drew up his horse near the opening and stared, frowning. Was that a movement there, in the darkness? A flash of color? Or was he just seeing what he wanted to see? And if Meg was here, then where was her mare?

  But he couldn’t ride all this way and then not look inside. He couldn’t leave without searching every inch of that dark cave. He turned his horse toward the rowan tree.

  Gregor dismounted and tied his horse beneath the shelter of the tree. A protection against witches, he remembered, glancing up into the thick foliage. Perhaps it had acted as protection against Lorenzo, for Meg. Carefully—[ ]hopefully—he climbed back up the rough slope toward the cave. Everything was quiet, the only sound that of the rain falling softly and dripping from the foliage. Gregor heaved himself the last few feet to the cave and stood, panting a little, staring into the pitch blackness.

  It was smaller than he had remembered. But that was part of getting older, wasn’t it? He was a big man now, and he had been a boy when he played here all those years ago. It wasn’t really a cave, just a fissure in the rocky side of the hill, with enough overhang and enough depth to make it a warm, dry place to hide out in bad weather.

  Suddenly a memory came to him: himself, gangly and young, trying not to cry as he sat in the dank darkness and hugged his knees to his chest. He had drawn a picture of some primroses, especially for his mother’s birthday. She had glanced at the meticulous rendering of the flowers with a critical eye.