Beloved Highlander

Duncan, with a glance at Meg, left with the letter.

“Malcolm Bain can do this,” Gregor said, tight about the mouth. “There is no need—”

“Now you are in my employ, Captain, I need to know you can deliver on your promises.”

He grunted, but said no more as Meg inspected his wound, bathed it, and carefully rewrapped it. The flesh looked a little swollen about her neat stitches, a little hot to touch, but in Meg’s experience fever was a normal part of recovery. The strong survived, the weak didn’t, and Gregor Grant was definitely one of the former.

When Gregor went to his room, he was walking as carefully as a man crossing hot coals. Meg hoped that he would spend the day in sleep, and regain some of his strength. She did not look forward to riding such a distance with an injured man, especially one so stubborn he would not admit he was too ill to ride until he fell off his horse.

“Lady Meg?”

Meg looked up from her seat by the fire. Duncan had returned, and he looked like he had been carved out of stone. For a moment her heart beat faster as she wondered what new disaster was about to befall them.

“Duncan? Is all well?”

“I have given the letter to the man in charge, and I have brought back the Captain’s baggage and his horse.” But he said it stiffly, with resentment.

“There is something wrong. What is it? Do tell me, Duncan, I am not in the mood to guess.”

Duncan pursed his lips, but before he could answer her, Malcolm Bain appeared behind him. His fair hair—the characteristic that gave him his appendage Bain, or “fair Malcolm”—was as wild and windblown as it had been last night. His face looked even more rugged this morning, the creases in it making Meg wonder if he had had any sleep at all.

“My lady,” he said with a bow, a twinkle in his eyes. “I hope ye dinna mind me tagging along with ye. I am Captain Grant’s man and he canna manage without me.”

Duncan sniffed repressively.

Meg hid a smile, puzzled by the tension between the two of them; they had been the same last night. Like two dogs coveting the same bone. It was Malcolm Bain himself who explained matters.

“I am a Glen Dhui man myself,” he said blithely. “When the lad lost the land, I went with him. My father was his father’s man, and my grandsire’s his grandsire’s, and so it goes. I had a sworn duty to care for him.”

“Tell that to Alison,” Duncan muttered darkly.

Malcolm Bain looked at him and sighed. “Ah, Duncan, I tried to. She dinna understand.”

“She still doesna understand,” was Duncan’s grim reply.

Meg looked from one to the other. “What do you mean, Duncan? Alison, my maid? Alison, your sister?”

Duncan answered readily enough. “My sister was to wed this…this creature, my lady. But then he left her and she hasna heard from him in twelve long years! He broke her heart.”

Meg thought of dark-haired, dark-eyed Alison, plump and full of zeal. In Meg’s opinion she did not appear to be suffering from a broken heart, but neither had she ever mentioned a desire to wed or an interest in any of the local men. Meg had presumed that was because Alison had never found the right man to give her heart to. Was she herself not in similar straits? Besides—and yes, she was selfish in this—a single Alison suited her own needs just fine. But now suddenly, she could see that Alison’s aloneness may well be because she had loved and been hurt and therefore had given up on men entirely.

This was clearly what Duncan believed.

Malcolm Bain made a sound closely resembling a snort. “I never asked her to wait for me,” he said in a harsh voice. “There were plenty of others would have been hers for the taking, if she’d said the word. If she’s still single, then ’twas because she was content to remain so!”

Duncan took a step closer to him, pushing his face aggressively into the other man’s. “Mabbe she dinna want any of the others. Mabbe she wanted ye, ye selfish—”

“Will you both stop it!” Meg grabbed Duncan’s arm, pressing a warning with her fingers. “I am quite sure, Duncan, that Alison will not thank you, for making her the subject of a brawl. And as for you, Malcolm Bain, your master is resting. Go and see if he needs anything, and take his luggage with you.”

Malcolm Bain shot her an uncertain glance, but went to do her bidding. Duncan glowered after him, and Meg squeezed his arm again, more kindly this time.

“I am sure Alison can handle her own affairs, Duncan,” she said gently. “You are a good brother to her, but truly I think these matters would be better left to her and Malcolm Bain MacGregor.”

Duncan’s nod was brief and clearly dissenting.

Dear Lord, Meg thought when he had gone, if there are not complications enough! Now she must play King Solomon to her maid and Gregor Grant’s man. She only hoped that she was right, and that Alison had long since recovered from any pain she may once have felt over Malcolm Bain’s leaving her.

“Gregor lad?”