Beloved Highlander

Kenneth smiled. Their eyes met in a moment of perfect understanding, in a manner that made everyone else feel slightly left

out. Meg experienced a catch in her throat and wondered, as she always did in their presence, whether she would ever find a man who loved her and whom she could love, as Shona and Kenneth loved each other.

Anything less than that was not to be contemplated.

It was a stance she had taken long ago, and one her father did not understand. For him, prestige, family ties, and important bloodlines meant more than his only daughter’s fancy for love.

They began to dismount, and it was only when Shona’s eyes widened that Meg realized something was wrong. She turned swiftly, just in time to see Gregor sink limply into Malcolm Bain’s meaty arms. He was on his feet again in an instant, pushing himself upright, but his face was ghostly in the pale light and the sweat shone on his skin like dew.

“What is wrong with this one?” Shona demanded sharply. “Is he sick with some malaise?”

Meg found her voice, for she seemed to have lost it in the moments when Gregor fainted. “No, no, nothing like that. He was wounded, his arm cut open. We…I sewed it up, but it is not good.”

Shona was watching her, a glint of amusement in her blue eyes. “Ye sewed it up, Lady Meg? When ’tis known up and down the glens that Lady Margaret Mackintosh faints at the sight of blood?”

“I am ashamed to say that I do, usually, but on this occasion I managed to stay on my feet. Shona, can you look at Captain Grant’s wound? You are skilled with such things, and I would count it a special favor.”

Shona searched her face a moment, as if she saw something interesting there, and then she nodded her head. “Of course I will, my lady.”

Meg felt such utter relief she hardly heard the rest of what Shona said. And her relief confused her, because it seemed more concerned with the man himself than bringing him home safe to her father.

“Come inside now, my lady, and settle him by the fire, and I will take a wee look. Kenneth! We need whiskey for these men, and see to their horses, won’t ye?”

With Malcolm Bain supporting him on one side, Gregor staggered into the cottage. Meg followed, helping to ease him down onto the bench by the fire, and then holding the cup of whiskey that Shona poured to his lips. He took a deep swallow and seemed to revive, for his dark lashes lifted and he looked at her with fever-bright eyes.

“I am all right,” he insisted.

Meg shook her head. “Anyone can see you are not all right, Captain.”

Shona laughed, glancing from one to the other. “Ye should know better than to argue with Lady Meg. Now, let me see yer arm, Captain! Anything I don’t know about healing is not worth the learning.”

He hesitated, but only for an instant. To Meg’s relief, he began to shrug off his jacket as best he could. The process was a painful one. Meg and Malcolm helped ease down the sleeve, and then the shirt was unlaced and pulled down from the bandages. The wound looked even more swollen and inflamed than it had that morning, the stitches tugging into the flesh in a manner that must be very painful.

Meg shuddered and leaned back against the wall in case she fulfilled Shona’s prophecy and fell over. She watched, silent, as Shona pressed and prodded, ignoring her patient’s swift intake of breath and his alarming pallor.

“Well,” she said at last, “’tis clear Lady Meg and yer Malcolm here did their best, but I can do better. I’ll need to snip some of these fine stitches, Captain. Bear with me, and believe me, ye’ll feel better when ’tis all done.”

With deft, practiced fingers, Shona set about snipping some of the tight stitches at the very edge of the wound. Pressing firmly but gently, Shona began to clean it thoroughly with clean water. Finally she set about preparing a poultice, crushing some herbs into a paste and smearing it upon the wound. Then she heated up a greasy mixture in a cup and pressed it to his lips with some whiskey added. Gregor drank it with a grimace, while Shona found fresh, clean bandages and busily rewrapped his wound.

It was all done quickly and competently.

“I will look again come the morning,” Shona said, “but I think ye will heal now.”

Meg’s legs quivered and she held herself up through sheer effort of will. When her vision cleared, she met Shona’s bright, piercing gaze.

“Never fear, Lady Meg,” the other woman murmured gently, the words meant for her ears alone. “He will be as good as new again. No part of him will be lacking vigor.”

Meg felt the color rush to her face. She heard Malcolm snort his laughter and knew Shona’s voice had not been as discreet as she had thought. She prayed that Gregor had not heard. She cleared her throat in a manner she hoped showed her authority.

“Captain Grant is coming to Glen Dhui to help my father and me, Shona. That is all. There is nothing of a…a personal nature between us.”

“Oh?” Shona raised her eyebrows.

“I want you to tell him now what you told me and my father,” Meg went on, gathering up her confidence and position. “Tell him what the Duke of Abercauldy did to his first wife.”

Chapter 7

Meg’s men had found places to sleep—some in the stable and barn, others in the cottage itself. Now Kenneth sat beside his wife in the front room, his hand holding hers, while Meg and Gregor sat on the settle opposite, anxious for her to speak. Since Meg’s asking Shona to tell her story, there had necessarily been a waiting time, during which Shona insisted her guests be fed and made comfortable before she would talk. At last all was quiet and she was ready to begin.