Beloved Highlander

Major Litchfield’s face cleared. “Of course, I remember now. I have heard good things about you, Captain, from His Grace, the Duke of Argyll, and the people of Glen Dhui. But that still does not explain what you are doing here, now, with Lady Margaret. I really do need an answer.”

He glanced at Meg as he said it, and suddenly she had the inkling that perhaps the Major was being so insistent because of her. He was being protective of her.

“We have traveled a long way, and Captain Grant is weary. Is this really necessary…?” Meg began, in turn finding herself protective of Gregor. There was surely no need to interrogate him for her sake.

Gregor turned his head and looked at her in surprise. His amber eyes searched hers thoroughly in less time than it took for her to draw a sharp breath, and they seemed to like whatever it was they found. Meg felt the color in her cheeks again; she couldn’t help it. Clearly her urge to protect him was misplaced; he could well look after himself.

“I have resigned my commission,” Gregor was speaking to the major, and suddenly he sounded almost cheerful. “I am visiting the general while I decide upon my future. We met after the 1715,” he added, with a rueful grin. “But I was a Jacobite in those days, Major.”

Gregor was baiting him. Meg bit her lip, and waited.

But the corners of Major Litchfield’s mouth lifted. “I remember. You are not a Jacobite now, I comprehend?”

Gregor laughed. “Och, no! I do not think it worth my life to set a man upon Scotland’s throne who will care no more for its

people than the English king in London. They are much of a muchness, these great men. I prefer to leave them to their work, and for them to leave me to mine.”

The major must have agreed with those sentiments, for he nodded. Satisfied his questions had been answered, he turned again to Meg. “I will call, my lady.”

Meg nodded and smiled, and urged her horse onward, down the steep road that led into the glens, her men behind her. An osprey flew high overhead, drifting on the air currents. Meg tilted her head back to gaze up at it, and at the same time breathed a sigh of relief. For a reason she didn’t properly understand, there had been tension between Gregor Grant and Major Litchfield. She told herself it was to do with their pasts and their politics, but that wasn’t entirely true.

She had the oddest feeling that it was to do with her.

As the road wound lower they found themselves in a land of more hills, covered with a forest of great pines and firs, and the finer, silvery birches. Above them, to the northeast, Liath Mhor lifted its somber head, while Cragan Dhui peeped around its shoulder. A bitter little wind reminded them that summer would soon be done, and in a few months all this would be under snow. Despite the long shadows of evening, the landmarks of home were visible all around them, and one by one the men fell silent. They were all weary, longing for their loved ones and other familiar faces.

Just as was she.

The general would be pleased. She had done exactly as he had asked. She had sought out Gregor Grant and brought him home with her. She still did not understand just how he could help them, apart from the more obvious ways of training and leading the men of Glen Dhui. But it was what her father had wanted.

The general wasn’t well enough to travel, so it had been left to Meg to make the journey. Now it was nearly over, and they were nearly home.

Duncan Forbes galloped forward and drew rein beside her.

“I’ll go on ahead, if ye’ll allow me, Lady Meg. Let them know yer coming, so things can be readied.”

“Of course, Duncan.”

He nodded without smiling and rode off into the deep shadows of the trees. The sun was a mere blur of gold above the horizon, streaking the sky with crimson. The long gloaming was about to begin.

Meg felt someone move up close beside her and turned her head, thinking it must be one of the other men, homesick, and wanting to ask permission to accompany Duncan. But it was Gregor. He was staring after Duncan, his face paler than it had been all day. In fact he had seemed remarkably well for a man whom she had feared at one point would not survive the journey. His arm had regained some of its movement, and when they stopped at midday, he had eaten quite heartily. If he had been quiet, keeping his thoughts to himself, then Meg did not mind that. In fact, she admitted, she preferred it. After this morning, when she had seen him bathing half naked in the loch, it had been a relief not to speak to him at all.

It was safer so.

Safer for her own peace of mind.

Meg knew that there was some feeling inside herself for him, some need for him that she had not experienced for any other man. But there was also a sense of danger, a need for self-preservation. Meg had decided, after the incident with Major Litchfield, that she must take a big step back. If she stayed away from him, then whatever this emotion was inside her might melt away, might vanish like ice in the sun.

But now, as she looked upon his profile, her gaze drawn to the straight slash of his brows, the steep line of his nose, the strong set of his jaw, and the sensuous curve of his bottom lip…Meg realized in dismay that her feelings might not be so easily dismissed. It rose up, a great rushing tide, filling her head and body, making her want to gasp for breath. It was only through a sheer effort of will that she prevented herself from actually reaching out and touching him….

“Duncan has gone ahead,” she said abruptly into the silence. Her voice was strange and stilted, held in check, because she feared herself too much to allow the slightest warmth to creep in.

He nodded brusquely, and they rode on together. Cragan Dhui was closer now, peering down at them, but Glen Dhui was still out of sight due to the rise in the road. As they came out of the forest and reached the final crest, they stopped as one. And there it was below them, the narrow head of Glen Dhui.

The rest of the glen followed the silver line of the burn to the southeast, widening out as it went, the rich green haughland lying flat either side of the broadening stream. In the gloaming, it looked secretive and shadowy, the mauve of the heather turning to brown, the slatey rock reflecting the sky, and the surrounding hills gathering their forested slopes about them. Down in the glen, heather-thatched crofters’ cottages were gray smudges, the brown shapes of cattle dotted about them. At the place where the gray stone bridge crossed the burn, an avenue of yew trees marched down a long driveway to Glen Dhui Castle. From this distance it was no more than a solid gray rectangle, decorated with four pointed towers, one at each corner.

The home of the Grants.

As always, the view took Meg’s breath away, but at this moment there was even more emotion than usual charging through her. And if she felt like this, then how must the man beside her feel? His stillness was so intense, it was painful. His hand was clenching and unclenching on his reins, and his face was set. Meg had already sensed his mixed feelings when it came to his return to Glen Dhui, and now she realized just how hard he was working to keep them contained. Suddenly her own need to put distance between them took second place.