Beloved Highlander

Meg snorted in disgust.

“That is as may be, but he has the right. He can ask for money, or he can ask for something in lieu of money. If he wants Glen Dhui, then he will ask for that…or part thereof.”

“No,” Meg whispered, shocked, “he cannot have it!”

“He may try and take it. He has the means.”

“Then we must stop him. You must stop him!”

“I have promised to help you, madam,” he said impatiently, “but even I cannot make a miracle.”

“I am paying you!”

“Can you pay enough for a miracle?”

“If I must.”

He laughed, half in frustration, half amused.

Meg leaned forward, intent upon his eyes beneath their slashing black brows. His eyes narrowed on her own, and the smile faded from his lips. A long, red curl slipped from its pins and fell, soft against her cheek. She ignored it, her fingers clasped tightly together, as she concentrated upon his face and what she was saying.

“I do not want to marry him. He may be urbane and charming on the outside, but there is something cold inside him. Something brittle. Something…menacing. I think it is true, what Shona says—he feels a need to break a woman’s spirit. I do not like him. I do not trust him. He frightens me. Surely in such circumstances any agreement would be rendered invalid?”

“Only if you can prove he really did murder his wife.”

“But we cannot prove that, unless Shona speaks out!”

“I know, ’tis the word of a common Highland woman against a duke. The odds on believing her are not high, Lady Meg.”

“And to put her in such danger…”

“Even so, it may be the only way.”

“But—”

“Of course, if you were to—” If you were to marry someone else, the Duke would no’ be able to force his own marriage on you.

Gregor stopped abruptly, shocked, staring at her. Marry someone else? He cleared his throat, and his gaze dropped away, unable to meet any longer the confused questions in her own. He reached for his claret and took a sip, and cleared his throat again. What in God’s name had possessed him even to think such a thing? Marry someone else? Who? Who could they find to stand against a man like Abercauldy? And would Meg, so finicky when it came to a bridegroom, marry someone else anyway?

And who was this “someone else”?

He took another sip, his hand shaking. He was playing a game with himself. Because he knew who it was, aye, Gregor knew very well who this hypothetical man was….

Meg was still staring, bemused, though she had drawn back, and tucked the loose curl behind her ear. “What?” she demanded. “What is it? What were you going to say?”

He shook his head, but then, as if he could not help it, he looked at her once more. The intensity of his stare seemed to catch and hold her fast. Her lips, reddened by the strawberries, parted, and for a moment he struggled with the mad urge to kiss them.

“I had a thought, but it will not do,” he said with quiet and deadly seriousness. “It will not do at all, my lady.”

Meg hesitated, clearly still curious as to what he had been thinking to make him react so, and then reluctantly she let it go. Her green silk gown shimmered in the candlelight, the gauze scarf slipping to show the full swell of her breasts above the square bodice. He wanted her to straighten it, to cover herself modestly again, but she seemed lost in her own thoughts.

Gregor finished his wine with a gulp. At least he had not spoken the words aloud. At least he did not have to worry about extricating himself from such a blunder as that. It wouldn’t have surprised him if she had laughed in his face, or ordered him from the house….

She picked up another strawberry.

Suddenly Gregor couldn’t take any more. He rose abruptly to his feet.

“I would like to see the general now.”