Beloved Highlander

Her heart gave a great lurch. She leaned into him, into his arms as they reached to enfolded her. And she was there, held fast against his chest, his silver buttons pressing against her breasts, the lace at his cuffs tickling her skin.

His mouth was no longer soft. Any illusions of sweet gentleness had vanished, and he was kissing her with a rough and desperate intensity. For a moment he paused, taking time to trace the shape of her upper lip with his tongue, and then the shape of the bottom one. His mouth was hot and moist, as it closed again on hers, and it sent a spear of sensation straight down into her belly.

Her legs went to water. She felt as if she had drunk several drams of Cragan Dhui whiskey, directly from the still. Her fingers found his hair, held by the black ribbon, and she tugged upon it as if it would hold her upright. His mouth was hot on her throat now, in the hollow there, and he let it trail down to the gentle rise of her breasts.

“Morvoren,” he murmured, the word unfamiliar to her but sounding very much like an endearment.

His ribbon came loose in her fingers, his hair falling forward, and she tangled her hands through it, enjoying the sensation. His mouth was still upon her, teasing, promising, making her wild for him to go further. And the spear of sensation in her belly had lodged between her legs.

With a gasp, Meg pulled away.

He did not let her go, instead giving her enough room to lean back from him but not break the contact entirely. She heard his breath, as hard and fast as hers, and wondered if his heart was beating as wildly.

From somewhere, she found a laugh. The same brittle laugh she had used on all those suitors who came to her door when she was younger, those men who had had an eye to her fortune and pretended they were drawn by her person. When she spoke it was in the voice she had always used on such occasions, the voice that was designed to make the suitor feel like a fool.

“Captain Grant, I can only think you have lost your mind.”

He let her go. She took a couple of clumsy steps back, away from him, out of danger, and felt the loss of him like a bereavement. Now he was a dark shape against the stars, big and angular with his wide shoulders, and his head tilted toward her.

“Mabbe I have,” he said at last, his voice deep and somber. “Lost my mind, that is.”

“Then you had better find it again before the morning,” she advised him a little breathlessly. “I am no young lassie to be flattered with your kisses, you should know that. If you want a…that is, if you require some feminine company, then you’d better go and look for it elsewhere.”

Gregor made a sound suspiciously like a snort. “I dinna want a trollop, if that’s what you’re asking. I had a strong need to kiss you, Meg. I find you desirable. I like you. ’Twas as simple as that.”

But it wasn’t simple, not at all. It was very, very complicated.

“I must go in,” she said, sounding flustered. Where had the sophisticated lady gone? The woman who was going to hold herself distant? She had been sent into flight. “Good night, Captain Grant.”

And Meg turned for safety, only noticing when it was too late that she still held his ribbon between her fingers.

Her footsteps hurried away, and the gate creaked shut. Gregor stood and looked into the darkness and wondered what on earth had possessed him. He had not meant to kiss her. He had not meant to frighten her or make her angry or wary of

him. She was a virgin, that much was clear, but she was no young and frightened miss. She was a woman who had lived in the world and knew her own mind.

And he wanted her.

He had wanted her from the moment he saw her, in the Black Dog, when she had stood over him and demanded to know if he were drunk. He had fought it, told himself he was a fool, told himself he could not have her. And then—[ ]when he had stood watching her in the Great Hall, standing in her green dress with her hair afire, lost in her thoughts, her mouth sad, her eyes dreamy—he knew. The taste of her, the feel of her, had only heightened that knowledge. He wanted her, he had to have her, and he would do just about anything to achieve his aim.

Chapter 15

Meg tapped lightly on the general’s door. She felt flushed and agitated after her encounter with Gregor Grant. Not at all the cool, calm woman she had planned on. Her lips were bruised and swollen from his; he had kissed her as she had never been kissed before.

I had a strong need to kiss you, Meg. I find you desirable. I like you. ’Twas as simple as that.

Had he meant what he said? How could she believe him when she knew there was nothing in her face or figure to attract such a man as this? She had known men like Gregor Grant before. Tough, handsome Highlanders who had no difficulty catching the eye of any woman who took their fancy. They rarely looked at her, and if they did it was with the thought of her father’s land and money uppermost in their minds.

If he could have any woman he wanted, thought Meg, why choose her? Well, he would not, and there was an end to it.

Her father’s call of “Enter” brought her into the room. The single candle tried hard to hold back the shadows, but even so, it was not a cheerful scene. The general sat silent, gazing into the darkness that was now his world. Guilty that she had taken so long to return, Meg came forward. The fact that he had hurt her should not make her react in like. He was her father, ill and old, and who knew how much longer they had together? Meg wished she was able to set aside her anger and wounded feelings, but she found it difficult. First the Duke of Abercauldy and now Gregor, they had both come between father and daughter.

“Father?”

His face lit up as he turned toward her. “Meg? Is that you at last? I thought you had sent me to Coventry.”

“Well, if I did, you deserved it.”

“No! I have only your happiness and safety in mind, Meg. You know that, and if you don’t, then you should.”