Beloved Highlander

“Oh, Father…” He still didn’t see that he had done wrong by her. He never would. He believed he had her best interests at heart and that she should sit quietly and accept his judgment. It was a pity Meg had never been the sort to either sit quietly or blindly accept her fate. She was bossy, she was a fighter, and she could no more be meek and mild than the sun could stop rising each morning over the glen.

“Alison told me that Gregor had the men drilling this morning?”

“He did,” Meg agreed, glad to find neutral ground. Putting aside her fears and frustrations, she came to sit on the stool at his feet. “He certainly worked them long and hard, but not one complaint.”

The general chuckled, slapping the arm of his chair. “I wish I could have seen it.” Briefly, self-pity swamped him, but it was only for a moment. Next thing he was reaching out his hand toward her, folding her slim fingers in his gnarled ones.

“Have you spoken to Gregor Grant?”

He kissed me in the garden, Meg wanted to say. And when his mouth pressed to mine, I wanted to wrap my arms around him, so tight, and never let go. But she couldn’t say that; how could she say that? Gregor was here to give them the benefit of his soldierly expertise, and to carry out her father’s orders. Stand in her father’s stead as the leader of his men. How Meg felt about him was a secondary matter.

“We ate supper together and made polite conversation, if that is what you mean.”

Oh, more than that, much more than that…

The general smiled and cast her a look that was almost cunning. “You want to know what we spoke of last evening?”

“Yes.”

“You are cross with me again, Meg. Aye, I know it. I am not quite as senile as you think me. But I have a solution to our troubles, and I want you to listen to me. Only promise me this: Don’t speak until I am done, no matter how sorely you are tempted.”

“You make it sound as if I will want to speak, Father.”

His fingers squeezed hers, and his expression turned long-suffering. “Oh, you will, Daughter, you will.”

Meg couldn’t help but smile. “Very well, I will hold my tongue. Now, tell me.”

For a moment there was silence as he gathered his thoughts. Meg waited, content to watch him, to soothe her uneasiness in the quiet of the room. Her lips still felt swollen from Gregor Grant’s kisses, her skin felt raw and sensitive. He had made her feel as she had never felt before, he had made her think things she had never thought before. Want things she had never wanted.

It was frightening, and it was wonderful.

All these years she had held herself apart from her suitors, telling herself it was love or nothing. And now she was wondering whether love really mattered. If Gregor Grant could make her feel this strongly, then wasn’t that enough?

“I think I have a way out of this mess, Meg.”

Meg blinked away her thoughts, and looked up at him.

“A way in which you can be protected from Abercauldy—[ ]an escape from this marriage I have thrust upon you. If my plan succeeds, he will be unable to force you into a wedding with him, and you can remain here, at Glen Dhui. You want to stay here, don’t you, Meg?”

“You know I do, Father. This is my home. It would break my heart to leave it.”

“Very well.” He took a breath and, leaning forward as if he could see her, smiled at his own cleverness. “Instead of marrying Abercauldy, I want you to marry Gregor Grant!”

For a moment Meg wondered if she had dreamed his words. Was it a dream? She looked about, but nothing had changed in the room. The peaceful air, the muted light of the candle, her father’s expectant and smiling face. And then reality struck her hard—as if she had run into a stone wall—sending her reeling.

The general thought he had solved all of their problems—[ ]she could see the smug satisfaction in his expression. He wanted her to marry someone else, so that the duke could not have her, and at the same time he was soothing his own sense of justice and fair play. Because, if Meg married Gregor Grant, the boy who had saved his life all those years ago could at last return to his home.

Two birds with one stone, as the saying went. Brilliant.

The perfect, fairy-tale ending.

It was wonderful…or it would be, if it was not so utterly preposterous.

“Oh, Father,” she said, not knowing whether to scream or cry. She pulled her hand from his, her fingers suddenly chilled by the contact. “Marry Gregor Grant? I cannot believe you are asking such a thing…that you think I will agree to marry anyone after the last…No, and no, and no! It is ridiculous, and how you can suggest such a thing is beyond me. Even I, who know you well, cannot believe you would even begin to imagine this is a solution to our problems!”

“Meg!” His voice was filled with irritation and pleading, the lines in his face deepening until he looked like the old man he was. “Just think for a moment, before you fly off in a miff! Think, girl! What else is there for you when I am dead? You are five and twenty, not a young lassie anymore. When I die, you will be alone here, and even if you are fortunate enough to rid yourself of Abercauldy, there will be other wolves at your door! They will hunt you down, and they will not be as easily persuaded as me, Meg. You need a strong man at your side. If you will not face the facts, then I must face them for you. You need someone to protect you—”

“I can protect myself, Father!”