Beloved Highlander

It was a shame Meg could not rejoice.

Gregor climbed the staircase. He felt indescribably fatigued. His wound was only just healing, and the long day had taken its toll, but it wasn’t only that.

Being here, being home, was battering at his defenses.

He hadn’t realized it would be so difficult to keep aloof from the memories. They encircled him, surrounded him, demanded he pay heed to them, and filled his mind with the past. He had thought himself toughened, hardened, by his years away. He was tough, else he could not have survived, but the memories had a way of sliding under his barricades.

This staircase, for instance. He remembered, as a lad, running down here, the steps almost too big for his little legs. He remembered, when he was older, attempting to slide down the banister and almost coming to grief on the flagstone floor below. His mother had had hysterics, but his father had laughed.

“He’s a braw lad!” he had declared. “A proper Grant!”

There would be no proper Grants here, not anymore. The hall felt empty, ghostly, as if he himself was the ghost….

“Gregor?”

She was standing at the head of the stairs, her hand on the newel post, her hair a brilliant halo in the light from the candle in the sconce on the wall behind her. He couldn’t see her face—only the shape of her, the curves of her, against the candle glow.

He heard his own breath suck in, as every inch of him went on alert.

They stood a long moment, unmoving, she looking down and he up. And then she turned her face to the side, and the light shone on her cheeks and the glitter of tears.

“Meg? What is it? What’s happened?”

She shook her head, holding out her hand to prevent him from touching her as he came halfway up the stairs toward her. “I have just spoken to my father, and he has told me what you discussed. I don’t know whether to rage or weep.”

Spoken to her father? Then she knew! And she was crying? It did not bode well for her answer. Gregor stood and waited, uncertainly, while she found a plain handkerchief in her sleeve and used it to mop at her wet face. She sniffed, and then gave a bitter, shaky laugh.

“Well, say something! I want to hear what you have to say, Gregor. My father says you are willing to participate in this…this farce. If that is so, then tell me why. Although I think I already know your reason.”

Gregor could imagine her thoughts. He had made that road for her to follow, after all, with his request to be paid for returning to Glen Dhui. She would think he was marrying her to get his home back again, and yes, that was part of it. But there was more. He wanted her. He wanted her as he had never wanted another woman in all his life, and the thought of giving her up, or of someone else having her, was almost more than he could bear.

Gregor’s fingers twitched, longing to touch her. To rest his hand on the curve of her shoulder, to brush his fingers against her lips, to smooth back the wild tangle of her hair. But he was aware she would not like that. She did not want his touch. She could hardly stand to look at him! Gregor knew he would not win her through emotional pleas, through appeals to her heart and her desire, so he kept his hands to himself. He made his voice sensible and calm, and appealed to her sense of what was practical.

“I am willing, aye. If you stand back, Meg, and view this thing pragmatically, you will see that it is a way to stop the duke from forcing a marriage upon you that you dinna want under any circumstances. And I think you will agree that he is far more dangerous than I can ever be.”

Meg lifted her nose a notch, as if she disagreed with him, but she said nothing. She was listening, and Gregor meant to make the most of it.

“To marry me is to put you beyond Abercauldy’s reach, and mabbe that will be enough to stop him. If it is not, then we are no worse off than we were before. He will still demand some sort of recompense, and perhaps he will come to try and take what is not his. But, if he is inclined to act in that way, then he was likely to have done so, whatever we did to try and stop him. And I will be here to lead the men, to rouse them up as Laird of Glen Dhui, with my Lady at my side. I do not mean to take over, Meg. I am not here to usurp your place, or your father’s…”

“Are you not?” She was still half turned from him, and he could only see her profile, but it did not look as if she were softening to his arguments. “I am more than capable of running the estate, of seeing to the people, of taking care of them.”

“And leading them into battle, Meg? Fighting at their side? Wielding a claymore at the enemy? Do ye think ye can do that, and if ye did, do ye think the likes of Duncan Forbes would follow ye?” His accent had broadened in his passion, but he hardly noticed. He was fighting to win more than a simple argument here.

Meg sighed. “You and my father have put me into a corner.”

“Mabbe it’s a corner that was there all along, you have just been avoiding it. I can see that your father has his own reasons for wanting you to marry me, Meg, but that need not sway you. There are others who would be just as willing to be your groom. I know for a fact that old Jamie Farquharso

n is on the lookout for a new wife.”

She turned and looked at him, her eyes agleam in the candlelight. “You are joking?”

His mouth quirked up despite his intention to be serious. “Aye.”

She took a breath, put her hand to her mouth to hide the fact she was smiling, then dropped it again. She looked tired and beaten, and Gregor didn’t like that at all.

“So you have said yes to my father’s proposal?”

“Aye, I have, but only if you agree to it.”