Beloved Highlander

Whatever Gregor’s real motives, he held a physical attraction for her she simply could not deny. Meg was aware that, clever and practical as she was, she had never really had a passionate love. She had realized early on that the men arriving at her door all had their eye on her inheritance and not her person, and so she had kept her feelings locked away. She had not allowed herself to engage them, certainly not allowed herself the possibility of being hurt by falling in love with any of them.

Only the dream of the young Gregor had stolen her heart, and he hadn’t been real. Maybe that was why she had allowed herself that one indulgence, because it was a figment of her imagination. A pretend passion, a safe love.

The real Gregor was very different.

She should have found him as unattractive as the rest, and yet he had been the one to crack her hard, protective shell. He did indeed make her feel as she had never felt before, as if there were new directions her life could take, that the things she had only previously experienced in dreams might actually be possible in real life.

He is only wooing you because he wants Glen Dhui. The voice was coldly insistent, but Meg shook her head. “Then why did he say he would sign away his rights to the glen?” she asked aloud, her voice a little wild. “Why do that, if all he wants from me is Glen Dhui?”

Meg could speculate as to the answer. Was it simply enough for him to live here? To be here? Or did he hope to persuade her to negate such a document later on? Did he think that he could work on her, make her so besotted with him that she would eventually change her mind?

An osprey flew above the loch, floating on air currents, a dark shadow against the blue of the sky. Meg watched it dip and soar, wishing she could so easily escape her own problems. She had heard that some birds mated for life, remaining together till one of them died. Did they concern themselves with such things as land and property, and trying to guess at each other’s thoughts, when the mere fact of survival was difficult enough?

The stark truth was that Gregor had promised to protect her.

In these uncertain times, in this dangerous place, it was more than many brides were promised by their husbands-to-be.

Meg slid down from the mare’s back, her boots crunching on the smooth, brown stones. She twisted the reins around a convenient fallen tree branch that had been washed up on the shore, and walked to the water’s edge, gazing out over the loch. Wild duck floated on the glassy surface, keeping a wary eye on her. Glen Dhui dozed beneath the summer sun, looking perfectly peaceful, as if nothing bad could ever happen here.

The general had asked her if she wanted to stay, to live in Glen Dhui all her life. Of course she did! But Meg knew many women did not have that option. They wed, and they moved away. So it would have been with Abercauldy. And yet if she wed Gregor, she would remain in Glen Dhui. Nothing would change; it could all go on as before.

Of course it would change! she told herself impatiently. She would be his wife, and he would always be there. He would be a part of the glen, and of her, just as she would be a part of him. Things must change, if she wed Gregor.

You could marry him in name only. A marriage of convenience! What of that?

In name only, when her body heated and hummed whenever he was close? Suddenly, standing here alone on the loch’s edge, Meg knew it was important to be honest with herself. Even if she kept her own counsel with her father and Gregor, she must not keep the truth from herself.

She wanted him.

And if he was to be believed—and she wasn’t at all certain about that!—he w

anted her. Her heart beat harder in her chest, and caused an ache that refused to go away. Meg knew that she would find it very difficult to go through with such a proposition as a marriage in name only.

Besides, if she wed, she wanted a child. Children were important. There were many women who gained solace in their marriages from their children; children balanced the books against unhappiness.

And what if you don’t marry him? What then?

Meg stooped and picked up a smooth pebble, throwing it far out across the still water. The wild ducks took fright and flapped away, their wings beating against the cloudless blue sky.

“Life would go on.” Meg answered her own question. If Abercauldy did not insist upon marrying her—and she had no intention of allowing him to win—then she would go on as before. The Lady of Glen Dhui. Years would pass, and she would have her small victories, overcoming the prejudice of men like Duncan Forbes, helping her people to carry on with their difficult and precarious lives. She would grow older, keeping her own company—but solitude had never been a concern to her. She would simply be happy remembering her achievements and being loved by her people.

That was how she had always imagined it to be, for how likely was it that she would find love at her age? No, she had thought she would grow old at Glen Dhui, content and at peace with her decision to be alone.

Except now, Meg realized with dismay, she no longer felt satisfied with that version of her future. They had spoiled it for her, the general and Gregor. They had put thoughts and hopes into her mind that had not been there before. They had allowed her to dream of what may be. She wanted more, and now she could not be satisfied with less. Now it would be twice as difficult to go back to being the solitary Meg Mackintosh she had been.

“And what if you do wed him?” she asked herself softly, gazing into the cold, dark water. “What if you wed him and then turn out to be miserable with him?”

Not a pleasant prospect, perhaps, but suddenly, not to wed him—not to take the risk—seemed a far worse option. Cautious Meg wondered how she had come to such a pass as this, to be willing to take such a chance, such a leap. For once she did make that leap, there would be no turning back. Not even if she wished to….

Meg had walked back to her tethered mare, when the voice called out to her, echoing over the water. She saw the riders fast approaching from the south, galloping along the side of the loch. They had come upon her so swiftly and quietly, she had been unaware. Or maybe, dangerously, she had simply been too enmeshed in her own thoughts to notice their arrival.

It was then, standing at the edge of the water, quite alone, that suddenly Meg realized how isolated she was. And remembered that Glen Dhui was no longer safe, not since the Duke of Abercauldy had turned his cold and acquisitive gaze in her direction. She could not ride out alone as she used to. She should have brought a manservant or two with her, to watch over her, and if she had been thinking clearly, if she had been thinking at all, then she would have done so.

Now it was too late. Even if she had set off down the glen for home, they would have overtaken her. Nothing to do but stand and wait.

They wore white. All white, as did the Duke of Abercauldy’s men. Nervously, her mind registered the fact that she was about to be surrounded by the duke’s soldiers.

“Lady Margaret!”