Beloved Highlander

There above them on the stairs, Lorenzo smiled down, like the black devil he was. Meg had stiffened her shoulders, preparing to bluff it out, but Gregor spoke first, his voice calm and commanding, as befitted a Captain of dragoons. The moment was a dangerous one, and he did not intend to relinquish control to this smirking assassin.

“Signor Lorenzo. Are you done already?”

Lorenzo came down the stairs to join them, stopping a couple of steps above, so that he would not have to look up at the taller Gregor. Lorenzo was observing him, but Gregor was secure in the knowledge that Lorenzo could not read his face. Gregor had long ago learned to hide his feelings from his enemies, and he had known from the first moment he saw him that Lorenzo was his enemy.

“My message was brief and to the point.”

Meg frowned. “You have not upset my father?”

Lorenzo bowed with pretend concern, playing her like the master he was. “Of course not, my lady. Why should I do such a thing to a man who will soon be my master’s father-by-marriage? Or…perhaps not?” Lorenzo gave his famous smirk.

Meg met Gregor’s eyes, a look that spoke of caution and doubt and fear, all the things she could not say to him aloud. He read her easily, and felt a burning anger at the sudden turn of events. The man before them threatened all he had worked for, all he had just believed he had won.

Meg had agreed to wed him, agreed to be his wife in fact as well as name. Gregor wasn’t quite certain of her reasons, other than that she needed his help in the matter of Abercauldy, but he intended to make sure that before too long she forgot those practical considerations. He had had enough women to know he enjoyed them, and they enjoyed him. He was arrogant enough to think that Meg would find what they did in bed similarly enjoyable.

And this grinning creature before him was not about to ruin his one chance for a real and proper life.

“He knows,” he said quietly to Meg, not taking his eyes from Lorenzo.

Lorenzo gave a startled laugh, but he was too sure of himself, he was enjoying his moment too much, to play games. “My hearing is acute,” he agreed. “And even if it were not, my eyes see very well. My lady gazes at you as if she would ravish you entirely, Captain. A woman like her is not worthy of His Grace, and so I will tell him when I return to—”

“I don’t think so, lad,” Gregor interrupted grimly.

Lorenzo’s brown eyes flashed, and he struck a dramatic pose. “You would not dare to lay a hand on the Duke of Abercauldy’s man!”

“Wouldn’t I?” Gregor reached up and caught the front of the other man’s shirt, tearing it a little, and pulled. Lorenzo came down the last remaining steps with a clumsy clatter and fell against him. He struggled like a fish on a hook, but he could not wriggle out of Gregor’s powerful grip. When Lorenzo opened his mouth to shout, Gregor swiftly drew his dirk from its place on his belt, and held the blade against Lorenzo’s throat.

Lorenzo went suddenly very still, in contrast his eyes rolling and wild in his white face.

“Gregor!” Meg gasped, and he noticed that her blue eyes shone with a mixture of horror and glee. The glee won. She was enjoying this. Lorenzo had taunted her for too long, and she would not be human if she was not keen to have her revenge on him.

“We will lock him up nice and safely,” Gregor told her in a quiet, matter-of-fact voice.

“No, no, ye dinna understand! The duke canna be left alone, he needs me!” Lorenzo shrieked, his accent slipping into Scots. “He is…he is no’ well, sometimes. Fools, fools, let me go!”

Gregor gave him a shake, and when he was still again, went on. “Send someone out to the duke’s men to tell them Lorenzo-lad will be staying on for a day or two, and they’re to go home without him.”

Meg thought a moment. “I’ll tell them I need Lorenzo to help me with preparations for the wedding.”

“There will be no wedding!” Lorenzo hissed, spitting hate despite the sharp blade pressed to his throat.

Gregor leaned closer, his mouth very close to Lorenzo’s ear. “Oh, but there will be a wedding,” he whispered. “As soon as your men are on their way home, lad, we’ll send for the priest. There will indeed be a wedding, but it just will not involve the duke. I am the fortunate man who is going to marry Lady Meg.”

Lorenzo went rigid with fury, but this time, wisely, he said nothing. His gaze slid to Meg, piercing her with his contempt and loathing.

She ignored him. “I’ll go and see to the men,” she said, and hurried away to do Gregor’s bidding. Gregor gave Lorenzo another little shake. “Come along, laddie,” he said cheerfully. “I know a nice, warm cell that is just your size.”

He didn’t listen to Lorenzo’s angry reply, a garble of Italian and Scottish swear words. He was thinking about Meg.

He was to be wed. Wed to Lady Meg Mackintosh, his redheaded termagant. She had said him yes, given him his answer right under the nose of the duke’s servant! He might have laughed if the matter were not so serious.

Gregor had sworn he had had enough of playing the hero after Barbara Campbell, and here he was again, playing champion to a lady against the odds. And the odds this time were formidable.

But there was another reason why this time was different. Why, this time, he could not afford to lose.

This lady was his lady.

He felt it in his very bones. She was the one. And if he did not catch her now, and hold on to her, he would regret it all the rest of his days.