Beloved Highlander

“Meg?” But Gregor had heard her sharp breath and moved closer, peering down into her face. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“I just thought of…I…” She bit her lip. To feel such pain, and for a man she hardly knew! As if she were dying herself at the very thought of losing him. How could she possibly explain that to Gregor, without seeming to be as vulnerable and confused as she felt? Meg did not want him to see that in her, she did not want him to know her weakness. He would use it against her, just as all those other men had searched her smile and her conversation for a chink, a crevice, a way inside her. So that they could strip her of all she owned—money, land, and self-respect.

Meg would not let Gregor do that to her, no matter how much she craved his arms around her. To him she must remain the sharp-tongued and autocratic Lady Meg.

“’Tis nothing,” she said at last. “I have not slept well, that is all.”

Gregor searched her face a moment more and then he lapsed into a smile. “Neither have I.”

Meg only managed a faint smile in return. “We will sleep better when this is all over,” she assured him, in what was meant to be a coolly comforting tone. “After we are wed.”

Gregor blinked at her, and then he laughed: a low, suggestive chuckle. “Do ye think so, lassie?”

Meg felt her face flame. There was no mistaking his meaning, despite her own words being completely innocent. It was there in the hot amber of his eyes, the tension in his broad shoulders and muscular body. She could smell him, the smell of soap and leather and wool, and male. Without meaning to, the memory of their last kiss flashed into her mind. Heat—raw, sensuous heat—filled her. Her body turned to fluid, her breasts ached, and the very air around her seemed to shimmer with need.

She wanted him. She wanted him so much that it honestly hurt.

Abruptly Gregor had turned his head, removing that intent gaze from her. Whatever the interruption, it was welcome. Meg was filled with dizzy relief, in the moment before she heard the loud footsteps.

Malcolm Bain, his face an angry blur, swung his fair head back and forth, as if searching the room for someone. Even before he spoke, Meg had a very good idea who that someone might be.

“Where is she? Where is Alison Forbes? Alison! Show yersel’.”

Not again! Meg shook off her own concerns, and started toward the man, ready to intervene.

But Gregor was before her. “Malcolm! What do you mean coming in here shouting like this! This is no barracks, man!”

Malcolm’s eyes were as wild as his demeanour, but he lowered his voice and spoke with a raw intensity. “I need to find her, Gregor. I need to speak with her.”

“Then you can do so when you have quietened yourself down. Come with me now.” And when Malcolm Bain appeared stubbornly frozen to the spot: “I said NOW!”

Meg jumped, as did everyone else within earshot. If that was how Gregor gave orders, how could anyone refuse to obey him? She knew she wouldn’t dare! She had never seen Gregor like this—an officer in command. It came as a revelation to her.

And yet still Malcolm Bain hesitated, holding out, until with a low groan of frustration, he spun around and led his captain from the room.

“Meg? What is going on?” Her father was peering toward her, his cloudy eyes uncertain.

“They have run mad,” she said, letting go a shaky breath, trying to make a joke out of it. “’Tis Malcolm Bain and Alison—ever since they set eyes on each other, they have been like two cats in a basket.” She touched his shoulder gently. “Perhaps you should rest, Father. It will be a long day tomorrow, and a long night, if we are to celebrate this wedding as hard as you wish.”

“I am not tired. I am too happy to be tired.”

At least someone knew how they felt! thought Meg. For herself, after that moment of wild emotion just now, she preferred to focus on domestic matters, on the mundane. It seemed safer, somehow.

Alison was in the kitchen, dealing with the enormous task of planning the banquet. Meg wondered what Malcolm Bain had wanted her for, but she had a fair idea. He must have discovered the truth about Angus. Only the discovery of his son could have put him into such a wild state. As if matters weren’t complicated enough! She only hoped Gregor could talk sense into the man, for Alison would not thank him for confronting her in such a public manner.

“Should we have music, Meg?” her father was asking her. “Will we have Geordie the piper? Or Annie with her pure, sweet voice? Or both! Aye, I think it appropriate we have both for such an occasion. The Great Hall will not have been so full of happy people since Queen Mary’s day.”

“Both Geordie and Annie sound fine,” Meg replied. “I will see to it. And we will have dancing, too. How long since you have danced, Father?”

She listened to her father’s rambling answer. It wasn’t simply her own state of mind, she was certain. He really had deteriorated over the past few days. The man she had looked to all her life for advice and comfort was fading. Was that because Gregor was here? Had her father been clinging on until he found someone to take over from him, to protect and care for her, as he would do? Was he releasing his once-tenacious grip on life because Gregor was able to step in and take charge?

Despite their differences, Meg loved her father. He had been her hero, more like a father and a mother to her, since her mother had died when Meg was a baby. How could she live if her father was not there? And yet she would, she knew she must. Gregor was here now. And Meg suspected Gregor was someone she could trust and rely on, as she had the general. It was just that she was so used to protecting her own heart, she didn’t want to risk breaking it.

“You’re certain?” Gregor asked doubtfully, hoping it was not so.

“Of course I’m certain, Gregor! She had a son and he’s mine. Why dinna she send word? Why dinna she write and ask for me to com

e home? She never did. What sort of woman is she, to keep that to hersel’?”