Beloved Highlander

He sounded as if the pain were almost too much for him to bear, a strong man like Malcolm Bain, reduced to wiping the moisture from his eyes. Gregor felt sick with compassion for his friend and companion.

“Alison is a proud lassie,” he said at last, trying to comfort.

“Pigheaded, ye mean!”

“Mabbe. A little.” There was an understatement! Gregor bit his lip. Dear God, what would happen next? Malcolm Bain MacGregor had a son he hadn’t known about for twelve years, a son Alison had kept from him—aye, hidden from him. He had abandoned her for the sake of duty, but she had had her revenge.

“Leave it for a wee while, Malcolm,” he said quietly. “She will not thank you for forcing an answer from her now. And any answer she gives under pressure will be hasty and full of anger. Leave this matter for now, let it bide. At least until after the banquet.”

Malcolm Bain shook his head, his hair waving about him, making him look even more crazed. “Banquet? What the hell are ye talking about, Gregor Grant? What banquet?”

“The banquet tomorrow night, for the wedding feast.” A smile kicked up the corner of his mouth, as he realized Malcolm didn’t have a clue what he was talking about. Here was a way to turn his mind elsewhere. “The fact is, I’m to be wed, Malcolm. Lady Meg and I are to be wed.”

Malcolm Bain looked dazed; he blinked several times. “Lady Meg? Ye and Lady Meg?”

“That’s it. I’m to be the Laird of Glen Dhui again, and she my lady. What do you say to that, Malcolm?”

“I should congratulate ye, I suppose,” he replied gloomily.

Gregor gave a crack of laughter. “You dinna sound too sure about it, man! I am to wed Lady Meg and have back what I lost twelve years ago. I have a duke to fight and lands to protect, and I am marrying a woman whom I dinna even know, who has a tongue like a sword. And I dinna care. I’m happy. Now say your piece, Malcolm Bain.”

Malcolm Bain hesitated, and then his hand closed on Gregor’s shoulder, fingers squeezing painfully. “Are ye sure about this, Gregor? Ye know we can ride away now, go back to Clashennic? We can even go to France, if ye wish it! Just say the word, man, and we’ll be gone from here before the deed is done.”

Gregor smiled, a broad, genuine smile. “Och, Malcolm, you’re a loyal friend to me. But no, I dinna want to ride away from all this. I want to wed Meg. I…I feel as if it is right. Dinna ask me how or why, but my heart tells me it is the right thing to do. As you know, I havena been listening to my heart of late, and mabbe it’s time I did.”

Malcolm Bain nodded, still looking more than a little bemused. “Then if that is so, ye must do what you feel to be right. Dinna do what I did, Gregor, and ride away without a backward glance. I have a son,” he added bitterly, “and I never even knew it!”

Gregor patted his back in a gesture of comfort, and they fell silent. After a moment they glanced guiltily towards the door that led into the Great Hall. “Should we return then?” Gregor asked.

“I dinna think I can face it,” Malcolm Bain groaned. “I think I’d rather get back to training the men. At least I can shout at them without them taking offense. At least I dinna have to try and guess what they’re thinking.”

Gregor hesitated and then nodded decisively. “Aye, I’ll come with you.”

Chapter 18

All day, people had been arriving at Glen Dhui Castle. Lassies barefoot but in their best dresses, come to help cook and serve. Lads come to help fetch and carry. Alison set them their tasks, and they joined in with the rest. The place hummed with antlike activity.

Meg had wished they could perform the ceremony quietly, but when she saw how much pleasure the people of Glen Dhui were deriving from the thought of a grand occasion like this—not to mention the general—she decided it was better not to complain. This was a celebration for them, something for them to remember and tell their children, and their children’s children. One of those tales that makes grown men cry. How the Laird of Glen Dhui was cast out, and then returned to marry the Lady and live there happily, forevermore…

But would it end so neatly? Could it?

Deep in her heart Meg didn’t think so. Abercauldy would not let it be so. And Lorenzo, when he was released, would be fit for any mischief. Meg had taken food to his cell, and seen him glaring up at her through the black grill, his face full of a sullen fury.

“Ah, Lady Deceitful!” he had called to her. “Do you mean to poison me now?”

Meg had set down the food basket, nodding to the guard to open the grating so that it could be lowered down. “Don’t be ridiculous, Lorenzo,” she had said mildly. “And do not talk as though I have done something wrong. I have told your duke many times that I will not wed him; he just refuses to listen.”

“So you will marry a handsome face instead!” Lorenzo had sneered. “I wish you happy of your pretty soldier, Lady Meg, and hope he will not break your heart when his eyes stray elsewhere.”

Meg had felt a shiver run over her as Lorenzo’s sword tip found its mark. He knew it, too, for his smile widened. “Enjoy your meal,” she had called, and then, in a pretended whisper, “but do not eat the mutton pie. You are right, Lorenzo, it is poisoned!”

She had turned her back on him then, but she had seen the doubt flicker in his eyes. Lorenzo probably knew she would not poison him, but there would still be a question hanging over him, as he sat in his cell and contemplated that succulent slice of mutton pie…

She shouldn’t have done that, Meg thought now. But she had wanted to give him something to worry about, just as he had done for her. She wished she could take a gallop on her mare, to blow these worries from her head, to forget her troubles in the sheer joy of riding through the place she loved best in all the world. But apart from her allotted tasks, it was too dangerous just now, and chafe though it might, she had to accept that, and stay put.

Gregor was busy with the men, he and Malcolm Bain keeping well out of the way of the preparations and—[ ]thought Meg—Alison Forbes. Not that Alison had gone looking for Malcolm Bain. Meg had spied her talking with her brother Duncan, and her face had been as white as the oatmeal coating her hands, so she must know that Malcolm knew about Angus. As for Angus himself, the lad was kept busy with the rest, and as far as Meg was aware, he didn’t know a thing of what was happening around him.

Meg had taken a tray in her room the previous evening, pleading a headache, but really she had been unwilling to sit with Gregor, alone, in the dining room. The reasons for their wedding were clear enough, and they were good and practical reasons. Yes, she accepted them. But paradoxically, those same very good and practical reasons caused a sense of disappointment in Meg that just kept growing.