Beloved Highlander

“I want you, Meg. More than any woman I’ve ever known or will know. I want you more than Glen Dhui, more than being the laird again. Did you know, that when you smile at me, you open me up inside? Until you, I’d been closed down, closed in, not allowing myself to feel anything because it hurt so much. Better not to feel, I thought, than to be in pain all the time. But now I’m alive again, and the pain is not so bad, because you are here with me. You’ve dragged me back into the world of living, Meg. For that I would give you all I have and am and ever will be.”

There were tears shining in her eyes, but still she shook her head. “Very pretty, Gregor. You have a way with words, I’ve noticed it before. But I am plain and practical Meg Mackintosh. I know what I am, Gregor. I accept it,” she added bravely, but her mouth trembled. “Do not pretend I am other than I am.”

“You dinna trust me,” he breathed and sighed, a sigh from deep inside. “I knew it was so, but still it hurts. But I am used to hurt,” he mocked himself. “I am used to giving presents, and having them rejected.”

Tentatively he stepped closer, reaching out a hand to touch her cheek. She was watching him, listening to him, and as he stroked her cool, smooth skin, he thought about those presents he had made and had returned to him so ungraciously by his mother. That boyhood hurt had made him unwilling to try again. Even now he was tempted to shrug and let her believe what she wanted to.

Isna she worth fighting for? Malcolm Bain’s gravelly voice filled his head. Ye daft haddock, Gregor Grant! Say yer piece. Get on with’t.

“Gregor, I don’t think—”

“Be quiet, Meg,” he said quietly, firmly. “You have told me what you think you are, now let me tell you what I think you are.”

She stepped away from his caressing hand, shivering a little. She looked grave and serious, a woman who did not joke often. If she let him stay with her, Gregor vowed, he would change that. He would make her laugh much more; he would bring joy into her days. It was the least he could do.

“Very well then, Gregor. Tell me what you think I am. I would be interested to hear it. And you must be honest with me. I prefer men to be honest.”

He smiled, bowing his head to hide it. “Do you now, Meg Mackintosh? Then honest I will be. Firstly, I think of you as fire; fire, with your red hair and your burning blue eyes, so clear and true. You warm me just by looking. And you are strong, Meg, and generous, and kind. You want t

o help people, to make a difference, and even if it means hard work and a certain amount of…hmm…persuasion, Meg will do it.”

There was a crease between her brows. “You make me sound very bossy,” she said, but there was a tremble in her voice.

“Quiet now, or I’ll lose my place. Now, strong and generous and kind? No, I’ve already mentioned that. Your people love you, Meg. If the priest would let them, I think they would worship you. Saint Meg, with the sun kisses on her nose. I would worship you, too, worship you with my body. When I think of your breasts, the way they fill my hands to overflowing, I get hard, Meg. When I think of you lying in my bed, smiling up at me, I get harder. I want to lie between your legs and feel you hold me as if you’ll keep me forever. If you’ll do that, if you’ll keep me forever, then I don’t need heaven. I will have found it already.”

Meg gave a breathless laugh, but it turned into a sob. Before he could reach for her, she came into his arms, wrapping her own around him. She hadn’t rejected him, she hadn’t told him he could do better. Gregor felt the strength go out of his body, and he simply held her, rocking her, murmuring her name.

Meg felt as if she was the one who had found heaven. Heaven, in this dark, dank cave, her clothing wet and her hair like seaweed, in the arms of a man who felt wetter than herself. And yet she had never been happier.

She remembered how she had wept all the way down the glen, crying to the sky when the rain started, her heart breaking. She had been sure, so sure, that she had lost him. Lost her one, great love. But he had come after her, and he had found her, and suddenly all was not lost. He wanted her, he needed her, he could not go on without her.

Meg wondered, with some surprise, if Shona had been right after all. Perhaps she and Gregor did complement each other, she with her feet firmly on the ground and he with his handsome head adrift in the clouds…

“You must think me very shallow, to talk of beautiful faces and such,” she began, needing to explain. “But when I saw you with Barbara Campbell…” But it hurt too much to go on. Instead she pressed her face to his damp shirt, and breathed in his scent. The cloth was so wet that she could see his skin through it, and feel his warmth and strength, seeping into her.

“She ran at me and hung on like a burr,” he said, pressing his face to her hair. “Airdy is following her about and she believes I am fool enough to help her again. I think she wants me to kill him,” he added evenly, as if the thought did not overly disturb him.

But Meg knew differently. “Oh, Gregor!” she whispered, and reaching up, stroked his cheek, comforting him.

He laughed shakily, turning to kiss her palm. “I am a soldier and I know it is my job to kill men,” he said, “but I dinna do it for sport, Meg. I prefer to talk sense into a man, and only then do I resort to my sword. Even the duel was…unpleasant.”

“I will never ask you to fight a duel for me.”

His eyes narrowed, yellow through his dark lashes. “Never give me cause, morvoren. I dinna share women, especially not you.”

Why did that make her quiver all over? Meg asked herself, between amusement at her own frailty and crossness that he could toss her emotions about like a feather on a strong breeze. The thought of him fighting for her, ordering her about, was somehow romantic when he said it now.

“I dinna want Barbara Campbell at Glen Dhui,” he said, his eyes delving into hers, mesmerizing her. “In case you were wondering, I told her so as soon as I laid eyes on her.”

“Malcolm Bain said—”

“Och, Malcolm Bain has known me since I was a wee lad. He knows my weaknesses and my strengths, but sometimes he forgets I’m grown.”

“I thought—”

“Don’t think, Meg. Kiss me.”

Meg gazed up at him, her hair curling in wet tendrils about her face. So he thought her strong and generous and kind? He thought she was heaven, despite her freckles? Because of them! She knew she loved him with every part of her, loved him for now and forever, and if he could not read her love for him, aglow in her face, then he was a fool.