Beloved Highlander

She had managed thus far to keep his mind from the silver flask he had fastened to his sword belt. She kept reminding him that the duke’s men could come upon them at any time—a surprise attack. Airdy wanted to be ready to defend himself, didn’t he? For sweet Barbara’s sake?

“And you’re sure she went unwillingly?” He had a way of staring intently into her eyes, as if he could read any lies. It was unnerving.

&nbs

p; “She was kidnapped,” Meg replied firmly.

“Och, well then!” But despite her reassurance there seemed to be a suspicion in his head that simply wouldn’t go away. That was understandable, Meg thought, when your wife had an unfortunate tendency to use men for her own ends, and those ends revolved around plots to leave her husband.

Ahead of them, the dark hills cleaved the sky. Beyond was the Duke of Abercauldy and his fine castle and his fine things. And his simmering obsession with Meg. She had spurned him, made him look a fool, and not even the fact that she had not wanted to marry him, and had told him many times, had made a difference to him. He wanted her to pay, and Meg wondered if she was clever enough to escape her punishment.

It couldn’t hurt to have Airdy Campbell at her side, deserted husband and nephew to the Duke of Argyll, who was arguably the most important man in Scotland.

“Will we camp this side of the hills?” One of her men had ridden up beside her and was eyeing her anxiously. They had not wanted Meg to make this journey, but she had told them that if they did not wish to accompany her, then she would go alone. They came, but they were not pleased, and Meg guessed it was Gregor’s anger they feared, if anything should happen to her.

But she could not stay at Glen Dhui—it was impossible. She was a woman used to doing what needed to be done, not one who relied upon a man to do it for her. She should have made this journey months ago, cleared the air once and for all, instead of skulking on her own lands, hoping it would all blow away. Already she felt better, as if she could breathe properly again.

“No, we ride as far as we can today,” she ordered. “There is plenty of light left, and we need to make up time. The laird has a head start.”

“Verra well, m’lady.”

“The laird.” Airdy sneered. “Aye, I can see Gregor as the laird, mincing about, aping his betters. I hope this Abercauldy cuts him down to size.”

Meg bit her lip. She had a cutting retort of her own in mind, but it was best not to upset Airdy. Not when she planned to use him. He was going to save Gregor for her; he just didn’t know it.

The duke’s dungeons were far more extensive, and far grimmer, than the single cell at Glen Dhui Castle. There was no light here, apart from a single flaring torch in a wall sconce outside the door, and that barely penetrated the corners of this damp, slimy place, where Gregor and his men were being held.

Above them, far above, was Abercauldy Castle. Gregor remembered his first sight of it. All crenelated towers and pink granite stone walls, it had loomed upon the hill before them, looking as if it were the creation of a madman. Gregor had ridden forward, at the head of his troop, ignoring his niggle of doubt.

“Bloody hell,” Malcolm Bain had muttered at his side.

At least Abercauldy was at home, Gregor had thought, seeing the flag flying atop one of the towers. He remembered wondering if that was the tower from which the duke’s wife, Isabella Mackenzie, had fallen to her death. Fallen with Abercauldy’s help, according to Shona. Gregor remembered hoping that he would find the duke in a more reasonable mood.

The gates of the castle had opened, and as he expected, a couple of dozen men with uncompromising expressions had ridden out to meet them. Gregor and his troop were subsequently accompanied into the castle yard. It had seemed very quiet for such a large place, no servants bustling about, no blacksmiths or carpenters at work, not even the ubiquitous castle hounds barking at their entry.

That had been odd, but Gregor did not have a chance to give it much thought. For at that moment, Lorenzo had appeared, seated upon a pretty white horse, directly in his path. And so their fateful conversation had taken place.

“You are very brave to come here, Captain Grant,” Lorenzo had said, smiling, his eyes spitting hatred.

“You have taken something that does not belong to you, Lorenzo. I want it back.”

“The fair-haired one?” Lorenzo had retorted. “She does not belong to you, either. She does not even want to return to Glen Dhui. She is happy here with His Grace. Ask her!”

Gregor had felt a slow anger ignite inside him. Had he come all this way on a wild goose chase? It would be just like Barbara Campbell to land on her feet and make herself at home in a duke’s castle. But he must make certain. Lorenzo was a cunning liar, and he could be lying now.

“Let me speak with her.”

“Oh, you will speak to her,” Lorenzo had said, still with his sneering smile. “In a little while. She is not ready for you yet, Captain. You will have to wait.”

He had jerked his head at the duke’s men, and they had promptly drawn their swords, although the sergeant in charge had looked a little apologetic. The slither of steel had been loud in the quiet of the yard. Gregor’s men had moved swiftly to retaliate, but Gregor called for them to hold. They were already outnumbered, and there were probably many more armed men close by.

“We have not come here to fight,” Gregor had said evenly. “We have come to talk sense.”

“Very wise,” Lorenzo had said mockingly, when Gregor didn’t resist. “I would not wish to kill you before you have ‘talked sense’ to His Grace. If he decides to see you. Now come, this way. I have some very comfortable quarters for you to wait in. I’m sure you will find them just as comfortable as I did, when I stayed at your little house.”

“I need to see the Duke of Abercauldy,” Gregor had said, a little desperately now.

“All in good time,” Lorenzo had replied, with an airy wave as he turned away. “All in good time, Captain Grant.”