Beloved Highlander

The pause that followed her words was a tribute to the telling, and to Shona’s utter sincerity.

“I came home soon after the Lady Isabella died,” Kenneth said, his deep voice breaking through the tense silence. “Shona came away home with me. We dinna talk of this thing very often, it isna safe. The duke is a powerful man, with a long reach. But when Shona heard of his betrothal to Lady Meg, she felt she had to tell. If the duke could do such a thing to one wife, then he could do it to another.”

Shona’s blue eyes shone with tears. “When I heard that the duke had set his sights on another woman, I went to see her for mysel’. And as soon as I saw Lady Meg, I understood why he wished to wed her. I couldna let such a thing happen again, and I couldna let Lady Meg wed herself to a murderer. I had to warn her, even if I risked my own life to tell her my story.”

“For which I am forever grateful,” Meg assured her, leaning forward to take her hand. “I do not relish being such a man’s next victim.”

Shona nodded, took a shaky breath, and glanced up at her husband. “I’m sure Captain Grant willna let that happen. I can rest easy with the burden passing to him.”

Gregor wondered if she was right. Could he keep Meg safe? It sounded like no easy task. And yet there was a determination inside him, burning slow and hot, just like the peat fire in the hearth. And it was not something that would be easily extinguished.

“I will deal with the Duke of Abercauldy,” he said softly.

Meg turned her face toward him, surprised at his grim tone. Briefly her eyes searched his. “We will deal with him together,” she reminded him quietly.

He nodded assent.

Her gaze returned to the firelight. Her hair was brighter and warmer than any fire. Again Gregor had the urge to take her in his arms and kiss her, and he smiled at the thought. She would fight like a hellcat, and he would probably pass out from the pain inflicted to his wound. Not the ideal passionate scene, then.

“’Tis late.” Shona rose. “There is our bed, my lady, if ye—”

“No,” Meg replied swiftly. “I would not take your bed, Shona. I will be quite all right here, by the fire.”

Shona smiled, and something in her face made Meg suddenly suspicious that this had been her plan all along. “Verra well. I will fetch blankets for when the fire cools. I’m afraid there is so little room left in my home tonight that here is as comfortable as anywhere else. What of ye, Captain? Do ye mind sleeping here? I know ye are a gentleman and completely to be trusted.”

He laughed. “Thank you, Shona. Aye, I am both a gentleman and to be trusted—tonight, at any rate.”

Meg forced a smile in return. She still felt rather breathless from being held captive by Gregor Grant’s eyes, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to spend the night here, alone with him, but she would not take Shona’s bed. “We will be fine. Thank you.”

Kenneth followed his wife into the shadows.

Silence crept over the cottage, broken only by the faint sound of voices and the cry of an owl outside in the glen.

Meg glanced sideways at the man beside her, and decided his closeness was disturbing her more than it should. He had been staring into the fire, but now his gaze shifted and found hers. Something in those amber depths questioned her, and once again drew her in. She wanted to back away, and yet at the same time she had the definite urge to lean forward until she was pressed close up to him, until his breath whispered in her hair and his arms enfolded her.

Sheer need for human contact, she told herself firmly. She was feeling uncertain, afraid, and he was a strong and confident man. She was drawn to him, yes, but it was a natural reaction.

“Meg? If you wish it, I will go and find other quarters.”

Startled at the sound of her name on his lips, Meg was surprised once more into meeting his gaze. Lines creased his brow, experience hardened his face, weariness clouded his eyes.

He was not the man she had believed she was going to find in Clashennic. He was nothing like the dream she had believed in since she was twelve years old. He was more than that, frighteningly, stomach-clenchingly more.

“You are not as I expected.”

She had spoken the words before she thought to stop them.

His brow quirked down into a frown. “What did you expect?”

Why not be honest? Meg thought. He already knew a great deal about her; he might as well know this as well.

“There was a man at the Black Dog, wearing yellow brocade and buckled shoes. He looked as if he would be more comfortable holding a snuff box than a pistol. I imagined you would be like him.”

His frown deepened. “Good God. I wouldna lasted five minutes if I had been like that. I am a man made by circumstance, Meg. If I am taciturn, then my life has made me so. I became what I had to to survive.”

He was right, of course he was! And yet, in her heart, Meg regretted the boy who had drawn those precise, intimate sketches she so treasured.

A chuckle brought her back from her thoughts. Meg raised her eyebrows as Gregor laughed softly again.