by Sara Bennett
If Meg had had any doubts about his state of undress, then they were answered now. He wasn’t wearing a single stitch of clothing. Naked skin gleamed, the muscles in his shoulders bunched as he clung to the wooden post, his legs trembled, and what was between them…
Meg felt her face flame, but refused to allow her maidenly sensibilities to overcome her now. She was no shrinking violet, she had seen men before, just not quite so…naked. And none quite so astoundingly good-looking as this one.
“Captain Grant,” she said urgently as he swayed, his head bowed, the muscles on his arms standing out like ropes. “You are not fit to go anywhere. Please, get back into bed.”
“No. I will be all right.” He spoke faintly but with a stubborn determination Meg couldn’t mistake.
“You will not! I will handle this. Get back into bed.”
She started for the door. Behind her he called out something, but she didn’t stop to listen. She was already out in the corridor, moving toward the front of the inn, where all the noise was coming from.
“Gregor Grant, you bastard! Come out here and look me in the eye, if you can! I willna be beaten by you. I’ll never be beaten by you. Hide if you must, but I’ll have my vengeance on you!”
Meg had reached the open door now, and the glare made her blink. It was a beautiful sunny day, the only incongruous thing about it was the man atop the dun horse who was screaming out insults. His dark hair was loose and wild about his white face, a livid gash decorating one cheek. He wore the red jacket of a government dragoon, and breeches of buff yellow with black boots.
He was clearly very drunk. If Meg hadn’t been able to smell the whiskey from where she stood, she would have known it by the way he was rolling about in his saddle, waving a pistol in a singularly dangerous manner.
He caught sight of her and stopped, staring, his mouth ajar.
“Who the bloody hell are you?” he demanded.
Meg straightened her back and stepped froward, out of the inn and into the cobbled courtyard. The dun horse shuffled nervously, snorting, but she ignored it. Now was certainly not the time to show fear.
“I might ask the same of you, my good man,” she said in her most haughty voice. “Would you mind keeping your voice down? It doesn’t seem necessary to shout when you can just as easily send a message. If you wish to communicate with Captain Grant, I will see he gets it.”
He narrowed his eyes but that did not make them any more reassuring. Meg noticed, with distaste, that the gash upon his cheek had begun to bleed, a slow trickle that ran down to stain his white neckcloth.
“Barbara’s run off.” He said it as if that was the answer she was seeking.
“Indeed. I am sorry to hear it. Who is Barbara?”
The dun horse tried to turn, but he wrenched brutally at the reins, turning it back so that he was facing her.
“Barbara is my wife.”
“Is she? Then perhaps you’d better go and find her.”
“Where is that bastard Grant? She’s with him, isn’t she?”
“If you mean Captain Grant, then she most certainly is not!”
“I want to see him!”
“I’m afraid he is—”
“I am here.”
Meg tried not to jump. He was directly behind her. Cautiously she glanced over her shoulder, and saw that he had managed to fasten the belt that kept his kilt about his waist, though the upper portion was only roughly twisted over one of his naked shoulders, hiding the bandaged arm. White-faced but steady, he was leaning hard against the doorjamb. In one hand he held his sword, point resting on the ground by his bare feet.
His eyes flicked briefly to her, as if he were aware of her perusal but did not want to be distracted. “What do you want, Airdy?” he asked reasonably. “Wasn’t beating you yesterday enough? Do you want me to beat you again today, and tomorrow too?”
Airdy’s eyes flared like a wild animal. “Next time I’ll kill you,” he bellowed, his voice breaking on the final word. The pistol was still dangling loosely from his fingers, and now he lifted it.
Meg stepped back, forgetting her courageous poise. She bumped up against Gregor Grant, and heard his hiss of pain. Before she could move away again, his hand slipped around her waist, drawing her to one side, hard against his body. He was very hot, feverish, and as hard as iron. Despite the strength she felt in him, the hand at her waist shook, and she knew it would not take much to knock him over. He leaned against her heavily, and she bit her lip, trying not to stagger.
“You can try,” he retorted calmly to Airdy’s threat, and Meg marveled at his bravado.
“Barbara’s gone.”
“Gone?” Gregor sounded as if he was as bewildered as Meg. “Gone where? She went with you, Airdy. That was the last time I saw her.”
“Well she’s gone now!” he blurted, and to Meg’s horror, tears began to streak down his white face. “You took her from me, you b-bastard!” The pistol swayed wildly from side to side.
Meg gasped.
“She isna here,” Gregor said sharply. “I left her with you. You know this. If she’s run off, then she’s done it on her own. Or she’s found someone else to listen to her lies. Go and find her, if you still want her, but don’t waste my time.”
Meg held her breath. For a moment it looked as if Airdy would fire at him—he seemed capable of anything—and then with a great shout of grief and rage, he turned and rode away.
Beside her, Gregor sagged against the jamb, his arm slipping from her waist.
His head was swimming, but he wasn’t going to faint. How could he faint, when this woman had stood up to Airdy Campbell for his sake? He had staggered out here, wondering with each step whether he was going to fall down, to find her facing up to Airdy as if she were taking a stroll in the park. His heart had given a great thump of fear. She didn’t know Airdy, she didn’t know that he was half mad and capable of anything.
And yet her bravery was beyond question.
He blinked now, clearing the black spots from his gaze. She was looking up at him, concern making lines in her brow, her piercing eyes searching his.
“Captain Grant?” she said gently. “Can I help you back to bed now?”
Suddenly Gregor discovered that he admired her a great deal. She was brave, spirited, and generous. And he knew what he had to do. He had sworn that he would not be drawn into her problems, as he had been drawn into Barbara Campbell’s, that he would not return to Glen Dhui at any price, but now…Now he owed her the chance to explain to him what was wrong, what she wanted from him.
He owed her that much.
Gregor let out his breath in a soft sigh, gazing down into Lady Meg Mackintosh’s astonishing eyes.
“Tell me what you want,” he said. “I am ready to listen now.”
Chapter 5
With Meg’s help, Gregor struggled to the same big wooden chair that he had occupied last night and collapsed. He looked white, and the bandages Malcolm Bain had placed about his arm were spotted with blood from his exertions. Lord, Meg thought, chewing her lip worriedly, if he fainted again there was no way she would be able to help him back to bed.
Just then Gregor gave a great shiver, despite the heat from the fire and the heat from his own body. Meg hurried to fetch a quilt from his room, calling for someone—anyone—to fetch a restorative whiskey. Was the inn entirely empty?
When she returned, Gregor was exactly as she had left him, hunched over, shaking, his hair loose and straggling about his shoulders. His obvious pain and suffering softened her heart, but more than that. There was something of her dream boy in him—perhaps in his display of weakness, no matter how unwitting.
Gently Meg tucked the warm covering around his naked shoulders.
He looked up at her, surprised. He hadn’t even heard her return. “Thank you,” he said, his voice low. He reached up to draw the quilt closer and his hand brushed hers.
For a moment Meg found it impossible to look away from those intriguing eyes. With an ef
fort, she sat down on a stool close by, to compose herself. After all, she had more important things to think of right now. After his flat-out refusal to consider her request, or even to listen to it, she had not thought it possible he would change his mind so suddenly.
Why had he changed it?
Was it something to do with that bedlamite, Airdy Campbell?
Whatever the reason, Meg was determined to make the most of it and persuade Gregor to agree to her request, to come home with her to Glen Dhui. Striving for her usual sangfroid, she folded her hands in her lap, entwining her long, slim fingers. He had half turned in the chair and was watching her, a small, tight smile playing around the corners of his mouth. Briefly her throat went dry, and nervousness returned.
Fortunately at that moment Morag hurried in breathlessly, with a cup of whiskey. She murmured an excuse about the fishmonger’s boy keeping her talking, but her flushed looks made Meg wonder whether the soldiers of the Black Dog didn’t have a rival.
Gregor gulped down the whiskey, and before the girl had even left the room, some of the color returned to his face.
“Your bandages need changing,” Meg said.
“Don’t worry,” he said, “I’ll get Malcolm Bain to do it. Tell me what you have come all this way to tell me.”
Meg nodded, leaning forward, her eyes fixed on his.
“After you left Glen Dhui, Captain Grant, the management of the estate was put into the hands of the government. It was…difficult for the people. And then my father bought it.”
His smile had gone, his face turned rigid and unemotional. She could read nothing in it.
“You know my father,” she said softly. “He is General Mackintosh.”
Something was stirring in the depths of those amber eyes, a whirlpool of emotion he tried to keep hidden by sweeping his dark lashes over them. But she read pain in the tightening of his mouth, the stiffening of his body, the white knuckles of his clenched hand. Real pain.
“General Mackintosh is your father,” he repeated, and it was not a question.
“Yes. My father is the man whose life you saved when you were in prison, Captain Grant.”
Now those thick, dark lashes lifted, and she saw bewilderment. “The name was the same, but I did not think…Why would the General Mackintosh I knew buy Glen Dhui? He lived in the North of England.”
Meg smiled wryly. “He did, and why indeed? If you think it was to repay you for your courageous action, then think again. My father is not quite so altruistic. He knew of Glen Dhui from you, presumably, and then he learned that the estate was forfeit by your family after the Rebellion. He had to travel north of the border on business that year. Glen Dhui was out of his way, but he journeyed to it anyway. There were a number of wealthy men from England who fancied themselves lairds after the 1715. They bought estates confiscated from Jacobite owners. But my father wasn’t looking to increase his prestige. He fell in love with Glen Dhui, and made an immediate offer to the government. They accepted. And so we went to make our home there. He has been a good laird,” she finished, lifting her chin and daring him to disagree.
Slowly he nodded his head, accepting her words. He shivered again, and pulled the quilt closer about him, his hair falling forward in thick lengths, his eyes a golden gleam through his lashes.
“Then why do you need me?” he asked quietly.
“The general is not well. Duncan helps, he is a good tacksman, and he advises us. Our tenants are loyal and reliable. But my father is no longer able to run the estate as he once did, and much falls to me. I do not mind…. In fact I enjoy it. I cannot foresee any problems in my taking the reins from him, when he is ready to relinquish them.”
“The general isna well, but you are perfectly competent to take over. I ask again, my lady, why do you need me?”
Meg sighed, her fingers tightening upon each other. “The Duke of Abercauldy has an estate to the south of us, far larger than Glen Dhui. We have always been on good terms with him; he and the general are friends. Were friends.”
The bitterness in her voice caught her unawares. She found those cool amber eyes once more upon her, probing her weaknesses.
“The duke came often to call, and they would sit and talk. The general…My father enjoyed his company—he trusted him. I trusted my father. And then one day they hatched a plot between them, that the duke and I would marry, and so join our estates together. But it wasn’t the land—[ ]not in my father’s mind, anyway. He has always wanted for me to marry into the aristocracy. It has always been his wish, but I have resisted. It has been a bone of contention between us since I came of age. My father has not agreed with my point of view, but he has respected it…until now. I…” but her voice failed her.
Those eyes were full of attention now, not a trace of fever. “You dinna wish to marry him?”
“I did not think to marry anyone,” she replied tersely. “In the end I felt I had no choice.”
“So he changed your mind?”
Meg laughed without humor. “They had signed some papers, legal documents, but that was not the reason I agreed. I am five and twenty and single, probably too old to attract another man. When my father dies I will be all alone, but again, that did not persuade me. The general is not the man he was, Captain. He forgets. His mind is fading. He did not mean to make me unhappy—the opposite in fact. I could not hate him for wanting to see me safe. When I saw what our falling out was doing to him, how it was destroying what time he has left, I capitulated.”
She said it coldly, without flinching, daring him to make a comment.
He nodded, but there was a tension in him, a hardness about his face she could not read. “And now? I still dinna understand the reason you want me to go home.”
Home. It was a slip. They both ignored it.
“He was married before,” she said flatly. “Two years ago. To Lady Isabella Mackenzie, an heiress from the Western Isles. The marriage was unhappy. He…mistreated her. She died in an accident—so it was said. Tragic and sad, but unremarkable. And then…then I received information that it was no accident. That Isabella may well have been murdered, by the duke himself.”
“And you accept this information? You trust the source it came from?”
She barely hesitated. “I do. And there is more. Once we began asking questions closer to Abercauldy’s lands, we learned that he has an evil reputation where women are concerned. Cruelty and…and disappearances. It is just that he took care we did not know about these rumors. Until it was too late.”
“Did you tell the duke what you had heard?”
“It was difficult. Stories can be denied. I simply told him I no longer wished to marry him.”
“And?”
“He would not relinquish me. He is stubborn. He said he had his mind set on me. I said things…. I did not wish to enrage him, but I fear I have a sharp tongue, Captain Grant, and may have said things he did not like.”
Humor twitched briefly at the corners of the hard line of his mouth. “I fear you are right. Does he intend to move against you?”
“I don’t know. He is strange…unpredictable. Now I am afraid for the people of Glen Dhui as much as the general and myself. I have heard rumors that the duke is not a good landlord.”
She leaned closer still, searching his face for some clue as to what he was thinking.
“My father is too ill to lead his tenants into war like a good Highland chief, even if he thought we could win against such a man as the Duke of Abercauldy. Instead he thought of you. Once you were the Laird of Glen Dhui, and I believe the people still think of you as such. If it comes to a fight, then you have military training. That is why my father asked me to bring you to him, to take his place at the head of his men. He says you are our only hope, Captain Grant, and maybe you are.”
Gregor closed his eyes, easing himself in the chair to try and find a more comfortable position. There wasn’t one. He didn’t know Abercauldy. He had heard the name, of course, but nothing of the man behind
it. Abercauldy wanted Meg Mackintosh, but for herself or for the land to which she was heiress? And General Mackintosh! The last time Gregor had seen him had been twelve years ago, when he had stood, bloodied and shaken, over the body of the man he had just prevented from killing the general. They had been enemies, yes, but in Gregor’s mind hatred for one’s enemy did not strip one of humanity. A man should be judged for what he was, not for his beliefs.
What did General Mackintosh expect him to do now? Train the people for a possible war? He could do that, but it would not make success any more likely. The duke must have considerable resources at his disposal. What did Glen Dhui have? If the general was so ill, why did he not sell Glen Dhui to the duke and be done with it, retire to Edinburgh or Inverness and give his daughter some security?
He opened his eyes.
They were watching him, those pale eyes framed by silky lashes. There was a hint of something in her face that he had seen there before. Hope? Admiration? As if she expected him to behave like a hero and was waiting to have her expectations realized.
Hero? Gregor shook himself. He was not that and never would be. What had General Mackintosh said, that Gregor had saved his life at the risk of his own? He did not want the daughter to believe he was capable of anything so heroic. He was no hero. He had done things to survive that made him ache inside. He was nobody’s hero.
“So you want me to come with you to Glen Dhui, to help defend it against the Duke of Abercauldy?” he said coolly.
Her eyes flickered, as if she was surprised by his emotionless voice, but she nodded. “That is right, Captain.”
“And in return? What do I get in return?”
He could see his question had startled her. Good. She blinked, looked away, then back again. The expectation had gone from her face now, wiped clean. She looked a little shocked.