Beloved Highlander

by Sara Bennett

  “Father?”

  His face lit up as he turned toward her. “Meg? Is that you at last? I thought you had sent me to Coventry.”

  “Well, if I did, you deserved it.”

  “No! I have only your happiness and safety in mind, Meg. You know that, and if you don’t, then you should.”

  “Oh, Father…” He still didn’t see that he had done wrong by her. He never would. He believed he had her best interests at heart and that she should sit quietly and accept his judgment. It was a pity Meg had never been the sort to either sit quietly or blindly accept her fate. She was bossy, she was a fighter, and she could no more be meek and mild than the sun could stop rising each morning over the glen.

  “Alison told me that Gregor had the men drilling this morning?”

  “He did,” Meg agreed, glad to find neutral ground. Putting aside her fears and frustrations, she came to sit on the stool at his feet. “He certainly worked them long and hard, but not one complaint.”

  The general chuckled, slapping the arm of his chair. “I wish I could have seen it.” Briefly, self-pity swamped him, but it was only for a moment. Next thing he was reaching out his hand toward her, folding her slim fingers in his gnarled ones.

  “Have you spoken to Gregor Grant?”

  He kissed me in the garden, Meg wanted to say. And when his mouth pressed to mine, I wanted to wrap my arms around him, so tight, and never let go. But she couldn’t say that; how could she say that? Gregor was here to give them the benefit of his soldierly expertise, and to carry out her father’s orders. Stand in her father’s stead as the leader of his men. How Meg felt about him was a secondary matter.

  “We ate supper together and made polite conversation, if that is what you mean.”

  Oh, more than that, much more than that…

  The general smiled and cast her a look that was almost cunning. “You want to know what we spoke of last evening?”

  “Yes.”

  “You are cross with me again, Meg. Aye, I know it. I am not quite as senile as you think me. But I have a solution to our troubles, and I want you to listen to me. Only promise me this: Don’t speak until I am done, no matter how sorely you are tempted.”

  “You make it sound as if I will want to speak, Father.”

  His fingers squeezed hers, and his expression turned long-suffering. “Oh, you will, Daughter, you will.”

  Meg couldn’t help but smile. “Very well, I will hold my tongue. Now, tell me.”

  For a moment there was silence as he gathered his thoughts. Meg waited, content to watch him, to soothe her uneasiness in the quiet of the room. Her lips still felt swollen from Gregor Grant’s kisses, her skin felt raw and sensitive. He had made her feel as she had never felt before, he had made her think things she had never thought before. Want things she had never wanted.

  It was frightening, and it was wonderful.

  All these years she had held herself apart from her suitors, telling herself it was love or nothing. And now she was wondering whether love really mattered. If Gregor Grant could make her feel this strongly, then wasn’t that enough?

  “I think I have a way out of this mess, Meg.”

  Meg blinked away her thoughts, and looked up at him.

  “A way in which you can be protected from Abercauldy—[ ]an escape from this marriage I have thrust upon you. If my plan succeeds, he will be unable to force you into a wedding with him, and you can remain here, at Glen Dhui. You want to stay here, don’t you, Meg?”

  “You know I do, Father. This is my home. It would break my heart to leave it.”

  “Very well.” He took a breath and, leaning forward as if he could see her, smiled at his own cleverness. “Instead of marrying Abercauldy, I want you to marry Gregor Grant!”

  For a moment Meg wondered if she had dreamed his words. Was it a dream? She looked about, but nothing had changed in the room. The peaceful air, the muted light of the candle, her father’s expectant and smiling face. And then reality struck her hard—as if she had run into a stone wall—sending her reeling.

  The general thought he had solved all of their problems—[ ]she could see the smug satisfaction in his expression. He wanted her to marry someone else, so that the duke could not have her, and at the same time he was soothing his own sense of justice and fair play. Because, if Meg married Gregor Grant, the boy who had saved his life all those years ago could at last return to his home.

  Two birds with one stone, as the saying went. Brilliant.

  The perfect, fairy-tale ending.

  It was wonderful…or it would be, if it was not so utterly preposterous.

  “Oh, Father,” she said, not knowing whether to scream or cry. She pulled her hand from his, her fingers suddenly chilled by the contact. “Marry Gregor Grant? I cannot believe you are asking such a thing…that you think I will agree to marry anyone after the last…No, and no, and no! It is ridiculous, and how you can suggest such a thing is beyond me. Even I, who know you well, cannot believe you would even begin to imagine this is a solution to our problems!”

  “Meg!” His voice was filled with irritation and pleading, the lines in his face deepening until he looked like the old man he was. “Just think for a moment, before you fly off in a miff! Think, girl! What else is there for you when I am dead? You are five and twenty, not a young lassie anymore. When I die, you will be alone here, and even if you are fortunate enough to rid yourself of Abercauldy, there will be other wolves at your door! They will hunt you down, and they will not be as easily persuaded as me, Meg. You need a strong man at your side. If you will not face the facts, then I must face them for you. You need someone to protect you—”

  “I can protect myself, Father!”

  “You can’t, Meg! You are a strong woman, and I am proud of you, but you cannot survive against such men as these. They will hunt you down, and when they have you cornered, they will take what they want.” His voice broke, and that he was so upset and genuine in his concerns only made the whole thing worse.

  Meg’s chest was tight; she didn’t feel as if she could get enough air. Why would he not listen to her? Why would he not believe she was perfectly able to run her own life?

  “Meg,” he began again, shaking his head, and to her horror, she saw that his eyes were wet with tears. “You think I do this for Gregor, don’t you? I admit it would give me pleasure to see the lad returned to Glen Dhui. He never followed the white cockade, ’twas his father who did that, and Gregor lost the estate through love and loyalty to his Jacobite father, when such should have won him high praise. Aye, he deserves to have his lands returned to him. But I am thinking of you. I need to know you are safe, Meg, before I die. Think, Meg! It is such a perfect answer, it is right. A Grant and a Mackintosh founding a dynasty at Glen Dhui. And most important of all, you would be safe….”

  Safe from everyone but Gregor Grant, Meg thought bleakly.

  The appalling realization struck her that her father had already spoken of his plan to Gregor, and that Gregor had known all last night. He had known, and said nothing.

  She replayed their moments together, until she came to the scene in the herb garden, and each word and each touch suddenly took on an entirely new meaning. What had seemed magical and special now had a darker significance. Had he been manipulating her? Laughing at her? All of Meg’s feelings of inadequacy came to the fore, her sense of not being beautiful enough, of being pursued for her money alone. He could not possibly want to marry her, not really, so why had he held her so tight?

  Glen Dhui.

  Of course. Meg had learned already that he was mercenary, that he had little honor remaining. The answer was simple. His need for Glen Dhui was so great that he would do anything to get it back.

  “What did Captain Grant say when you put this monstrous idea to him?” she asked, her voice trembling with emotion. “What did he say, Father?”

  The general appeared puzzled. “He said yes. Of course he did. Gregor’s no fool. But he made the condition that y
ou agreed to it with your own mouth. Gregor can see that the offer is a good one, for both of you, Meg.”

  The breathless feeling was choking her. Meg stood up, walking to the other side of the room, and then back again. There didn’t seem to be enough air in the room, and she pressed a hand to her chest.

  “Father, I cannot…I cannot…”

  “Meg, my dear daughter, calm yourself! If you have a dislike of Gregor I would not expect you to…we will think of something else.”

  The casement was open. Meg leaned upon it, thrusting her face into the cool evening air. She drew in a deep breath, and then another. Marry Gregor Grant?

  The idea was preposterous.

  Marry the former Laird of Glen Dhui, to protect herself from Abercauldy, to return to Gregor what he had lost twelve years ago?

  It was…

  Be Gregor Grant’s wife and wake up with him every morning? Have the child she had dreamed of only this afternoon, the child who would never be forced from his home by circumstance? Live out her life here, in the place she loved, with the man she…

  Dear God, she was considering it.

  She was actually considering it!

  “Meg?” Her father sounded uncertain, unlike himself. Meg took another deep breath and turned to face him. He had stretched his hand out toward her, and now she came to take it. “Meg.” He sighed.

  “Have I done the wrong thing again? I thought only to…I wanted to help…”

  Meg knelt by his chair and pressed his hand to her cheek. “I know. I know that’s why you did it, Father. And I will think on it. I promise you, I will think on it before I make my decision.”

  He nodded. He looked very tired. Meg felt the familiar guilt, that her headstrong behavior had done this, her selfish desire for her own way. Why could she not be like other daughters, content to follow their fathers’ advice, content to travel the path that was laid out for them, to marry men they didn’t know and to live in their shadow? Why did she have to be different?

  “Sleep now,” she said gently. “I will send one of the servants up to help you to bed, Father. Do you want a hot posset? Shona has left one of her special powders for you to take to help you sleep.”

  He nodded wearily. “Aye, that would be very nice, Meg. I need to sleep. I have been thinking and thinking, trying to discover a way out of our maze of troubles. I do not think I have slept properly since Shona came to tell us the truth about Abercauldy’s wife.”

  “Well, you can rest easy,” Meg told him firmly. “It is up to me to decide what will be done now. You have done all you can, Father. Will you promise me you will sleep, and you will not worry?”

  “Very well, Meg.” He reached out and patted her face.

  There was no doubt in Meg’s mind that her father had acted with her interests at heart—he had found a strong man to protect her, now and when he was gone. He had solved all their problems to his own satisfaction.

  It was a shame Meg could not rejoice.

  Gregor climbed the staircase. He felt indescribably fatigued. His wound was only just healing, and the long day had taken its toll, but it wasn’t only that.

  Being here, being home, was battering at his defenses.

  He hadn’t realized it would be so difficult to keep aloof from the memories. They encircled him, surrounded him, demanded he pay heed to them, and filled his mind with the past. He had thought himself toughened, hardened, by his years away. He was tough, else he could not have survived, but the memories had a way of sliding under his barricades.

  This staircase, for instance. He remembered, as a lad, running down here, the steps almost too big for his little legs. He remembered, when he was older, attempting to slide down the banister and almost coming to grief on the flagstone floor below. His mother had had hysterics, but his father had laughed.

  “He’s a braw lad!” he had declared. “A proper Grant!”

  There would be no proper Grants here, not anymore. The hall felt empty, ghostly, as if he himself was the ghost….

  “Gregor?”

  She was standing at the head of the stairs, her hand on the newel post, her hair a brilliant halo in the light from the candle in the sconce on the wall behind her. He couldn’t see her face—only the shape of her, the curves of her, against the candle glow.

  He heard his own breath suck in, as every inch of him went on alert.

  They stood a long moment, unmoving, she looking down and he up. And then she turned her face to the side, and the light shone on her cheeks and the glitter of tears.

  “Meg? What is it? What’s happened?”

  She shook her head, holding out her hand to prevent him from touching her as he came halfway up the stairs toward her. “I have just spoken to my father, and he has told me what you discussed. I don’t know whether to rage or weep.”

  Spoken to her father? Then she knew! And she was crying? It did not bode well for her answer. Gregor stood and waited, uncertainly, while she found a plain handkerchief in her sleeve and used it to mop at her wet face. She sniffed, and then gave a bitter, shaky laugh.

  “Well, say something! I want to hear what you have to say, Gregor. My father says you are willing to participate in this…this farce. If that is so, then tell me why. Although I think I already know your reason.”

  Gregor could imagine her thoughts. He had made that road for her to follow, after all, with his request to be paid for returning to Glen Dhui. She would think he was marrying her to get his home back again, and yes, that was part of it. But there was more. He wanted her. He wanted her as he had never wanted another woman in all his life, and the thought of giving her up, or of someone else having her, was almost more than he could bear.

  Gregor’s fingers twitched, longing to touch her. To rest his hand on the curve of her shoulder, to brush his fingers against her lips, to smooth back the wild tangle of her hair. But he was aware she would not like that. She did not want his touch. She could hardly stand to look at him! Gregor knew he would not win her through emotional pleas, through appeals to her heart and her desire, so he kept his hands to himself. He made his voice sensible and calm, and appealed to her sense of what was practical.

  “I am willing, aye. If you stand back, Meg, and view this thing pragmatically, you will see that it is a way to stop the duke from forcing a marriage upon you that you dinna want under any circumstances. And I think you will agree that he is far more dangerous than I can ever be.”

  Meg lifted her nose a notch, as if she disagreed with him, but she said nothing. She was listening, and Gregor meant to make the most of it.

  “To marry me is to put you beyond Abercauldy’s reach, and mabbe that will be enough to stop him. If it is not, then we are no worse off than we were before. He will still demand some sort of recompense, and perhaps he will come to try and take what is not his. But, if he is inclined to act in that way, then he was likely to have done so, whatever we did to try and stop him. And I will be here to lead the men, to rouse them up as Laird of Glen Dhui, with my Lady at my side. I do not mean to take over, Meg. I am not here to usurp your place, or your father’s…”

  “Are you not?” She was still half turned from him, and he could only see her profile, but it did not look as if she were softening to his arguments. “I am more than capable of running the estate, of seeing to the people, of taking care of them.”

  “And leading them into battle, Meg? Fighting at their side? Wielding a claymore at the enemy? Do ye think ye can do that, and if ye did, do ye think the likes of Duncan Forbes would follow ye?” His accent had broadened in his passion, but he hardly noticed. He was fighting to win more than a simple argument here.

  Meg sighed. “You and my father have put me into a corner.”

  “Mabbe it’s a corner that was there all along, you have just been avoiding it. I can see that your father has his own reasons for wanting you to marry me, Meg, but that need not sway you. There are others who would be just as willing to be your groom. I know for a fact that old Jamie Farquharso
n is on the lookout for a new wife.”

  She turned and looked at him, her eyes agleam in the candlelight. “You are joking?”

  His mouth quirked up despite his intention to be serious. “Aye.”

  She took a breath, put her hand to her mouth to hide the fact she was smiling, then dropped it again. She looked tired and beaten, and Gregor didn’t like that at all.

  “So you have said yes to my father’s proposal?”

  “Aye, I have, but only if you agree to it.”

  “I can see your reasoning,” she went on, smoothing her skirts meticulously, inspecting the cloth so that she did not have to look at him. “You want Glen Dhui, and in this way you can have it. A painless exchange of land ownership. No fighting, no bloodshed. A stroke of the pen, and you are laird again. And my father will be happy. This eases his conscience, and he is fond of you. You are like the son he never had. So, you can be the Laird of Glen Dhui once more. All sewn up very neatly, all the loose threads tied off. Everyone will be happy.”

  “You, too, Meg. You will be safe from Abercauldy, and if he decides to fight, then I will protect you. That is part of the bargain, and I will honor it, I will fight for you, be in no doubt.”

  “Do you really think that is all that concerns me?” she murmured, smoothing, stroking the cloth of her skirt. “How can I trust you, or anything you say? Can you not see that everything is open to question, now that I know your true aim?”

  “My true aim?”

  “To have Glen Dhui back. All your words, all your…your kisses. You are no different from the others, Captain Grant.”

  Ah, so her sensibilities were hurt. She believed he had attempted to seduce her for his own ends. He remembered how she had spoken once of the suitors who had been making the journey to her door since she came of age. They had swarmed about her money, playing at love. No wonder she was suspicious. No wonder she found it almost impossible to believe that any man could want her for herself. That any man could see past her father’s money to the woman that was Meg Mackintosh.