Beloved Highlander

by Sara Bennett

  “I was fifteen when we came to Glen Dhui,” Meg replied sleepily. “I spent my first summer riding, just riding. I had never been so happy. There was a cave, up on the side of Cragan Dhui. Sometimes I would sit there for hours and look down, over the glen. I still go there, now and again.”

  Gregor smiled. “To watch over your subjects, Queen Meg?”

  Meg pulled a face at him, and then squealed as he reached for her, his intentions plain in the narrowing of his eyes.

  On the ride home, Gregor pointed out the birds and plants and animals to her, naming them all, as if he had stored the information away in his head all the years he’d been gone. His eyes glowed with a deep, quiet joy.

  Anyone could see, Meg told herself, that he belonged here. The glen was in his blood. No matter what happened between them, she would never ask him to leave.

  It had been a perfect day.

  The late summer continued to be kind to them, the rain stayed away, and the sun shone. And Meg was happy, happier than she had ever been in her life. She was in love; she glowed with love. But despite her happiness, there was almost a feeling of bitter-sweetness about loving Gregor. She knew it could not last. He was not the sort of man to live his life with a woman like Meg Mackintosh. Sooner or later he would glance away from her and see someone else, someone more beautiful, cleverer, more suitable for a man like him.

  And then she would lose him.

  Oh, not physically. He would still be here in Glen Dhui, for he was the laird now, and he loved this place and like her, he took his duties seriously. But, emotionally, he would remove himself from her. He would still be kind—Meg had come to the knowledge that Gregor was a kind man. He was the sort of man who picked up little children who had fallen over, or saved wounded birds from cats. He was kind. So he would be kind to Meg. But he could not love her; he could never love her.

  Not as she loved him.

  “My lady?”

  Meg glanced up from the lavender bush she had been pruning. The spiky flowers had long since finished, and the woody stalks needed to be cut back. She had taken a moment, while Gregor was discussing some soldierly matters with Malcolm Bain, to visit the herb garden and make the most of her time alone.

  Duncan Forbes was standing on the paved path, beside a sprawling mound of thyme, looking very much out of place.

  “Duncan, what is it?”

  She had seen little of her tacksman of late, but she had not thought of it until now, when he was back. Perhaps he had stayed away because Gregor was here to help her in the running of the estate. Or so Duncan would think. Duncan Forbes did not believe a woman was capable of such things; they were men’s work.

  The truth was, Meg needed no assistance in such matters; Gregor understood that and was not foolish enough to offer it.

  “There is a thing that has been worrying me, my lady,” Duncan went on slowly, looking down at his feet. “I dinna know what to do about it.”

  Something worrying Duncan? Meg had always believed him to be so sure of himself that nothing worried him. He infuriated her sometimes, with his black-and-white view of the world and everyone in it.

  “Well, then, tell me what this problem is. Maybe I can help.”

  Duncan shuffled about, knocking against the thyme with his boot and sending the strong smell of the herb into the air about them. “Lady Meg, have ye ever done a thing because ye truly believed it was best for the person involved?”

  “Do you mean, have I ever done a thing because I thought I knew best?” Meg smiled. “I think we have all done that, Duncan, at one time or another.”

  Duncan managed a sickly smile in return, and shuffled some more.

  Meg sighed, and rose to her feet, the scent of the lavender on her hands. “Tell me what is worrying you, Duncan, please!” she cried in exasperation.

  Her tacksman looked up from his boots, and his dark eyes were bleak. “When Malcolm Bain left Glen Dhui that last time, my lady,” he said, with the air of one making his last confession. “When he left with the laird, he gave me a letter for Alison. He had tried to speak to her, but she wouldna listen to him. She ran off. So he gave me a letter instead. He said it was to explain, and I was to give it safe into her hands.”

  Meg heaved a sigh, already knowing what he was about to say. “But you didn’t give it to Alison, did you, Duncan?”

  “No, I dinna do it,” Duncan said with another sickly smile. “I had it in my head that it would be best if Alison thought he’d deserted her. Walked away without a backward glance. Then, I thought, she’d get over him the sooner. I was thinking of her, mind. She’s a Forbes and my nearest kin, and it was my duty to see to her welfare. I thought I knew what would be best for her, Lady Meg.”

  “Oh, Duncan, you had no right to keep that letter from her! What did it say?”

  “That he loved her with all his heart, but that he was bound by duty to go with the young laird. He said he would never forget her.”

  “So, no requests to wait, or promises to return,” Meg murmured. But then Malcolm Bain was not a man to make promises he could not keep. He had made his choice, and left Alison behind, and if he now regretted it, ’twas too bad. “Well,” she went on, shaking off her melancholy mood, “it was a romantic letter nonetheless. Alison would probably have kept it. Has she ever loved another man?”

  “I used to hope, but no, there’s never been anyone else.”

  “Then she may as well have had the letter all that time ago. It wouldn’t have changed anything, would it? She must have loved Malcolm Bain very much, Duncan. You did her a disservice by keeping his good-bye from her, no matter that you believed you were doing what was best for her.”

  “Aye, I know that now.” He scuffed his boots, hitting the thyme once again. “Do ye think I should tell her, Lady Meg?”

  “Yes, I think you should. She has a right to know Malcolm Bain did leave her a letter when he went. He didn’t just walk out on her without a word, and that is what she still believes. It’s what you’ve allowed her to believe, Duncan. I do think it’s up to you to set it right. If you like, I will tell Malcolm Bain, but I will order him not to intervene.”

  A flush had come into Duncan’s tanned face, but he accepted her words without argument. “Verra well, Lady Meg.”

  “And Duncan,” as he went to walk away, “thank you for telling me. I am sure Alison will be cross with you, but just remember, when she has calmed down she will understand.”

  Meg watched her tacksman leave, his head bowed, and hoped that was true. But if she was Alison, wouldn’t she want to know about the letter? Even if it was twelve years too late? Clearly Alison and Malcolm Bain had been very close, but maybe it just wasn’t meant to be. Sometimes circumstances were such that they drove people apart, or forced them to go their separate ways.

  Life could be cruel and difficult.

  Gregor was right, it was best to take from it what you could, when you could, while you could.

  Meg shaded her eyes against the sun, watching Duncan’s figure as it vanished around the side of the house. He was walking very upright and stiff, like a brave soldier going into battle. As Meg went to turn away, a movement caught her gaze, a splash of color through the green yews, a flounce of yellow on the gray stone bridge that spanned the burn.

  A woman in a yellow dress.

  One of her tenants, perhaps? But as Meg stared, she realized that there were two women and a man. They were approaching on foot, the man leading two horses. Meg soon recognized the dark head of Shona and the lighter one of Kenneth, her husband. But there was a second woman walking beside them, a woman in a bright yellow gown that swung and dipped to show her dainty ankles.

  For some reason the sight of that yellow gown made Meg’s heart flutter.

  Setting down her shears, Meg left the herb garden, closing the gate gently behind her. It was some time now since Shona had come to visit Glen Dhui. Last time she had come, she had brought lotions and potions, and her smile had made everyone lighter of heart. The
time before, she had brought fear and consternation with her story of the duke and his first wife, Isabella.

  What would she bring this time? Meg asked herself anxiously.

  Despair or joy? Happiness or misery?

  “Lady Meg!” Shona was waving her arm. She quickened her steps, hurrying along in front of the others, her basket banging against her side. Meg saw that her face was alight with a smile, and she felt her shoulders sag in relief. Good news, then!

  “One of Major Litchfield’s men stopped by our cottage, and told us that ye were wed!” Shona was saying, breathless and beaming at Meg. The wind had whipped color into her cheeks and the fine lines about her eyes creased as she smiled. “Ye’ll be verra happy. But then I knew that, from the first time I saw the two of ye together. I dinna need to have the sight to know that!”

  Meg laughed, and accepted her strong embrace. “I did not expect you to come all this way to wish me well, Shona. Gregor and I intended to come and visit you, when it was…when we were able. It all happened so suddenly, I didn’t have time to fetch you here before—”

  “Och, I dinna mind that! I am happy for ye, my lady. I think ye and the laird are well matched.”

  “Do you?” Meg teased, but there was a genuine question in her eyes.

  Shona sighed in exasperation. “Of course ye are! Ye with yer feet set firm on the ground, and he with his head adrift in the clouds. And he with his strong arm and brave heart to protect ye, and ye with yer caring ways and nurturing heart to wrap around him and hold him safe. Of course ye are well matched!”

  Meg had never thought of it like that, and she wasn’t sure now if it was the truth, but still she laughed as Shona squeezed her again, and finally released her.

  Kenneth had reached them, and gave her a wink. “I’ll not crush ye, too, Lady Meg, but ye have my good wishes. And Captain Grant, of course.”

  Meg thanked him, but her eyes strayed to the other woman, still dawdling along the avenue of yew trees. She was slim and pretty, with long, fair hair that straggled down her back and looked like it needed a good combing. The yellow gown, though limp and dusty, and grubby about the hem, nicely outlined her slim figure.

  Shona followed Meg’s gaze, shading her own eyes to watch the woman’s approach. “We have a surprise for the captain,” she announced evenly. “His cousin has come to visit. She happened upon us at the cottage a week ago, Lady Meg. Poor lassie. She is in desperate straits. Her husband has ill-treated her and she has run away from him, and now she is in need of some tender care.”

  Meg frowned. “Cousin? I do not think Gregor has any cousins. Apart from his mother and his sister, he is alone in the world.”

  Kenneth let out a snort of annoyance, and turned to Shona. “I told ye she wasna anything to do with Captain Grant!” he said, but his eyes twinkled. He knew his wife and her kind heart all too well. “Ye are far too soft, Shona. If King George of England came to yon door and told ye he was a Jacobite, ye would ask him in for a dram. I’ve told ye not to let yersel’ be taken in, but still it happens.”

  Shona pulled a face at him, but the blue eyes she turned to Meg were anxious. “Despite what Kenneth thinks, I have had some doubts of my own. But she was so grief-stricken, so sad and alone. I couldna just turn her out. I hope I’ve not brought trouble upon ye.”

  Meg hoped so, too. There was something about the fair-haired woman that struck her with a sense of foreboding. Was this the dark shadow Alison had spoken of, that would blow up out of a clear sky to blight her happiness?

  “I’m sure it is a misunderstanding,” she began, “maybe she has the wrong Grant, do you think?”

  “You dinna tell me it was so long away,” the woman called out, in a soft, complaining voice. “My feet are all blisters.”

  “Well, ye are here now,” Kenneth retorted unsympathetically.

  The woman pretended not to hear him, giving a heartfelt sigh, while her gaze was drawn to the façade of Glen Dhui Castle. Her eyes were a clear, guileless blue, but when she realized the size and grandeur of the dwelling, their expression became predatory—as if she saw an opportunity there. A moment later Meg told herself it had been her imagination, for the woman had turned to her with a sad little smile, and held out her hand.

  “I am Barbara Campbell,” she said prettily. “Is it true you have wed my Gregor?”

  Chapter 23

  For a brief moment, Meg found herself unable to move. Barbara’s firm fingers closed on hers, so she must have held out her hand to the other woman, but she did not remember doing it. Up close, Barbara’s face was an oval—smooth and perfect—and she had a tiny nose and full lips—and those big, blue eyes. Her fair hair was the color of butter, and its uncombed state did not detract at all from its thick and heavy beauty. It was Meg, rumpled from her pruning, wearing one of her oldest gowns, who felt out of place.

  Barbara Campbell, the woman Gregor had fought for, the woman he had almost died for…

  Meg heard Kenneth say something, but she could not distinguish the words, and then Shona’s reply, but again the words were garbled and made no sense. If Gregor had fought a duel over this woman in Clashennic—if he had put his life at risk for this woman—then he must love her. He must love her desperately. And Barbara Campbell looked to be exactly the sort of girl whom Meg would imagine on Gregor’s arm.

  She had known this day would come, and that she would lose him. She just hadn’t realized it would come so soon.

  “Barbara Campbell? What are ye doing here?”

  The voice behind her was so loud it made Meg jump. Malcolm Bain stepped up closer, breathing hard, as if he had run. Never the most handsome of men, he was frowning at Barbara in a truly hideous fashion. But Barbara did not seem to notice, as she gave him one of her sweet smiles.

  “Malcolm Bain! ’Tis good to see you. I am run away from Airdy, did you know? I was looking for a place to hide from him, somewhere among friends, where I will be safe. And of course I thought of Gregor Grant.”

  “Of course ye did,” was Malcolm Bain’s grim retort. “Well, this woman is Gregor Grant’s wife and she dinna want ye here in her house. So be on yer way, Barbara!”

  Barbara blinked her big, blue eyes, her full lips trembled, and a single, perfect tear ran down her smooth cheek.

  Shona’s soft heart could take no more. She reached out a sympathetic hand to pat Barbara’s shoulder, at the same time speaking firmly to Malcolm Bain. “That’s enough. Lady Meg would no’ be so cruel as to turn away a creature in distress.” She looked at Meg as she said it, convinced that Meg would do everything in her power to comfort Barbara Campbell.

  Meg found she could not disappoint her. “No, of course I wouldn’t turn her away. You must come inside, Barbara, and rest your feet.”

  Malcolm Bain gave a groan of disgust, while Kenneth rolled his eyes at his wife.

  But Shona was smiling. “There, my poor lassie!” she said. “I knew that Lady Meg would not let ye down.” And she bustled ahead toward the castle, her arm around a delicately sniffling Barbara, with Kenneth trailing behind.

  As Meg moved to follow, Malcolm Bain put out a hand to stop her.

  “My lady, this isna a good plan,” he said with a quiet urgency. “Barbara Campbell is no sweet lassie. She has an eye to what’s best for Barbara, and she dinna care who gets hurt in the process.”

  Meg managed a grave smile. The emptiness inside her had given way to a tentative hopefulness. Perhaps Gregor would not cast Meg aside for Barbara, perhaps he would realize it was with Meg that his real future lay.

  Either way, it was up to Gregor to make the choice.

  “Thank you, Malcolm, I understand what you’re saying,” she said, her decision made. “But it is for Gregor to say whether Barbara stays or no.” Yes, Gregor would decide his own future. And hers.

  Malcolm heaved a sigh. “Aye, well…There’s something ye should mabbe understand about the lad, Lady Meg.” He looked uncomfortable. “He has a soft spot when it comes to the lassies. He canna be
ar to hurt a single one, however they might treat him in return. And Barbara Campbell is used to having her way with him; she’ll not give up without a fight. Trust me, m’lady, he needs ye to stand firm for him.”

  Meg frowned. This did not sound like the Gregor she knew. Captain Gregor Grant of the Campbell Dragoons, shouting out orders, firing his pistol, waving his sword about? A soft spot when it comes to the lassies? Well, that was probably true, but why should he allow himself to be used if he did not wish it? After all, Meg reminded herself, stoking up her indignation, he had requested payment from her, when she asked for his help!

  No, if Gregor allowed Barbara to have her way with him, then it must be because he wanted to. It was as simple as that. And if that was the case, it was best if Meg learn it as quickly as possible.

  “Lady, dinna ye want him?” Malcolm Bain spluttered. “If ye want him, then ye need to send Barbara away. Now!”

  Send Barbara away, when Gregor could very easily do it himself? Meg didn’t think so!

  “I have to go,” Meg said, stepping around Malcolm Bain’s wide bulk. But as she moved toward the house, Meg remembered Duncan and their conversation, what seemed ages ago, in the herb garden. “Malcolm Bain, there is something you should know. I have heard…that is, I believe that you left a letter for Alison, when you went from Glen Dhui all those years ago?”

  His craggy face creased in confusion at the change of subject, and then as quickly cleared. His blue eyes turned bleak. “Aye, so I did. I’d forgotten.”

  “Well, for…for various reasons, the letter never reached Alison. She never received it.”

  He stared at her. “Never reached her? Then she must have thought…She must believe I left her without a word.”

  The pain in his voice struck a chord in Meg’s own aching heart. She reached out to grasp his arm, giving it a compassionate squeeze. “Yes, I think that is what she must believe, Malcolm. Perhaps that partly explains why she is still so angry.”