by Sara Bennett
“Very nice, darling,” she had said, turning back to her own mirror, “but why didn’t you draw roses? They are so much prettier.”
Why had it upset him so? Gregor wondered now. It was not as if she hadn’t done that before, dismissed his efforts as if they were nothing, belittled him through indifference. And yet he had continued to try and please her, endlessly, and all to no avail. Even when he had taken her to Edinburgh, after they lost Glen Dhui, he had walked the streets day and night to find the best lodgings that they could afford. For her.
Gregor closed his eyes. He had sat here, gazing down into the glen, and feeling that sense of hopelessness that always afflicted him when he had had a brush with his mother. She was beautiful, so beautiful on the outside that he had believed she must be just as beautiful on the inside. It was only with maturity that Gregor had realized that was not so. She was a manipulative and shallow woman, rather like Barbara Campbell.
And he was still trying to please her, or women like her.
Well, that was over. He had grown up and learned the value of a woman like Meg. He had no intention of allowing the Barbara Campbells of the world to ruin the wonderful life he had planned.
With new determination, Gregor pushed his wet hair out of his eyes, ignoring his sodden shirt and the way his kilt was dripping into his boots. “Meg?” he said.
The name echoed back from the cave, a soft hissing reverberation. There was a rattle of stones, as if he had disturbed an animal sheltering there. Or perhaps the reverberation of his voice had shaken them loose.
“Meg?” he called again, moving forward, resting a hand against the cold, damp stone and bending to peer into the nothingness. If she wasn’t here, then where was she? If she wasn’t here, what would he do? A bleak emptiness settled in the pit of his stomach, a hollow ache that only she could fill.
“Meg, please…Meg!”
“What are you doing here?”
His heart nearly stopped. As he blinked hard against the darkness and the dripping rain, she stepped forward, at first a shadowy shape, and then her face a pale blur surrounded by brilliant auburn.
“Go away,” she said.
“Kenneth and Shona think they saw Lorenzo in the glen,” he said, ignoring her words, perhaps not believing she meant them. “It isna safe out here alone, Meg. Come home with me, where we can properly guard you.”
“Lorenzo?” She took another step, and now he could see how white her skin was, tinged blue with cold, and how her long hair hung in damp straggles about her shoulders. She looked only slightly less wet than him, and a great deal more chilled.
“Och, Meg, ye’ll catch yer death,” he declared, and reached out toward her.
She backed away, stumbling, nearly falling. The expression on her face had changed from anxiety to revulsion, and Gregor went still.
She didn’t want him.
On his ride here, he had thought only of losing her to Lorenzo, or of how she was hurt when she saw Barbara clinging to him, of how he must explain to her and make all well again. He thought only of how he would feel without her, of how empty his life would be.
He had never once imagined that once he found her it could not be mended, that she would not want it mended.
If she turned from him now, he knew he would be far more abandoned and alone than he had been when he lost Glen Dhui.
“Oh Meg,” he whispered, and pushed back his hair, twisting it at his nape. “She’s a silly woman who thinks only of herself. I couldna love a woman like that, manipulating and selfish.”
“And beautiful,” Meg added quietly, her usually bright eyes dull. They were reddened, too, as if she had been crying. The thought of her here, alone in the dark cave, cold and unhappy, made his hands clench into fists with the need to hold her and comfort her.
“Beautiful?” he said in a carefully even voice. “Hmm, do you call her that? I don’t call that beauty, Meg.”
“Oh, and I suppose you’ll tell me now that I am more beautiful than all the women you have ever known,” she retorted, and some of the dullness in her eyes gave way to anger. Gregor felt relieved—at least she was showing some emotion. This was more like his Meg.
“But you are,” he declared.
“Gregor, I am not a fool! I know that I was a means for you to regain Glen Dhui. I accept that. You will probably stay with me for that reason. But I do not expect you to be faithful to me. How could you?”
It was said so bitterly, but so acceptingly, that he was astonished. Is that what she really thought of him? What had she imagined he was doing, making passionate love to her over the past few weeks, since their wedding? Did she think it just a way for him to pass the time, until another partner came along? Was she so naïve?
But then he remembered. The only men she had known, other than tacksmen and tenants who were in awe of her, were those who sought her out for her father’s wealth. Even if they had liked her for herself, how could she have known it or allowed herself to believe it? She had protected herself with a self-made shield and that shield was still there, held firmly in place, between herself and Gregor.
“There have been women,” he said at last, the necessary words coming to him. Meg was honest, so he would be honest with her, and God help the two of them if she wanted lies. “Women to pass the time, or to stave off loneliness and sadness, women who look attractive when a man has taken a dram or two, but in the morning…Well, you see how it is for a man like me? I dinna look for someone to give me a home and children, what is the point? I have nothing to give in return—or I felt I didn’t. Until now.
“I want you, Meg. More than any woman I’ve ever known or will know. I want you more than Glen Dhui, more than being the laird again. Did you know, that when you smile at me, you open me up inside? Until you, I’d been closed down, closed in, not allowing myself to feel anything because it hurt so much. Better not to feel, I thought, than to be in pain all the time. But now I’m alive again, and the pain is not so bad, because you are here with me. You’ve dragged me back into the world of living, Meg. For that I would give you all I have and am and ever will be.”
There were tears shining in her eyes, but still she shook her head. “Very pretty, Gregor. You have a way with words, I’ve noticed it before. But I am plain and practical Meg Mackintosh. I know what I am, Gregor. I accept it,” she added bravely, but her mouth trembled. “Do not pretend I am other than I am.”
“You dinna trust me,” he breathed and sighed, a sigh from deep inside. “I knew it was so, but still it hurts. But I am used to hurt,” he mocked himself. “I am used to giving presents, and having them rejected.”
Tentatively he stepped closer, reaching out a hand to touch her cheek. She was watching him, listening to him, and as he stroked her cool, smooth skin, he thought about those presents he had made and had returned to him so ungraciously by his mother. That boyhood hurt had made him unwilling to try again. Even now he was tempted to shrug and let her believe what she wanted to.
Isna she worth fighting for? Malcolm Bain’s gravelly voice filled his head. Ye daft haddock, Gregor Grant! Say yer piece. Get on with’t.
“Gregor, I don’t think—”
“Be quiet, Meg,” he said quietly, firmly. “You have told me what you think you are, now let me tell you what I think you are.”
She stepped away from his caressing hand, shivering a little. She looked grave and serious, a woman who did not joke often. If she let him stay with her, Gregor vowed, he would change that. He would make her laugh much more; he would bring joy into her days. It was the least he could do.
“Very well then, Gregor. Tell me what you think I am. I would be interested to hear it. And you must be honest with me. I prefer men to be honest.”
He smiled, bowing his head to hide it. “Do you now, Meg Mackintosh? Then honest I will be. Firstly, I think of you as fire; fire, with your red hair and your burning blue eyes, so clear and true. You warm me just by looking. And you are strong, Meg, and generous, and kind. You want t
o help people, to make a difference, and even if it means hard work and a certain amount of…hmm…persuasion, Meg will do it.”
There was a crease between her brows. “You make me sound very bossy,” she said, but there was a tremble in her voice.
“Quiet now, or I’ll lose my place. Now, strong and generous and kind? No, I’ve already mentioned that. Your people love you, Meg. If the priest would let them, I think they would worship you. Saint Meg, with the sun kisses on her nose. I would worship you, too, worship you with my body. When I think of your breasts, the way they fill my hands to overflowing, I get hard, Meg. When I think of you lying in my bed, smiling up at me, I get harder. I want to lie between your legs and feel you hold me as if you’ll keep me forever. If you’ll do that, if you’ll keep me forever, then I don’t need heaven. I will have found it already.”
Meg gave a breathless laugh, but it turned into a sob. Before he could reach for her, she came into his arms, wrapping her own around him. She hadn’t rejected him, she hadn’t told him he could do better. Gregor felt the strength go out of his body, and he simply held her, rocking her, murmuring her name.
Meg felt as if she was the one who had found heaven. Heaven, in this dark, dank cave, her clothing wet and her hair like seaweed, in the arms of a man who felt wetter than herself. And yet she had never been happier.
She remembered how she had wept all the way down the glen, crying to the sky when the rain started, her heart breaking. She had been sure, so sure, that she had lost him. Lost her one, great love. But he had come after her, and he had found her, and suddenly all was not lost. He wanted her, he needed her, he could not go on without her.
Meg wondered, with some surprise, if Shona had been right after all. Perhaps she and Gregor did complement each other, she with her feet firmly on the ground and he with his handsome head adrift in the clouds…
“You must think me very shallow, to talk of beautiful faces and such,” she began, needing to explain. “But when I saw you with Barbara Campbell…” But it hurt too much to go on. Instead she pressed her face to his damp shirt, and breathed in his scent. The cloth was so wet that she could see his skin through it, and feel his warmth and strength, seeping into her.
“She ran at me and hung on like a burr,” he said, pressing his face to her hair. “Airdy is following her about and she believes I am fool enough to help her again. I think she wants me to kill him,” he added evenly, as if the thought did not overly disturb him.
But Meg knew differently. “Oh, Gregor!” she whispered, and reaching up, stroked his cheek, comforting him.
He laughed shakily, turning to kiss her palm. “I am a soldier and I know it is my job to kill men,” he said, “but I dinna do it for sport, Meg. I prefer to talk sense into a man, and only then do I resort to my sword. Even the duel was…unpleasant.”
“I will never ask you to fight a duel for me.”
His eyes narrowed, yellow through his dark lashes. “Never give me cause, morvoren. I dinna share women, especially not you.”
Why did that make her quiver all over? Meg asked herself, between amusement at her own frailty and crossness that he could toss her emotions about like a feather on a strong breeze. The thought of him fighting for her, ordering her about, was somehow romantic when he said it now.
“I dinna want Barbara Campbell at Glen Dhui,” he said, his eyes delving into hers, mesmerizing her. “In case you were wondering, I told her so as soon as I laid eyes on her.”
“Malcolm Bain said—”
“Och, Malcolm Bain has known me since I was a wee lad. He knows my weaknesses and my strengths, but sometimes he forgets I’m grown.”
“I thought—”
“Don’t think, Meg. Kiss me.”
Meg gazed up at him, her hair curling in wet tendrils about her face. So he thought her strong and generous and kind? He thought she was heaven, despite her freckles? Because of them! She knew she loved him with every part of her, loved him for now and forever, and if he could not read her love for him, aglow in her face, then he was a fool.
And Gregor was no fool.
With a groan, he closed his eyes, leaned down, and unerringly found her mouth with his.
His lips were cold, but inside he was hot. He placed his hands on either side of her head so that he could plunder her mouth like a starving man. Meg kissed him back, frantically, ecstatically.
She ran her palms up over his chest, enjoying the hard feel of him, and then slid them around his neck, tangling her fingers in his damp hair. Glen Dhui Castle would be in uproar. Everyone would be waiting. Meg’s sense of duty tapped her on the shoulder, and reluctantly she pulled away from his mouth.
“Shouldn’t we go back?”
Gregor didn’t even take his eyes from hers. “It’s still raining. It’s more sensible to wait until it stops.”
“Oh?” Meg looked into his eyes, reading the bright carnal glitter in them. He planned to make love to her, right now, right here in this cave. And she wanted him to. Suddenly duty to Glen Dhui wasn’t as important as their duty to each other.
“You’re all wet,” she whispered.
“So are you.”
“I fell off my mare.”
He stopped, frowning, his eyes running over her. “Are you hurt, Meg?”
“No, the ground was soft.” She smiled wryly. “Only my pride. My mare ran away, though. She will go home, when she is ready.”
He stroked her face, her neck, running his finger down over the swell of her breasts. “I have an idea,” he murmured, and turned her gently about, so that her back was to his chest. His fingers found her nipples through the cloth of her gown, and he spent some time rubbing them into peaks while Meg gasped and leaned her head back against his shoulder.
“What is your idea?” she asked at last, longing for him to make love to her.
He read her meaning, and she felt him smile against her cheek. “Our clothing, wet as it is, offers some warmth and covering. Much as I would like to, I willna strip you bare, Meg. Here.”
She turned, and saw that he had pulled his shirt over his head, leaving him bare-chested in his kilt. Big and well muscled, his body was so fine she could look for hours. But he was already moving, laying the shirt upon the hard, damp ground.
Was she to lie upon that? Meg wondered. But before she could move, he was pressing her down, gently, easing her onto the soft linen so that she knelt, her back still to him.
“Lean forward onto your hands,” he murmured, nuzzling at her neck, and suddenly he was hard up behind her. His hands reached down to find her breasts, gently squeezing her flesh, before he began to ease the hem of her skirt up, over the backs of her legs. His hands clasped her thighs, nudging them apart, and he slid a finger up into her.
Meg gasped and went still, afraid he might stop. But he didn’t, pleasuring her with his hand and fingers, until she was moving against him, mindless with the need for him to continue. To her dismay, that was when he stopped.
“Gregor!” she groaned, turning her head to look back at him. He was kneeling behind her, a big dark shape against the light from outside the cave, but she couldn’t see his face or his expression. He was lifting her skirts up over her bottom, and she shivered as her bare flesh was exposed to the cold. But in an instant he was there, pressed against her, his kilt covering them both. One strong arm came around her waist, drawing her back, back, while he eased his rod into her body.
Meg tried to push back, eager to regain her wave of pleasure, but he held her still and his hand crept over her belly, between her legs from the front, and found her favorite spot. He began to thrust into her, touching her at the same time, and Meg closed her eyes.
Her breath was loud in the half-darkness of the cave, and she was no longer cold. Gregor had seen to that. His thighs pounded against hers, and he went deep inside her. And then she was there, crashing to the shore with a keening cry. With a hard thrust, and then another, Gregor followed.
After a moment, when they had caught t
heir breath, Gregor helped her to her feet, smoothing down her skirts and patting off any earth that might cling to the cloth. He shook out his shirt and pulled it back on.
“Now we will go home,” he said with a smile.
He had exorcised some bad memories today; from now on, this place would hold nothing but pleasant ones for him. He looked at Meg, her cheeks still flushed from their lovemaking, her lips red and luscious, and wished he could do it again. But Lorenzo was loose in the glen, and it was safer to go.
She looked up at him, caught in the act of trying to tidy her hair, and sighed. “They will know,” she said despairingly.
Gregor grinned. “Aye,” he replied smugly, “so they will.”
Chapter 25
Glen Dhui Castle was ablaze with light.
That was the first thing Meg noticed, as they rode up through the yew trees. Every window glowed with candlelight or a lamp. And then she saw that there were men all about, and voices loud with excitement, or fear, or agitation. Or all three.
“Something has happened,” Gregor said, at the same time as Meg thought it. His arms tightened about her, as she sat before him on his horse.
“Gregor!” Malcolm Bain came running, his hair wilder than ever from the rain and hard riding.
Gregor drew up, trying to read the other man’s face in the evening light. When they had left the cave, the rain had gone and the sun was setting in streaks of gold and crimson in the darkening sky. Now the light was fading into mauves and grays, and Malcolm Bain was barely visible.
“Lady Meg’s mare came back alone. We were fearing the worst, lad. Where have ye both been?”
“We found shelter out of the rain,” Gregor said shortly. “What is happening here?”
“Lorenzo’s men came to the house while we were out searching for Lady Meg.”