by Sara Bennett
If he came back to her from Abercauldy.
Alison kissed his rough cheek. And then kissed the other. He went still, staring at her in wonder, and she kissed one eye closed and then the other, and then she kissed his mouth. She had forgotten how soft his mouth was, how tender—an odd contradiction on such a rugged-looking man.
“Alison,” he moaned, and his arms came around her, bringing her closer. “Oh, Alison.”
“Malcolm Bain, my dearest, mo nighean, I’ve missed ye so much. Oh, so much.”
And then she couldn’t say anymore, because he was kissing her too desperately. And besides, what else was there to say?
Chapter 26
Meg woke abruptly.
Gregor was already up, dressing, buckling his belts about him, sliding his sword into its place. He looked at her, his expression grim in the dawn. Morning had crept through the window, stealing from them what might have been their last night together.
“Rest,” he said softly, attempting a smile.
Meg sat up, pushing her hair out of her eyes. “There will be time enough to rest later,” she told him evenly. “I will go and see to your food and drink.” She swung her shawl about herself and, on bare feet, moved past him toward the door.
His arm slid around her, pulling her against him. His face was pressed to her hair, and she clung hard, feeling him breathe. With a sigh, he released her, and Meg hurried out of the room, her face streaked with tears, down the stairs to the kitchen.
Alison was already there, with a pot of porridge steaming over the fire, meat and kale laid out on the table, and a large jug of ale on a tray. She looked up, and Meg saw that she was pale and tired, as if she, too, had had little or no sleep. There was also a bruise upon her neck.
Concerned, Meg moved forward, but something in Alison’s avoidance of her eyes, something in the way she became suddenly very busy, stopped her.
“The men are waiting,” Alison said over her shoulder. “Is the laird up?”
“He’s just dressing now.”
“I will see everyone is fed before they go.”
“Thank you, Alison.”
“At least we can do that for them, Lady Meg. And pray that they come home safe.”
They looked at each other in perfect understanding of the travails of women who bind their lives to those of fighting men.
The bruise on her neck was from a man’s kisses, Meg realized abruptly. Alison and Malcolm Bain had made their peace with each other, and she gave thanks for it.
Gregor’s step sounded behind her, and his hand rested warm and heavy on her shoulder. “Alison,” he said, with a nod in the other woman’s direction; then his gaze was on Meg, and she found she could not look away. He was memorizing her, every feature of her, everything about her. As if he would never see her again.
Meg’s heart stammered and stuttered, but she forced her fears away and made herself smile up at him. “You must eat,” she told him softly. “Who knows when you will get the chance again?”
He nodded, and sat down at the kitchen table while Alison doled out spoonfuls of porridge. Then she carried out the pot, with the help a sleepy-eyed Angus, to feed the rest of the men. When she returned, Malcolm Bain was with her. He glanced at Gregor, but his eyes soon returned to Alison, watching as she hurried about the familiar kitchen, absorbing her into his memory.
Gregor had finished; he rose to his feet. Meg followed, more slowly, realizing that this was the moment. He was going. It was real. And there was nothing she could do about it.
“I am leaving enough men here to keep you safe,” he said. “If you are at all worried, then send to the military post for soldiers, or ride there yourself with a guard. They will protect you.”
“Don’t worry for me.”
Gregor laughed shakily. “Och, Meg, how can I not?”
Meg put her arms about him and held him fiercely. “I will be fine, as long as you come home to me again.”
He found her mouth, kissing her with a savage desperation that made her taste blood, and then he was setting her from him, calling for Malcolm Bain, who was cradling Alison in his arms. Malcolm Bain ruffled Angus’s hair as he passed, making it as wild as his own.
“Watch out for yer mother,” he said, with an intent look. “She couldna ask for a better son.”
And then they were gone, and the kitchen seemed empty without them.
Meg ran after them, standing to watch as Gregor mounted his horse and called some last-minute instructions to the men he was leaving behind. He was not taking all of his special troop, she realized, only about half of them. She opened her mouth to tell him to take more, but she knew he was thinking of her safety as much as she was thinking of his. And then, with a last, quick look in her direction, he was gone, leading his men down the yew avenue, vanishing into the long, dawn shadows.
Meg stood watching until he was gone from her sight. She knew it was foolish, that she must go back inside and become again the practical, dependable Lady of Glen Dhui. That her people would be relying upon her and looking to her. But she could not seem to make that final move, to turn away….
“Yer father is calling for ye.”
Shona was there, her kind eyes full of understanding.
Gregor had spoken to the general last night and come away with his face like it used to be, his feelings hidden deep inside himself. Whatever was said between them was for Gregor, and Meg did not ask, but she feared that, after the old man had offered him what advice he could, Gregor had told him good-bye….
Shona touched her arm. “Go and sit with him for a wee while, and then we will go to the herb garden, and I will show ye how to make a poultice for boils.”
Meg laughed, close to tears. “I would do better with a poultice for a broken heart, Shona.”
Shona smiled gently. “Och, Lady Meg, I dinna know how to cure a broken heart. I dinna think it is possible.”
Probably not, thought Meg, as she turned away into the house. A heart, once broken, stayed that way. And the cruel thing was that, even with one’s heart split asunder, one lived on. And on.
Gregor set his sights on the South, and the Duke of Abercauldy’s lands. He dared not think about what he had left behind. He must think clearly, so that he could do what had to be done. Not only did he need to find and take care of Barbara Campbell, but he had to make peace with Abercauldy, so that he and Meg could live their lives without fear of reprisals.
And there was nothing he wanted more than to live the rest of his life with Meg.
He had told the general that, when he said his farewells. The old man had understood, and told him that he would do his best to care for her until Gregor returned. “But she needs you, lad,” he had said. “We all do. Come home safe again to Glen Dhui.”
Come home safe.
There was nothing he wanted more.
Gregor had about fifteen men with him. Ten were from the troop he and Malcolm Bain had been training, the other five were men simply willing to fight for their laird. It was not a great number, certainly not enough to win any decisive battles against Abercauldy, but Gregor knew he would not win a battle the duke was determined to win anyway. His plan had only ever been to hold Glen Dhui by harassing his enemy like a darting insect, cornering him and striking hard, and then going into hiding again. He did not have the men for an all-out confrontation.
Now his plan was to ride to Abercauldy Castle and meet the duke face to face. To reason with him. To make him understand that Meg should not be punished for a marriage that had never been her idea. And to sacrifice himself, if that was required. But Gregor sincerely hoped it would not come to that.
Despite his determination to focus on what lay ahead, Gregor couldn’t help but remember the look on Meg’s face as he prepared to ride away from her. She had been brave, hiding her pain at his going, but her eyes had given her away.
She had told him that she loved him, and Gregor knew it was true. And he loved her, loved her as he had never loved another woman, and
had never expected to. Why had he not told her so? He should have told her, but he had never felt this way before—he had not known he could. Last night, as he took her again and again, he had thought only of giving her a child. His child. Then, if he died, there would be something of his living. His and Meg’s. The future of Glen Dhui would be secure.
Gregor glanced sideways at Malcolm Bain. The older man had been very quiet since they left Glen Dhui Castle, lost in his own thoughts. Had he made his peace with Alison? Gregor thought, from what he had seen in the kitchen, that that might be the case. He hoped so, for Malcolm’s sake.
The smooth, silver surface of the loch lay to their left. The stones rattled under the horses’ hooves and wild ducks took to the sky with raucous squawks. Ahead, behind the craggy peaks of the hills that divided Grant land from Abercauldy’s, was the man he sought. This way had come Lorenzo with the beautiful and troublesome Barbara Campbell.
Gregor wondered grimly if she was still alive.
Another day had come, each minute weighing upon Meg as if it were made of earth and stone. There was plenty to be done, but she had never realized how pointless it all seemed, how empty her life was, until Gregor had left it.
For the last three nights, Meg had lay in her bed, staring into darkness, longing for Gregor. She hurt all over. And she was desperate for something to do, something that would help him. Practical Meg Mackintosh could not bear to sit idly by while her husband might be in danger.
He had been gone now for three days and three nights, and she could only think that something must have happened to him. If all had been well, he should be home now, or at least well on his way. But there had been no word of a sighting of him from the men posted as lookouts to the South.
This morning she had decided to give up pretending everything was normal and that life must go on as always. Instead she planned to go and sit with the general. Perhaps a game of chess would help her concentrate her thoughts, and if he did not feel up to that, a quiet chat. But as she headed toward his room, Meg heard the shout of warning, and soon afterward the clatter of hooves on the gray stone bridge.
At first Meg thought the men with the red jackets must belong to Major Litchfield, that perhaps he had come for one last visit. She hurried outside, meaning to greet him. But as she shaded her eyes against the morning sun, she realized that the soldier in charge was not Major Litchfield. Whoever this man was, he rode upon a dun-colored horse and was bareheaded, his hair dark and wild, his face pale, and his eyes dark and staring.
Airdy Campbell.
“Oh, no,” she gasped.
One of her men snatched at her arm and ran with her, all but dragging her back toward the door and safety. As they reached it, Airdy drew his horse to a rattling stop and slid to the ground.
“Barbara!” he shouted. “Come out, Wife! I know you are here, hiding like the cowardly baggage you are!”
Meg placed her hand on her man’s arm to stay him, and turned to face Airdy. He was staring up at the windows, his head tipped back, and despite the lack of blood in his cheeks and the fact that he was relatively sober, he was still just as frightening as he had been outside the Clashennic Inn.
“Barbara isn’t here,” Meg said carefully. How would she tell him the truth? What would he do? A man like Airdy was capable of anything.
And then, in an instant, a plan blossomed in her mind, complete and perfect. Gregor would not be happy with her; he would probably be very angry. But Meg knew she couldn’t stay here, waiting for his return…If he returned. It was not in her nature. She had been her own woman for too long, and she was used to making decisions and carrying them through.
Gregor needed her, and she must not fail him.
Airdy had lowered his black gaze to her and was frowning. “I’ve followed her trail,” he explained, as if she should know what he was talking about. “My uncle the Duke of Argyll has given me the post of military commander at the pass, and when I came down to take over I heard she had been through there. She’s here, now, I know it. You are lying!”
Airdy, taking over from Major Litchfield? Gregor would be horrified, and Meg was not much happier. Still, that was something to consider for later.
“No, Airdy, I’m not lying. She was here, but she was taken prisoner by the Duke of Abercauldy.”
He looked at her as if she were the mad one, and Meg didn’t blame him. It sounded mad. Airdy turned to the house, considered it, and then looked at her again. “Where has he taken her? I want her back. I willna rest until I have her back.”
Meg hesitated a moment more, staring into those relentless black eyes. Airdy wasn’t rational; was it fair to set him on this road? But then she remembered what he had done to Gregor. Yes, it was fair, and she would do it!
“Come inside, Airdy, and we will talk.”
He came toward her, shooting a narrowed glance at the man by her side, as if to warn him not to try anything. “I know you,” he said to Meg, as he reached her. “Ye were at the inn at Clashennic, with that bastard Gregor Grant. This is his house. Barbara came running to him, dinna she?”
“Yes, she did, and yes, I was. I am Gregor Grant’s wife, Airdy. We are wed.”
He looked shocked, his white face completely blank, and then he grinned, showing her several gaps where teeth used to be. “You are Gregor’s wife?” His gaze slid down and up her again, and he opened his mouth as if to say something insulting.
“This is the Lady of Glen Dhui,” the man at her side said warningly, his hand on his sword. Airdy’s own men shifted closer, watchful.
“This is Airdy Campbell,” Meg said, giving her man a long warning look. “He has come to help us, so we must treat him accordingly.”
Airdy grinned at that, and then his smile faded. “Where is he?”
“Gregor? He’s gone after Barbara and the Duke’s men. He’s gone to try and save her. But he needs help. Barbara’s in danger, Airdy. That is why I want to speak to you. Barbara is in grave danger, and we have to save her.”
“We?” he asked, a certain slyness creeping into his manner. Perhaps he was not quite so crazy after all.
“Yes, Airdy, you and me.”
Doubt and questions flickered briefly in his black eyes, and then he seemed to make up his mind. Just like that, without any answers to his questions, without hearing her plan, without even knowing her other than through one brief meeting. Airdy Campbell was clearly a man of simple instincts and a single-minded determination to get his own way, and Meg thanked God for it.
“Tell me what to do,” he said, and followed her into the house.
Chapter 27
The air was warm and calm. Beside them, Loch Dhui reflected the color of the sky, reminding Meg of the day she and Gregor had swum here and lay naked in the sun. Today the loch’s shores were deserted, and the hills ahead looked ominous.
Where was Gregor? He must have reached Abercauldy’s castle by now. Why was he not on his way home? Why had she heard nothing? Did he lie at night, wrapped in his plaid, thinking of her? Was he still able to think at all…
Please keep him safe, Meg offered a silent prayer. Keep him safe until I can reach him.
Airdy Campbell rode behind her, and seemed content to take second place. Meg didn’t trust him. Even though he had agreed to her plan and seemed quite happy to do as she told him, she still did not trust him. There was something cunning about Airdy, something devious. And there was the memory of Clashennic, when he had seemed liable for any mischief. She could not help but wonder whether Airdy was quite mad.
But at least he was sober.
She had managed thus far to keep his mind from the silver flask he had fastened to his sword belt. She kept reminding him that the duke’s men could come upon them at any time—a surprise attack. Airdy wanted to be ready to defend himself, didn’t he? For sweet Barbara’s sake?
“And you’re sure she went unwillingly?” He had a way of staring intently into her eyes, as if he could read any lies. It was unnerving.
&nbs
p; “She was kidnapped,” Meg replied firmly.
“Och, well then!” But despite her reassurance there seemed to be a suspicion in his head that simply wouldn’t go away. That was understandable, Meg thought, when your wife had an unfortunate tendency to use men for her own ends, and those ends revolved around plots to leave her husband.
Ahead of them, the dark hills cleaved the sky. Beyond was the Duke of Abercauldy and his fine castle and his fine things. And his simmering obsession with Meg. She had spurned him, made him look a fool, and not even the fact that she had not wanted to marry him, and had told him many times, had made a difference to him. He wanted her to pay, and Meg wondered if she was clever enough to escape her punishment.
It couldn’t hurt to have Airdy Campbell at her side, deserted husband and nephew to the Duke of Argyll, who was arguably the most important man in Scotland.
“Will we camp this side of the hills?” One of her men had ridden up beside her and was eyeing her anxiously. They had not wanted Meg to make this journey, but she had told them that if they did not wish to accompany her, then she would go alone. They came, but they were not pleased, and Meg guessed it was Gregor’s anger they feared, if anything should happen to her.
But she could not stay at Glen Dhui—it was impossible. She was a woman used to doing what needed to be done, not one who relied upon a man to do it for her. She should have made this journey months ago, cleared the air once and for all, instead of skulking on her own lands, hoping it would all blow away. Already she felt better, as if she could breathe properly again.
“No, we ride as far as we can today,” she ordered. “There is plenty of light left, and we need to make up time. The laird has a head start.”
“Verra well, m’lady.”
“The laird.” Airdy sneered. “Aye, I can see Gregor as the laird, mincing about, aping his betters. I hope this Abercauldy cuts him down to size.”
Meg bit her lip. She had a cutting retort of her own in mind, but it was best not to upset Airdy. Not when she planned to use him. He was going to save Gregor for her; he just didn’t know it.