Anger flared in her pale eyes. “You only say that because I would have beaten you.”
He stiffened. “No.”
Her mouth tightened, but she made it smile. “We shall see, Captain. There is always another day.”
So saying, she straightened her back proudly, tugged the reins from his fingers, and put some space between them.
“Are you ready, then?” she asked him. There was a flicker in her eyes, an uncertainty, that had not been there before.
It made him wonder, briefly, if the whole thing had been a ruse, a distraction, to take away his pain at returning home. He dismissed it. Why should she care? Besides, she had been as caught up in the race as he.
“Of course,” he said coldly, and she rode off at a more sedate pace, with him following. He did not watch the way her hips swayed in the saddle, or the long line of her legs in their tight trews. He stared ahead, to the gray bridge and the avenue of yews, to the place he had loved and lost.
Glen Dhui belonged to her now. Once more he gave himself the grim reminder.
And so did he.
Chapter 10
Glen Dhui Castle sat solid against the last faint glow of the sky. With its rectangular base and stiff turrets and gables, it was more like a fortified home than a castle, but what it lacked in fairytale prettiness, it more than made up for in solidity and security. There were many stories of raids by other clans upon Grant territory, of battles fought and enemies slain, and of womenfolk safe within these walls, while a ferocious foe waited outside.
Gregor had been brought up on these tales.
His throat felt dry. This is no longer my home, he reminded himself yet again. No longer mine. Then why did it feel like home? His heart, which he had fortified as strongly as this house, was swelling with regret, with longing, but he would not let the emotion spill free.
He dared not.
The main door was open. A plump, dark-haired woman stood hesitantly in the light from the lantern she held. Beside her hovered a lad who was nearly as tall as she, his fair hair like a halo. Gregor recognized the woman—it was Duncan Forbes’s sister, Alison. The woman Malcolm Bain had planned to marry, until the 1715 Rebellion interrupted their dreams of bliss. It would be their first meeting since then, and as Gregor recalled, Alison had always had a fiery temper.
“Lady Meg!” Alison came down the steps, her voice trembling with concern and relief. Behind her, the lad remained on the step and peered suspiciously at the new arrivals. “Thank the Lord ye are all right. I expected to see ye back yesterday.”
“We were delayed.” Meg dismounted and reached out to give Alison a hug, adding a smile for the fair-haired lad Angus.
Alison might be her maid, but she was also her friend, and had been since Meg first arrived in Glen Dhui. And Meg was concerned for her. She had not known about Malcolm Bain, although of course she knew there had been a man. But she didn’t know the details, and she had never pried into Alison’s personal life, unless Alison broached the subject first.
This situation would be difficult.
“Ye must be famished,” Alison was saying. There was strain in her eyes, so dark, like her brother’s. Her gaze strayed beyond Meg, toward the troop of horsemen waiting a little behind her, and quickly slipped past the familiar faces she knew from the glen. She found Gregor’s tall shape, hesitated, then seemed to set him aside for later consideration. Finally, she found and settled on the stranger with the broad shoulders, whose face was in deep shadow.
Meg felt Alison’s sudden rigidity; it was as if the other woman had simply turned to stone.
“Alison?” Meg said gently, giving her a little shake.
“Malcolm Bain…Duncan spoke true. It is ye….” Alison’s whisper was no more than a sigh.
Malcolm Bain could not have heard her, but it was as if he had, because he was looking directly at her. A torch held by one of the grooms sputtered and flared brightly, briefly illuminating his face. He was pale, and the lines about his mouth were carved deep. Meg thought he looked like a man who had been visited by a spirit.
Abruptly, Alison turned away, staring at Meg, waiting for her instructions. Her usually full lips had gone straight and hard.
“Please make up a room for Captain Grant, Alison,” Meg said gently. “We will sup together, in the little parlor, I think. Is the general awake?”
“He’s in his room, Lady Meg. I will let him know ye are here. He will want to see you.”
“Tell him I will be up directly, Alison. And thank you.”
Alison whirled about and vanished inside, shooing the fair-headed Angus before her. The men were dismounting—Meg heard the clank and creak of harness and saddle, and glanced around for Gregor. He was gingerly extracting himself from his horse, holding his hurt arm and shoulder unnaturally still. For a long moment he stood, head bowed, while the other men, riders and grooms, went about their tasks. Meg waited for him to gather himself, to lift his head and find her. His eyes gleamed yellow in the flickering light, like a wounded animal. Out in the darkness, above the rush of the burn, a curlew called him a mournful welcome home.
“My father may want to see us straight away,” Meg said.