“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.
And she believed him no better than those other men. He read it in her tense shoulders. She thought him a predatory creature who kissed her for no other reason than to gain her trust, and manipulate her to his own ends.
Her pain reached out to him. All his chivalrous and heroic instincts rose up, drowning out what caution was left.
“Tell your father that I will sign a document denying myself Glen Dhui. The estate is yours, Meg. If I marry you, the land stays with you.”
He blurted the words out. Even as he spoke them he was wondering at himself. Was he mad? Glen Dhui was his, it belonged to him. How could he give away all that should be his, just to soothe Meg’s feelings?
At least he had made her look up.
Shock caused her freckles to stand out on her white face, and her lips parted to show that enchanting gap between her teeth. In another moment she had masked it, her pale eyes full of a fierce concentration, as if she were trying very hard not to let him see inside.
“The people would still believe you their laird, whatever documents you signed.”
“But you and I would know the truth, Meg,” he insisted. “Isna that what counts?”
He had her. He could see the wavering in her eyes now, the confusion. She had never expected him to do this. How could she, when he had not expected it himself? What was it about him, Gregor wondered bitterly, that he could not resist playing the hero? It seemed he would do, say anything to turn a quivering feminine lip into a smile, and to dry a woman’s tears. But this wasn’t just any woman—it was Meg, and she was special.
Meg had turned away. She stood a moment, as if gathering her thoughts. “I must think,” she whispered shakily. “This isn’t fair. You must give me time to think.”
Gregor bowed. “Of course, my lady.”
Before he had even finished the courtly movement, Meg was fleeing along the upper corridor. Her door slammed after her.
Gregor stood alone. What had he done? Malcolm Bain, if he knew, would call him every kind of fool. He had played the part of the bloody hero. Again. Into the silence of the house crept the soft sound of a woman weeping.
Meg.
Gregor groaned and covered his face with his hands. He had meant to reassure her, and instead he had made it worse. Suddenly it mattered very much that Meg trust him, that Meg believe in him, that she want him.
As much as he wanted her.
Chapter 16
This morning Meg rose early, as she had risen early for the last three mornings. She had spent hours tossing and turning, but so she had tossed and turned for the last three nights. For days now, she had locked herself away in her room, while the house tiptoed about her and Gregor Grant drilled his men. She felt like an animal in a snare, and this morning she wanted to be free.
Quickly Meg dressed in her usual riding outfit of trews and jacket and, ordering her mare saddled, set out at a wild gallop down the glen.
For a time she hardly noticed what she was doing. Her mind and heart were so full. But gradually the sensation of the wind tangling her long hair, the sting of it against her cheeks, the feel of the mare beneath her, began to overcome her tired confusion. Her thoughts cleared, ordered themselves. When finally she drew up at the edge of Loch Dhui, a narrow and long body of water set between high hills to the south, Meg was ready at last to properly consider her position.
The fact that she thought she had anything to consider at all told its own story. When her father had put the Duke of Abercauldy before her as a possible bridegroom, Meg had rebelled instantly, refusing even to contemplate him. This time it was Gregor who stood before her, and instead of ranting and raving, here she was, staring into the black waters of the loch, reviewing his case as if she were seriously thinking of marrying him.
And so she was! Meg admitted it to herself. She was seriously contemplating Gregor, but why, that was the question. Why had she been brought to this point, when the thought of Abercauldy had given her hysterics?
His kisses. The way in which he held her. The heat of his mouth on her skin. He had made her heart beat faster, as if she were more alive than she had ever been. For the first time since she was a naïve young girl, who had yet to be taught the hard lesson that her handsome suitor was wooing her not for herself but for her property, Meg felt the urge to throw aside caution. Her skin tingled, her blood stirred, everything that made her a woman cried out to him….
And there was her big difficulty.