She recognized that voice. Turning her head she stared up at the Duke of Abercauldy’s favorite servant. Lorenzo wore all black, a startling contrast to the other men, but Lorenzo was the sort who liked to be noticed.
And feared.
According to Lorenzo he had been born in Italy, to a rich and aristocratic family fallen on hard times who sold him to a wealthy Englishman. Through various cunning ploys—[ ]according to Lorenzo—he had found his way into the duke’s service. Meg wasn’t sure how much of the story to believe, and her father insisted there was a hint of Glasgow in Lorenzo’s Italian. But the Duke of Abercauldy found him amusing and held him high in his estimation, so much so that sometimes Meg thought he treated him more like a friend than someone paid to serve him. And Lorenzo served him slavishly.
With an effort, Meg stilled the fear in her heart and made her voice calm. “Lorenzo, you are far from home.”
The other riders had drawn up at a distance, but Lorenzo came close, gazing down at her with the smile that never quite reached his doe-brown eyes. His eyes flicked scornfully over her windblown hair and man’s attire, as if she were beneath his contempt. He certainly thought her beneath the contempt of a man like the duke. Lorenzo’s insolent manner spoke the words for him, words that he did not need to utter aloud.
“We are on a mission for His Grace.”
Meg smiled back and waited, for it was clear that Lorenzo was big with some news. She knew him well enough to know he would not be able to keep it to himself. Lorenzo was a gossip, sometimes amusing but usually malicious. He used his tongue as other men used their swords, to wound and inflict pain.
“As we passed south of the loch we stopped at the croft of Fiona MacGregor, my lady. She told us that you have a guest at Glen Dhui Castle, a man who used to be the laird before he went out for the Jacobite James Stuart. It seemed so strange, I hardly knew whether to believe her. Why would General Mackintosh offer his hospitality to a traitor? Lah, ’tis beyond my comprehension, and I don’t know what His Grace will say.”
Meg spoke pleasantly, trying not to grit her teeth. “I do not know if it is either the duke’s or your business, but if you mean Captain Grant, then, yes, he is here. He and the general are old friends.”
“Old friends?”
Meg smiled.
Lorenzo’s smile back was just as false as hers. “Fiona MacGregor says he is young. Young and very handsome, she says. A man to turn the head of any woman, no matter how discerning. And we all know how very discerning you are, my lady.”
Meg frowned. “Fiona MacGregor is so old that any man under half a century is young to her, Lorenzo. Have you a message for me from your master? Is that why you are here? If so, please deliver it and be done.”
Lorenzo bowed very slightly, giving the impression that he only did so because good manners meant he was obliged to. “His Grace says you are yet to answer his last letter, Lady Margaret. He is in need of a date for your wedding. He has great plans, you know. A fantastical celebration. His Grace works day and night to make this wedding something that will be remembered in the Highlands for many years to come. An occasion!”
Despite the sun and the fine day, Meg felt completely chilled. Suddenly it seemed remarkably foolish of her to be dallying over a proposal from Gregor Grant when the implacable Duke of Abercauldy believed her to be his.
“I have spoken to His Grace, Lorenzo, and he knows my thoughts on the matter of our wedding.” Meg’s voice sounded strained.
Lorenzo waved a hand dismissively, in a manner very reminiscent of the duke himself. “Ah, you play games with him, my lady. He understands that; it is what ladies do to tease and make the chase more enjoyable. But now the time for games is past, and His Grace must have a date.”
“I do not have a date,” Meg said stubbornly, her eyes fixed on his.
“You do not have a date.” Lorenzo sighed dramatically. “Then I will tell him you will decide on one very soon, my lady. He is impatient. Such plans he has! Do you think this Captain Grant will come to your wedding?”
The question startled her, and the look that accompanied it was sly and knowing. Meg moved closer to her mare, running the reins through her fingers as she considered her answer. Even though she had no intention of marrying Abercauldy, it was better he did not see Gregor as a threat. “I do not know. He may be gone by then. In fact I am certain he will be. How many people does His Grace mean to have at this wedding?”
“Five at last count, my lady.”
“Five?” Meg laughed.
“Five hundred.”
If Meg had been chilled before, she was frozen now. Her fingers and toes were icy and her skin rose in goose fles
h. Five hundred! It was an enormous number of guests. Of course Lorenzo might be telling lies, but she did not think so. His words had the shocking ring of truth. This was worse than she had thought, far worse, for how could Abercauldy back down without losing face, if he was inviting so many guests to a wedding that would never happen?
“You must feel privileged to have stirred such powerful emotions in the bosom of such a great man,” Lorenzo murmured, dripping with insincerity.
“You cannot possibly guess my feelings on the matter.”
Lorenzo bowed again, but his smirk told her he was pleased with his troublemaking. “I am instructed to deliver my message to your father, my lady. It is for him alone.”
“Then give it to me and I will be sure he gets it.”
Lorenzo shook his head in mock playfulness. “No, no, Lady Margaret, I have my orders. Will you ride with us to Glen Dhui Castle?”