Was he tired of her already? And was she so contrary as to want him to pursue her when she had already decided she needed space to think?
Meg went to sit with the general for an hour or so. The old man had been overjoyed with the manner in which things had turned out. As if, Meg thought wryly, he had planned it that way from the beginning.
“Now all we need to make the fairy tale complete is for the duke to be a gentleman and stand aside peacefully,” she couldn’t resist saying. “Do you really think that will happen, Father?”
The general’s eyes were fixed on the window, as if he were not blind to the view outside. For a moment Meg thought he would not answer, but then he heaved a sigh and turned to her with a wistful smile.
“I don’t know the answer, Meg. If we were speaking of an ordinary man, then I would say yes. If we were speaking of an ordinary man, then I would say that he would not want to appear foolish, so he would step aside. But we are speaking of the Duke of Abercauldy, and I have come to realize that the duke is no ordinary man. He frightens me, daughter, and I don’t frighten easily. He is so determined to have you, Meg, that I don’t know if there is anything we can do, apart from killing him, that will change his mind.”
“Gregor released Lorenzo this morning.”
Meg had not been present, but she had heard the details from Alison, who had heard them from Angus, and so on. How the duke’s favorite servant had sworn a terrible revenge upon them.
“Lorenzo is not as important as he thinks he is,” the general replied dryly. “Do not be afraid of Lorenzo; Gregor could crush him with his little finger.” He smiled again, looking suddenly very tired and frail. “I am so glad you brought Gregor home. You have made me a very happy, old man, Meg, and I thank you for it.”
“Then I am happy, too, Father,” she whispered, feeling tears sting her eyes.
“I wish your mother were here to see you,” he murmured, turning again to the window. “She’s been gone so long. So very long. And I miss her.”
It was not often the general spoke of his wife. Meg was not sure that his speaking of her now was a good sign.
Leaving the general to rest, Meg found her way to her retreat. But once there, alone at her desk, she found herself sitting, staring at her books. It wasn’t that she had nothing to do. There were entries to be made,
notes to be taken, figures to be tallied. Meg had often thought it a pity she had been born a woman, for she would have made a very efficient factor for some great lord. She would have run his estate at a profit, and kept all the tenants happy at the same time.
Why wasn’t her life as simple as adding up a column of figures?
No, there was plenty to be done, but Meg did not feel like tallying profits or working on new crops she might bully her tenants into planting. This was the day after her wedding, and yet it was just like any other day. On the surface it was, anyway.
Underneath was a different matter.
She had fallen in love with Gregor Grant, the Laird of Glen Dhui. She had wed the boy of her girlhood dreams, and he was everything she had ever wanted. He was the man she had been waiting for, the man whom she had wanted to come and sweep her off her feet. Except that he didn’t love her.
He was the sort of man who made all women feel quite wonderful, Meg was certain of it. If he turned that dazzling, golden gaze on a woman, then she was his. How could she not be? Meg knew that Gregor had not become such an accomplished lover by sleeping alone. There must have been other women, and plenty of them.
He was attractive and women wanted him. Beautiful women. With so many to choose from, how could he ever love Meg Mackintosh, plain and freckled? He might like her, in fact he seemed to delight in her sharp tongue and peculiar ways, but he could never, ever love her. Best she come to terms with that right now and learn to deal with it, before she was drawn into yearning for the unattainable.
Gregor had found some paper and charcoal, and secreting himself in a quiet corner of the Blue Saloon, set to work rediscovering his talent for drawing. At first his hands felt clumsy, more used to gripping a sword than making pictures, but gradually the lessons he had learned long ago returned to him. He had never really forgotten them. He didn’t attempt anything too difficult—not at first—but was content to make images of familiar objects. Yet he couldn’t resist a tiny, mocking sketch of Airdy Campbell as he had last seen him, wild-eyed upon his dun horse; and a reverent, rather melancholy sketch of the general, seated by his window, gazing at a world he could no longer see.
Satisfied he had not lost his ability to capture expressions and emotions with a few deft strokes, Gregor went to find Meg. Alison told him that she was working, and had asked not to be disturbed.
“Though I dinna see ye taking much notice of that, Captain…sir.”
“Oh, and why not?”
Alison sniffed. “Ye have that look.”
Gregor’s eyebrows soared. “That look, Alison Forbes?”
“Ye know what I mean,” was all she would reply.
That look? Gregor smiled as he climbed the stairs to Meg’s hidey-hole. If he did have a look, then it was frustration. Lorenzo being set free meant that their time together may well be finite. They should enjoy themselves while they could.
Meg might be cautious, but Gregor wasn’t about to deny himself any longer. If she would not come to him, then he would find her.
The memory of her, soft and warm, was already making his blood hot. Her breasts in his hands, the creamy flesh so plump and sweet, and the feel of her tongue on his cock. Her mouth opening delightfully to his, just as he pushed between her thighs. The dreamy, sensual look in her eyes, just as she shattered.
By the time Gregor reached her door, he was fully erect beneath his kilt, and burning with the need to quench his desire.