Despair or joy? Happiness or misery?
“Lady Meg!” Shona was waving her arm. She quickened her steps, hurrying along in front of the others, her basket banging against her side. Meg saw that her face was alight with a smile, and she felt her shoulders sag in relief. Good news, then!
“One of Major Litchfield’s men stopped by our cottage, and told us that ye were wed!” Shona was saying, breathless and beaming at Meg. The wind had whipped color into her cheeks and the fine lines about her eyes creased as she smiled. “Ye’ll be verra happy. But then I knew that, from the first time I saw the two of ye together. I dinna need to have the sight to know that!”
Meg laughed, and accepted her strong embrace. “I did not expect you to come all this way to wish me well, Shona. Gregor and I intended to come and visit you, when it was…when we were able. It all happened so suddenly, I didn’t have time to fetch you here before—”
“Och, I dinna mind that! I am happy for ye, my lady. I think ye and the laird are well matched.”
“Do you?” Meg teased, but there was a genuine question in her eyes.
Shona sighed in exasperation. “Of course ye are! Ye with yer feet set firm on the ground, and he with his head adrift in the clouds. And he with his strong arm and brave heart to protect ye, and ye with yer caring ways and nurturing heart to wrap around him and hold him safe. Of course ye are well matched!”
Meg had never thought of it like that, and she wasn’t sure now if it was the truth, but still she laughed as Shona squeezed her again, and finally released her.
Kenneth had reached them, and gave her a wink. “I’ll not crush ye, too, Lady Meg, but ye have my good wishes. And Captain Grant, of course.”
Meg thanked him, but her eyes strayed to the other woman, still dawdling along the avenue of yew trees. She was slim and pretty, with long, fair hair that straggled down her back and looked like it needed a good combing. The yellow gown, though limp and dusty, and grubby about the hem, nicely outlined her slim figure.
Shona followed Meg’s gaze, shading her own eyes to watch the woman’s approach. “We have a surprise for the captain,” she announced evenly. “His cousin has come to visit. She happened upon us at the cottage a week ago, Lady Meg. Poor lassie. She is in desperate straits. Her husband has ill-treated her and she has run away from him, and now she is in need of some tender care.”
Meg frowned. “Cousin? I do not think Gregor has any cousins. Apart from his mother and his sister, he is alone in the world.”
Kenneth let out a snort of annoyance, and turned to Shona. “I told ye she wasna anything to do with Captain Grant!” he said, but his eyes twinkled. He knew his wife and her kind heart all too well. “Ye are far too soft, Shona. If King George of England came to yon door and told ye he was a Jacobite, ye would ask him in for a dram. I’ve told ye not to let yersel’ be taken in, but still it happens.”
Shona pulled a face at him, but the blue eyes she turned to Meg were anxious. “Despite what Kenneth thinks, I have had some doubts of my own. But she was so grief-stricken, so sad and alone. I couldna just turn her out. I hope I’ve not brought trouble upon ye.”
Meg hoped so, too. There was something about the fair-haired woman that struck her with a sense of foreboding. Was this the dark shadow Alison had spoken of, that would blow up out of a clear sky to blight her happiness?
“I’m sure it is a misunderstanding,” she began, “maybe she has the wrong Grant, do you think?”
“You dinna tell me it was so long away,” the woman called out, in a soft, complaining voice. “My feet are all blisters.”
“Well, ye are here now,” Kenneth retorted unsympathetically.
The woman pretended not to hear him, giving a heartfelt sigh, while her gaze was drawn to the façade of Glen Dhui Castle. Her eyes were a clear, guileless blue, but when she realized the size and grandeur of the dwelling, their expression became predatory—as if she saw an opportunity there. A moment later Meg told herself it had been her imagination, for the woman had turned to her with a sad little smile, and held out her hand.
“I am Barbara Campbell,” she said prettily. “Is it true you have wed my Gregor?”
Chapter 23
For a brief moment, Meg found herself unable to move. Barbara’s firm fingers closed on hers, so she must have held out her hand to the other woman, but she did not remember doing it. Up close, Barbara’s face was an oval—smooth and perfect—and she had a tiny nose and full lips—and those big, blue eyes. Her fair hair was the color of butter, and its uncombed state did not detract at all from its thick and heavy beauty. It was Meg, rumpled from her pruning, wearing one of her oldest gowns, who felt out of place.
Barbara Campbell, the woman Gregor had fought for, the woman he had almost died for…
Meg heard Kenneth say something, but she could not distinguish the words, and then Shona’s reply, but again the words were garbled and made no sense. If Gregor had fought a duel over this woman in Clashennic—if he had put his life at risk for this woman—then he must love her. He must love her desperately. And Barbara Campbell looked to be exactly the sort of girl whom Meg would imagine on Gregor’s arm.
She had known this day would come, and that she would lose him. She just hadn’t realized it would come so soon.
“Barbara Campbell? What are ye doing here?”
The voice behind her was so loud it made Meg jump. Malcolm Bain stepped up closer, breathing hard, as if he had run. Never the most handsome of men, he was frowning at Barbara in a truly hideous fashion. But Barbara did not seem to notice, as she gave him one of her sweet smiles.
“Malcolm Bain! ’Tis good to see you. I am run away from Airdy, did you know? I was looking for a place to hide from him, somewhere among friends, where I will be safe. And of course I thought of Gregor Grant.”
“Of course ye did,” was Malcolm Bain’s grim retort. “Well, this woman is Gregor Grant’s wife and she dinna want ye here in her house. So be on yer way, Barbara!”
Barbara blinked her big, blue eyes, her full lips trembled, and a single, perfect tear ran down her smooth cheek.