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They were proper soldiers, well trained and well equipped. It was a pity he could not have brought more of them with him. Still, he knew the men of the glen had their good points, too. They lived here in Glen Dhui, this was their home, and they would fight all the harder if the Duke of Abercauldy decided he wanted to take it from them.
“Captain,” Malcolm Bain alerted him, and nodded his head in the direction of the house.
Gregor’s gaze followed.
She was there, watching him, wearing the blue dress with the taffeta bows down the front. Small, neat bows in a long, straight line. His fingers itched to pull them apart, every one of them, and find what was hidden beneath. To unpin her hair and lay it about her. To kiss her pink mouth until she sighed and gasped and wound her arms about his neck.
He looked down at the ground, where the men had scuffed and trampled the grass to mud. He took a deep breath. He told himself he was mad or sick, or both. He carefully, methodically gathered his thoughts, and put on his mask. But when he looked up again it had made no difference. She was still there, and he still felt the same.
“I received your message,” she told him coolly when she reached him. “You wanted to see me, Captain?”
She didn’t like being sent for like a lackey. He had not intended it so; he hadn’t thought of couching his request in more palatable terms. He was a direct man, not used to games, and sometimes he forgot to be polite.
Gregor tried a smile. “I thought it would be useful if you were here with me, to look over the men as they drill. To show we are in accord over the matter of the duke.”
Meg raised an eyebrow. “I see. But I know nothing of weapons.”
“That is not the point of the exercise, Meg.”
She took a step forward, until she stood beside him. He could smell her, a light and fresh, womanly scent, overlaid with the sweetness of her hair. He could hear the rustle of her blue skirts, and beneath them, her petticoats. He closed his eyes and wondered if he could send her away again without making her even more suspicious and wary of him. Without making himself look like a halfwit.
“Captain?” Malcolm Bain stood before him, hair windblown, blue eyes narrowed. Malcolm knew him too well. He would be aware that something was wrong. “Do ye want me to drill the men now? I’ll set up some targets, to see how good their aim is, but it would be best if we dinna waste too much of our ammunition.”
Gregor pretended to look about him, consideringly, as if he had been thinking of that all along. “Verra well, Malcolm, you see to it. Lady Meg and I will watch.”
Malcolm Bain nodded, pleased, and went off to do as he was told.
The air was warming, the scents of late summer drifted on the breeze. It was a day for lying in the grass and looking at the clouds, as he had as a boy. It felt like home. He was home. His skin tingled, his blood coursed through his veins. He was home, and suddenly he felt more alive in this moment than he had in any of the past twelve years.
“They are a motley lot.” Meg sounded doubtful at his side.
“They fought well in the 1715. They may well have won at Preston, if our leaders hadn’t decided to surrender. Don’t be deceived, Lady Meg. Courage and determination means a lot in a battle; it could tip it our way.” Did he really believe that? The Duke of Abercauldy probably had an army at his disposal, and if it came to a fight he would slaughter them all. But he hoped it wouldn’t come to that. If the general had his way, if Meg married him, maybe they could avert any bloodshed.
If…
She stood beside him for a long time, watching the men of Glen Dhui form a ragged line that gradually grew straighter, watching them learn to shoulder their weapons, to aim and fire. Watching them grow into a more military-like band. She didn’t say much to Gregor, but she spoke to the individual men, offering praise, laughing at a joke, and showing her pride for what they were doing.
Malcolm Bain bawled out orders, striding through the groups of men, pausing here and there for more specific instructions. Meg’s heart almost stopped when he paused by young Angus, bending to help the boy with a powder flask. The sun reflected off their untidy, fair hair, blending it perfectly. Uneasily she glanced sideways at Gregor, wondering if he would see the resemblance, but he was looking elsewhere.
Alison’s secret was safe then, for a little while longer.
The men really seemed to appreciate her being here—she sensed their pride in their accomplishments—but their hearts were Gregor’s.
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“It does us good to see ye here again, Gregor Grant,” old Jamie Farquharson said as he shuffled into line once more, the suspicion of tears in his eyes. Others murmured their agreement—tough Highland men who were close to weeping because a Grant was among them again.
“I am glad to see you too, Jamie,” Gregor replied evenly. “Now straighten your back, man!”
Jamie straightened his back without protest, his wrinkled face beaming.
Jamie and the others believed that Gregor returned to Glen Dhui because he was, still, at heart, their laird. And it just wasn’t so.
When Gregor turned toward Meg, her eyes were on him. He met them directly, expecting her to look away, but she didn’t. There was accusation in her pale blue gaze, as well as condemnation. Clearly she had something on her mind and she meant to share it with him.
“Do your devotees know we have to pay you to be here, Captain? Do they know you are come only for the money? Have you told my father that yet?”
He managed a smile, as if her words did not strike hard. She had a right to be annoyed with him, to feel put out, but she didn’t know the half of it and he wasn’t about to tell her. “You’d be better off asking the general himself what he knows, Meg. I am sworn to silence.”
