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He had taken her heart. He had turned lust into love. Meg loved a man who did not love her, a man she was not even sure she completely trusted. All her life she had been fighting against loving any man who would not feel the same for her. And she had lost.
From somewhere she found her voice, surprised that despite the turmoil inside her, it sounded quite normal.
“Very well, Alison, thank you. I will be down in a little while. Be
sure the major breaks his fast—he has a long ride ahead of him.”
“I’ll leave your robe here, my lady.” Alison gave Meg a knowing little smile, and closed the door softly behind her.
Reluctantly, stiffly, Meg climbed out of bed. There were marks on her body to go with the aches, and finding her robe, she covered herself so that she would not have to think about them. It was not safe here, in this room, with him. Her love swelled in her chest, wanting to escape: She felt as if she might blurt out her feelings to him. The thought made her cringe. What if she told him she loved him, and he looked at her in puzzlement, or amusement, or worst of all, with pity? She would curl up and die. No, it was better if she got dressed immediately and escaped this room of sweet, hot memories. After last night, she just didn’t trust herself to be sensible….
His strong arms came around her, squeezing just hard enough to make her catch her breath, and bringing her inexorably back against his chest. Meg thought she would actually melt as his warm breath stirred her hair.
“Where are you going, lady wife?” his teasing voice was deep and husky with sleep. He sounded nothing like the taciturn Captain Grant, or the self-contained man she had come to know on their journey from Clashennic.
“Major Litchfield is leaving and I must say farewell—”
“Och, why canna the man sleep late this once?”
His grumble made Meg smile despite herself. Now that was more like Captain Grant! She turned her head so that she could look up at him, and lifted a slim eyebrow. “Major Litchfield has work to do, as I do. And you, Captain Grant.”
“They’ll not expect us down till noon.”
“I never sleep until noon,” she said flatly.
“Sleep? Who spoke of sleep?”
He kissed her cheek, nuzzling against her, and then he turned her to face him. Meg’s breasts were pressed to his chest, her nipples already tightening in anticipation. He knew it, too, because his mouth curved against her lips. He was arrogant, but she conceded that he had a right to be.
Now he kissed her, but very gently, promisingly, with nothing like the wild passion of last night. It didn’t matter. Meg was certain that her legs were going to give way…again. His hands curved about her waist, sliding leisurely down to grasp her bottom. He drew her up, against his own hard hips, and into the rigid evidence of his arousal.
“Come back to bed,” he whispered. His eyes were a hot, molten gold, and again Meg was tempted to forget the major altogether. She was finding it very difficult to resist him, but she must. For her own sake, she must.
Meg took a deep and determined breath, and heard Gregor sigh as if he had read her mind. “Gregor, I owe the major a farewell. He has been a good friend to me and my father.”
His eyes were sullen and sleepy beneath his dark lashes. “’Tis very unfair.”
“Well, I’m sorry, but it cannot be helped.”
He kissed her gently, teasing her lips with his in a way that made her ache and tremble. “But you will make it up to me, later?”
Her lips clung to his despite herself, her fingers tangled in his hair. “Of course,” she murmured. Their kiss deepened. For a moment Meg closed her eyes and let herself be swept away by this new and wonderful experience, by the fact of being in love with her husband, of loving him so much she never wanted to leave his side. It would be so simple to stay here and let him do all those things to her that she had already learned to enjoy. So simple to pretend the world outside this room did not exist.
Except that it did.
Meg had responsibilities and duties, and those, as well as a sudden need to preserve what was left of her independence from being swallowed up by her feelings for him, made Meg realize she could not stay here any longer.
She disentangled herself. “I must go and dress.”
Gregor groaned and flung himself back upon the bed. “Verra well, Meg. I will follow you down in a moment. And Meg,” he called as she reached the door. She turned reluctantly, trying not to think of what an enticing picture he made, lying there naked upon the rumpled bedding. “I will most definitely be claiming my reward. Later.”
The color swept into her cheeks, and it was with a very warm face that Meg hurried down the corridor to her own room.
Despite the banquet of the night before, Major Litchfield appeared to have awoken with a hearty appetite.
Meg, feeling more herself again in her position as Lady of Glen Dhui, served him another helping of seethed fish, and poured more ale into his mug. Gregor, seated on her other side, had filled himself with coffee and oatcakes, and was now leaning back in his chair with half-closed eyes, taking little part in the conversation.
“You will write to let us know how you are?” Meg said, taking a sip of her precious tea.
