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“Watch out for yer mother,” he said, with an intent look. “She couldna ask for a better son.”
And then they were gone, and the kitchen seemed empty without them.
Meg ran after them, standing to watch as Gregor mounted his horse and called some last-minute instructions to the men he was leaving behind. He was not taking all of his special troop, she realized, only about half of them. She opened her mouth to tell him to take more, but she knew he was thinking of her safety as much as she was thinking of his. And then, with a last, quick look in her direction, he was gone, leading his men down the yew avenue, vanishing into the long, dawn shadows.
Meg stood watching until he was gone from her sight. She knew it was foolish, that she must go back inside and become again the practical, dependable Lady of Glen Dhui. That her people would be relying upon her and looking to her. But she could not seem to make that final move, to turn away….
“Yer father is calling for ye.”
Shona was there, her kind eyes full of understanding.
Gregor had spoken to the general last night and come away with his face like it used to be, his feelings hidden deep inside himself. Whatever was said between them was for Gregor, and Meg did not ask, but she feared that, after the old man had offered him what advice he could, Gregor had told him good-bye….
Shona touched her arm. “Go and sit with him for a wee while, and then we will go to the herb garden, and I will show ye how to make a poultice for boils.”
Meg laughed, close to tears. “I would do better with a poultice for a broken heart, Shona.”
Shona smiled gently. “Och, Lady Meg, I dinna know how to cure a broken heart. I dinna think it is possible.”
Probably not, thought Meg, as she turned away into the house. A heart, once broken, stayed that way. And the cruel thing was that, even with one’s heart split asunder, one lived on. And on.
Gregor set his sights on the South, and the Duke of Abercauldy’s lands. He dared not think about what he had left behind. He must think clearly, so that he could do what had to be done. Not only did he need to find and take care of Barbara Campbell, but he had to make peace with Abercauldy, so that he and Meg could live their lives without fear of reprisals.
And there was nothing he wanted more than to live the rest of his life with Meg.
He had told the general that, when he said his farewells. The old man had understood, and told him that he would do his best to care for her until Gregor returned. “But she needs you, lad,” he had said. “We all do. Come home safe again to Glen Dhui.”
Come home safe.
There was nothing he wanted more.
Gregor had about fifteen men with him. Ten were from the troop he and Malcolm Bain had been training, the other five were men simply willing to fight for their laird. It was not a great number, certainly not enough to win any decisive battles against Abercauldy, but Gregor knew he would not win a battle the duke was determined to win anyway. His plan had only ever been to hold Glen Dhui by harassing his enemy like a darting insect, cornering him and striking hard, and then going into hiding again. He did not have the men for an all-out confrontation.
Now his plan was to ride to Abercauldy Castle and meet the duke face to face. To reason with him. To make him understand that Meg should not be punished for a marriage that had never been her idea. And to sacrifice himself, if that was required. But Gregor sincerely hoped it would not come to that.
Despite his determination to focus on what lay ahead, Gregor couldn’t help but remember the look on Meg’s face as he prepared to ride away from her. She had been brave, hiding her pain at his going, but her eyes had given her away.
She had told him that she loved him, and Gregor knew it was true. And he loved her, loved her as he had never loved another woman, and
had never expected to. Why had he not told her so? He should have told her, but he had never felt this way before—he had not known he could. Last night, as he took her again and again, he had thought only of giving her a child. His child. Then, if he died, there would be something of his living. His and Meg’s. The future of Glen Dhui would be secure.
Gregor glanced sideways at Malcolm Bain. The older man had been very quiet since they left Glen Dhui Castle, lost in his own thoughts. Had he made his peace with Alison? Gregor thought, from what he had seen in the kitchen, that that might be the case. He hoped so, for Malcolm’s sake.
The smooth, silver surface of the loch lay to their left. The stones rattled under the horses’ hooves and wild ducks took to the sky with raucous squawks. Ahead, behind the craggy peaks of the hills that divided Grant land from Abercauldy’s, was the man he sought. This way had come Lorenzo with the beautiful and troublesome Barbara Campbell.
Gregor wondered grimly if she was still alive.
Another day had come, each minute weighing upon Meg as if it were made of earth and stone. There was plenty to be done, but she had never realized how pointless it all seemed, how empty her life was, until Gregor had left it.
For the last three nights, Meg had lay in her bed, staring into darkness, longing for Gregor. She hurt all over. And she was desperate for something to do, something that would help him. Practical Meg Mackintosh could not bear to sit idly by while her husband might be in danger.
He had been gone now for three days and three nights, and she could only think that something must have happened to him. If all had been well, he should be home now, or at least well on his way. But there had been no word of a sighting of him from the men posted as lookouts to the South.
This morning she had decided to give up pretending everything was normal and that life must go on as always. Instead she planned to go and sit with the general. Perhaps a game of chess would help her concentrate her thoughts, and if he did not feel up to that, a quiet chat. But as she headed toward his room, Meg heard the shout of warning, and soon afterward the clatter of hooves on the gray stone bridge.
At first Meg thought the men with the red jackets must belong to Major Litchfield, that perhaps he had come for one last visit. She hurried outside, meaning to greet him. But as she shaded her eyes against the morning sun, she realized that the soldier in charge was not Major Litchfield. Whoever this man was, he rode upon a dun-colored horse and was bareheaded, his hair dark and wild, his face pale, and his eyes dark and staring.
Airdy Campbell.
