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No, he was not as Meg had expected Not as she had ever iined in her wildest dreams

She still felt shaky fro froer body pressed to hers, the hot brush of his breath on her cheek, his rough jaw rasping her soft neck Thedeep inside her that worried her

Meg followed as the men carried the unconscious for, wooden chair by the fire His head drooped low upon his chest, as if he were asleep, and his kilt had ridden up to show a large a tried not to look, but her eyes kept sliding back in that direction

A branch of candles was brought The light shone across his face, illu thought, when he had fallen into her arms, it had been as if his body burned and seared hers It wasn’t so much that he was drunk; he had a fever

But there orse

Blood darkened the sleeve of his green jacket The fact had gone unnoticed in the confines of the inn, but noas plain as the sleeve glistened wetly in the light of the candles Meg’s stomach twisted She had never been one of those woly ounds; rather she was the sort of woathered about her those ifted However, there was no way on God’s earth she was leaving now, not until she had or Grant would recover from whatever ailed him

Malcolrim look, while Duncan Forbes shifted uneasily, clearly not keen to take charge Meg sensed a tension between her tacksor Grant’s man that puzzled her, but she had no time to tease out the riddle now Whatever dark secret lay between them would have to wait

Curiously, warily, as if she were approaching soth of the man who sprawled on the chair before her The candles flared, and his brown-gold hair gleaht, as did the tarnished silver buttons of his green jacket His plaid oven in a pattern of blue and green, very faded, and a length of the woollen cloth left from the kilt section had been swept over one broad shoulder and fastened with a barbaric-looking brooch The leather belt about his waist would be used for carrying sporran, dirk, and pistols A thick sword belt caht shoulder to support the broadsword at his hip, and a narrower strap over the left held the pri flask for his pistols It was the usual warlike fare for a Highlander, soldier or otherwise Meg thought he lookedthem all

Where was her slim boy? Her pale and precious laird? This man was not he He was too real He made her uneasy, with his faded kilt and shiny coat He was a Captain of a troop of Cah, and drank desparately in glooentleman, no duine-uasal, as the people of Glen Dhui said in the Gaelic Headh cheekbones and strong jaw and aristocratic nose did nothing for her Nor did she adlea told herself, she was not in the least impressed by the man before her

Why, oh why, had she allowed her iination such free rein? Until she had fooled herself into believing she knew him? Many ti of the hand that had made them, the eyes that had seen so true, the heart that had so loved the glen Now she was forced to adination He wasn’t real Thisdidn’t know him at all

His very maleness made her uneasy, threatened her in a way she had never felt threatened before

“Och, Gregor lad, what have ye done to yersel’,” Malcolh her reverie He turned to Meg and raised a hairy eyebrow “I need to strip hie”

Meg raised a o ahead and do so”

Malcolnation, their first moment of accord since they’d or’s belts, laying aside a dirk with care They unfastened the brooch and dropped the plaid that had looped over his shoulder down to his waist The green jacket wasit from the unconscious man’s uninjured arm, but when Malcolm Bain atteor gave a loud groan

His lashes fluttered and lifted, the a to me, Malcolm, you ham-fisted oaf!” he said between clenched teeth