Page 31 of In the Hands of a Highland Bandit

They stood trying to work out a way of doing the impossible, but Greta made a suggestion first. “We cannae, so I will walk in,” she said. “I will say that I am the daughter of a tenant, an’ I will make up a story tae make the guards feel sorry for me. Once I am inside, I can think about a way tae get ye in.”

“If that is the best we can do,” he said softly, “then we can try it, but wait.” He cupped her face in his. “I know we have only known each other a short time, but I have come tae admire an’ respect ye more than any other woman I have ever met.” His gaze roamed over her face as if to commit every detail of it to memory. “An’ in case we don’t see each other again, I want tae tell ye this now. I love ye, Greta.”

Greta looked up into his dark blue-gray eyes and hesitated. This man was baring his soul to her and sharing his innermost feelings. But how did she feel? If he died this day, would her heart be irretrievably broken? She would be sad, yes, but she doubted if her heart would be in pieces.

She smiled, then stood on her tiptoes to place a soft kiss on his lips, but he was holding her so tightly that she almost had to fight her way out of his arms.

A moment later, the hood of her cloak pulled up over her head to hide her face, she was striding up the steep hill in front of the castle. He saw her stop for a moment to speak to one of the guards, then she began to gesticulate wildly before the man put a comforting arm around her shoulder and led her inside.

Finn went limp and slid down the trunk of the tree beside which he was standing to sit on the ground. Everything was out of his hands now. What would be, would be, and there was nothing more he could do.

* * *

Greta was shown into the laird’s study by one of the guards, and he looked up expectantly from his position behind the desk as she entered, then stood up.

“M’Laird,” she said in a trembling voice, “I have come tae ask for yer help.”

Laird Mackay frowned in concern. “Sit down, please.” He poured her a cup of ale then handed it to her. She took it gratefully and emptied it in one swig. He laughed softly. “You are thirsty, I see,” he observed as he poured her another. He sat down and studied her keenly. “How can I help you?” he asked.

Greta cleared her throat. “M’Laird, when I came here, I told yer guards that I was the wife o’ one o’ yer tenants.” She paused and looked up to meet his dark gray eyes. “I am not. My name is Greta Baines, an’ I have been in the company o’ Finn Crawford these last few days. Do ye know that name?”

“Indeed I do,” the laird said angrily. “And if you are a friend of his, I want you to leave this minute.” His brows drew down over his eyes in a fearful frown.

“M’Laird, I can understand why ye are angry, but will ye hear me out?” she begged, leaning forward over his desk and looking deeply into his eyes. “This gang o’ thieves has robbed my village too. But I think we have a chance tae stop them if ye will listen tae me.”

The laird sat back for a moment, thinking. She looked so sincere that he decided to do as she asked, even though it was against his better judgment. “I suppose it would do no harm to give you a hearing, but be warned…” His expression was threatening. “If you waste my time, you are bound for the dungeon.”

“I will not, M’Laird, an’ I think ye are an honorable man,” she assured him.

He poured himself a glass of whisky. “Go on then.” He sighed.

Greta began to tell the story of how her village had been ransacked and the events that had happened since then. Laird Mackay listened carefully, sipping his whisky and not interrupting.

When she had finished talking, he carried on looking at the desktop, then said, “Where is he?”

“Hidin’ in the woods on top o’ the hill,” she answered. “He was nae sure he could come in without bein’ recognized. As well as that, we did no’ want tae put ye an’ yer family in danger. I know how ruthless these men are.”

“I would like to speak with him,” Laird Mackay said grimly. “This gang must be rounded up and punished.”

Greta nodded in agreement. “Will ye come wi’ me an’ see him?” she asked.

“Yes, but we must not be seen together,” the laird replied. “And I will be armed, so he must not even think about challenging me in any way.”

Greta nodded. “I will tell him. Should I go out first, M’Laird? Ye can follow my footprints.”

“No need,” the laird replied. “I am going to take some of my hunting dogs too to make anyone around us think I am hunting foxes. They will find you, and they will protect me.”

* * *

“M’Laird!” Finn said in disbelief as he stood up. “Thank ye for coming!” He reached his hand out to grasp Mackay’s, but the laird looked at it as though it was dirty and refused to touch it.

Finn felt a surge of anger, then he realized that Gregor Mackay had every right to feel the way he did. Who, in his place, would not?

Laird Mackay got straight to the point. “Greta tells me you have some plan to rid me of these bandits,” he said. “I want you to tell me what it is, but after that, you, as one of them, must have the same punishment.”

“No!” Greta cried. “You cannae do that! He has turned his back on that life an’ he deserves another chance!” Her face was panic-stricken.

“Greta, Greta,” Finn said gently. He put his hands on her shoulders and looked down at her. “The laird is right. I have been a bandit a’ my life, an’ I have been lucky up ’til now. Nobody has caught me, but my good fortune has run out, hen. It is time for me tae face justice.”

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