The past eight years had not been kind to him. His face was lined. His hair, once dark red, was completely white and flowing to his shoulders. He used to be wide and tall and imposing. Now his shoulders were stooped, his eyes cloudy, and his fingers curled. From the stiff way he dismounted, she guessed he was suffering from joint pain but was probably too proud to admit it.
He looked her over, taking her measure. Wallace MacGregor was stubborn, but so was Cait Campbell.
“It’s good t’see ye, lass,” he finally said.
Unfortunately, she couldn’t say the same. MacGregor had been the gruffest of her two grandfathers, pushing her to do better at everything: her learning, her riding, her hunting. Whatever she was interested in, he became interested in, but only because he wanted her to become the best at it. To her recollection, he’d never hugged her, never spoken a soft word to her. And yet, as a young lass, she’d known he loved her.
“Why are ye here?” If he thought she would go running into his arms, then he was mistaken. He’d been the cruelest when she’d told him she was marrying John, and she would never forget it.
“I was riding by—”
She snorted. “Ye would never willingly ride on Campbell land.”
His expression tightened and his lips thinned. Did he think he could stroll back into her life with lies on his lips and no apology and no reference to their fight so many years ago?
Like Graham had done, he eyed her cottage critically, and she braced herself for the inevitable.
“So this is where ye live?”
“This is where I live.”
“Ye’re the granddaughter of two great families, and ye live here.”
“I like it here.” She was getting mighty weary of defending her home. She truly did like her small cottage. She’d made it into a comfortable, safe place. “And I’m no’ the granddaughter of two great families, because I’ve been tossed out of both the Graham and MacGregor clans.”
His gaze continued to take in her small patch of land, her home, her barn, and the trees beyond. He didn’t react to her last comment; she’d not expected him to.
“Why are ye here, MacGregor?”
His gaze snapped back to her. She’d always called him Grandfather, but she figured he’d lost that title a long time ago.
“I wanted to see ye,” he said. “It’s been a long time.”
“That’s no’ my fault.”
He grinned. “So ye’re sayin’ ye’d have come for a visit if I’d asked?”
“We’ll never know, because ye never asked.”
A spasm of grief and regret crossed his features. At least that was what she thought she saw. “I’m sorry about yer husband and wee one.”
She sucked in a breath, surprised at how much those words could still hurt. “Ye missed a great opportunity to know yer great-granddaughter.”
“She was a Campbell.”
Cait sighed, angry at herself for thinking he’d changed. He was an old man, set in his ways, with the hatred of the Campbells born in his blood. “She was a MacGregor and a Graham as well.”
He looked away. His jaw worked as if he was thinking hard. “If ye ever find yer way on MacGregor land, ye’re welcome to stop by. Ye’ll always have a place there.”
She wondered at this change in him and wished she could believe it, but she was no longer the naive lass she’d been eight years ago, thinking that he would see her love for John and overcome his hatred for the Campbells. She wondered what he would do if he knew that just hours ago, she’d made love to Iain in this very cottage.
“Even though I’m a Campbell now?” she asked instead.
He looked at her with milky blue eyes, and she wondered how much time he had left with his vision. She imagined it was already fading fast, but he would never tell anyone. Proud, stubborn man.
“I know ye’re a Campbell now, lass. I haven’t forgotten.”
She almost smiled at his acerbic tone. Oh, she rememberedthatwell enough. “Did ye come by because ye missed me?” She couldn’t help poking the beast a little.
