Alex didn’t pretend to misunderstand this time. “Mistress Mackinnon, would you care to dance?”
Meg hesitated. There was something about Alex MacLeod that gave her pause. Just as had happened last night when he’d stood so close and his spicy masculine scent enveloped her, her body came alive with awareness. Whenever she was near him, she felt as if every nerve ending were set on edge. Waiting. Anticipating. For what, she did not know.
But she didn’t like it.
On the other hand, her mother was probably already fast at work mentally compiling the guest list for the betrothal and picking out the color for Meg’s elaborate bridal gown. Truth be told, if Meg stuck around much longer, Rosalind would probably ask Alex which color he preferred. At this point, dancing was likely her only means of escape from a potentially even more embarrassing situation.
One dance—surely there could be no harm in that?
Nodding her acceptance, Meg allowed Alex to lead her to the dance floor for a reel. Her hand slid into the bend of his arm, and she fought the urge to pull it back as if shocked. His muscles flexed beneath her fingertips.
Dear God, he was strong. And hard as a rock.
Her heart beat a little faster.
He placed his hand on her back to guide her toward the dance floor, and a swift jolt surged through her. Her skin felt branded with his touch. She could feel him.
Meg flushed, and a strange heat spread over her. The force of her response was unsettling. What was wrong with her? She’d danced with many men, but never had she felt every touch, every movement, as powerfully as she did now. Alex MacLeod was dangerous. He made her mind race with things she’d never thought of before. Intimate things. Longings she’d thought buried.
They formed a small circle with another couple, and the reel began. Every time they came together and clasped hands or his hand fell firmly on her waist to turn her through the steps of the energetic dance, Meg felt a shock of pure heated awareness. She had to fight hard to concentrate on the dance steps, unable to get her mind away from the warm tingle that radiated from under his possessive hold.
Peeking out from beneath her lashes, she took the opportunity to study him closer. She could see the evidence of a hard life in the fine lines around his eyes and the thin scars peppered across his nose and cheeks, the telltale marks of a warrior. The slight dent in his chin and the strong angle of his jaw made him appear hard and forbidding. But his lashes were long and thick, and together with his sensual mouth, they softened an otherwise implacable face.
His expression, as always, was inscrutable. She wondered what he was thinking. Could he tell how affected she was by his touch?
Meg bit her lip. She hoped not. Unlike him, she was not accomplished at hiding her thoughts.
The sooner this dance was over, the better.
This dance was a mistake.
Alex had successfully avoided Meg Mackinnon all night, until Rosalind Mackinnon had sunk her teeth into him. That woman could teach his men something about dogged determination.
He could feel the weight of Meg’s gaze upon him as they danced, and as he’d done throughout the long evening, he forced himself not to return her stare. She looked like an inquisitive little kitten with her big eyes and tiny face, and every time he looked at her, something inside him shifted.
Touching her was pure torture. He’d never been so damn aware of just how much touching there was in a reel. Each time he held her tiny hands in his or placed his hand on her waist to guide her through the steps, he didn’t want to let go. The soft curve of her waist fit neatly in his palm. Too neatly. He longed to caress every sweet inch of her. To slide his hands over her breasts, down her hips, and around her backside, exploring every delectable curve. She was slight, but the feel of her hips hinted of a voluptuousness well hidden under her farthingale.
But it was the sight of her small white teeth nibbling on her plump lower lip that sent shards of lust bolting through him. His groin swelled with heat. The erotic movement cracked the cool reserve he’d struggled to maintain. The primitive desire he’d experienced on the battlefield came rushing back full force. He ached to taste her. To pull her into his arms and feel the press of her body against his. Each time he touched her, the narrow space between them seemed to crackle with anticipation. It would be so easy to lean down and cover her soft mouth with his, to run his tongue along the crease, to slide it in…
Hell. He was half-hard already. He took a sudden interest in the gilded wall over her shoulder.
The music had slowed, providing an opportunity for conversation that he wasn’t sure he wanted. Breaking the silence, she said, “You don’t have to worry, you know. I’ll keep your secret.”
His eyes fell to hers, betraying nothing. “What secret?” That he wanted to ravage every inch of her with his mouth? To leave her panting with need? To bring out the passion hiding under her serious façade and hear the cry of his name on her lips as she came apart in his arms?
“I know it was you who came to our rescue.”
That secret. A small perverse part of Alex was pleased by her certainty, if not by her persistence. A corner of his mouth lifted in a half-smile. “I can see you’ve inherited your mother’s tenacity.”
She looked surprised, as if she’d never recognized the similarity before. A shy, adorable grin lit her features, wiping away all vestiges of the strain and worry that seemed fixed on her expression.
She should look like this always, he thought. Whatever burden she carried—and he was sure that she did carry one—was too heavy. He’d found himself watching her, wondering what made her look so serious. She was young and lovely, she should be having fun. Yet there was a maturity to her bearing that was at odds with her years.
But, he reminded himself, it wasn’t his concern.
“Thank you,” she said.
He hadn’t meant it as a compliment, but she knew that.
“And that wasn’t an answer,” she reminded him.
“Was there a question?”
She gave him a chiding look. “It was implied. But if you insist, I shall spell it out: Was it you who came to our rescue?”
“You seem to think so.”
“I know so.”
“And how can you be so sure?”
“I’d hardly forget the man who saved my life.”
Alex smiled at her indignant expression. “As much as I’d like to take credit for doing so, I’m afraid I cannot. If this man resembled me as much as you say he did, it must be my brother.”
“So you said last night,” she said dismissively. “But as I said earlier, you can keep your secrets.” She paused, and a gleam of something that made Alex nervous appeared in her eye: curiosity. “Though I do wonder why it should matter if you were in Lochalsh. Unless there is a reason you don’t wish people to know you were near Skye?”
Damn, she did have a nimble mind. Meg Mackinnon was considered something of an oddity at court, “unusually bookish” was the term he’d heard bandied about. A euphemism for a smart woman that was intended to be unflattering. Lowlanders were such fools, he thought with disgust. If he was going to spend a lifetime with one woman, he’d make bloody well sure she was intelligent. “You have a suspicious nature, Mistress Mackinnon. Why should it matter if I were so near my home?”
“Why indeed. It is only natural that you would wish to see your brother after being gone for so long. He is your chief.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to say something. To advance the rumor that he and his brother had suffered a falling-out. But for some reason, he did not want to lie to her any more than was necessary. Perhaps he’d already guessed how she would react to the news.
“It wasn’t necessary. My brother will be arriving at court in a couple of weeks to present himself to the Privy Council,” he explained, biting back his resentment at another of the king’s onerous requirements to keep his Highland subjects in line—forcing the chiefs to present themselves in Edinburgh each year to account for their �
��good” behavior like naughty little children.
“Hmm,” she said, but it was clear she did not believe him.
Alex feared his denial was merely whetting Meg Mackinnon’s appetite for more. “Very well, you’ve found me out, it was me.”
Her eyes narrowed, studying him. “You’re just saying that.”
He shrugged. “Does it matter? You are convinced you are correct, and I have just admitted as much. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
Her brows furrowed. “No. Yes.”
He smiled. “You can’t have both.”
She looked so frustrated, for a moment he considered admitting the truth. Though he barely knew her, he sensed he could trust her. But he could not risk it; he must stick to the plan. For now.
“How long have you been gone?” she asked.
“For some time.” Before she could ask any more questions, he asked, “And what of you, Mistress Mackinnon? What brings you to court?”
He expected her to blush and murmur some excuse. But her wide green eyes met his without artifice. The color really was extraordinary. Soft moss green with tiny flecks of gold. He’d never seen their like. Nor could he recall ever paying so much attention to a woman’s eye color before. It wasn’t usually the first thing he noticed.
She considered him for a long moment. “May I be frank?”
He nearly chuckled. Could she be anything else? “Aye, of course,” he murmured, hiding his amusement.
“What brings most young women to court?”
Alex stared at her, not bothering to hide his bemused admiration. Such candor was refreshing. He’d known the truth, though he hadn’t expected her to admit it. Jamie Campbell had been only too eager to inform Alex of her purpose for being at court, presumably in an effort to discourage Alex from any interest he might have in the lass. Jamie had made her situation quite clear. She’d been sent to court to find a husband to help support her brother. A situation made imperative by the recent illness of her father. While at Dunvegan, Alex had been informed of the Mackinnon chief’s recent illness, but Alex had forgotten that Meg’s brother was said to be simple. He remembered how quickly she’d jumped to Lizzie’s defense, and he suspected it was something she did quite often.
According to Jamie, Meg had been groomed to run the clan’s lands. An enormous undertaking for one so young, Alex realized; no wonder the lass looked so weary. She pushed herself too hard. At some point, it was going to be too much. And now she must find her own husband? For a father to allow his daughter such a say in her choice of husband certainly spoke well of her good sense. But Alex suspected it also had contributed to the level of anxiety he read in her manner.
Despite his political differences with Jamie Campbell, Alex admitted that she could do much worse.
Meg Mackinnon, though tempting, was not for him. He’d do best to remember it.
“So it is time to find a husband?”
She was watching his reaction intently. “I’m afraid so.”
“Why are you telling me this? It’s not something young ladies usually admit.”
A wry smile turned her mouth. “It’s not exactly a secret. There is no point in hiding what is common knowledge.” She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “I find it helps weed out the unsuitable candidates.”
I’d imagine so. “A practical approach.”
She beamed. “Exactly!”
Meg was nothing like the coy, jaded ladies who inhabited court. She was a breath of fresh air, like the warm, salty sea breeze that blew across Dunvegan. “And have you found anyone who is suitable?” he asked, more interested in her response than he wanted to admit.
The tiny lines appeared between her brows again. “’Tis more complicated a decision than I anticipated.”
She looked so discouraged, Alex found himself wanting to ease her worry. He wanted to make her laugh. He couldn’t recall having that feeling in a long time.
Bending down, he whispered in her ear, “Ah, but you have one thing on your side that assures your success.”
“What’s that?”
“With your mother helping, I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”
Meg laughed. He was teasing her. This enormous, forbidding warrior was trying to make her laugh. And when he smiled back at her, really smiled at her, Meg realized something very disturbing. She could lose herself in this man.
The pure magic of that sensual smile shot like an arrow straight into her gut. For an agonizing moment, Meg was unable to look away, unable to contain the small excited flutter in her heart. His appeal was undeniable.
The music stopped, and she realized his hand was at her waist. He should have released her. But instead his hand pressed deeper against her, drawing her infinitesimally closer. She drew in her breath. His thumb stroked her lower back. She should pull away, but she couldn’t move.
Their eyes locked, and against her better judgment her heart did an involuntary flip. It was that same intense look he’d given her on the battlefield. A look of desire. When he leaned closer to her, Meg gasped, thinking he meant to kiss her right here on the dance floor. In front of hundreds of people. And the worst part was that she didn’t care.
As his face moved closer, she could see the crystal clear blue of his eyes and the soft golden tips of his eyelashes. For a moment, she could feel his warm, spicy breath on her cheek.
But it was a whisper—not his mouth—that swept across her ear.
“You’re lovely when you smile, you know.” The words were not posed as a question. His voice was deep and rough, sending chills up her spine, leaving no doubt as to his sincerity. Nor could she deny the pleasure his words brought. He found her attractive.
Self-consciously, she lowered her lashes, not knowing how to respond. Unlike her mother, Meg was not used to receiving compliments or engaging in the flirtatious banter of court. Her tendency to speak her mind had scared off many a suitor, but Alex did not seem at all put off by her frankness. In fact, she sensed that he admired it. The realization warmed her.
“You look much like your mother, but—”
Meg stiffened and instinctively pulled back, knowing what he was about to say. A dull ache of disappointment throbbed in her chest. How could she be so foolish to think even for a moment that he would find her attractive? She smiled crookedly and finished for him: “But not the same.”
“No,” he said definitively. “Not the same.”
Of course not. She wasn’t surprised by his words, just by how much his honesty hurt. A twinge of longing pinched in her chest. What would it be like to be beautiful and admired?
He must have seen something on her face because he started to say, “That’s not what I meant—”
But the next dance began, and Meg jumped at the opportunity to escape. She felt ridiculous. For a moment, she’d been foolish enough to think he might be interested in her. But Alex MacLeod would never desire a plain wren like Meg. That he didn’t shouldn’t come as such a surprise. She would never be beautiful like her mother, so long ago she’d given up trying. But she’d rather not have it pointed out so bluntly. It wasn’t important, she told herself.
“You’ll have to excuse me. I see Elizabeth and Jamie and must speak with them at once.” She couldn’t hide the overbrightness of her reply. Like a coward, she dashed away before he noticed her surprised hurt.
For a moment, she’d been distracted. She’d allowed herself to relax her guard. But even if she wanted to attract someone like Alex MacLeod, he would never want someone like her. He had his pick of the beautiful, willing women in this room. And Meg was none of those.
She hated this feeling of vulnerability. This feeling that he’d opened up a part of her that she’d fought hard to repress. Meg had devoted herself to her family, to her clan. Through hard work and sacrifice, she’d carved out an unusual place for herself in managing the Mackinnon lands. She liked the responsibility she’d earned. It should be enough.
But Alex MacLeod made her remember girlish longings
she’d fought hard to forget.
Chapter 4
Jamie intercepted her flight from the dance floor with a glass of claret. Despite his youth, he managed to look quite forbidding with a grim expression on his face.
“Are you all right? Did Alex say something to upset you?”
Obviously, he’d been watching her. Meg shook her head. “No. Of course not,” she said, taking the glass from him.
“Alex MacLeod seems to be creating quite a bit of interest around here.”
Meg heard a sharp edge to his voice that sounded suspiciously like jealousy. Not for the first time, she realized that Jamie was no longer a youthful companion, but a man, with a man’s pride. “Has he?” she asked airily.
But Jamie wasn’t fooled. He studied Alex with an assessing gaze. “You seemed fairly certain last night that it was Alex who helped your clansmen fight off the attack in the forest.”
Absolutely sure. But Meg held her tongue. For some reason, Alex MacLeod didn’t want anyone to know about his role in rescuing them from the attack. Fine. She supposed she owed him at least that much for helping them. Keeping her suspicions to herself was a small price to pay for the lives of her mother and her clansmen. Besides, she didn’t relish listening to Elizabeth’s teasing if she were to discover that Alex was Meg’s mystery warrior. Heaven only knew what her mother would do with the information. Meg repressed a shudder. Alex MacLeod could keep his secrets. Though she did wonder why he chose to do so.
“I hope I didn’t embarrass him. I never should have said anything. Now that I’ve had a chance to look at him closer, I can see it wasn’t him,” she said firmly. “I was mistaken.” Meg felt a sharp pang of guilt for the lie and for how easily it slipped from her tongue. She, who never lied.
Jamie studied her face and seemed to be satisfied. “It does seem more likely that it was Rory. Alex has absented himself from Skye for many years.”
She circled the rim of the glass with her finger. “Really?” she asked, careful not to sound too interested.
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