Screens of brown paper separated the tables, offering a semblance of privacy. After quickly locating Robbie, Alex slid in opposite him on a wooden bench, facing the door. He was pleased to see that the lad had followed his direction and secured a table in the back corner of the room, minimizing the potential for prying ears.
His squire looked relieved to see him.
Amused by Robbie’s obvious concern for his welfare, Alex said, “So eager to see me, lad? Apparently, I’ve been negligent in my duty. I’ll have to see that your training is stepped up when I’m done here.”
Robbie blanched, then ventured a tentative grin when he realized that Alex was only teasing. He cranked his head around a few times and whispered, “I don’t much like this place.” He wrinkled his nose. “The entire city smells something horrible.”
Neither do I. But it would do no good to mollycoddle the boy; they had a job to do. So instead Alex asked, “Any problems?”
With so many of the king’s men about, Edinburgh was a dangerous place for a MacGregor. Normally, Alex would have his squire with him at court, but he couldn’t take any chances that the lad would be identified.
Robbie shook his head. “No, my laird.”
“Patrick and the others?”
“They’re ready.”
“Good.” While Alex discovered what he could at court, Patrick and the rest of Alex’s warriors would blanket the taverns and alehouses frequented by mercenaries and soldiers, listening for rumors of any forces leaving for the Isles. Robbie would take messages back and forth between Alex and his men. His youth and comparatively less imposing stature would make it easier for him to slip in and out unnoticed.
“Have our friends arrived?” Robbie asked in code, referring not to friends, but to the Lowland scourge intent on sailing for Lewis.
“As we expected, not all of them could make it.”
Robbie’s eyes lit with understanding. The absence of key Lowland gentlemen at court supported the rumor that the Fife Adventurers were gathering for a second attempt on Lewis.
“Will they be traveling this summer?” Robbie asked.
“I don’t know yet. But if they want to be settled by winter, they will have to leave soon. I hope to have more information by the end of the week.”
Robbie nodded.
Alex cast his gaze around the room, making sure they were not the subject of undue attention. “We will meet again on Saturday a week hence. We should be able to speak more freely then.”
“Where?”
“Beyond the city gates. A place called Sheep’s Heid Inn. Have you heard of it?”
Robbie shook his head. “No, but I’ll find it.”
“It’s situated at the eastern edge of Holyrood Park, at the rear of archer’s seat, in the village of Duddingston. Wait for me. I don’t know what time I’ll be able to slip away.”
Alex gave him a hard look. Robbie was quick with a blade, but so many things could go wrong. “Have care, Robbie. The city can be a dangerous place for a lad on his own.”
The boy couldn’t hide his pleasure, proud to have drawn his laird’s concern. Alex didn’t know what had come over him. A week at Dunvegan with his brother and wife, and he had grown soft. But attachments and war, he knew, didn’t mix.
Unbidden, his thoughts slid back to the wee green-eyed enchantress.
Robbie slid off the bench and stood up. “And you have care as well, my laird.”
Alex chuckled. “Get out of here before I decide to step up that training now.”
Robbie flashed a jaunty grin and left before Alex could make good on his word.
Leaning back on the bench, Alex took a moment to relax as he scanned the room and its occupants. Taverns and alehouses were the great equalizers. Perhaps a dozen men from all strata of society mingled in apparent ease and drunken camaraderie. A couple of men slid into the compartment in front of him. Wedged into the corner and hidden in the shadows, Alex doubted they could see him. But neither could he see them. He was just about to stand up to leave when one of the men began to speak in Erse with a brogue that identified him as a Highlander.
“You’ll get no more money from me until the job is done.”
“But I lost most of my men in the first attack,” the second man complained. “I’ll need to find replacements before I can try again.”
A Highlander also, Alex realized.
“That is not my concern. You were paid well for your skills.” The man’s voice rose in anger. “Skills that were obviously exaggerated if you could allow a group of vagrants to defeat you.”
“These were no vagrants, but trained warriors. I’ve never seen any man fight like their leader. He fought with the strength of five men.”
The first man snorted his disbelief. “So you’ve said. But that doesn’t explain how a handful of men defeated a score of your cutthroats.”
“It won’t happen again. It was bad luck that they came upon us as they did. I’ll finish the job, but it might take some time. It will be more difficult finding an opportunity in Edinburgh.”
Alex heard the loud bang of a tankard slammed on the table. “Which wouldn’t be necessary had you done the job right in the first place. I don’t want to hear your excuses. Just get it done. Now. Or ’tis you who will be the hunted.”
That the men had some foul purpose in mind was obvious, but there was something else about the conversation that bothered him. A feeling. They could have been speaking about the attack on the Mackinnons. Alex had assumed the attack had been random. But what if it hadn’t been? Could someone have been after Meg or her mother? But why? For what purpose?
Alex shook his head. He was being ridiculous. There was nothing in the men’s conversation to tie them to the attack on Meg. It was surely just a coincidence.
He turned back to his drink but could not quiet the persistent niggle of uncertainty. Was it too much of a coincidence? Could there have been another attack foiled in the Highlands by a group of skilled warriors?
The men stood up to leave. Alex slid out just enough on his bench to get a look at them. The first man was thinly built and of average height, with dark hair and sharply pointed features. His nose was long with a slight hook, and his eyes were deeply set with hooded lids. The second man had his back to him. He was large and heavyset, with scraggly dark red hair. Both men wore simple leather breeches and jerkins. Neither one seemed familiar, but Alex hadn’t seen all the attackers that day. Some of the villains had scattered quickly.
He was being foolish. Meg Mackinnon was a distraction he couldn’t afford. His sole focus must be on his mission. He took a final swig of his ale and set his tankard forcefully down on the wooden table.
But what if…
Alex cursed. He didn’t want to be drawn into the web of Meg Mackinnon. He should just walk away. But he just couldn’t ignore the sliver of suspicion. He’d keep an eye on her for a while, just to make sure. But as soon as he allayed this unreasonable concern, he intended to forget all about Meg Mackinnon.
Chapter 6
Now that she’d made her decision, Meg was anxious to have the matter resolved. Jamie had given her every indication that he intended to offer for her, and she intended to give him every opportunity to do so. But in the past few days, she’d seen very little of him.
Once she had secured a proposal, she could return to Dunakin Castle and the Isle of Skye. She’d been away from her father and brother for too long. Not to mention that she would have hours of reports to go over when she returned. But she knew that wasn’t the only reason she was so eager to leave Holyrood. Meg wanted to distance herself from Alex MacLeod and the strange feelings he aroused in her. Try as she might, she could not get the blasted man out of her head. It was embarrassing, really. She had always been careful to approach things logically, never allowing emotions to rule her head. But she couldn’t forget the way he’d looked at her or the way it felt when he’d had his hands—his very large, capable hands—on her. And neither could she forget the strength of
her reaction to him or how much it had hurt when he’d found her appearance lacking.
It didn’t matter.
She’d made her decision. It was Jamie and not Alex MacLeod she should be worrying about.
When Jamie had not met them for a morning walk around the gardens as he usually did, Meg hadn’t been concerned. But when he’d skipped the midday meal, she’d wondered what could be keeping him. Jamie was usually so attentive, it was odd to have seen so little of him. Elizabeth mentioned that he’d received a missive from their cousin the Earl of Argyll this morning and had gone to discuss something with Lord Chancellor Seton. But she hadn’t heard from him since.
But it was her mother who truly gave Meg cause for concern. She was definitely up to something. Rosalind had spoken to Jamie earlier and had the look of a contented cat afterward. And it was her mother who had pointed her in the direction of the lord chancellor’s apartments.
Meg was not at all familiar with this wing of the palace—the section housing the apartments of Lord Chancellor Seton and his Privy Council. At court, unlike at Dunakin with her father, Meg did her best to avoid political discussions. She could see both sides of the issues facing her Highland clansmen and their Lowland adversaries, but at Holyrood there was no place for rational discourse. At Holyrood, it was all about power. And the king’s was greater than it had been in over one hundred years, since the fall of the Lordship of the Isles in 1493 to James IV. Change was coming for the Highlands, whether the chiefs wished it or not.
To prosper, the Mackinnons must learn to navigate the treacherous maze of Lowland government.
She strode purposefully down the corridor, methodically stopping to peer in each lavishly decorated room as she passed. Like the rest of the palace, the rooms had gilt-encrusted walls, heavily carved ceilings, and sumptuous jewel-toned velvets upholstered on the furniture. The king had been in debt for most of his reign, but his palaces showed no evidence of frugality.
Most of the chambers were empty, but a few, like this one, were occupied. Meg quickly scanned the men converging in the small antechamber for a tall man with a healthy head full of dark auburn hair. Not such an easy task in a palace full of Scotsmen.
Yet despite the profusion of red-haired men, something about Jamie stood out. It wasn’t just his size or handsome countenance. That realization took her aback. Jamie was actually quite handsome. She frowned. Odd that she’d never really noticed before. In some ways, Jamie was like a brother to her, as Elizabeth was like a sister. The three of them spent a great deal of time together. In addition to literature and philosophy, they discussed land administration, clan tensions, and politics. The Campbells were both open-minded and well-informed. She knew the way Jamie’s mind worked. She understood him. And he understood how hard she’d struggled to prove herself. Jamie would help her brother, leaving her free to manage the clan lands. Ian’s position would be protected with Jamie as her husband.
Moreover, Meg genuinely liked Jamie Campbell. And he was fond of her.
It would be enough. More important, her father would be thrilled with her choice.
Meg had just about given up her search when she heard voices coming from a room that she’d overlooked at the end of a dark corridor. She lifted her heavy skirts and hurried toward the sounds. Pausing at the entrance of a small library, she anxiously searched through the group of men gathered to pass the afternoon with the time-honored masculine pursuits of drinking and gaming.
And at last she found him, seated at a table, playing cards with the person she most wanted to avoid—Alex MacLeod. She fought the urge to turn right around. By now, she should have grown accustomed to his presence. But the effects of proximity to the man had not lessened one whit. Meg struggled to control the race of her pulse and the overwhelming sensation of heightened awareness that seemed to flow simply from being within a hundred paces of him.
Determined not to be affected, she turned immediately to Jamie. “Jamie, here you are. I’ve been looking for you.”
Befuddled, Jamie said, “I’m sorry, Meg, was I supposed to meet you someplace?”
“No, but there is something I would like to discuss with you.” Her eyes flicked to Alex. “In private, if you don’t mind.”
Alex looked annoyed by her interruption. He leaned back and crossed his arms. His bulging muscular arms, folded across his broad chest, strained against the fabric of his thick doublet. Her mouth went dry. Such a raw display of manly power left her in a bit of a stupor. She’d never noticed how alluring arms could be. What would it feel like to be enfolded by those strong arms and crushed against that hard, broad chest?
“As you can see, Mistress Mackinnon, Jamie here and I are in the middle of a hand of maw,” he said, indicating the cards before him. He glanced around meaningfully. “Surely your discourse can wait.”
Jamie frowned at Alex. “Of course we can take a break—”
“That’s all right, Jamie,” Meg interrupted. “I don’t mind waiting.” Now that she’d found Jamie, she didn’t know exactly what she planned to say. She bit her lip. How exactly did one let a man know one was willing to accept a proposal that had yet to be made?
She felt Alex’s gaze upon her. His eyes were fixed on her mouth. They darkened, and suddenly self-conscious, Meg pressed her lips closed.
She stood beside the table in silence, trying—albeit unsuccessfully—to be inconspicuous in a room bereft of another feminine form. If she’d taken the time to look around before entering, she might not have been so hasty to barge in.
Rather than inadvertently catch any of the curious glances that flickered her way, Meg attempted to follow the play of cards. Although maw was the favorite card game of King James’s court, she preferred games of logic like chess. There was too much luck involved in cards.
It wasn’t simply being the only woman in the room that was bothering her. It was precisely who was in the room.
The men assembled were the elite of Scotland’s kingless government, those left in charge while the king wooed his new English subjects. Secretary Balmerino stood talking with Comptroller Scone and Lord Advocate Hamilton. The Marquess of Huntly, one of the “Great Lords,” was playing chess with the sole privy councillor from the Highlands, Kenneth Mackenzie. Several other privy councillors were dispersed throughout the room. The only men missing were Lord Chancellor Seton and the justice general—the Earl of Argyll—the other Great Lord.
These men were the rulers of Scotland—subject to the king’s directives, of course. Although Meg was aware that on occasion the king’s writ did not always run all the way to Scotland. Doubtless it was far easier to ignore the words of a king relegated to paper hundreds of miles away than it was to deny the king in person.
Overwhelmingly, with the notable exception of the two men before her and the Mackenzie chief, the men were Lowlanders. Jamie Campbell’s presence among the men could be explained by his close connection to his cousin Argyll, but what was Alex doing here? She would not have thought that the brother of a Highland chief would be sympathetic to the king’s Lowland leadership. And she knew enough of the clan feuds on Skye to realize that the MacLeods and the Mackenzies despised one another. Alex’s brother, the chief of MacLeod, had killed the Mackenzie’s father and older brother a few years back.
So why was a Highlander, and a mercenary to boot, socializing with his enemies?
Meg’s eyes widened at a disturbing thought. Unless they weren’t his enemies.
Alex was furious at Meg’s interruption. This was the closest he’d been to the king’s minions, the de facto rulers of Scotland, since he’d arrived. It had taken quite some maneuvering to insinuate himself among these men. But Meg Mackinnon had rendered all of his efforts for naught.
At every turn, she seemed to place an obstacle in his path. First, voicing her suspicions of his presence near Skye to Jamie, then taking his mind from his mission last night and embroiling him in a murderous plot overheard at a tavern, and now barging into a room in the midst of conversat
ions he’d hoped to hear more of.
His lack of progress over the last week was frustrating. There was much to be gleaned from careful observation, but he’d hoped to catch at least a stray comment or two. But so far, he’d heard nothing of the Isle of Lewis or the Fife Adventurers.
Mayhap the silence said it all.
The king’s men were wary of him, and justifiably so. His task would require finesse. He did not want to over-play his part as the hired sword arm on the outs with his brother. But subtlety required time, a luxury he did not have. If he was going to discover any useful information, Alex knew he was going to have to take some risks.
He peered over the edge of his cards at Meg. She was doing her best to appear oblivious, but he could see by the slight flush on her cheeks and the brightness in her eyes that she was uncomfortable. Good. So was he. The lass had become a thorn in his side for more reasons than one. She drove him to distraction. Her mere presence toyed with his senses. Did she have to smell like damn roses all the time? And did she have to chew on her lip with that adorably pensive look on her face? He could almost hear her mind work. Worse, he found himself wondering what she would say next. He couldn’t concentrate on anything else when she was in the room.
The most innocent of movements or gestures seemed sensual and provocative when she made them. Captivated, he watched as she repeatedly attempted to tuck away a stray lock of hair that had loosened from its taut moorings, her dainty fingers drawing attention to the long ivory line of her neck and the tiny pink shell of her ear. He wanted to tear out the pins that bound her hair and bury his face against her neck and hair, inhaling the sweet fragrance that he knew would be intoxicatingly intense. He’d run his mouth along the smooth soft velvet of her neck, take her tiny ear between his teeth, and kiss her until she writhed in his arms. And he wouldn’t stop there. He felt the blood rush to his cock; he stiffened, imagining all that he’d like to do.
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