“You agreed because you want to make your mother happy,” her mother said. “And it will make me happy to see to your hair and wardrobe tonight.” She sighed dramatically. “You are a beautiful girl, darling, if only you’d attend to your appearance the way you attend to the rents.”
“The rents are important, the way I wear my hairisn’t,” Meg answered patiently, as if this were the first time they’d had this conversation rather than the hundredth. “And you can see how much trouble it is to tame this unruly mess.”
Her mother shook her head with disbelief and attempted a stern expression, failing miserably. It was impossible for her mother to ever look sharply at anyone. “I don’t know why you are so upset about our escort for the evening. Alex MacLeod is a perfectly delightful man.”
“I’m upset because you promised not to interfere. Besides, your efforts are all for naught. I’ve already decided that if he asks, I’m going to marry Jamie.”
Her mother frowned. “But you don’t love Jamie. I’ve seen the way you look at Laird MacLeod. You are obviously attracted to him. All I’ve done is arrange it so that you can spend some time with him. You should be thanking me.”
Meg’s cheeks heated. Her mother was far too observant. “I’m not blind, Mother. I’ll admit he’s handsome—forsooth, who wouldn’t? But there’s a difference between physical attraction and true sentiment. Besides, he has no interest in me.”
Her mother put down the comb and crossed her arms. “Fiddlesticks.”
Meg’s eyes widened. For her soft-spoken mother, that was akin to a curse.
“You are blind if you can’t see that Alex MacLeod is far more than a handsome face. He is a laird in his own right, brother to one of the most powerful chiefs in the Highlands, a commanding presence, a warrior of obvious skill, intelligent, and witty. And more important, he can’t seem to take his eyes off you.”
“You’re imagining things,” she said, tamping down the swell of pleasure that her mother’s words inspired. “For heaven’s sake, Mother, he’s a mercenary. He sells his sword to the highest bidder.”
“Well, you have more than enough gold to bid.”
“Mother!”
Her mother lifted her pointed chin in a remarkable imitation of stubbornness. “We could use a good warrior at Dunakin.”
“We need more than a good fighter. What of loyalty? Have you not heard of his falling-out with his brother? How could I trust his loyalty to Ian?”
Rosalind waved her hand as if Meg’s concerns were meaningless. “Gossip.”
Meg couldn’t hide her frustration, especially since her mother seemed to be voicing the very thing she herself refused to consider. She could not risk her brother’s future, her clan’s future, on an unknown. After all, what did she really know about Alex MacLeod?
He was a man with questionable loyalties who’d arrived at court under an air of mystery and subterfuge. Why did he not want anyone to know he was near Skye? Why was he socializing with men who should be his enemies? And why had he been so quick to accuse her of spying on him? He was hiding something, of that she was sure.
Admittedly, he was an exceptional warrior. He had all of a warrior’s command and natural authority, without the usual arrogant swagger. But although his leadership skills might have impressed her on the battlefield, she didn’t know whether he had the cunning to lead her clan into the future in dealing with the king’s men. And most important, would he stay loyal to her brother, or would he try to claim power for himself? There was something else that bothered her. She sensed something simmering under the surface, something that he struggled to contain. Alex MacLeod was a man of dangerous passions.
She couldn’t trust him. Not enough to risk her brother’s future and her own. Nothing had changed. Jamie was still the only choice. “Stop interfering, Mother,” she said sharply. “I know what I’m doing.”
Her mother’s eyes welled with tears at Meg’s harsh tone. “I’m sorry, darling. I only want you to be happy.”
Meg took one look at her mother’s face and panicked. This was precisely what had gotten her into this situation of being trussed up like a Christmas goose in the first place. Unfortunately, Meg suffered from the same malady as her father—she could not stand to see her mother weep. Please, darling, just this once, Rosalind had beseeched. So instead of her usual refusal when her mother offered to help her with her wardrobe, Meg had given in.
She took her mother’s hands and gave them a squeeze. “I know, Mother, forgive me. I know you only want what’s best for me. I will be happy. With Jamie.”
Her mother opened her mouth to argue, but Meg cut her off.
“I think we’d better call for Alys if we have any hope of being ready in time.”
She could tell her mother wanted to say more, but thankfully she nodded and called for the maid.
After seemingly hours of prodding and poking, Alys finished pinning the last curl in Meg’s new hair arrangement and stepped back. Meg was berating herself again for agreeing to this foolery when she heard her mother gasp. She spun around. “What’s the matter?” Her hands went to her head. “Is it that awful? I told you this would be a waste of time.”
Her mother’s hands covered her cheeks, and her eyes were wide with awe. “Margaret…” She paused, continuing to stare at her. “You look beautiful.”
Meg smiled, knowing how prone her mother was to dramatic exaggerations—especially when it came to the accomplishments of her children. “Oh please, Mother,” Meg dismissed, turning to look at Elizabeth, who’d just entered the room. But Elizabeth, too, looked shocked.
“But you do look beautiful, Meg,” Elizabeth said. “Truly, I’ve never seen you such. You’re positively radiant.”
Uncomfortable with such unusually sincere compliments, Meg felt her cheeks grow hot. “Nonsense.” How much could a new hairstyle and gown matter? Still, she couldn’t resist a quick peek in the looking glass.
The woman who met her gaze was nearly unrecognizable. For once, her unruly curls were tamed and fastened becomingly at the back of her head. Alys had allowed a few of the more golden brown curls to dangle down her back and shoulders. A slight dusting of powder on her nose hid her less persistent freckles, and the pink remains of her embarrassed blush still swept her cheeks.
Her eyes, wide with wonder, seemed to dominate her face. In comparison, the rest of her features looked unusually delicate: her chin tiny and pointed, her slight nose upturned, her mouth a soft pink bow. The combination lent her face a fragile vulnerability that Meg would have previously thought impossible.
In honor of the masque tonight, Rosalind had chosen a simple silk gown in a shade of moss green that matched her eyes exactly. Dispensing with the bolster and farthingale, the soft folds of the dress hugged her slim figure and emphasized the gentle swell of her breasts rather than flatten them as did the stiff bodices and ruffs of her typical court attire.
The woman staring back at her in the glass looked more like her mother than she could have ever dreamed possible. Meg actually looked…pretty, she realized with shock.
She didn’t know what to say. She’d never had the time, or never allowed herself the time, to devote to her appearance. It had never mattered before. But at that moment, she realized that it was more than her duties keeping her from taking an interest in her appearance—she’d been scared. Scared to discover that it might not make a difference.
Emotion gathered at the back of her throat. “Thank you, Mother,” she said with a grateful smile, leaning over to kiss Rosalind’s soft cheek.
Her mother returned her smile, tears of joy shining in her eyes. “You’re welcome.” But being a mother, she couldn’t keep from adding, “Though I wish you had not fought the obvious for so long.” Rosalind studied her daughter. “I think tonight you might be surprised how much the bit of effort pleases you.”
And only minutes later, as much as Meg wanted to deny her mother’s words, she could not. Rosalind was right, Meg was pleased. Excessively so.
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When Alex MacLeod strode into the small salon to escort them to the masque and literally stopped in his tracks, for the first time in her life, Meg felt beautiful. There was no confusing his attraction this time. The blatant admiration that widened his eyes was well worth the hours of tedium. Although clearly surprised by the change in her appearance, interestingly, he did not seem as shocked as Elizabeth.
He stared at her for much longer than was polite. Long enough for Meg to grow uncomfortable. She fiddled with the carved bone handle of her fan, significant because she never fiddled. His eyes darkened with intensity as his gaze traveled slowly from her head down the length of her figure, lingering an embarrassingly long moment on her breasts, taking in every inch of her new ensemble. A shiver of awareness followed in his heated wake. When their eyes locked, she felt a jolt. Shocked by the flash of white hot desire revealed in his gaze.
But he seemed, well, angry. His mouth fell into a hard, straight line. A muscle in his cheek began to twitch. Even dressed in the elaborate court attire, his entire body tensed as if prepared to battle. Alex MacLeod looked every bit the fierce and predatory Highland warrior as he had that day in the forest.
Whatever was the matter with him?
With one last burning glance, he turned to her mother and offered her his arm. Meg frowned. He was acting very strangely indeed.
Alex fumed in silence. The tenuous control he held on his restraint had been stretched to its limits. With each minute of this blasted masque that passed, his anger intensified. He tried not watching her, but it didn’t help. He was only too aware of every damn lascivious cox-comb hanging all over her. A small army of men had surrounded Meg, with her mother and Elizabeth nowhere to be seen. Where the hell were they, anyway? Didn’t they know not to leave an innocent lamb alone among a pack of starving wolves?
You’d think the men at court had never seen a beautiful woman before.
Used to solving problems with his sword, Alex found it difficult to maintain the illusion of civility. He wanted nothing more than to smash a few of those lust-filled leers focused too often on her surprisingly generous bosom.
Meg Mackinnon was testing his patience, and other parts of him as well. He was as restless and edgy as a caged lion. Resisting his instincts was frustrating for a man used to living by them.
From the first moment he’d walked into the salon tonight and seen Meg, he’d realized what was going to happen, and it had enraged him. He’d known how these men would react, because he’d reacted the same way. With a warm rush of lust.
She looked like a damn goddess with her cascade of soft curls, her wide, innocent eyes, and her soft red rosebud of a mouth. But it was the gown that made him half-crazed. For the masque, the usual stiff bodices and wide skirts had given way to softer, more flowing gowns. Meg’s gown hugged her body, revealing her high, firm breasts, tiny waist, and slim, narrow hips.
He no longer had to imagine the shapely curves she hid under her courtly armor, he could see every lush inch of her for himself. He clenched his fists and swore. But so could everyone else. His wee bookish nymph had a sensuality that left his mouth watering.
Bloody hell! Why did it have to be tonight that she unveiled her beauty for all the world to admire? She’d always been popular with the older men for her wit and considerable fortune, but adding beauty had impossibly sweetened the pot. Tonight, both young and old sought her out. But it was the former that worried Alex. Lord knew what kind of trouble she could find herself in with an overzealous young admirer. The same sort of trouble she’d nearly found with him in the corridor.
He should be focusing his attention elsewhere. So far, he’d seen nothing to suggest that Meg was in any danger. The conversation he’d overheard in the tavern must have been a coincidence. Alex told himself that since he’d agreed to act as escort, it was his duty to watch over her, as inexperienced as she must be with men—especially these men. But he was spending far more time keeping an eye on Meg and her aggressive suitors than he was in keeping an eye out for Lord Chancellor Seton.
The only good thing to come out of the near debacle with Seton’s serving maid in the corridor a few days ago had been the news that Seton intended to attend the masque tonight. Alex had flirted with the maid in the hopes of learning more, but apparently she was the only servant in the palace who didn’t listen to the conversations going on around her.
Yet in other ways she’d proved a surprisingly aggressive creature. Indeed, he’d been trying to uncoil himself from her viselike tentacles when he’d caught sight of Meg. He’d reacted without thinking, turning his discomfort at being caught in a compromising situation onto her. He’d seen the flash of hurt in her eyes and wanted to explain, but he had his mission. Holding Meg in his arms had been a mistake, but one that he could not regret. She’d felt too damn good.
But the small tease of pleasure had only made his hunger deepen.
He caught himself staring at her again. She’d changed, but she hadn’t. Her hair might be more artfully arranged, but she still wore the same matter-of-fact, pensive expression. An expression entirely without artifice. That alone made her stand out and made her infinitely more attractive than the jaded courtiers who surrounded her. There was no pretense with Meg Mackinnon. It was one of the things he most admired about her, her confidence and ability to speak her mind.
But tonight there was a subtle difference in that expression. She looked more relaxed than he’d seen her before. Happier. It was the carefree young girl he’d sensed lurking beneath the serious façade. He’d wanted to see her laugh and smile. Just not with other men.
She smiled at something the man next to her whispered, too close to her ear for Alex’s comfort, and the pure radiance of that smile transformed her face beyond mere loveliness. He couldn’t look away. He was mesmerized by the bewitching glint in those soft green eyes, the amused wrinkle in the small upturned nose, and the gentle curl of that pink bud mouth. He ached to taste her, to press her close to him again, and to discover whether she tasted as impossibly sweet as she looked.
His groin tightened painfully.
Meg moved with such an artless, guileless grace. Movements that were all the more seductive for their rarity. She might never have the flamboyant beauty of her mother or his sister-in-law, Isabel, but though more understated, it was equally entrancing.
Unfortunately, now he was not the only one to notice.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her tip her head back and laugh at something one of her admirers said. An admirer who was standing much too close and couldn’t keep his damn eyes from falling to the deep valley between her breasts. The pounding started in his ears, and all Alex could see was red.
He’d had enough. His wee little seductress needed a severe talking-to.
Since the moment of their arrival in the hall, a noticeable buzz had trailed Meg’s every move. She found herself thoroughly, and surprisingly, enjoying her newfound popularity. She’d never lacked for suitors—her fortune alone would compel many men to seek her hand—but tonight she detected a subtle difference in the intensity of their interest.
They did not want her just for the power and position she would bring them with an alliance, they wanted her. It surprised her that the difference mattered.
Meg felt a trickle of apprehension along the back of her neck. She’d been aware that Alex was watching her—he was so blatant, it was impossible not to be—but when he came storming toward her with a savage expression on his face, she decided that perhaps it would be prudent to avoid him. He was in a black mood, and she suspected that for some reason he blamed her. Though she couldn’t imagine why. She turned to one of the gentlemen at her side, accepted his arm, and started to move away. Only to find Alex had managed to cut in front of her to block her path.
That trickle turned into a full-fledged flood. She didn’t like the way he was looking at her. Not one bit. But, she reminded herself, she hadn’t done anything wrong.
“Excuse me,” she said in a surpr
isingly calm voice. “I was just about to take some air with—”
“Good idea,” he snapped. “I’ll take you. Lord Maxwell here won’t mind.” He grabbed her arm and started pulling her toward the balcony. Lord Maxwell appeared to mind very much, but he didn’t have the gumption to argue. Meg peeked out of the side of her lashes and noticed Alex’s taut mouth and clenched jaw. There was also the fact that his shoulders were twice as wide and he had at least eight inches of height on Lord Maxwell. She supposed she could hardly blame the poor man for standing aside. It was as if Alex had claimed her and dared any man to oppose him. She shook off the feeling. That was ridiculous.
For a man of his size, Alex moved with a surprising grace. But being pulled along beside him, she found it a struggle to keep up with his long, powerful strides. A burst of cool air smacked her senses as she exited the hall. The night air was a welcome reprieve from the stagnant heat of an overcrowded room. After glancing around to see that they were alone, she brusquely shook off his hold. He seethed beside her, but she refused to be intimidated. Even if he did outweigh her two times over. At least.
The realization took her aback. Though he looked every bit as forbidding as he had that day on the battlefield, she did not fear him. No matter how angry he was, she knew that he could never harm her. Even when he was furious, Meg felt safer with him than she’d ever felt with anyone before.
The knowledge both pleased and emboldened her. She turned to face him, toe-to-toe. “That was very rude,” she pointed out, resisting the urge to stick her finger in his chest. “Whatever is the matter with you? You’ve been glowering at me all night. You can’t still be angry about what happened the other day. I told you I wasn’t spying on you. I’m sorry for interrupting your little tryst, but really, you can’t blame me for walking down a corridor.”
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