“Oh!” Meg exclaimed, her eyes wide with surprise.
Alex watched as understanding dawned. Somehow, he knew what her reaction would be.
Disappointment flickered in her eyes. Those damnably entrancing eyes.
The news that he was a mercenary soldier had done what he could not—stopped her questions. She no longer studied his face but turned her attention back to Jamie. A subtle rejection, and a surprisingly effective one.
He should be relieved. But when they took their leave, and her gaze slid over him with barely concealed regret, he was almost sorry about the need for the ruse.
Chapter 3
The next evening, Meg found herself in exactly the same place she’d been for the last two weeks. But tonight there was a discernible difference.Hewas here.
Unfortunately, she was not the only one to have noticed.
She excused herself from the circle of ladies and moved toward the open window overlooking the rose garden, hoping the fresh air would help clear her head. He’d only just arrived, and already she’d heard more than enough about Alex MacLeod. Even if she wanted to forget him, it would be nigh impossible.
There was only one thing the ladies at court liked to gossip about more than a handsome man, Meg realized: a handsomeunmarriedman. Add a hearty dose of rugged Highland masculinity, a touch of the forbidden, a dash of mystery, and the subject proved absolutely irresistible. As was evidenced by the not so minor sensation created by Alex’s arrival at Holyrood.
Speculation was rife about the nature of his business at court. Not a few ladies Meg had spoken to hoped he was in search of a wife. She didn’t have the heart to disillusion them. They would find out soon enough.
He was a mercenary. A sword for hire looking for a job. A man with no loyalties.
Meg didn’t want to believe it.
She almost wished he were an outlaw. At least then she could believe that he was a man of principle, fighting for something he believed in. That he’d chosen to use his considerable skills to barter to the highest bidder was some heavy tarnish on his shining armor, to say the least.
What was it about Alex MacLeod that so intrigued her? Thatstillintrigued her despite what she’d learned of his profession?
More than once tonight, she’d caught herself unconsciously seeking him out. He wasn’t difficult to find. Head set high above the rest, a shock of golden brown hair glistened in the candlelight. His wide shoulders and dark clothing set him apart, as did the strength and power that radiated from him. He appeared remote, untouchable. An inscrutable expression fixed eternally on his handsome face.
He didn’t belong here. He was a Highland warrior in the midst of Lowland courtiers. But it was the courtiers who suffered from the comparison. He was like a great tawny lion holding court among a sea of silk-clad parrots.
Women flocked to him, but he seemed to show no particular favor toward any one. Including Meg. He hadn’t looked at her all night. It didn’t bother her. Truly. She could hardly expect to compete with the steady stream of beautiful women throwing themselves at his feet. Not that she wanted to, she assured herself.
But she knew that for the lie it was when he tossed back his head and laughed at something his companion said. The smile on his face stopped her heart. She drank in the sight of amusement transcending the darkness that normally shaded his expression. There was the smile that she remembered from his visit to Dunakin long ago; she’d wondered where it had gone.
Surely it was a sin to be that glorious? When her gaze shifted to see which lucky woman had brought a smile to his face, Meg was shocked to discover that he was talking to her mother.
Turning back toward the night air, Meg shook her head, a wistful smile playing upon her lips. She didn’t know why she was surprised. Rosalind Mackinnon was exceptionally beautiful and charming, two qualities to which Meg could hardly lay claim. Meg’s features were perfectly acceptable, even pretty in the proper perspective, but downright bland compared with the vividness of her mother’s. Rarely did Meg pay much attention to her appearance; it simply wasn’t that important to her. Her mother had tried to get Meg more interested in clothes, hair, and other feminine accoutrements—repeatedly—but most of the time, Meg was too busy to bother. As for charm, well, her oft blunt tongue precluded any suggestion of that.
Her lack of courtly accomplishments had never concerned her before. It was highly disconcerting to realize that they did so now.
She barely had time to ponder the meaning of her strange melancholy before a familiar voice sounded in her ear.
“Margaret, look who I’ve brought for you to meet. Our delightful neighbor from Skye.”
Meg cast a cautious glance over her shoulder, only to see her beaming mother bearing down on her with a stone-faced Alex pulled along in her wake. That was quick, Meg thought with reluctant appreciation, even for her mother. Unfortunately for Meg, it was too late to hide.
She didn’t miss the horrified look on her mother’s face when she noticed Meg’s gown. Meg looked down. What was wrong with orange?
Bravely, she stood ready to face the torture. She could only imagine what nefarious schemes her mother had concocted. Finding a handsome Highlander at court—from a powerful neighboring clan nonetheless—had probably sent her into a tizzy of excited wedding preparations. But Meg could not fault her for her good intentions—or for her taste, for that matter. Rosalind Mackinnon wanted a fairy-tale marriage for her daughter, whether Meg agreed or not. And a fairy tale always included a handsome prince.
She sighed, resigned to her fate. If it was any consolation, Alex appeared no more eager for this meeting than she. She wondered what her mother had said to get him over here. Meg almost felt sorry for him. With a lesser man, she would have. She knew what it was like to be caught up in the determined machinations of her mother’s schemes. Ever since Meg had begun in earnest her search for a husband, Rosalind Mackinnon had elevated the role of matchmaker to an art form. But she was sure Alex MacLeod could take care of himself. Even against a worthy foe like her mother.
Meg bowed her head slightly in greeting. “Laird MacLeod.”
Her voice sounded steadier than she felt. To put it bluntly, the man flustered her. Simply standing beside him made her pulse race. Once again, she was uncomfortably aware of the vast difference in their sizes. She had to tilt her head back just to look at him. Though, admittedly, it was worth the effort. He really was quite magnificent. And imposing. He made her conscious of her own vulnerability, but at the same time, never had she felt so safe. An odd duality to be sure.
