He answered with a curt bow. “Mistress Mackinnon.”
Meg turned to her mother to explain. “I had the pleasure of making Laird MacLeod’s acquaintance last night.”
Her mother’s brows lifted just a little too much to be believable. “You did?” Her eyes sparkled with mischief. She turned to Alex with a soft, chiding rap of her fan on his arm. “Why, you never mentioned it.”
Alex frowned, obviously confused. “I believe I did—”
“I was just telling this dear boy about our misfortune on the road,” her mother interrupted blithely.
Only her mother could call a man of at least thirty years standing well over six feet a “dear boy”—and mean it.
“But didn’t he tell you?” Meg’s innocent smile mirrored her mother’s as her gaze shifted to Alex. “Laird MacLeod knows all the details of our attack.”
“He does?” her mother asked, and this time her surprise was genuine.
Meg could swear she saw a muscle clench in Alex’s jaw. Proof of his deception, perhaps? She held his gaze as she answered her mother. “Yes, I told him all about it last night.”
His gaze sharpened, as if she’d surprised him. She might enjoy prodding him, but Meg was not fool enough to voice her beliefs to her mother.
“Did the laird tell you that he was a soldier?”
Amazing,Meg thought. Her mother would have made an excellent inquisitor.
“We could use more men like him in Skye protecting our roads, especially near Dunakin, don’t you think, Meg?”
Meg murmured something, trying to cover her acute embarrassment. Her mother was never one for subtlety. Though Meg supposed neither was she.
Her mother continued, completely unabashed, “It’s a beautiful evening for dancing, isn’t it, my laird?”
“Would you care to dance, my lady?”
Meg smothered her sudden snort of laughter with a cough. The flash of dry wit was unexpected, but delightfully so. She gave him an appreciative grin, and their eyes met in a moment of shared understanding that was strangely affecting. There was more to this forbidding soldier than met the eye.
Undeterred, her mother flashed a saucy smile. “Me?” She tapped him playfully with her fan again, as if he were a naughty schoolboy. “Oh, you’re a horrible tease. I’m much too old for dancing. But…” She turned her eyes on Meg.
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 couldfeelhim.
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.
