“Perhaps Alex would like to play instead?” Elizabeth asked smoothly, without a hint of a stutter.
Meg’s pulse leapt as she shot her friend a chilling glare. She didn’t want to be in the same room with him, let alone stare at him across a chessboard for who knew how long—well, probably notthatlong. But she didn’t relish even a few minutes. So before he could respond, Meg interjected, “I’m sure Laird MacLeod is much too busy—”
“Thank you, Lizzie,” he said, cutting Meg off. “I believe I could spare time for a game or two.” His piercing blue eyes held hers, and Meg temporarily forgot everything but the deafening pounding of her heart wrought by the smoky intensity of his gaze. The intimacy they’d shared last night hung between them. Awareness settled low in her belly as she remembered the rough scrape of his chin against her skin, and the feel of his mouth roaming across her jaw, down her neck, and along her bodice, marking her.
She dropped her gaze. “You play chess?” she asked. Chess was not the typical warrior’s game. It required exceptional skill, patience, and strategy. Intrigued, Meg wondered what type of player he might be. He was a leader, a man who liked to be in control. She assumed he’d play a straightforward attack.
Alex lifted one eyebrow, perhaps reading her surprise. “A bit.”
Elizabeth stood up, relinquishing her chair to Alex with a grin of amusement. “I must warn you, Alex, Meg is an exceptional player. Virtually unbeatable.”
Alex returned her smile. “I appreciate the warning, Lizzie. Although I would have expected as much.”
Meg would have liked to murmur some maidenly words of modesty, but Elizabeth spoke the truth, better for him to have fair warning. She considered him from beneath her lashes. Alex was a fiercely proud man; she’d make sure to have care and not trounce him too thoroughly.
Assuming she could concentrate, of course. When he sat down, his large frame seemed to overwhelm the small area. The wooden chair where Elizabeth had sat now looked as if it had been made for a child. He moved, and a hint of spice wafted through the air, harkening back to the corridor. She remembered that intoxicating scent all too well and the way the masculine essence had enveloped her, drowning her in heat. Her body prickled with awareness. The space was too small. Too intimate. Too much of a reminder of last night.
And of how easily she’d succumbed.
Forcing herself to focus on the game, Meg reached across the board and nervously adjusted some of the ebony pieces that Elizabeth had been setting up.
Alex stopped her, circling her wrist with his strong fingers. Startled by the heat of his touch and the sensation rippling through her, Meg looked up into his face to see an amused glint in his blue eyes. “They’re fine. I don’t think it’s necessary for the pieces to all face precisely the same direction.”
Meg cheeks fired; she hadn’t even realized what she’d been doing. Her penchant for orderliness was a great source of amusement to her mother and Elizabeth, and now, apparently, to Alex. But his smile could stop her heart. She responded with one of her own, realizing that she liked his teasing. Liked the fact that he noticed the small things about her.
“After you,” he said, releasing her wrist and motioning to the ivory pieces set out before her.
She took a deep breath and studied the board intently. Though she was confident in her abilities, only a fool would dismiss an opponent without ascertaining something of his skill, so Meg paid close attention to his defense of her opening bishop’s attack. After the first few moves, however, she relaxed. He was not a novice player but was also not a very sophisticated one, using a rather plebeian defense strategy against her attack. She’d already captured one of his pawns, and one of his bishops was in jeopardy. This shouldn’t take too long.
He moved a pawn, and Meg noticed how his large, battle-scarred hands dwarfed the carved chess pieces. She remembered exactly how gentle those callused warrior’s fingers could be.
“You received a message from your father yesterday?” he asked, breaking her trance.
“How did you know about that?”
“Your mother told me last night.” He saw the look on her face and explained, “I saw a man following you and didn’t realize he was one of your father’s captains.”
Meg repressed a flicker of unease. Thomas Mackinnon had arrived yesterday with the missive from her father. Ever since she’d refused his suit, she’d felt uncomfortable around the man, but thankfully he would be returning to Skye right away. “Bishop—” She lifted her gaze, taking the piece. “Is that why you asked my mother to check on me?”
He nodded, and warmth spread over her. It was somehow comforting to realize that he was watching out for her. But why was he? “Do you still believe that the attack was not random?”
“There’s always the possibility that it wasn’t,” he said, moving a pawn. “Until the men are caught, I would advise exercising caution. Better to be vigilant and safe than careless and sorry.”
She tried to smother her growing excitement—he’d just left his knight vulnerable. This would be a quick game indeed. “Knight,” she said, capturing the piece. She broke her concentration on the game long enough to appraise his expression. She still didn’t see why anyone would want to harm her, but she trusted his judgment. “I suppose you are right. I will be careful.”
“Good.”
They played in companionable silence for a few minutes, and Meg was surprised by how natural it seemed. She could almost imagine countless evenings spent relaxing before the fire across a chessboard from Alex. For a moment the sensation was so real, she felt a pang of longing when it faded. But Alex was hardly a man to stay near the hearth. He was too much of a warrior. A fighter.
Though for a man who’d spent his life on battlefields, she had to admit that Alex demonstrated an unusual ability to adapt to his surroundings. Never would she have imagined the fierce outlaw who’d rescued her in the forest relaxing across a chessboard from her at Holyrood House. But never did she doubt that he was the same man.
The comfort of her surroundings, however, was short-lived. She could feel his eyes on her, lingering on her mouth.
“About last night—”
“I’m sorry,” she blurted out, mortified color heating her cheeks. Meg, who was usually so direct herself, couldn’t believe he’d brought it up without preamble.
Dear God, she hoped Elizabeth wasn’t listening.She couldn’t bear to look at him. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” she said in a low voice brimming with embarrassment. “I wasn’t thinking, I was frightened, I simply reacted—”
