“Then who are you, Alex? If not the skilled warrior, the superior strategist, the honorable man.”
I’m a man with a job to do.
He’d said enough already.
“Does this have something to do with the MacGregors? Is what Thomas said true? Were you with the MacGregors all these years?”
“Leave it be, Meg.”
She stared at him with wounded eyes. “You still don’t trust me. Is that why you stopped?”
Hurt quivered in her voice, but he forced himself to ignore it.
Did he trust her? He didn’t know. For a moment, before all hell broke loose, part of him had considered confiding in her. She was a Highlander after all; even her father was involved in his brother’s plan. But something held him back. Her pragmatic approach to Highland politics, especially about King James’s policies toward the MacGregors, had angered him. She was wrong. They couldn’t stand around watching while their way of life was destroyed. They had to fight, practical or not. How would she feel about his taking a sword against the king’s men?
And something else bothered him. Her close relationship with the Campbells. Jamie Campbell and his cousin Argyll were closely aligned with the king. Could he trust her not to say anything to her friends? Probably. But probably wasn’t good enough, not with everything at stake.
“Trust has nothing to do with it,” he said brusquely. “I stopped because your innocence is a gift that belongs to your husband on your wedding night.”
It was a gift that was not his to take. No matter how much he wanted it.
He heard her sharp intake of breath. The urge to reassure her was powerful, but he held himself still. For a moment, he thought he saw tears brimming in her luminous green eyes. He ignored the sudden tightness in his chest. This was for the best. Let there be no illusions as to their future.
A gift that belongs to your husband.His words echoed in her ears.
Meg felt ill. The implication could not be clearer. It was not a position he intended to fill.
After the intimacies they’d just shared, his rejection stung. More than she’d ever dreamed possible. She knew he was not indifferent to her, he wanted her. What was holding him back?
She stared at him, praying for a sign, something to take away the sting of his words. Not knowing why, but knowing that it was vitally important, knowing that she’d never wanted anything more than she did at that moment. But he made no move toward her.
This was the reality, then. He didn’t want to marry her.
And at that precise moment, at the moment of bitter understanding, Meg recognized the truth in her own heart. The truth that was so clear, she didn’t know how she could not have realized it before.
She loved him.
Oh God, how could this have happened?
How could itnothave happened? she realized. Alex was an easy man to love. Compelling in every way. Handsome as sin, a leader to admire, a skilled warrior, an impressive strategist both on and off the field of battle. But it was also how he made her feel. His strength gave her the freedom to feel vulnerable. Ever since she’d learned the truth about her brother, Meg had been the strong one. The one her father could always count on. It was a difficult façade to maintain, but Alex seemed to sense her strain. When she was with him, she felt strong, invincible. As if the challenges facing her weren’t quite so insurmountable.
From the first, he’d seemed to see inside her. In his eyes she’d always felt beautiful, not the awkward girl at court who seemed never to fit in. Not once had he been put off by her blunt tongue; if anything, he seemed to admire her for it.
From the first moment she’d seen him, she’d sensed a connection. That connection had only strengthened the more she’d learned of him, and each time he held her in his arms and awakened her passion.
How could he deny it?
She waited for a sign that never came. The ache in her chest intensified. She would not cry. Not now. Later. Later, when she could sort out her thoughts.
Back straight, she turned, silently asking for his help lacing her stays and pinning her dress. And just as silently, he gave it.
Dougal MacDonald led the half-dozen palace guards through a scene of bloody carnage. He felt a surprisingly strong bolt of alarm before MacLeod stepped out from behind a tree, claymore drawn, shielding the object of Dougal’s concern.
He breathed a sigh of relief. His bride was safe.
His gaze flickered over her. His eyes narrowed, noticing Meg’s disheveled appearance and unmistakably swollen lips. He schooled his features into a mask of equanimity, though rage rushed through his veins. It was obvious what they had been doing. The bitch would pay for soiling herself. And MacLeod would die for touching her.
He should have rid himself of Alex MacLeod four years ago. Dougal didn’t regret many things in his life, but not eliminating Alex MacLeod when he had the chance was one of them. Almost immediately, Dougal had regretted that rare display of mercy at Cuillin when he’d spared Alex’s life. Although young, Dougal had recognized Alex’s potential danger: Alex would demand vengeance for the deaths of his kin.
