Even the black-hearted Dougal sounded somewhat taken aback. “But, my lord, when the Highlanders realize what is happening, they will have no choice but to resist.”
That’s what they are hoping, you traitorous fool.This was no friendly colonization, it was a bloody conquest and the desecration of a people. Their people.
Seton’s snort of laughter curdled Alex’s blood. “Yes, they will, won’t they?” Alex could almost envision Seton’s smirk. “It will all be quite tragic.”
Alex pressed his back up against the stone wall, trying to cool his rage. He took a deep breath. Resolve at last cleared the confusing cobwebs from his mind.
He had to see his mission through. He had temporarily lost his focus, lost sight of all that he’d worked for. Nearly undone by one wee wood nymph. But now that he was faced with such stunning evidence of viciousness promulgated by his own king, his duty was clear. Desire must come second.
There was really only one thing left to do. Fight.
He would leave for the Isle of Lewis as soon as Rory arrived.
And not look back at what might have been.
Meg watched Alex leave the hall, feeling the familiar curdle of disappointment. He’d barely spoken to her. Each night she hoped it would be different, that tonight would be the night that he changed his mind. But tonight was no different from the rest.
The past week had been the hardest of her life. Forced to maintain an air of conviviality when inside her heart was breaking. Every moment of that day in the forest was branded on her consciousness. He’d awakened her passion and her heart. She wanted him to kiss her again, to touch her, to make her his in truth. And she knew he remembered it, too.
He held himself apart, but his eyes watched her every move with a possessive heat that sent a shiver of awareness down her spine. She sensed the anger and frustration building in him, but he made no move toward her. It didn’t make sense. He wanted her, but something was keeping him from acting on those feelings. If only he would trust her enough to tell her why.
At the same time, she was almost scared to find out what it was. If what Thomas Mackinnon said was true, Alex had been fighting with the MacGregors. Alex was an outlaw—although she supposed it depended on one’s perspective. It troubled her, but Meg knew that if he’d become an outlaw, he’d done so for a higher purpose. But she still didn’t know what it meant as to his suitability as a husband and as a leader of her clan.
Had she given her heart to the wrong man?
Even worse, had she given her heart to a man who did not love her in return? Unrequited love, the fodder of poets and playwrights from time immemorial. And it had happened to her, to a woman who’d sworn never to fall prey to the dictates of her heart. Meg, the cold, hard pragmatist, had fallen in love.
She’d never dreamed that her heart could be at risk, but it might not matter. She could not lose sight of her purpose in being here. She needed to find a husband, and time was running out. What was she going to do? She would never consider Dougal MacDonald’s proposal—not after what she’d learned of him. Could she accept Jamie knowing that she didn’t love him? That she loved another?
If only she could discover what it was that was preventing Alex from stepping forward. Then he would be free to marry her.
“Is everything all right, Meg?” Elizabeth asked. “You seem distracted.”
Meg managed a feeble smile. “I’m fine, just a bit tired,” she said.My heart is breaking.“I think I’ll fetch us a couple of glasses of claret.”
“I can go with you,” Jamie offered.
But Meg had already moved away. “I’ll be right back.” She wanted a moment alone to clear her head. She knew her mother, Elizabeth, and Jamie were all concerned about her after what had happened.
It was still hard to believe that someone, a trusted captain of her father’s guard no less, had been trying to kill her. Her mother had fainted upon finding out what her daughter had narrowly avoided and later sent a letter to Meg’s father with the news of Thomas Mackinnon’s treachery.
Meg shuddered to think what would have happened without Alex there. Twice now, he’d ridden to her rescue. The attacks on her life had made Meg realize that no matter how hard she tried, there were some things she simply could not do. Defending herself against half a score of warriors bent on killing her was one. But she also realized how ill equipped she’d been to recognize the danger. With his experience, Alex had identified the possible threat well before Meg even realized there was one. An invaluable skill for a Highland chief—or rather a trusted adviser to a Highland chief.
For a woman who’d been dependent upon herself for so long, it was startling to realize how much she liked the idea of Alex protecting her.
Alex seemed to have an acute awareness of everything around him. The prototypical warrior. Self-contained. Self-possessed. He didn’t need anyone.
She felt a lump in her chest.He didn’t need me.
As much as she’d grown dependent on him, it had become patently obvious that the reverse was not true.
She made her way toward the refreshment table but was forced to stop a few times along the way to exchange greetings. She’d finally reached her destination only to duck behind a column at the last minute to avoid Bianca Gordon. She was the last person Meg wanted to see right now.
Bianca had made it well-known this last week that if Alex was looking for a wife, he need look no further than the Marquess of Huntly’s very willing daughter. Meg frowned, recalling that Alex had been playing cards with Huntly tonight. It seemed an odd pairing. And not the first time Meg had noticed Alex with some unusual companions. It was probably nothing. Alex would certainly never be interested in Bianca Gordon. Although excessively unpleasant, Bianca was undeniably beautiful. But Meg recognized the impatience hiding beneath Alex’s smile whenever he was waylaid by Bianca. Bianca must have sensed it, too, because she took whatever opportunity she could to question Meg about her relationship with Alex.
Questions that Meg couldn’t answer, even if she wanted to.
Standing to one side of the column, she was tucked neatly from sight of the occupants in the room without seeming to be hiding. Only the broad skirts of her gown gave her away. But ironically, since Rosalind had chosen a cream gown embroidered with delicate gold threads that happened to match the décor of the room, Meg didn’t stick out too much. Good thing her mother had forbidden her to wear the orange gown again. There was something of the ridiculous in a grown woman having her mother pick out her clothes, but Meg had to admit that Rosalind had a flair for color and style Meg could never hope to emulate.
