And didn’t look back.
Chapter 2
Holyrood House, Edinburgh, July 1605
Court was exactly as she’d expected: pure torture. Meg had tried, but she would never fit in. At Holyrood House, nothing was as it seemed. Intrigue, innuendo, subtlety. They might as well have been speaking Greek. No, wait, she understood Greek. They might as well have been speaking Arabic, Meg amended. She would never be able to understand the language of courtiers. Only two weeks and already she couldn’t wait to leave and return to her beloved Skye. But not yet. Not until she found what she’d come for.
As she’d done every night since her arrival, Meg stood with her friend Elizabeth Campbell near the doorway of the great hall—a position that afforded her the best vantage into the room—carefully surveying the crowd of courtiers swarming about the palace of James VI of Scotland, now James I of England.
King James had been ruling Scotland from Whitehall for almost three years now, but you wouldn’t know it by looking at the number of people who flocked to the palace each night. Edinburgh was still the center of power in Scotland, with or without the king. Instead of the king, the hordes of sycophants now sought favor from Lord Chancellor Seton or his privy councillors.Like bees to honey,Meg thought wryly. Behind the plush velvets and fine brocades of their elaborate court dress, each person in this room was here with a purpose. To a one, they wanted something from someone: power, position, intrigue, or, like her, a husband.
Acknowledging that unfortunate truth, she forced herself to scan the room again in the vain hope that she’d missed something, or rather someone, the first time around.
“Any new prospects?” Elizabeth asked.
Meg turned to her friend and shook her head. “No.” She didn’t bother trying to hide the frustration in her voice. Elizabeth was well aware of Meg’s trials in her ongoing search for a husband. “I think I’ve been introduced to every unmarried man in Scotland between the ages of twenty and fifty.”
Elizabeth smothered a giggle behind her gloved hand. “Don’t forget Lord Burton. He was sixty-five if he was a day.”
Meg grimaced. “You’re right. I stand corrected.”
“Give your mother some time,” Elizabeth teased, patting her hand. “I’m sure she’ll find you any number of potential suitors.”
Meg tried not to groan. Her mother’s attempts at matchmaking were anything but subtle.
“It could be worse,” Elizabeth added sympathetically. “At least she finds the handsome ones.”
Meg sighed and shook her head, acknowledging the truth of the statement. Her mother was quite predictable in that fashion. Certainly Meg was not immune to a handsome countenance, but extremely handsome men made her wary. She knew firsthand how easy it was to lose your senses in the twinkle of a charming smile. Relying on attraction was a recipe for disaster. But she didn’t have the heart to discourage her mother, as she seemed to take such pleasure in her task.
“Indeed, if handsome fops were what I was looking for, I’d be back on Skye by now.” Meg bit her lip and looked around furtively, relieved that no one had overheard her. She’d spoken bluntly again. Yet another of the reasons she didn’t fit in well at court. Except with Elizabeth. She didn’t seem to mind Meg’s propensity for frankness. Elizabeth and her brother Jamie were the only good things about coming to Edinburgh. She’d met them two years ago on her first appearance at court and she’d been friends with them ever since.
“You’ve certainly met your share of them,” Elizabeth agreed. “But with your list of requirements in a husband, I fear you are going to have to expand your search.”
Meg lifted a brow, intrigued. “How so?”
Elizabeth’s eyes danced. “Perhaps one man is not enough.”
Meg would have laughed if it didn’t feel as though Elizabeth might be right. Already two weeks gone, and she was no closer to finding a husband than when she’d first arrived. Her task was proving much more difficult than she’d originally anticipated. It almost made her understand why marriages were arranged by fathers. Initially, she’d considered herself fortunate to choose her own husband. Now, however, she wasn’t so sure. Less than a month remained before they must return to Dunakin in preparation for Michaelmas. Yet despite the urgency of the situation, try as she might, Meg just couldn’t muster up the proper enthusiasm for the task at hand.
As if to prove her point, a man not much taller than her, dressed head to toe in shiny white satin with his trunk hose puffed out as wide as a pumpkin, strode by with a gallant bow in her direction. It wasn’t a secret that Meg sought a husband, and her fortune attracted plenty of interest. She forced a smile to her lips and acknowledged his attentions with a small nod, all the while knowing that he would never do. Ticking through her mental checklist of requirements, she just couldn’t picture this man leading her braw Mackinnon warriors into battle at her brother’s side.
Unfortunately, he was quite typical of the Lowland gentlemen who frequented court. Lowlanders bore closer resemblance to Englishmen than their Highland countrymen. The king’s disdain for Highland “barbarians” was well-known, which in part had compelled this trip to court—to broaden the scope of her search for a husband to include influential men connected to King James’s government.
But how was she supposed to find a man of strength and valor in this garden of preening peacocks?
Not for the first time, Meg’s thoughts slid back to the copse of trees and to the mysterious warrior who’d rescued her. As handsome as Adonis, with the prowess of Ares. Both qualities unnerved her. But perhaps even more unnerving was the realization that she’d been attracted to the man.Despitehis too handsome face and what she’d witnessed on the battlefield.
He was not at all the sort of man she typically found attractive. His size, for one, was too overwhelming. Big braw men made her…well…nervous. She frowned. Actually, now that she thought about it, everything about him was overwhelming. From his fierce, handsome face, to his unfettered fighting skills, to his blatant masculinity.
Still, she could not forget him, which given the task at hand was disconcerting to say the least. It was an odd experience for her. Meg was not at all the sort of woman to be distracted by a pleasing countenance. She knew better.
It was ridiculous. She didn’t even know who he was, and as she usually did her best to avoid consorting with outlaws, she would most likely never see him again. Her subtle attempts to glean more information about him from the men who’d accompanied them through the forest had been unsuccessful. From their silence, she was even more certain that the men were outlaws. They asked no questions and answered just as many. A more circumspect escort she could not imagine. Even learning their names had been a challenge. They claimed to be Murrays, a name she knew that many MacGregors had assumed after their clan was proscribed. Could her warrior be a MacGregor? It wouldn’t surprise her. But what were MacGregors doing so close to Skye?
Of course, his identity, or lack thereof, only added to the mystery, which no doubt explained her illogical fascination with a man she knew nothing about.
Except that he saved us.And perhaps that was all she needed to know.
She’d been surprised, and disappointed, that he’d left without speaking to her. She wished she’d found the nerve at least to thank him. She should have put aside her qualms, marched over there, and done it right away. But truth be told, she’d been more than a little bit frightened. The controlled frenzy of his fighting had taken her aback.
