She’d been too aware of him and too unsure of herself.
She consoled herself that it was probably just the unusual circumstances she was responding to. A Greek god riding to the rescue at the last moment would make an impression on anyone. Even someone as otherwise level-headed as Meg.
Unfortunately, however, she did not have the luxury of a fairy tale. She needed a real man, not a mythical one. And soon. The thought of returning to Dunakin empty-handed was a sobering one. Her father would be disappointed. And disappointment was the one thing Meg could not bear.
She’d delayed her decision long enough. She could not allow thoughts of her mysterious warrior to distract her from her duty any longer.
“You have that far-off look in your eyes.” Elizabeth spoke, startling Meg from her reverie. “Daydreaming about your handsome rescuer again?”
Her cheeks heated. Not for the first time, she wished she hadn’t confided quite so many details about the man who’d rescued her. She covered her embarrassment with a frown. “I don’t daydream.”
“But you were thinking of him?”
Meg gave her friend a sharp look. Elizabeth was not easily put off. “Very well. Yes. I was thinking about him.”
“It’s so romantic,” Elizabeth said, sighing dreamily.
Meg rolled her eyes. “You sound like my mother. But I assure you, there was nothing romantic about it.” She couldn’t quite repress the shiver as her thoughts flew back to the melee in the forest. “It was awful. We were very lucky to escape with our lives, and Mother with only a knot on her head. So many others weren’t as fortunate,” she said, thinking of Ruadh and the other Mackinnon warriors who’d lost their lives that day.
“I’m s-s-sorry, Meg. I didn’t m-m-mean to s-s-sound insen-n-nsitive. I can’t im-m-magine what you w-w-went through.”
Meg heard her friend’s stammer and felt horrible for making her anxious. Elizabeth rarely stammered around her, as she did when in company with others she felt less comfortable with. She took Elizabeth’s hands and forced a bright smile on her face. “What happened is in the past, and I must look to the future. And an outlaw, no matter how heroic, is not the man for me.”
If only she knew who was.
Finding a suitable husband shouldn’t be so difficult. A warrior her clansmen would follow into battle. A skilled negotiator to pacify the Privy Council. A man of integrity and loyalty to support her brother. But itwasdifficult. With each day that passed, it had become more and more clear that there was only one man who might be suitable: Jamie Campbell, her best friend’s brother.
Elizabeth gave her hands a little squeeze. “Don’t worry, Meg. You will find the right man. Or perhaps you already have?” she asked hopefully. It was no secret that Elizabeth wished Meg to marry her brother.
“Perhaps,” Meg replied with an encouraging smile.
In many ways, Jamie Campbell epitomized the type of man her father entrusted her to find. Cousin to Archibald “the Grim” Campbell, Earl of Argyll, Jamie could not be better connected. The Campbells were the most powerful clan in the Highlands, thanks in large part to Argyll’s influence with the king. Jamie had something of his wily cousin in him, and Meg knew that Argyll was becoming increasingly reliant on his young cousin both to exert his influence at court and to enforce his authority in the Highlands.
By virtue of his extraordinary height and natural command, Jamie also had the makings of a great leader. Only two years older than Meg at four and twenty, Jamie still possessed a young man’s build. But in a few years’ time, when he added girth to his frame, he would be a formidable man. A strong, powerful man who would be more than capable of defending Dunakin.
And most important, Jamie was a man of integrity, honor, and unswerving loyalty.
He seemed the perfect choice.
But something still held her back. His youth, perhaps? And his connection to Argyll would be viewed by many Highlanders as a black mark against him. In some quarters, the name Argyll was as reviled as the devil. Clan Campbell’s power in the Highlands had not come without dispute or the shedding of blood. MacGregor blood in particular.
All of a sudden, she felt Elizabeth’s elbow jabbing her ribs. “Hold on a minute. I think I’ve found him for you. The perfect man.”
Meg muffled an unladylike snort and followed the direction of Elizabeth’s dreamy gaze. At first she thought Elizabeth was talking about Jamie, but then another man moved into her view. He had his back to her, though she had to admit, it was a very impressive one. Beneath the heavily embroidered silk of his black doublet, Meg discerned broad shoulders and well-muscled—exceedingly well-muscled—arms. Her pulse jumped. His powerful legs, clad in fitted black venetians, left no doubt of his strength. In a room of colorful satin and silk, he stuck out for his dark masculinity. Even standing next to Jamie, who was a good five inches over six feet, he dominated the room. Although perhaps an inch or two shorter than Jamie, he appeared much larger owing to the solid muscle of his frame.
“Who is he?” Meg asked in what she hoped was an appropriately nonchalant tone.
“I haven’t seen him in years,” Elizabeth answered. “But I’m almost certain that it’s Alex MacLeod.”
Meg raised a brow and tried not to get ahead of herself. “Brother to Chief Rory MacLeod of Dunvegan?” Rory Mor was one of the most revered chiefs in the Isles and a longtime ally of her father’s. An alliance with the MacLeods would be an excellent one.
Elizabeth nodded.
Vaguely, Meg recalled a gangly youth with sun-drenched blond hair and a heart-stopping lopsided grin. Many years ago, Alex had accompanied his brother to the Highland games held at Dunakin Castle one spring. Though Meg was too young herself, she recalled that he sent many female hearts a-patter at Dunakin with that grin.
She frowned, suddenly remembering something else. Meg hoped seeing Alex again wouldn’t be too awkward for her friend. At one time, Elizabeth was to have married Chief Rory Mor.
Confident that Elizabeth was showing no signs of discomfort, Meg returned her attention to the new arrival. It was odd how still he stood. Stone still. Watchful. Completely vigilant of his surroundings. Like a soldier. There was something in his stance that gave her a whisper of trepidation.
