Meg’s lips curved into a sly grin. “Can I help it if she’s a hopeless romantic? And I thought my analogy to the heroic deeds of Roland was inspired.”
Despite his somber mood since they’d departed Skye, Jamie chuckled. “I never realized you had such prolific talent as a bard. You spun a tale so fanciful, I’m surprised you didn’t cast blame on the fairies.”
Meg shrugged. “No need to gild the lily. An allusion to a heroic journey interrupted by unrequited love and an ambush to rival that of Ganelon’s for Roland did the trick.”
Jamie shot her a look, wanting to challenge her use of the wordunrequited.Instead, he shook his head and sighed deeply. “It’s not Rosalind that I’m thinking about—it’s Alex.”
The thought of Alex’s reaction to her arrival caused an annoying, and not insubstantial, shiver of apprehension to run down her spine. Despite her bravado, Meg couldn’t guess how Alex was going to react to seeing her again, let alone to seeing her on Lewis. While she had recounted the dramatic rendition of her tale to Rosalind, Meg had found herself momentarily succumbing to the romance. She’d had more than one vision of reunited lovers falling passionately into each other’s arms.
Realizing that such a turn of events was highly unlikely, if pleasantly diverting to contemplate, Meg suspected that Alex’s initial reaction would be surprise. Then surprise would likely turn to annoyance that she’d traveled to Lewis in the midst of such conflict. But perhaps her worst fear was that he would be indifferent to her arrival.
The truth was that she didn’t reallyknowhow he was going to react. And there was just enough uncertainty in her mind to make her nervous. What if she was wrong and he truly didn’t care for her?
But she didn’t want Jamie to realize that, so she squared her shoulders and said firmly, “It’s too late for second-guessing. I’m sure Alex will be pleased to see me once he hears what I have to say.”
“We’ll find out soon enough.” Jamie motioned to two men moving toward the boat. “Our greeting party awaits.”
Meg squinted into the darkness, just able to make out the figures of two men. Two rather large men, but that alone was not significant in this part of Scotland.
“I suspect they are coming to greet my father’s messenger.” Though she might sound confident, the fierce hammering of her heart beneath the soft wool of her cloak betrayed her growing unease. The vague forms of the men on shore were beginning to take shape.
“You’ll have to explain to me later how you convinced your father’s men to agree to take us.”
Meg shrugged. Her mother had told her who had taken messages to Lewis, the rest had been easy. “I didn’t ask. You’d be surprised how far a wee bit of confidence and the uncompromising voice of authority will take you.”
Jamie threw her an exasperated look. “I wouldn’t be surprised at all.”
But Jamie’s sarcasm was temporarily lost on her. For standing not twenty feet in front of her, knee deep in water, was the man who’d consumed her thoughts for the last few weeks. The man who obviously—if the way her chest swelled with emotion was any indication—still held her heart in the palm of his hand. Meg bit her lip. The man who by the thunderous look on his face wasn’t at all pleased to see her.
She gripped the wooden seat to steady herself and her suddenly jumpy nerves. She watched with growing trepidation as Alex forged effortlessly through the rough waters alongside thebirlinn—heading directly for her.
The mist-shrouded moon bathed his features in an eerie light. Her breath caught. She felt a sharp pang. The face that had haunted her dreams was every bit as handsome as she remembered, yet infinitely more dangerous. Battle had taken its toll, and not just in the new scrapes and scratches that lined his face. He looked like a man who’d fought through hell and back, taking no prisoners along the way. His mouth was set in a hard, firm line, his stubbled jaw clenched and uncompromising.
Alex didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to. Rage radiated from every part of his body, evident in his harsh movements as he walked slowly, agonizingly so, toward her. She felt as if she were watching a fuse burn, just waiting for the explosion.
None of her romantic ruminations had prepared her for this particular reaction. No. This was not at all how she’d pictured their reunion. Something a wee bit less furious. Perhaps, she realized, indifference had its virtues. There was nothing indifferent about Alex’s reaction to her arrival on Lewis. That fact should hearten her, butthisreaction was altogether too extreme.
Meg’s gaze flickered to Jamie for help, but his expression held little sympathy. This was her mess, she’d have to clean it up.
Finally, Alex was right next to her. She held her breath. The water lapped around his waist. His now wetleineclung to his rippled chest, molded to the rigid bands of his stomach, the muscles clenched not with passion but with an altogether different emotion. Rage. A whisper of fear made the tiny hairs at the back of her neck stand up, but Meg forced her eyes to his face.
Could one wither from the heat of a stare? Nonsense. Yet to her horror, Meg realized that she’d shrunk back in her seat. Enraged didn’t come close to describing the fury blaring from his gaze. She’d never seen him like this.
Perhaps she should try to explain. “Alex, I—”
“Don’t say a goddamn word. Not until we reach the shore. And then you better have plenty to say.”
Meg flinched. He’d never spoken to her so harshly. Each word was uttered with steely precision. His voice was so fraught with anger that she almost didn’t recognize it. She didn’t understand. She’d taken a risk in coming here, yes, but nothing to warrant this extreme a reaction. “I—”
The look he gave her was blistering and cut off any inclination she might have of trying to make him see reason. His hands circled her waist and plucked her unceremoniously from her seat on thebirlinn,as Meg found herself pulled roughly up against the hard, muscular chest that she remembered so well. After weeks of longing for such closeness, she yearned to sink against him and burrow deeper into his hold.
But there was nothing welcoming about the man who held her. He was drawn as tight as a bow—a bow that smelled warm and masculine and achingly familiar. Reminding her of all they’d shared, of how much she’d missed him, and of how deeply she loved him.
The wave of longing hit her hard. She hadn’t realized how much she’d been holding out hope that he would be happy to see her. That he would take her into his arms and make her forget the anguish of the past three weeks.
But if anything, coming here seemed to have made things worse. A pit of dread settled low in her belly.
Dear God, had she been wrong?Did he truly not want her?
