Jamie lifted his head in the direction of her husband, seated farther down the table and engaged in a conversation with the Maclean of Coll, husband to Alex’s half-sister Flora—who also happened to be Jamie’s cousin. Flora was too heavy with child to travel, so her husband of less than a year had come alone.
“I don’t think your husband shares the sentiment,” he pointed out.
Alex and Rory MacLeod had both offered Jamie a cordial but reserved greeting. Not that it surprised him. In the three years since Jamie had fought alongside Alex at the battle of Stornoway Castle, Jamie’s interests and those of his former childhood friend had diverged to the point of discord. Though bound to the Earl of Argyll through manrent—contracts that bound clans together like kin by providing protection in return for feudal duties—Alex and Rory still clung to the past, resenting the king’s increasing authority in the Highlands. They were sympathetic toward the MacGregors and didn’t like Jamie’s part in subduing them. But then again, the MacLeods, like the Lamonts, had not been on the receiving end of the MacGregors’ reiving and pillaging.
Jamie missed the easy camaraderie he’d shared with the MacLeods in his youth, but he realized such friendships were in his past. Though they still respected one another, as Jamie’s responsibility and power increased, so too did the complexity of friendships. He worked alone; it was simpler that way.
Meg wrinkled her nose. “Don’t pay Alex any mind. He hasn’t forgotten what you did for him,” she said warmly, putting her hand over his and giving it a gentle squeeze. “And neither have I.”
Jamie acknowledged the unspoken gratitude with a nod. After the MacLeods’ victory at Stornoway against the king’s men, Jamie had used his influence with Argyll to prevent Alex from being put to the horn or charged with treason.
“Are you happy, Meg?”
Her gaze immediately slid down the table to her husband, and the soft expression on her face said it all. He’d always thought Meg pretty, but when she looked at her husband she transcended mere physical beauty. Alex MacLeod was a fortunate man.
“Yes,” she said. “I’ve never been happier.”
“Then I’m happy for you,” he said, and meant it.
“And what of you, Jamie? Are you happy?”
Her questions took him aback. Happiness wasn’t something he thought of. As a younger son twice over, he’d been driven by other considerations. Happiness—a woman’s sentiment—wasn’t one of them. Justice, the rule of law, authority, land, the ability to provide for his men—those were what mattered to him. “I’m content.”
Meg studied him keenly. “You’ve certainly made quite a name for yourself.”
He laughed. That was Meg, putting it baldly, to say the least. “I take it you do not approve.”
She shrugged. “I don’t believe half of what they say.”
He smiled wryly. “You do not fear I will crawl through your windows at night and steal away your babe?” he mocked, referring to the warnings given by mothers to their children to behave, “else the Campbell Henchman will make off with you.”
Meg grinned and shook her head. “No, but the earl relies upon you too much. Elizabeth writes that she hardly sees you anymore.”
“Lizzie exaggerates.” He gave Meg a long look. Though many in this room chose to stick their head in a bog and ignore what was happening around them, Meg understood the change facing the Highlanders. The age of the unfettered authority of the chiefs was gone—and frankly, since the dissolution of the Lordship of the Isles, they’d proved unequal to the task. Like King James, Jamie was determined to see the Highlands tamed of its lawlessness and unrest. At one time, he thought she’d understood. But perhaps Meg’s marriage had changed her more than he realized. The increasing power and authority of Argyll, and Jamie in turn, had created widespread resentment and distrust—impacting many of his friendships. He’d hoped it wouldn’t extend to Meg.
“She’s only worried about you,” Meg said, seeming to sense the turn of his thoughts. “As I am.”
“It’s unwarranted,” he said flatly. Then more kindly, “I’ll see Lizzie at Dunoon soon enough. She’ll see there is nothing to worry about.”
Another tray of food arrived, and he welcomed the lapse in conversation that ensued.
He knew the moment the Lamont lass entered the hall. A sudden hush descended over the crowd, and every male eye in the room fastened on her as she slowly made her way to her father’s table as regal as any queen—a princess,he corrected. She looked far too fresh and innocent to be a queen.
She took his breath away. Her glossy black hair was swept up high on her head, and long curly strands tumbled down her long neck. Her features were classical in their beauty, but made all the more striking by the vivid contrast of her snow white skin, bright blue eyes, and ruby red lips.Hell,he thought with a shake. He sounded like a damn bard.
As she drew closer, Jamie felt his entire body turn rigid.What in Hades was she wearing?The flash of anger that gripped him was as intense as it was irrational. He had no claim on the chit, but every instinct flared with the sharp blade of possessiveness. His hand squeezed around his goblet as he fought to control the primitive urge to swing her over his shoulder and carry her upstairs so she could change into something decent. Though the wide skirts of her gown did not reveal her curvaceous figure with the nearly transparent detail of her earlier attire, the same could not be said of the bodice. What little fabric there was seemed stretched to the point of bursting and barely covered the pink of her nipples. The lush, youthful roundness of her breasts were displayed for all to see.
His hand squeezed until he thought the silver would bend. What was she trying to do, incite a riot?
He waited for the swell of anger to abate, but the bold and admiring stares of some of the men in the hall didn’t help.
She was the center of attention, yet she seemed completely oblivious. If Jamie expected the Lamont to send her back to her room, he was to be disappointed. Pride showed in the old man’s face, and he seemed blissfully unaware of the tantalizing morsel she presented.
She greeted her father with a kiss on the cheek and whispered something in his ear—from her contrite expression, Jamie assumed it was an apology for her tardiness. Her father gave her a few stern words but softened at the first sign of unhappiness, as if he couldn’t bear to see her sad.
“She’s very beautiful, isn’t she?”
Jamie frowned at Meg’s tone, which contained a healthy tinge of amusement. “Yes. But young.”
