Chapter 2 #2
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 it was difficult. 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.
Her brows drew together across her nose. “I’ve heard nothing of Alex MacLeod in years.”
“Neither have I,” Elizabeth said. “It’s strange, isn’t it?”
“Very,” Meg agreed, always intrigued by a mystery.
Jamie saw her and smiled. He pointed in her direction and started heading toward her.
The man turned, and anticipation prickled at the back of her neck as a strong, rugged profile and, moments later, a breathtakingly handsome face came into view.
She gasped. Piercing blue eyes pinned her to the ground.
Her heart dropped to her feet.
She would know those ice blue eyes anywhere.
It was him.
Her warrior.
She should have recognized the battle-hardened physique. Admittedly, he looked different. But a shave and a haircut could not disguise the man who’d haunted her dreams.
Without the beard, the true masculine beauty of his face was revealed to startling perfection.
His features combined the refined edge of the MacLeod’s Norse ancestors with the raw masculinity of the Celt.
Tanned to a dark bronze, his skin gave proof of time spent outdoors beneath the hot summer sun.
The hard angles of his cheeks and square jaw were exactly as she remembered.
Now, bereft of whiskers, she could see the slight cleft in his chin and smattering of small scars across his nose and cheekbones.
Another thin scar cut through his left brow, lending a wicked edge to an otherwise almost too perfect face.
She was surprised to discover that his hair was more blond than brown, much lighter than she’d expected. It reflected the light like a golden halo.
Though there was nothing angelic about this man.
The dark expression on his face took her aback. His gaze swept over her without a flicker of recognition. A shadow of uncertainty stole through her consciousness.
It was the same man … wasn’t it?
Bloody hell, Alex thought. It’s her.
The woman Jamie Campbell couldn’t stop talking about, his “Meg,” was the one Alex couldn’t seem to forget.
He should be furious to find her here. If she recognized him, with one careless word—especially to Jamie—she could shatter a carefully constructed plan, making his task much more difficult. But anger wasn’t what he felt.
Hell. If Alex weren’t so disciplined and focused on the task at hand, he might have even thought it was a flicker of pleasure.
Apparently his body had no discipline, because it responded right away.
The same intense attraction he’d felt that day in the forest hit him hard.
It was odd. She was not the typical sort of woman to inspire instant lust. But damned if that wasn’t what he felt.
Raw, unbridled desire. Desire that coiled like a fist inside him and would not let go.
She looked different, which wasn’t surprising since the last time he’d seen her she was soaking wet.
Now, instead of a simple Highland arisaidh, she was gowned resplendently in her court finery, though the pale yellow color of her dress did not flatter her incredible ivory skin.
He looked a little closer. Nor did the gown seem to fit too well; it hung shapelessly on her dainty figure.
Her hair was lighter brown than he’d realized.
Rather than tumbling loose around her shoulders in enticing damp tendrils, she had it arranged in a tight, severe knot at the back of her head.
But it was more than just the change of clothes and hair.
Her expression was different. The serious-looking woman staring at him looked nothing like his vulnerable wood nymph.
Still, he had no doubt it was the same lass. The tiny, heart-shaped face and enormous soft green eyes were unmistakable.
As was the heat that surged through him the moment their eyes met.
He quickly turned his gaze, but not before he saw the look of shock on her face, followed quickly by recognition. Which was definitely a problem. Knowledge of his presence so near Skye only a few weeks ago could lead to questions with which he’d rather not have to contend.
He would not let anything, or anyone, interfere with his mission. Certainly not one wee lass, no matter how hot she fired his blood.
Alex had been sent to court on behalf of his brother, Rory, and the other Island chiefs, to discover what he could about the rumor of a second attempt by the king to colonize the Isle of Lewis with Lowlanders.
The Lowland colonists, the so-called Fife Adventurers, had been repulsed from Lewis once before.
It was Alex’s sole purpose to ensure that if they tried again, they would fail again.
“Colonize” was the king’s euphemism for displacing Highlanders and stealing their land.
Convinced that the Highlands were an unmined source of riches with which to fill the ever insatiable royal coffers, the king had enacted a series of laws intended to divest the clans of land they’d held for hundreds of years.
In many ways, the fate of Lewis was a bellwether for the rest of the Isles. Rory and the other Island chiefs realized that if the king was successful in colonizing the Isle of Lewis by supplanting Highlanders with Lowlanders, their lands would be next.