Chapter 8 #2
Not taking any more chances, Alex drew closer, silently willing the secretary not to turn around.
He would be hard-pressed to convince Secretary Balmerino that he wasn’t following him.
As a precaution, he’d studied the layout of the palace; but unlike in the wild, in the palace escape routes where he could slip away unnoticed were limited.
Being caught spying on these men would be tantamount to treason.
Alex had been imprisoned once, courtesy of Dougal MacDonald, and he was not eager to repeat the experience.
But he’d known the risks when he volunteered for the job.
When Balmerino continued past the presence room to a dark, deserted corridor at the rear of the palace, Alex breathed a sigh of relief.
The alcoves that lined the hallway would provide some measure of protection.
About halfway down the hall, the secretary entered a small antechamber, and Alex’s suspicions were rewarded.
The secretary had led him directly to Lord Chancellor Seton and his cronies and, finally, to the conversation that Alex most wanted to hear.
The one that he hoped would send him on his way to the Isle of Lewis.
The king’s dream of colonizing Lewis, and later presumably the rest of the Western Isles, was founded on the false belief of hidden riches in the Isles that lay merely awaiting his plunder.
After a series of laws aimed to divest Highlanders of their land, the king had “leased” the Isle of Lewis—land that rightly belonged to the MacLeods of Lewis—to a group of Lowlanders, mostly from Fife, who were willing to take up the challenge.
King James had hoped to establish a settlement of Lowlanders at Stornoway, the largest village on the Isle of Lewis, and eventually to build a trading port.
But Alex’s kin Tormod and Neil MacLeod, with the secret help of some of the Island chiefs, had successfully burned and pillaged the interlopers back to Fife.
The “Gentlemen Adventurers from Fife,” as they called themselves—making it sound like some damn expedition rather than a conquest of their countrymen, Alex thought—had returned with their tails between their legs to a furious and humiliated king.
A king who Alex knew would do everything in his power to ensure that a second attempt was not the same resounding defeat as the first.
Alex, on the other hand, would do everything to ensure otherwise.
He’d be damned if he’d just sit back and watch the king steal his cousins’ land and fill it with bloody Lowlanders.
But he knew that his reasons for helping his kin went even deeper.
His cousins’ deaths on the battlefield at the hands of Dougal MacDonald four years ago still weighed on him.
He now had the opportunity to make amends.
Tucked into one of the small alcoves that lined the corridor, Alex was doing his best to conceal his large frame in a small area—with limited success. Should someone quit the room unexpectedly, he risked almost certain discovery.
But it was a risk he had to take.
From his position to the side of the door, he could not see directly into the room, but he could hear enough to make out the gist of their conversation.
Already his muscles were complaining from the effects of being confined—he’d been forced to suffer through the seemingly endless idle chitchat before they’d finally broached the subject he’d been waiting for.
Despite the discomfort, it was well worth the wait.
He recognized the commanding voice of Lord Chancellor Seton. “Rest assured you will have your ships, Secretary. The king has pledged to do all he can to ensure the success of your endeavor. Are your men ready?”
“At the king’s command, my lord chancellor. Even now my men are in Fife awaiting word, readying the colonists and stockpiling provisions. By the time the king’s ships arrive, we’ll be ready.”
“Excellent. How many colonists will you bring this time?” the lord chancellor asked.
“Perhaps four hundred persons, including fighting men, craftsmen, builders, and women.”
Alex exhaled, relieved to hear at last the direct confirmation of a second attempt by the Fife Adventurers to take Lewis. Now if only he could learn when.…
“As long—”
Alex heard something. The faint sound of footsteps drew his attention down the corridor, preventing him from hearing the rest of the lord chancellor’s words. Someone was coming.
The scent of danger sent the familiar rush of blood surging through his veins.
He drew out his dirk, and the long, sharp blade gleamed in the soft candlelight.
Stealthily, he unfolded himself from the alcove and started walking down the dimly lit corridor toward the approaching footsteps and away from the room, hoping to put as much distance between him and the open door as possible.
Just as the intruder was about to turn the corner, Alex slipped into the shadows of another alcove, every nerve set on edge, waiting.
He half expected to see that Dougal had followed him.
Once the reflexive urge to kill Dougal MacDonald had dissipated, Alex realized that Dougal’s presence at court was not likely to be a coincidence.
Although the MacDonalds claimed to be a part of the alliance of chiefs that had banded together to protect the Isle of Lewis from invasion, Alex didn’t trust them.
Dougal MacDonald would bear close watching.
If the MacDonalds planned to deceive them, Alex intended to know about it.
The footsteps were light, too light for a man.
He cursed, immediately recognizing the tiny form of the person who turned the corner.
Meg. He didn’t know whether to be furious at her untimely interruption or thankful that it was only her.
He’d never met a woman so eager to bear the brunt of his anger.
She didn’t have the good sense to leave him alone.
Slipping the dirk back into his belt, he stepped out of the darkness into her path.
She jumped back, startled. Then, realizing who it was, she put her hands on her hips and scowled. “What are you doing hiding in the shadows like that? You scared me half out of my wits.”
“Which are apparently in limited supply,” he quipped.
She gasped with outrage, which he ignored as he grabbed her arm to pull her around the corner and out of immediate sight.
Seeing her again triggered all the emotions he’d vowed to put behind him as he’d stormed out of the hall.
He wanted to press her up against the wall and punish her for distracting him.
For frustrating him. For making every damn inch of his body hard and throbbing with need.
“Or do you make it a practice to follow men down dark corridors?” he asked.
There was an edge to his voice that he knew was a result of seeing her with his enemy.
The image of Dougal MacDonald touching her still burned too vividly in his mind. As did the urge to wipe it away.
“Not usually,” she said crisply, lifting her adorable chin. “But I did come to find you. You seemed disturbed back in the hall—”
Alex tensed. She was venturing into dangerous territory.
She paused, heeding the subtle warning. She bit at her lip anxiously, measuring her words.
“I was worried. I could tell something was wrong.” Her hand settled on his forearm.
Despite the thick velvet of his doublet, a surge of warmth spread through his body from her touch.
It hadn’t been that long ago that he’d held her in his arms, and the memory proved a powerful one.
But Alex didn’t want her comfort. He wanted to put her out of his mind.
He vowed to remain detached, but her small upturned face looked so damn lovely.
Those beseeching green eyes, wide with concern.
Her thin arched brows drawn together in a delightful wrinkle above her tiny tilted nose.
Even in the soft light, he could see the sensual line of her delicate lips.
A wave of possessiveness hurled over him.
Mine. But she wasn’t, nor ever could be.
He fought the primitive urge to cover her mouth with his, to claim her, and to eviscerate all vestiges of Dougal MacDonald from her memory.
Hell. He dropped her arm and stepped purposefully away from her. “You don’t take advice very well,” he said darkly. “I warned you to have care.”
“Advice?” She quirked a brow sarcastically. “Don’t you mean orders? And no, I don’t. Do you?”
Alex refused to bite. “You had better get used to it if you intend to marry.”
She pressed her lips closed and said nothing, but Alex caught the flash of defiance in her eyes.
His eyes narrowed. “Or is that one of the criteria for a husband? A man who will let you do as you please.”
“Of course not,” she retorted.
Alex’s gaze slid over her indignant face, but he suspected he’d hit upon at least a partial truth. Meg had carved out an unusual position for herself, and from all accounts she relished her responsibilities. Responsibilities he doubted she was eager to give up.
He studied her upturned face for a long moment. “If you think Jamie Campbell will be led around by his nose, you do not know him very well.”
“You have no right to talk to me like this. My marriage is no concern of yours.”
Alex noticed that she hadn’t argued with his premise—she intended to marry Campbell.
It riled him more than he wanted to acknowledge.
“You’re right,” he said curtly. “You shouldn’t be here.
I could have been anyone.” His mind harkened back to the conversation he’d overheard in the tavern.
“These darkened corridors are no place for a woman alone. It’s dangerous.
” I’m dangerous. “If you cried out, no one would come to your rescue.”
Though she tried to hide it, Alex saw the flicker of apprehension cross her face. “You’d never hurt me.”