Chapter 15
Meg prayed this was not an enormous mistake.
She hesitated for a moment, contemplating the momentous decision she was about to make. If she went much further, there would be no turning back. What did she have to lose? Nothing, she thought wryly. Other than total disgrace and every ounce of her pride.
She was a fool to risk so much.
Still, she could not turn back while there was even a remote chance for happiness. When her happiness had even become important, she did not know. What mattered was that it had. Come what may, she’d decided to follow her heart and not her head.
So she continued on, winding through the unfamiliar territory, hoping that the maidservant’s directions were accurate.
She pulled the hood of her cloak farther down over her head—she hadn’t completely lost her senses—as she approached the gentlemen’s living quarters, doing her best to avoid the curious stares of the servants she passed.
Her features were well hidden, and she hoped it was enough.
She’d made her decision; she’d have to live with the consequences.
At least there was a certain amount of logic to her plan.
That fact should comfort her, as it always had before.
But it didn’t. Because if Alex did not listen to reason, she would be forced to play her final card.
And there was not much logic to that particular part of the plan.
And that fact made her nervous. Very nervous indeed.
If only she knew what to expect. But the riddle of Alex MacLeod was not an easy one to solve.
Isabel’s insight into Alex yesterday was at the core of what was pushing him away, but it wasn’t the entirety.
But Meg had made her decision. Whatever had happened to him in the past, it didn’t matter.
Meg believed in the man he was today. Enough to trust the future of her clan to him.
For she’d decided to prove to Alex just how much she believed in him by offering him an alternative to whatever he was doing at court.
One where his leadership and battle skills could shine.
Alex was the perfect man for her clan and the perfect man for her.
She’d take the direct approach and tell him, and if that didn’t work, she’d show him.
First she’d appeal to his logic, then to their attraction.
She bit her lip nervously. She hoped it wouldn’t come to the latter.
But if necessary, she would give him the ultimate proof of her love and trust.
It had to work. Rejection would be humiliating. Was this how men felt? she wondered, feeling an unexpected twinge of sympathy for Thomas Mackinnon. It was nerve-racking to put yourself in such a position of vulnerability.
She halted before a small closed door. His door. This was it. She took a deep breath, but the tumultuous pounding of her heart betrayed her unease. In twenty years, they’d probably sit around the hearth fire and laugh about it. She hoped.
Before Meg could change her mind, she rapped firmly on the door.
Nothing happened.
Her heart sank. What if he wasn’t here? No, the maidservant had assured her that he had retired for the evening. Meg drew up her shoulders and banged on the door.
The door burst open and slammed against the wall.
“What the hell!” he bellowed at the unknown person who had dared to disturb him.
Meg flipped back her hood and watched his face register shock as he realized just who had knocked on his door. His expression would have been comical if he didn’t look so distraught.
His beautiful golden hair was tousled, his blue eyes tired, his face strained. He looked sad. Weary. But for a moment, before his face hardened, she saw a flicker of happiness at the sight of her. He wasn’t indifferent. And the knowledge bolstered her courage.
But only for a moment.
Her eyes fell to his chest and widened. Oh my.
It was a warm evening, and he’d removed his doublet.
He wore a simple linen shirt and trews. A simple linen shirt that was opened at the neck, displaying a triangle of fine golden hair sprinkled across a broad, tanned chest plainly visible through the thin fabric.
There was a raw sensuality to him that made her tremble with awareness, raising gooseflesh on her arms. The intimacy of the scene was hardly lost on her.
Half-clothed. In his chamber. Alone. She hoped.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
She lifted her chin, tearing her eyes from the naked flesh revealed by his shirt. “I need to talk to you.”
He didn’t respond, but simply stared at her with a dark intensity that sent shivers racing up her spine.
Nonetheless, Meg took his silence, brooding though it was, as sufficient welcome and pushed past him into the room, immediately smelling the peaty aroma of whisky.
Noticing the half glass on the table, she thought she could use a glass herself.
But, no, she didn’t want her senses muddled. His seemed as sharp as ever.
She glanced around, curious to view the lion’s den.
It was a small chamber, nowhere near as fine as her rooms. But she supposed the stark furnishings were adequate, if not luxurious.
She ignored the rumpled bed. The rest of the room was surprisingly neat and tidy, with no personal items scattered about as she would have expected.
Disappointed not to learn anything further about him from his room, Meg was nonetheless glad to confirm that he was alone—it would be impossible to do what she had to do with an audience.
“Why don’t you come in?”
Meg frowned at his sarcasm and glanced at him again. His expression was hard and impenetrable, his body tense and watchful. He looked awfully forbidding, she thought, losing a bit of courage.
“You said you needed to talk to me?” he asked impatiently.
This was more difficult than she’d realized. She bit her lip. How to start? “I just wanted to let you know that I don’t care what you are really doing at court. Whatever it is, it doesn’t matter. I think I can offer a solution, one that will be beneficial to both of us.”
Alex went still. If it weren’t for the quickening pulse in his jaw, she might have thought he had not heard her. But he had.
He frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“An alliance—”
“Bloody hell, are you proposing to me?”
Meg blushed. At least he wasn’t frowning any longer, she thought, looking at his expression of utter incredulity. That was a start. She took a deep breath and blurted out, “I suppose so. Yes. Whatever has happened in the past doesn’t matter. I know you’ve helped manage your brother’s lands before—”
“What did you say?” he asked sharply.
“Isabel told me about Rory’s injury a few years back. She spoke of how well you managed Rory’s lands.” If the fabled Rory Mor had trusted Alex with his clan, it spoke much of Alex’s abilities.
“What else did she tell you?” he asked, suspicion edging his voice.
Meg shrugged. “Oh, nothing much.”
Alex folded his arms across his chest and glared at her, brilliant sapphire eyes hard and piercing.
He was doing his masculine best to intimidate her.
It might have worked had the bulging display of muscles straining against thin linen not set her mind on something else.
Her mouth went dry. Unconsciously, her tongue flicked out to moisten her lips. He truly was magnificent.
“What else, Meg?” He took a threatening step toward her, enveloping her with the heady scent of whisky tinged with the heather and myrtle of his soap. Her pulse raced. The room felt even warmer and smaller. And teeming with raw masculinity.
She stepped back, and her leg came into contact with the bed.
Though half tempted to fall and proceed directly to the second part of her plan, Meg grabbed the bedpost to steady herself.
She forced her mind to focus on the task at hand, reminding herself that it might not need to come to that if he would listen to reason.
“Not much more than I already knew.” Was that her voice squeaking?
“Meg …,” he warned, leaning over her, closer. She could feel the warmth of his breath on her hair. It sent a shiver of sensation down her spine.
She swallowed. Not from intimidation, but from the pure magnetism that radiated from him straight through her, warming her, engulfing her senses with heat.
From his tense posture, she could tell he, too, was not unaffected by their closeness.
The memory of what had happened in the woods stretched heavily between them.
“I know about your cousins,” Meg said gently.
Cautiously, she peeked at him from beneath her long lashes.
Alex’s controlled expression slipped, revealing his pain.
She rested her hand on his arm. “Don’t blame Isabel, she thought it might help explain some things, and it did. But why didn’t you tell me?”
“I told you.”
“Not all of it.”
He stepped backward and turned away from her. “It was a long time ago.”
“I know it was,” she agreed, “but I also know that it still bothers you. Tell me.”
He turned back to face her, meeting her hopeful gaze with a determined set to his square jaw.
She could read it in the thin line of his lips, the shuttered look in his eyes: He still would not share his painful memories with her—and that hurt.
But it was too late to turn back. He would learn to trust her.
“Meg …” he began softly.
From the look in his eyes, Meg knew what he was going to say. He was going to reject her. Again.
“I can’t be the man you need for your clan—”
She clutched his arm. Perhaps she hadn’t been clear? “Alex, I don’t care about the past. I trust you completely. I trust your judgment, your leadership, your fighting skills. I trust you with the future of my clan. Is that not enough?”
“I’m honored, lass. More than you will know. If circumstances were different … but there are things you don’t understand.”
“Then tell me, help me understand.”
“I can’t.”
“You mean you won’t.” Bitterness clung to her tongue.
“Very well, I won’t.”