“Shall we try again?” Dougal asked pleasantly. “Surrender, or I will give my men leave to kill them all.”
The taste of defeat bitter on his tongue, Alex turned to the rest of his men. His pride had killed his cousins, it wouldn’t kill the rest of them. “Throw down your arms,” he said hoarsely. “’Tis over.”
The pipers had longed ceased playing as Alex and the surviving MacLeods were bound and led away—prisoners instead of victors.
Twenty-two of his clansmen were left dead in the “Corrie of the Foray.”
Dead under his command.
And now the man who’d murdered his cousins and held Alex prisoner for those long months afterward stood not twenty feet in front of him, with his vile hands on Meg and a familiar gloating smile twisting his mouth. At one time, that smile had held the power to make Alex lose control, but no longer.
Alex’s face was a mask of ice while rage festered inside him like an open wound. Every instinct cried out for battle, to avenge his cousins’ deaths, to raise his sword and crush Dougal MacDonald into the ground. He struggled to contain that hatred rising inside him, threatening to erupt. Hatred that would turn this glittering hall into a melee of death and destruction. But he would never allow Dougal MacDonald to see his anger.
Slowly the shock ebbed, replaced by cold certainty. Alex would have his retribution; he and Dougal would cross swords again. But not here. This was not the place.
There was only one way to atone for his past, and that was to help his cousins defeat the incursion by the Fife Adventurers. Seeing Dougal had done one thing: It had brought back the importance of his mission full force, reminding him of why he’d driven himself so relentlessly the last five years. All the fighting, all the toil, had been to bring him to this point.
Nothing would divert him from his path.
His gaze shifted to Meg, and he could see the hesitancy in her gaze, as if she realized something had changed. It had. He’d allowed himself to be distracted by a green-eyed enchantress. Lust had made him temporarily lose his focus, but it would not happen again. Hell, he’d had a chance to follow Seton and had wasted it on jealousy.
Meg Mackinnon was not for him.
With one last deadly glance at Dougal, Alex turned on his heel and headed in the direction he’d last seen Lord Chancellor Seton. His mission was all that mattered. It had taken Dougal MacDonald to remind him of the stakes.
Alex would find the information he needed to help save his kin, the MacLeods of Lewis.
Or die trying.
Chapter 8
Meg was trying to stay focused on the man before her. If she hadn’t already decided upon Jamie, perhaps she would be more attentive. By all accounts, Dougal MacDonald would be a good match—the MacDonalds controlled a considerable portion of Skye—but something about the man rubbed her the wrong way. He was physically imposing, nearly as large as Alex, and attractive enough, she supposed. On the surface, he seemed quite charming. But beneath the flattery and warm smiles, Meg detected a ruthless glint in his hard blue eyes.
But her wariness where Dougal was concerned wasn’t the only reason she was distracted. Her thoughts kept sliding back to Alex. Where was he? She’d wanted him to leave her alone, to stop confusing her…or had she? His expression when she’d left him with Bianca had been priceless. It was no less than he deserved for his high-handedness; he had no call to order her about. But Meg had immediately regretted her actions when she saw how stunning they looked together on the dance floor. Alex had made no secret of his unwillingness to partner with Bianca, but Meg had felt a twinge of something suspiciously like jealousy all the same.
He had no right to dictate to her, no right to kiss her. A kiss that had lingered on her lips long after he was done. She knew she should stop thinking about it; it was a momentary lapse, that was all.
Realizing her gaze was wandering again, she forced her eyes back on Dougal. He was looking at her expectantly, and she realized he’d asked her something. When she asked him to repeat it, he leaned closer, much closer than was necessary. She tried not to show her discomfort. After all, she was hardly an expert in courtly flirtations.
“I was sorry to hear about your father’s illness,” he repeated. “I heard there was some trouble.” At her obviously confused look, he continued, “With the issue of his successor undecided and all.”
Her eyes narrowed, surprised that the grumbling of a few of her father’s men would have reached the MacDonalds. She smiled thinly. “I’m afraid you are misinformed. My brother is my father’s tanaiste.”
He smiled indulgently. “But his, uh…limitations…make the situation uncertain, do they not?”
Meg fought to control her temper. “They do not.”
Perhaps realizing that he’d overstepped his bounds, he at once turned contrite. “Of course. Of course. I could see for myself on my stay at Dunakin last month that the rumors of Ian being a half-wit were greatly exaggerated.”
Meg stiffened, but he didn’t seem to notice.
“And I suppose if you were married, if you had a strong husband…maybe even one whose lands closely border your own?”
Pretending that she didn’t realize he was talking about himself, she forced a smile. She’d thought his visit to Dunakin soon after her father’s recovery odd, but now she realized it had been with a purpose to woo her for marriage.
When she didn’t respond, he said, “Walk with me outside. I yearn to see whether you are as beautiful by moonlight as you are by candlelight.”
His finger trailed down her arm. Meg could not repress an involuntary shiver of distaste at his touch, but she literally flinched when his finger grazed her breast. Had he done that on purpose? She looked at him sharply, but his gaze revealed nothing. Now Meg was becoming very uncomfortable. “Perhaps later,” she said, keeping her voice light. “I’ve just returned from taking a turn outside.”
“With Alex MacLeod?” he snapped.
“Yes,” she answered, surprised that he’d been watching her so closely. “Do you know him?”
“You might say that.”
She didn’t like the tone of his voice. “Do you know him well, then?” They couldn’t be friends; the MacLeods and the MacDonalds had generations of enmity between them.
For an instant, the thin veneer of charm cracked beneath the divulgence of a snide smile. “You might say we lived closely together at one time. But you can ask him all about it, he’s heading this way. With the devil nipping at his heels, I’d say by that black look on his face.”
Meg looked over her shoulder to see a furious-looking Alex bearing down on them quickly from across the room. Intuitively, as she’d never inspired such an emotion before, Meg recognized his jealousy. Misplaced though it might be.
Then suddenly, when almost upon them, he froze. His eyes locked on Dougal, and his eyes flashed with such intense hatred that she felt scorched in its wake. Alex looked as if he could kill him. But it was his expression only moments later, utterly devoid of emotion, that truly scared her. He looked cold and determined. And so remote that she knew he’d moved beyond her reach. Turning on his heel, without sparing her another glance, Alex strode away in the opposite direction. Away from her. Almost as if he no longer wanted anything to do with her.
Something was terribly wrong.
Her only thought was to go to him, to help, to see what could have caused such desolation. And such hatred.
Meg forgot all about Dougal and pushed her way through the crowd, heading toward Alex. But before she could reach him, he’d disappeared. She turned around helplessly, searching the sea of inquiring faces gawking at her. But he was gone.
She had to find him. For Meg knew that if she did not, he might just slip beyond her reach forever.
Dougal MacDonald hid his outrage beneath a lazy smile as he watched his intended bride flee the hall, scampering after Alex MacLeod. She’d seemed oblivious to the whispers that followed or to the fact that she’d just abandoned him in the middle of the room.
Abandoned him for his nemesis, which made it even worse.
His spies at court had of course informed him of MacLeod’s presence, but Dougal hadn’t been aware of his interest in Meg Mackinnon. Nor of hers in him. It was a complication, but not one that worried him greatly. Complications were easily taken care of.
He smiled, this time with pleasure. He’d beaten Alex MacLeod before, he’d do it again. And this time, he would show no mercy.
Even if Dougal didn’t want her for himself, a Mackinnon with a MacLeod was an alliance that could never be allowed to proceed. The battle for dominance of Skye between the MacLeods and the MacDonalds had endured for centuries. Placing the Mackinnon’s lands in either hand would lead to an imbalance, one that Dougal intended to secure for himself.
Originally, he hadn’t intended to marry the chit himself. He admitted to being pleasantly surprised tonight when he’d first caught sight of her. His little pigeon was much improved from the last time he’d seen her. Dougal was almost looking forward to the bedding. His expression hardened. But if she dared embarrass him like this again when they were married, she would feel the brunt of his anger. He would not be shamed by any woman.
Wooing Meg Mackinnon was proving more of a challenge than he’d anticipated. She was unusually intelligent for a woman and would not be easily duped. Dougal admired her spirit. He would put it to good use in the bedchamber, but he would never allow it to get in the way of his plans.
One way or another, Meg Mackinnon would be his wife.
For the first time since he’d arrived at court, Alex could see his mission laid out clearly in his mind. And refocusing on the task at hand, and not on a pair of enchanting green eyes, was already yielding results. He could scarcely believe his good fortune.
By the time Alex had forged his way out of the crowded hall, Lord Chancellor Seton was nowhere to be found. Cursing the wasted opportunity, and the spark of jealousy that had led to it, Alex looked around, only to see someone just as important leaving the hall and starting down the corridor: Secretary Balmerino—one of the original twelve Fife Adventurers from the first attempt to colonize the Isle of Lewis a few years back. Given the secretary’s previous involvement, Alex knew that his sudden appearance at court was significant.
Alex made the quick decision not to look for the lord chancellor, but to follow Secretary Balmerino, hoping that one might lead to the other.
Living as an outlaw for the past few years, Alex had depended upon stealth to evade capture by the king’s men. He was used to moving soundlessly, to hiding under brush, to blending in with the landscape. But blending into the background at court was an altogether different proposition. In circumstances such as these, his size definitely worked against him. There weren’t too many places he could hide. It wasn’t difficult to be inconspicuous near the hall with all the people milling about, but as the secretary approached the corridor leading to the presence room, the crowds had thinned considerably, and Alex had to drop back farther and farther, trying to keep as much distance between them as possible without losing sight of him.
He also had to make sure he wasn’t being followed. Once, when he’d been forced to slip into a room to avoid the sound of approaching voices, he thought he’d lost the secretary. But a few seconds later, a muffled cough pointed him in the right direction.
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.
&nb
sp; 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—”