Chapter 20
Near Stornoway, Isle of Lewis
Alex wiped the dirt from his eyes with the back of his hand and succeeded only in smearing it from one corner of his eye to the other. God’s blood, what I’d do right now for a bath and a fresh leine. Three weeks of living in virtual squalor, with an occasional dunk in the salty sea loch to rinse off the caked-on layers of filth, had begun to chafe.
He was ready for this battle to end. And if all went as planned, it would—soon.
From his post along the rocky banks of Arnish point, the small horn of land that served as a perfect lookout into Stornoway harbor, Alex kept his vigilant watch. Weariness tugged at his eyelids, but his steady gaze swept back and forth across the water. Even with the full moon, it was dark as molasses out here, and since the mist had descended a few hours ago, the night was nearly impenetrable. The conditions, however, only contributed to the general sense of unease. His senses were flared on high alert, the threat of danger unnaturally ripe on an eerie night like this.
Normally, the anticipation of coming danger would invigorate him. But no longer did he draw overriding satisfaction from the thought of battle. No longer was it enough.
Fighting with his kin on Lewis should be the culmination of his ambitions. Leading. Making decisions in the heat of battle. Testing himself. Undeniably, the hard work and training of the last few years had paid off. With much smaller numbers than their foe, the MacLeods’ precision attacks had seriously crippled the Fife Adventurers’ position on Lewis. Soon, it would all be over and he would have the decisive victory that he’d sought for years. His kin would have their land, and Highlanders would have their justice against the machinations of a greedy and bloodthirsty king.
Alex should be ecstatic. Yet, inexplicably, success rang hollow.
Instead, all he could think about was Meg and how horribly he’d hurt her. He dreamed of her at night. He pictured her face at the most inopportune times during the day. He couldn’t forget her gut-wrenching expression that morning, the heartbreak, the utter anguish. And during the long, lonely nights, he remembered all too well the erotic sensation of her body pressed against his. Even the mere thought caused his body to stir. He’d been too long without a woman, but from the moment he’d met her, she was the only woman who could sate his maddening lust.
For three long years, he’d lived and breathed nothing but battle. Now, however, something had changed. He’d changed. The all-encompassing drive for vengeance that had shadowed him unrelentingly since Binquihillin had quieted. No longer did the force of his single-minded determination snuff out everything else around him. For he knew what this battle had cost him.
He smiled sadly. Meg Mackinnon was proving to be as much of a distraction in her absence as she had been at court. Perhaps more so. The burning emptiness in his chest was a constant reminder of all that he’d lost.
Out of the darkness, the sound of footsteps drew his attention from his melancholy. The soft hoot of a short-eared owl identified the intruder as a friend.
“See anything?”
Alex turned to find Neil MacLeod, his cousin and current MacLeod claimant to Lewis, at his side. He shook his head. “No, but with the supply ship scheduled to arrive in a couple of days, I’m making damn certain there aren’t any surprises. Dougal MacDonald is missing.”
“Since when?”
“A few days ago. He didn’t return from your last errand.”
“Fool’s errand.”
Alex smiled, thinking of the various “missions” they’d sent Dougal on the past few weeks, all fraught with misinformation. “Yes, it was only a matter of time before he realized that we were on to him. But I don’t want anything interfering with our plans to intercept that ship.”
“And with it our best chance to take the castle.”
“Aye,” Alex answered. So far, it had been a delicate game of cat and mouse. They might not have had the fighting force to prevent the Lowland scourge from landing and taking the castle, but they’d had men enough to sink most of the Fife Adventurers’ cargo. And with the help of Rory’s spies, they’d prevented more food and supplies from getting through. With the MacLeods’ constant raids, the Adventurers’ stores must be dangerously low. “They need this shipment and will send out enough men to make sure they get it. We will take advantage of their desperation.”
“You have a plan?”
Alex picked up a stick to scratch out a map in the rocky mud at his feet to illustrate his points. “I’ll intercept the ship and divest it of its crew and cargo. A few of my men will row it through the harbor, and I’ll circle around with the rest of my men to attack those waiting on shore from behind. At the same time, while the defenders are distracted, you will mount your attack on the castle.”
Neil nodded, stroking the long hairs on his chin into a fine point. “It should work. You won’t have many men.”
“I won’t need many. My men are well trained. I’ll take a handful of MacLeods and MacGregors over an army of Lowlanders any day.”
Neil laughed. “You’re probably right.” He looked back down at Alex’s sketch, barely visible in the moonlight. “And with the castle considerably weakened by its defenders, it will be our best chance yet to take it.”
“The ‘colonists’ are already demoralized. One more defeat should send the Fife Adventurers scurrying back to the Lowlands—for a second time.”
Alex stood up, wiping out the plan with his foot. The two men stood in companionable silence for a few minutes, watching and waiting for the slightest disturbance in the rhythmic sounds of the night.
A sudden movement caught Alex’s eye, the vague shadow of a boat slipping stealthily across the waves.
“Who the hell is that?” Neil asked.
“I don’t know,” Alex said, peering intently into the darkness. His hand reached over his back to grasp his claymore. He was just about to give the signal for an attack when he heard the distinctive hoot of the owl. His grip on his sword relaxed. A friend. As the birlinn drew nearer, Alex recognized one of the Mackinnon’s men.
He blinked and then rubbed his eyes again. He must be more tired than he thought, because he could swear that he saw the distinctive form of a woman perched near the helm of the boat.
The birlinn drew closer. His pulse climbed.
No. Not just any woman.
Meg.
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Jamie grumbled as the birlinn slid toward a small inlet along the eastern coast of Lewis banded by a small horn, just south of Stornoway harbor.
In truth, over the last few hours, Meg had questioned the wisdom of her plan herself. Their “simple” journey had been much more difficult—and taken far longer—than she’d expected. The winds were light, forcing the men to row harder than usual. But she refused to be dissuaded from her purpose.
She pulled her cloak tight across her chest to ward off a sudden chill. The mist had descended without warning. “Of course I do,” she said, lifting her chin stubbornly. “You worry needlessly. My mother agreed to let me go, didn’t she?”
“With the way you presented our wee errand, it’s hardly a surprise.”
Meg’s lips curved into a sly grin. “Can I help it if she’s a hopeless romantic? And I thought my analogy to the heroic deeds of Roland was inspired.”
Despite his somber mood since they’d departed Skye, Jamie chuckled. “I never realized you had such prolific talent as a bard. You spun a tale so fanciful, I’m surprised you didn’t cast blame on the fairies.”
Meg shrugged. “No need to gild the lily. An allusion to a heroic journey interrupted by unrequited love and an ambush to rival that of Ganelon’s for Roland did the trick.”
Jamie shot her a look, wanting to challenge her use of the word unrequited. Instead, he shook his head and sighed deeply. “It’s not Rosalind that I’m thinking about—it’s Alex.”
The thought of Alex’s reaction to her arrival caused an annoying, and not insubstantial, shiver of apprehension to run down her sp
ine. Despite her bravado, Meg couldn’t guess how Alex was going to react to seeing her again, let alone to seeing her on Lewis. While she had recounted the dramatic rendition of her tale to Rosalind, Meg had found herself momentarily succumbing to the romance. She’d had more than one vision of reunited lovers falling passionately into each other’s arms.
Realizing that such a turn of events was highly unlikely, if pleasantly diverting to contemplate, Meg suspected that Alex’s initial reaction would be surprise. Then surprise would likely turn to annoyance that she’d traveled to Lewis in the midst of such conflict. But perhaps her worst fear was that he would be indifferent to her arrival.
The truth was that she didn’t really know how he was going to react. And there was just enough uncertainty in her mind to make her nervous. What if she was wrong and he truly didn’t care for her?
But she didn’t want Jamie to realize that, so she squared her shoulders and said firmly, “It’s too late for second-guessing. I’m sure Alex will be pleased to see me once he hears what I have to say.”
“We’ll find out soon enough.” Jamie motioned to two men moving toward the boat. “Our greeting party awaits.”
Meg squinted into the darkness, just able to make out the figures of two men. Two rather large men, but that alone was not significant in this part of Scotland.
“I suspect they are coming to greet my father’s messenger.” Though she might sound confident, the fierce hammering of her heart beneath the soft wool of her cloak betrayed her growing unease. The vague forms of the men on shore were beginning to take shape.
“You’ll have to explain to me later how you convinced your father’s men to agree to take us.”
Meg shrugged. Her mother had told her who had taken messages to Lewis, the rest had been easy. “I didn’t ask. You’d be surprised how far a wee bit of confidence and the uncompromising voice of authority will take you.”
Jamie threw her an exasperated look. “I wouldn’t be surprised at all.”
But Jamie’s sarcasm was temporarily lost on her. For standing not twenty feet in front of her, knee deep in water, was the man who’d consumed her thoughts for the last few weeks. The man who obviously—if the way her chest swelled with emotion was any indication—still held her heart in the palm of his hand. Meg bit her lip. The man who by the thunderous look on his face wasn’t at all pleased to see her.
She gripped the wooden seat to steady herself and her suddenly jumpy nerves. She watched with growing trepidation as Alex forged effortlessly through the rough waters alongside the birlinn—heading directly for her.
The mist-shrouded moon bathed his features in an eerie light. Her breath caught. She felt a sharp pang. The face that had haunted her dreams was every bit as handsome as she remembered, yet infinitely more dangerous. Battle had taken its toll, and not just in the new scrapes and scratches that lined his face. He looked like a man who’d fought through hell and back, taking no prisoners along the way. His mouth was set in a hard, firm line, his stubbled jaw clenched and uncompromising.
Alex didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to. Rage radiated from every part of his body, evident in his harsh movements as he walked slowly, agonizingly so, toward her. She felt as if she were watching a fuse burn, just waiting for the explosion.
None of her romantic ruminations had prepared her for this particular reaction. No. This was not at all how she’d pictured their reunion. Something a wee bit less furious. Perhaps, she realized, indifference had its virtues. There was nothing indifferent about Alex’s reaction to her arrival on Lewis. That fact should hearten her, but this reaction was altogether too extreme.
Meg’s gaze flickered to Jamie for help, but his expression held little sympathy. This was her mess, she’d have to clean it up.
Finally, Alex was right next to her. She held her breath. The water lapped around his waist. His now wet leine clung to his rippled chest, molded to the rigid bands of his stomach, the muscles clenched not with passion but with an altogether different emotion. Rage. A whisper of fear made the tiny hairs at the back of her neck stand up, but Meg forced her eyes to his face.
Could one wither from the heat of a stare? Nonsense. Yet to her horror, Meg realized that she’d shrunk back in her seat. Enraged didn’t come close to describing the fury blaring from his gaze. She’d never seen him like this.
Perhaps she should try to explain. “Alex, I—”
“Don’t say a goddamn word. Not until we reach the shore. And then you better have plenty to say.”
Meg flinched. He’d never spoken to her so harshly. Each word was uttered with steely precision. His voice was so fraught with anger that she almost didn’t recognize it. She didn’t understand. She’d taken a risk in coming here, yes, but nothing to warrant this extreme a reaction. “I—”
The look he gave her was blistering and cut off any inclination she might have of trying to make him see reason. His hands circled her waist and plucked her unceremoniously from her seat on the birlinn, as Meg found herself pulled roughly up against the hard, muscular chest that she remembered so well. After weeks of longing for such closeness, she yearned to sink against him and burrow deeper into his hold.
But there was nothing welcoming about the man who held her. He was drawn as tight as a bow—a bow that smelled warm and masculine and achingly familiar. Reminding her of all they’d shared, of how much she’d missed him, and of how deeply she loved him.
The wave of longing hit her hard. She hadn’t realized how much she’d been holding out hope that he would be happy to see her. That he would take her into his arms and make her forget the anguish of the past three weeks.
But if anything, coming here seemed to have made things worse. A pit of dread settled low in her belly.
Dear God, had she been wrong? Did he truly not want her?
Alex had never been more furious in his life. She’d followed him. What insanity could have possibly driven Meg to the Isle of Lewis in the midst of a bloody war! He literally shook as he plowed through the waves toward the shore, cradling in his arms everything in the world that was precious to him. The familiar scent of roses drifted from her hair, a potent reminder of everything that he’d longed for these last few weeks—and everything that he could lose.
Meg. On Lewis. God, he felt ill. Didn’t she understand the danger? If anything had happened to her…He could go mad just thinking about it. Alex had never felt more exposed, raw. Scared out of his bloody mind.
Every man had his breaking point, and Meg following him to Lewis, heedless of the risk, was his. He knew he was out of control, but he didn’t give a damn. The moment her feet hit the rocky shore, he snapped. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Meg seemed to take umbrage at his tone and painstakingly adjusted her clothing, taking far more time than was necessary. Each second that passed was a testament to his herculean restraint. Alex clenched and reclenched his fists, waiting for her to meet his gaze. Finally, she peeked out apprehensively from under her long lashes.
The sweetly feminine movement nearly broke him. The moon bathed her features in soft light. His eyes gorged on her face, as if something exquisitely beautiful had somehow materialized from a dream. His heart ached. His body ached. God, how he loved her.
Seeing her on that boat had unleashed a torrent of emotions. When he’d first realized who it was, he’d felt a surge of joy. He’d wanted to crush her to him, to inhale her sweetness, to mold her body to his and feel her melt against him. For a moment. Until he remembered where he was. And then fear incited anger such as he’d never known.
“Obviously, I was looking for you,” she said.
The inanity of her response only fueled the flames. He was holding on by a very thin thread, and she was talking to him as if she hadn’t just shaved ten years off his life. “Have you completely lost your mind?” He took her by the shoulders, the frailty of her tiny form beneath his fingertips even more proof of her vulnerability. “Looking for me? You damn well better have a more press
ing reason for coming here than that.”
“Alex, you’re shaking me.”
He dropped his hands, stepped back, and stared at her, trying to rein in his emotions.
“If you’d stop yelling at me and just be reasonable for a moment, I’ll tell you.”
Alex didn’t think he was capable of becoming angrier, but he was. Despite his wet clothing, his body blazed with heat. His voice lowered dangerously. “This is reasonable. But I’m getting very close to becoming unreasonable.”
Meg blanched. “If you’ll just let me explain…”
But her words were lost as Alex glanced over her shoulder at her traveling companion who’d just climbed up the shore. He didn’t think he could be any more shocked than he had been at seeing Meg. But he was wrong. Jamie Campbell. He felt as if he’d been punched in the gut. She’d brought her damn fiancé with her.
“You brought Campbell? For God’s sake, Meg, he’s Argyll’s cousin.”
“Don’t take your anger out on Jamie, he’s only trying to help,” she said.
Alex didn’t miss the way she’d jumped to Jamie’s defense. The dirk twisted in his chest. A dirk that Alex had plunged there himself. But it didn’t make it any easier to stomach.
“I insisted on accompanying her,” Jamie said stiffly.
“I’m sure you did.” He looked back to Meg. “How could you do this? By bringing Campbell, you’ve risked all our lives.” Her interference had risked his entire mission. The castle was nearly theirs, and with it the elusive victory he’d sought for years. Everything he’d fought so hard for was so close. Campbell could put everything in jeopardy.
“Jamie is not a threat, you should be thanking him.”
He shot Jamie a look that could kill. When hell freezes over.
Meg took his arm. “I know you are angry, but I had to come. I had to warn you. There is a plot on your life. Dougal MacDonald has been given orders to kill you.”
Given that Dougal had disappeared a few days ago, Alex couldn’t say he was surprised. “I am aware of the threat posed by Dougal.”