Highlander Unmasked

by Monica McCarty

  The closer he drew, the more he sensed her wariness. He was used to his size eliciting a certain amount of consternation among the lasses, but he knew she had even more reason to fear him. She’d seen him in the heat of battle. He didn’t want to frighten her, but he realized that a certain amount of caution on her part would be beneficial to his goal. Perhaps if she were a little off balance, she would be less confident in her memory.

  It wasn’t until he was standing right in front of her that he realized she was even smaller than he’d thought. The top of her head wouldn’t even reach his shoulders. Behind the stiff stomacher, farthingale, and voluminous skirts, she was a wee slip of a thing. So frail, she looked as if she might break. But he knew the frailty was deceptive. He’d seen her courage.

  He could probably span her waist with his hands, and he had a sudden urge to prove it. He yearned to wrap his callused palms around the silky, soft skin of her waist and hips, lifting her over his hard…

  He nearly groaned. Living like a monk had obviously addled him, making him lose focus. In his youth, he’d been insatiable. But like many of the things in his carefree youth, the regular bedding of lasses had given way to steely determination and undaunted purpose. So focused on his task, he’d didn’t have much time for anything else. Clearly, he’d been too long without a woman; the faint scent of roses that wafted from her hair was doing strange things to him.

  Jamie began the formal introductions. After so many years of living in virtual squalor, most nights without a roof over his head, Alex found the pomp and ceremony of court maddening and the social niceties absurd. Court was about the last place a warrior wanted to be. But he had a job to do, so he would set aside his distaste. For the moment.

  He could still feel the heat of her gaze on his face. She was trying, not very subtly, to get him to look at her. Clearly, she found his lack of response vexing. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her lips purse. She looked so charmingly befuddled, he fought a strange urge to laugh.

  When it was her turn, and Alex was forced at last to acknowledge her, she looked him squarely in the eye and said, “We’ve met before.”

  Forthright, he realized.

  Indeed, her frankness took him momentarily aback. It was not a characteristic he typically associated with ladies at court or with one so young.

  And there was no mistaking the undertone of challenge in her voice. Though he admired the direct attack, given that she had to lift her chin to prodigious heights just to look at him, he also found it somewhat amusing.

  “I’m surprised you remember,” he said. “You were but a child the last time I enjoyed the hospitality of Dunakin.”

  She frowned, and adorable little lines appeared between her furrowed brows. “But that’s not—”

  He cut her off by addressing Lizzie. “It’s good to see you again, Lizzie.”

  The poor girl blushed to her roots and murmured something unintelligible. Apparently, Elizabeth Campbell had not lost the extreme shyness that he remembered from when she was a girl.

  Jamie must have noticed Meg’s confusion at Alex’s casual greeting, because he explained, “Alex and his brother were fostered with our cousin Argyll. My sister and I spent quite a bit of time at Inveraray Castle in our youth, as did Alex’s sister Flora.”

  “And if I remember correctly,” Alex said to Lizzie, “you and Flora were always underfoot. Scampering around getting into some sort of mischief.” His mouth quirked at the memory of the pretty flaxen-haired child who’d traipsed after his willful wee hellion of a sister. It had been too long since he’d seen Flora, he realized. He wondered if she’d fulfilled her earlier promise of beauty. He hoped so. With a temper like hers, she’d need it. Lizzie was still pretty, in a quiet, understated fashion. Much like her friend.

  “Flora?” Meg asked.

  “My youngest sister.” At her look of surprise, he explained, “She lived with my stepmother, Janet Campbell, Argyll’s aunt, after our father died.”

  “Then your sister is—”

  “Argyll’s cousin also, yes,” he finished. It was hardly a connection he could forget.

  Alex turned back to Elizabeth. “How long has it been, Lizzie?”

  “O-o-ver fi-i-ifteen y-years,” Lizzie stammered, her cheeks flaming.

  Meg had finally turned her gaze from him and was watching her friend struggle with barely concealed distress. Her gaze flickered back to him as if trying to gauge his reaction. Alex felt his annoyance grow. What the hell did she expect, that he would laugh at her friend?

  Yes, he realized with a start. Knowing the vicious tongues at court, he imagined that was the typical reaction to Lizzie’s stammering.

  “Fifteen years ago?” Meg interjected smoothly—obviously she’d done this more than once. “You truly were a child, Elizabeth.” She turned to Alex, fixing him with those enormous eyes. The effect was instantaneous. God’s breath, he could drown in those luminous depths. Up close, he could see the smooth translucence of her skin and the soft green of her eyes, fringed by long feathery lashes. He felt a powerful yearning to touch her. To brush his finger across the delicate curve of her cheek and see if it was as unbelievably soft as it looked. This time, he was the one who was staring. “Are you recently arrived at Holyrood, then, Laird MacLeod?” she asked, breaking his trance.

  Despite his temporary fixation, Alex didn’t miss how the Mackinnon lass adroitly took control of the conversation, protecting her friend from further embarrassment. From the look of barely concealed adulation on Jamie’s face, he realized it as well.

  Alex was not unaffected. Lizzie had found herself quite a protector. He shook off the twinge of admiration. He should be focusing on Jamie Campbell and not Meg Mackinnon. He had no time to be distracted by a lass, no matter how intriguing.

  Alex nodded. “I only arrived yesterday.”

  “Where from?” Meg asked not so innocently. “Skye?”

  All vestiges of convivial thought fled. He gave her a hard look, one meant to stop further questions. “No.” His voice must have sounded harsher than he intended because she took an almost imperceptible step back. In a somewhat softer tone, he asked, “And what of you, Mistress Mackinnon, have you been at court long?”

  He could tell that she wanted to press the matter but thought better of it. “Just two weeks.”

  Jamie, apparently not liking what had essentially become a private conversation, made a possessive move toward Meg and took her hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. “Meg and her party were attacked on the way to court,” he explained.

  Alex lifted a brow in feigned surprise. “How unfortunate. You were not harmed, I hope?”

  Meg looked him straight in the eye again. He couldn’t help but admire her fortitude. “No, though six of my father’s men were killed, and my mother suffered a blow to the head. They would have killed us all, but we were fortunate to have been rescued by a mysterious band of warriors.”

  “Fortunate indeed,” Alex agreed. The way she was watching him didn’t bode well. He tensed. She was going to say something—

  “Actually,” she said with a provoking little smile, “the leader looked remarkably like you.”

  Damn. Alex quickly masked his flash of anger with a chuckle, as if she’d just said something incredibly amusing. But he didn’t miss the slight sharpening of Jamie’s gaze.

  “Though I’d like to take credit, Mistress Mackinnon, I’m afraid you must be mistaken. You know what they say around here—all of us barbarians look alike.”

  She didn’t laugh; rather, her study of his face intensified.

  Jamie frowned.

  Alex knew he’d better think of something fast. Suddenly, it came to him. “Actually, it sounds more like something my brother might do. We look much alike, don’t we, Jamie?”

  Jamie studied him carefully and finally nodded. “Yes. Very alike.”

  But Alex could see that the damage had been done. Jamie’s suspicions had been aroused. Alex would have to tread carefully.


  “Hmm,” Meg said, “I’m sure that’s it.” But he could tell she did not believe him.

  “These outlaws have grown too bold,” Jamie said. His face darkened, and for a moment Alex had a glimpse of the ruthless man he would become. “Broken men are a scourge upon the land. Threatening innocent women,” he said indignantly. “I’ll hunt down every last one and see them pay.”

  Alex fought to control his temper. Your cousin is al

  ready doing a fine job of it.

  He was relieved when Meg decided not to further press the matter of his identity. “How long will you be at court, Laird MacLeod?”

  “Not long,” he answered truthfully. Once he found what he’d come for, he would be gone. “I hope to have my business concluded soon and be on my way.”

  “Are you here, then, on behalf of your brother?” she asked.

  Her tenacity was almost awe-inspiring. If he weren’t so furious with her, he’d applaud. But she’d done enough damage for one day. “No.”

  “Alex is a soldier,” Jamie explained. “Only recently returned from Spain and Flanders.”

  “Oh!” Meg exclaimed, her eyes wide with surprise.

  Alex watched as understanding dawned. Somehow, he knew what her reaction would be.

  Disappointment flickered in her eyes. Those damnably entrancing eyes.

  The news that he was a mercenary soldier had done what he could not—stopped her questions. She no longer studied his face but turned her attention back to Jamie. A subtle rejection, and a surprisingly effective one.

  He should be relieved. But when they took their leave, and her gaze slid over him with barely concealed regret, he was almost sorry about the need for the ruse.

  Chapter 3

  The next evening, Meg found herself in exactly the same place she’d been for the last two weeks. But tonight there was a discernible difference. He was here.

  Unfortunately, she was not the only one to have noticed.

  She excused herself from the circle of ladies and moved toward the open window overlooking the rose garden, hoping the fresh air would help clear her head. He’d only just arrived, and already she’d heard more than enough about Alex MacLeod. Even if she wanted to forget him, it would be nigh impossible.

  There was only one thing the ladies at court liked to gossip about more than a handsome man, Meg realized: a handsome unmarried man. Add a hearty dose of rugged Highland masculinity, a touch of the forbidden, a dash of mystery, and the subject proved absolutely irresistible. As was evidenced by the not so minor sensation created by Alex’s arrival at Holyrood.

  Speculation was rife about the nature of his business at court. Not a few ladies Meg had spoken to hoped he was in search of a wife. She didn’t have the heart to disillusion them. They would find out soon enough.

  He was a mercenary. A sword for hire looking for a job. A man with no loyalties.

  Meg didn’t want to believe it.

  She almost wished he were an outlaw. At least then she could believe that he was a man of principle, fighting for something he believed in. That he’d chosen to use his considerable skills to barter to the highest bidder was some heavy tarnish on his shining armor, to say the least.

  What was it about Alex MacLeod that so intrigued her? That still intrigued her despite what she’d learned of his profession?

  More than once tonight, she’d caught herself unconsciously seeking him out. He wasn’t difficult to find. Head set high above the rest, a shock of golden brown hair glistened in the candlelight. His wide shoulders and dark clothing set him apart, as did the strength and power that radiated from him. He appeared remote, untouchable. An inscrutable expression fixed eternally on his handsome face.

  He didn’t belong here. He was a Highland warrior in the midst of Lowland courtiers. But it was the courtiers who suffered from the comparison. He was like a great tawny lion holding court among a sea of silk-clad parrots.

  Women flocked to him, but he seemed to show no particular favor toward any one. Including Meg. He hadn’t looked at her all night. It didn’t bother her. Truly. She could hardly expect to compete with the steady stream of beautiful women throwing themselves at his feet. Not that she wanted to, she assured herself.

  But she knew that for the lie it was when he tossed back his head and laughed at something his companion said. The smile on his face stopped her heart. She drank in the sight of amusement transcending the darkness that normally shaded his expression. There was the smile that she remembered from his visit to Dunakin long ago; she’d wondered where it had gone.

  Surely it was a sin to be that glorious? When her gaze shifted to see which lucky woman had brought a smile to his face, Meg was shocked to discover that he was talking to her mother.

  Turning back toward the night air, Meg shook her head, a wistful smile playing upon her lips. She didn’t know why she was surprised. Rosalind Mackinnon was exceptionally beautiful and charming, two qualities to which Meg could hardly lay claim. Meg’s features were perfectly acceptable, even pretty in the proper perspective, but downright bland compared with the vividness of her mother’s. Rarely did Meg pay much attention to her appearance; it simply wasn’t that important to her. Her mother had tried to get Meg more interested in clothes, hair, and other feminine accoutrements—repeatedly—but most of the time, Meg was too busy to bother. As for charm, well, her oft blunt tongue precluded any suggestion of that.

  Her lack of courtly accomplishments had never concerned her before. It was highly disconcerting to realize that they did so now.

  She barely had time to ponder the meaning of her strange melancholy before a familiar voice sounded in her ear.

  “Margaret, look who I’ve brought for you to meet. Our delightful neighbor from Skye.”

  Meg cast a cautious glance over her shoulder, only to see her beaming mother bearing down on her with a stone-faced Alex pulled along in her wake. That was quick, Meg thought with reluctant appreciation, even for her mother. Unfortunately for Meg, it was too late to hide.

  She didn’t miss the horrified look on her mother’s face when she noticed Meg’s gown. Meg looked down. What was wrong with orange?

  Bravely, she stood ready to face the torture. She could only imagine what nefarious schemes her mother had concocted. Finding a handsome Highlander at court—from a powerful neighboring clan nonetheless—had probably sent her into a tizzy of excited wedding preparations. But Meg could not fault her for her good intentions—or for her taste, for that matter. Rosalind Mackinnon wanted a fairy-tale marriage for her daughter, whether Meg agreed or not. And a fairy tale always included a handsome prince.

  She sighed, resigned to her fate. If it was any consolation, Alex appeared no more eager for this meeting than she. She wondered what her mother had said to get him over here. Meg almost felt sorry for him. With a lesser man, she would have. She knew what it was like to be caught up in the determined machinations of her mother’s schemes. Ever since Meg had begun in earnest her search for a husband, Rosalind Mackinnon had elevated the role of matchmaker to an art form. But she was sure Alex MacLeod could take care of himself. Even against a worthy foe like her mother.

  Meg bowed her head slightly in greeting. “Laird MacLeod.”

  Her voice sounded steadier than she felt. To put it bluntly, the man flustered her. Simply standing beside him made her pulse race. Once again, she was uncomfortably aware of the vast difference in their sizes. She had to tilt her head back just to look at him. Though, admittedly, it was worth the effort. He really was quite magnificent. And imposing. He made her conscious of her own vulnerability, but at the same time, never had she felt so safe. An odd duality to be sure.

  He answered with a curt bow. “Mistress Mackinnon.”

  Meg turned to her mother to explain. “I had the pleasure of making Laird MacLeod’s acquaintance last night.”

  Her mother’s brows lifted just a little too much to be believable. “You did?” Her eyes sparkled with mischief. She turned to Alex with a soft, c
hiding rap of her fan on his arm. “Why, you never mentioned it.”

  Alex frowned, obviously confused. “I believe I did—”

  “I was just telling this dear boy about our misfortune on the road,” her mother interrupted blithely.

  Only her mother could call a man of at least thirty years standing well over six feet a “dear boy”—and mean it.

  “But didn’t he tell you?” Meg’s innocent smile mirrored her mother’s as her gaze shifted to Alex. “Laird MacLeod knows all the details of our attack.”

  “He does?” her mother asked, and this time her surprise was genuine.

  Meg could swear she saw a muscle clench in Alex’s jaw. Proof of his deception, perhaps? She held his gaze as she answered her mother. “Yes, I told him all about it last night.”

  His gaze sharpened, as if she’d surprised him. She might enjoy prodding him, but Meg was not fool enough to voice her beliefs to her mother.

  “Did the laird tell you that he was a soldier?”

  Amazing, Meg thought. Her mother would have made an excellent inquisitor.

  “We could use more men like him in Skye protecting our roads, especially near Dunakin, don’t you think, Meg?”

  Meg murmured something, trying to cover her acute embarrassment. Her mother was never one for subtlety. Though Meg supposed neither was she.

  Her mother continued, completely unabashed, “It’s a beautiful evening for dancing, isn’t it, my laird?”

  “Would you care to dance, my lady?”

  Meg smothered her sudden snort of laughter with a cough. The flash of dry wit was unexpected, but delightfully so. She gave him an appreciative grin, and their eyes met in a moment of shared understanding that was strangely affecting. There was more to this forbidding soldier than met the eye.

  Undeterred, her mother flashed a saucy smile. “Me?” She tapped him playfully with her fan again, as if he were a naughty schoolboy. “Oh, you’re a horrible tease. I’m much too old for dancing. But…” She turned her eyes on Meg.