He just never thought he’d be forced to cut out his heart to save his lost soul.
Hours later, her tears at last extinguished, a soft knock on the door broke her reverie. “Meg, it’s me.” She recognized Jamie’s voice. “I know you’re in there. Please, I must speak with you.”
Jamie was the last person she wanted to see. Well, second to last. But she also owed him an explanation. Assuming she could find one. She rose from her seat by the window and straightened her skirts and hair, knowing there was nothing she could do to hide her tearstained cheeks and eyes.
Slowly, she opened the door. “Jamie,” she said in a much weaker voice than normal. “I’m surprised you’re here”—her eyes dropped to the floor self-consciously—“after last night.”
“We’re friends, Meg. Nothing has changed that. May I come in?”
She nodded, relieved that he hadn’t said anything about her appearance. “Of course, if you want to. But I’m afraid I’m not very good company right now.”
Jamie moved into the room and closed the door behind him. “I wouldn’t disturb you if it wasn’t important.”
She nodded and led him into the adjoining parlor, a room that she usually found pleasure in. The neat orderliness was strangely calming. She glanced at a section of books in the cupboard: Seneca, Shakespeare, Sidney, Sophocles, Spenser, every book alphabetized and aligned perfectly. But she felt…nothing. Empty. She wondered if she would ever feel anything again.
There were two seating areas, one around a small fireplace and one near a small window. A vase of white roses was perfectly centered on a small table in the center of the room, two enameled boxes placed in front equidistant from the vase. She indicated for him to sit before the window, then took a seat next to him on the small bench.
Jamie took her hand in his, surprising her. Deeply embarrassed, she dropped her gaze to her lap.
“I need to apologize for what happened last night,” he began.
Her head jerked up, and her eyes widened. “What are you talking about? If anyone should apologize, it’s me. I feel horrible.”
He shook his head. “Please, let me explain. I had no right to barge into Alex’s room. I was angry and worried about you. I regret that I forced the very thing that I’d hoped to prevent.”
His kindness only made her feel worse. She’d treated him badly, and he’d been nothing but a friend to her. “Jamie, I’m so sorry—”
He squeezed her hand, cutting off her reply. “I’d be honored if you would consent to be my wife.”
Her mouth dropped open. “You must be joking.”
He bristled at her astonishment. “I’m quite serious. I would never jest about something so important.”
“But, Jamie,” she started, still aghast. “After what you witnessed, surely you can’t want to marry me.”
“I care for you very much, Meg. We share many of the same interests, we think alike.” He smiled at her. “It is a good match, our families would approve. And nothing Alex MacLeod does can change that.”
Meg couldn’t believe it. She’d never dreamed that Jamie would still want to marry her. He was offering her the ability to salvage everything she’d worked for.
She studied his face, searching. “But do you love me?” she asked quietly.
“Of course I love you. I love you as much as I love my sister—”
“That’s just it,” she interrupted, a crooked smile on her lips. “Don’t you see? I’m not your sister. Are you in love with me?”
A flush stained his cheeks. “Of course I’m in love with you, whatever ‘in love’ means.”
“If you have to ask, you are not in love with me.”
Jamie raked his fingers through his hair. “Meg, why is this so important? Our positions dictate that we marry where our duty lies. You have a duty to your father”—she flinched at the blunt reminder—“to marry. A marriage tie with the Campbells is just what your clan needs. I can help Ian. I can protect your clan. I want you to have a choice. You don’t need to marry Alex MacLeod. He’s not what you think.”
No, he wasn’t. “I’m not marrying Alex.”
Jamie looked taken aback. “But I thought—”
“I changed my mind.”
“Good, then marry me.”
“You don’t have to sacrifice yourself, Jamie. I don’t blame you for anything. I knew what I was doing.”
“I assure you, Meg,” he said stiffly, “marrying you would not be a sacrifice.”
She reached for his hand. “Don’t be angry. I meant no offense. You are a good friend, Jamie. You must think me terribly ungracious. To ask me to marry you after what you saw…Well, not many men would do that.”
“Now is not the right time.” He bent down and pressed a gentle kiss on the top of her head. “Don’t decide right now. I’m confident that when you’ve had time to think over my offer, you will realize that it is indeed for the best.” He cupped her chin with his fingers, forcing her to meet his gaze. “I do love you. I will make you happy.”
Her eyes misted. She nodded, seeming to reach a decision. “You are truly a good friend, I don’t deserve you. I must return to Dunakin. Perhaps on Skye things will seem more clear.”
“Very well, then. Talk it over with your father. You will see that what I’m proposing is best, when you are away from here.”
She knew what he meant. Away from Alex MacLeod.
Chapter 18
Dunakin, Isle of Skye, September 1605
Three weeks was apparently time enough to fall in love, but not long enough to fall out of love. Meg had this unfortunate truth drummed into her head each morning when she woke, hoping this would be the day that she forgot about Alex, this would be the day she could get on with her life and put Edinburgh behind her.
She grimaced. Three weeks, three years, it didn’t make a difference. She would remember. Everything. Every detail of those precious few weeks rolled through her mind as vivid as if it were yesterday. Alex’s strength and natural command. The way he walked into a room and made every other man superfluous. The calm under pressure and immediate control he displayed in the midst of danger. The way he made her feel safe. But most of all, she remembered the exquisite pressure of his arms around her, the warmth of his skin heating hers, the way her heart fluttered when he kissed her, and the erotic sensation of him inside her. Filling her. Making her complete.
She tried to forget. Oh, she made a valiant effort to force him out of her mind by conjuring up the last image that she had of him, when he’d broken her heart and then simply walked away. But nothing could erase the haunting memories of love and passion before the betrayal.
She still loved the man she thought he was—even if that man had never really existed.
The shock waned, but not the pain. It would be a constant reminder of her mistake.
“What are you doing cloistered up here again, dearest?” Rosalind’s chirpy voice startled her from her reverie.
Meg turned, meeting the worried gaze of her mother. “Enjoying the view. I love this part of the old tower. It’s so peaceful up here, watching the birlinns cross the kyle.”
“Tallying the daily profits, are you?”
Meg smiled. For hundreds of years, since her enterprising ancestor “Saucy Mary” strung a heavy chain across the kyle, the Mackinnons had collected tolls for boats passing through the narrow strait that separated Skye from the mainland. Tallying profits was what she should be doing, would be doing, if she could concentrate on anything other than…
She shook her head, clearing her mind. “No, not today.”
“With Michaelmas approaching, I expected you to be huddled with your father somewhere.” Rosalind approached the chair where Meg was seated. Her dainty fingers cupped Meg’s chin, tilting her face gently. Soulful green eyes gazed at her with sadness. “What’s wrong, love? You have not been acting yourself ever since we returned from court. I never thought I’d complain of such things, but I can’t remember the last time I saw you read a book,
balance a ledger, mutter about efficiencies or words that I’ve never heard before.”
Her heart squeezed, thinking of Alex. “Perhaps I’ve been a bit more quiet than usual, but I’ve had much to consider.” She tried to force a bright smile to her features. “In fact, I was just on my way to see Father. I need to speak with him about Jamie.”
“Have you made a decision, then?” Rosalind asked warily.
Was there ever really a decision to be made? What choice did she really have? Nothing had changed since returning home: Either she accepted Jamie’s proposal or she failed in her duty to her clan. Choice was illusory. She pushed aside the guilt, knowing she did not love him. Elizabeth was right: Jamie deserved to be loved, and Meg would do everything in her power to love him.
“I’ll marry Jamie, of course.”
Rosalind’s face fell, and a mix of disappointment and distress pinched her delicate features. “Oh dear, dear,” she muttered. “I’d so hoped…I’d thought perhaps Laird MacLeod—”
Meg stiffened.
Rosalind frowned, noticing Meg’s reaction. “Just because I’ve not asked you what happened between you and Alex MacLeod does not mean that I don’t realize that something did.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Margaret Mackinnon!” Rosalind stomped her tiny foot in what Meg realized was supposed to be emphasis. “Don’t pretend ignorance with me. Why, we left court in such a hurry, I barely had time to change into my traveling clothes. And poor, dear Alys has never had to pack so quickly.” She threw up her hands. “Wrinkled silks, crushed velvets, torn lace…anything could have happened.”
“We were fortunate, indeed, to escape unscathed.”
Rosalind’s mouth twitched, but she otherwise ignored Meg’s playful retort. “And if such haste was not bad enough, you barely spoke five words the entire trip home and your eyes were red and puffy for days. Really, dear, you should have let me put a cool posset over them to prevent those horrid black circles.”
“As I explained, I felt ill and wanted to return home.”
“Ill!” Rosalind made a sound of disbelief and rested her hands on her slim hips. “I may not be as learned as you and your father, but I do have the sense God gave me.”
Meg’s eyes widened with surprise. Had her mother just been derisive? Rosalind must truly be annoyed; she didn’t have a derisive bone in her body.
“Please, Mother. There really is no need to discuss this further. There was, and is, nothing of import between Alex MacLeod and myself.”
Meg whipped around to stare at her mother, who had just issued a most indelicate, unladylike snort. When she recovered from this latest shock, she continued, emphasizing the point: “I’m going to marry Jamie Campbell.”
Rosalind shook her head. “But it was obvious to anyone who looked, Alex cares for you so much. Your father’s health is much improved, surely you can wait—”
“It’s over, Mother,” Meg interrupted sharply.
Rosalind shot her a hard look in return, pursing her lips with obvious displeasure. “I’ve told your father…He’s delayed long enough. He has something to tell you that might change your mind.”
Curious as to what her mother meant, Meg lost no time and hurried down the stairs to find her father.
It didn’t take long. The Mackinnon chief sat hunched over a stack of ledgers in the second-floor library of the old tower, two stories below the room she had occupied only moments before, massaging his thinning pate with his wrinkled fingers.
He glanced up as she entered the room. His short stature coupled with an impressive girth suggested a more jovial personality than was indicated by his serious visage. Meg supposed that in expression, if nothing else, she resembled her father.
Relief brought a slight turn to his lips, but it could not be described as a smile. It struck Meg how much older he looked after his recent illness. The poison had left its mark.
“Ah, Meg. I’ve gone over these accounts repeatedly—I’m worried about the amount of land held by wadset, and I can’t find the entries for the north.”
Meg leaned over her father and flipped through the thick stack of parchment.
“The entries are listed first geographically, then alphabetically by clansman, then by acreage, and finally by type of obligation, whether wadset or tack. Under each entry I’ve listed the date and method of payment, whether in grain, cattle, or silver. For each tack, you will see the grassum the clansman paid for the lease initially, then the yearly rental portion, again broken down by tack duty. The entries you are looking for should be…” Her finger traced the faint scratches of the quill down the page. “Right here.”
“’Tis so obvious, how did I not find it?” he said dryly.
Meg blushed, unsure whether he praised or jested with her. She continued on, suspecting the former. Like her, her father appreciated thoroughness and attention to detail. “I’ve cross-referenced these entries in another ledger by wadset and tack. The total obligation for lands held by wadset are listed in that ledger. It should be easier to determine the amount from that. If you’ll wait a moment, I’ll fetch it for you.”
The Mackinnon could only shake his head in amazement. “My dear girl, I don’t know what I would do without you.”
Meg felt a momentary swell of pride, but it was also a subtle reminder of her duty.
Rosalind blew into the room. “Tack, wadset! Who cares about leases and mortgages? Your only daughter’s heart has been broken—”
“My heart wasn’t broken.” It was ripped apart and torn to shreds.
Rosalind continued on as if Meg hadn’t spoken. “And all you can talk about is land! Lachlan Mackinnon, you’ve something much more important to discuss.”
“What’s all of this hysteria about, Rosie?”
Her mother shook her finger right under her father’s nose. “Don’t you ‘hysteria’ me. I warned you something like this might happen. You should have told her right when we returned, and now the poor child is about to sacrifice her everlasting happiness for you.”
Her father sank back a little in his chair. A bit shame-faced, he turned to Meg. “What’s this about, lass?”
“I’ve decided to write Jamie and accept his offer of marriage.”
He nodded. “A good choice.”
“Good choice!” Rosalind shrieked. “Have you listened to nothing I’ve said? Why, the girl is in love with Alex MacLeod, and you have nothing to say but ‘Good choice’?”
Her father sighed. “Meg’s a woman grown, capable of making her own decisions. And Jamie Campbell is a powerful ally. What would you have me say, wife?”
Rosalind crossed her arms, positioning herself in a manner that demonstrated her every intention of digging in her heels. Meg barely recognized this controlling side of her mother. Although she knew they loved each other, Meg had always assumed that her father held the reins in the marriage. That there might be more to her parents’ relationship than she’d assumed was vaguely disconcerting.
“I want you to tell Meg what you know of Laird MacLeod.”
“I assure you, Mother, I’m not interested in hearing any more about Alex MacLeod—”
“Margaret Mackinnon, hold your tongue,” Rosalind said sharply.
Meg dropped to a chair, mute, staring at the strange angry woman next to her. The same woman who hadn’t even raised her voice when Meg used her best silver platter to slide down a snow-dusted Cuillin peak when she was eight or used her precious Flemish tapestry as target practice when she was eleven.
Her father looked equally unsettled. “Very well, dear,” he said placatingly. “But, Meg, this must be kept in the strictest confidence. Only a handful of people know what I am about to tell you.”
Meg nodded, perplexed by the unusual vehemence in his voice. She waited for him to continue, curious and a bit apprehensive about what this was all about.
He appeared to be weighing his words carefully. “Alex MacLeod was sent to court at the bequest of the Island chiefs to
discover information about the rumored attempt by the Lowland Fife Adventurers to recolonize the Isle of Lewis.”
It took a moment for his words to settle in. The color drained from her face. “You mean that Alex was a spy?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes,” her father answered. “Though nothing quite so dramatic. He was basically just to keep his eyes and ears open and see what he could learn. Given that he is the brother of a chief, and has been to court many times, we felt Alex’s presence at Holyrood would not be seen by the Lowland government as suspicious. But it was also convenient that he had not been too tightly connected to his brother these past few years.” He paused, clearing his throat. “Of course, not many people are aware that for the last few years Alex has fought with the outlawed MacGregors.”
Meg stared dully at her hands, now curled into tight fists in her lap. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She’d known that Alex had been up to something, had realized there was something he had not been telling her, but she would never have guessed that he was a spy. Not a mercenary at all. Nor apparently was he estranged from his brother.
Little oddities suddenly made sense: playing cards with Jamie in the room full of the king’s men, his anger at the mention of the MacGregors and the Lewis political situation on their ride that day, lurking in the dark corridor…
Her stomach lurched. When they’d had their first kiss. Had he kissed her simply to cover up his presence in the hall?
“Tell her the rest,” Rosalind said impatiently, obviously sensing Meg’s distress.
Her father sighed and continued reluctantly, “The information that Alex uncovered at court enabled the Island chiefs to ready their assistance, secretly, to the MacLeods of Lewis. When the Fife Adventurers landed and occupied Stornoway Castle a couple of weeks ago, we were ready—in large part because of Alex.” Her father seemed inclined to stop, but Rosalind nudged him along with a piercing stare. “And Alex has joined Neil MacLeod in leading the resistance on Lewis.”
“Alex? Fighting on Lewis?” she echoed softly. She’d guessed what he was going to say, but it still came as a shock. Her mind was racing, trying to put together what she’d just learned with the conversation with Lord Huntly. Why would Alex be agreeing to fight for Huntly? He wouldn’t. “But how? For how long?”
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