Foolish girl, she berated herself.
She held back the tears, telling herself that it was better to learn the truth now, rather than later.
Alison reached out to embrace her. “Now, now,” she crooned, “dinna cry, Meghan.”
Meghan gulped back a sob, unable to restrain it, and returned Alison’s embrace with her good arm.
“Och, but you look horrid,” Alison said, breaking into tears. “I’ve never seen you look so ugly.”
Meghan didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “You look horrid, too,” she cried, unable to hold back her sobs any longer. “And you put your bruise on the wrong cheek.”
Colin and Leith and Gavin all exchanged awkward glances with each other.
“Daft women,” Colin said, shaking his head. “All right now, Alison. Enough. Let someone else hug her too.” And he moved in to hug Meghan as Alison released her.
She wept upon Colin’s shoulder, and then Leith’s, and then Gavin’s.
“Welcome home, Meghan,” Gavin said softly. “We’ve missed you, lass.”
“Enough to spare me your sermons?” Meghan asked through her tears.
Gavin chuckled. “Well, that I don’t know. We shall see, I suppose.”
Meghan choked on her laughter. “’Tis good to be home.”
“’Tis good to have you home,” Leith said. “You’re a sight for sore eyes, to be sure.”
“I am so sorry. I should never have risked myself so.”
“’Tis not as though you did so apurpose, Meghan,” Leith replied.
“It’s my fault,” Colin interjected. “I should never have let yet go alone to meet Alison.”
“How can you say such a thing, Colin? It was hardly the first time I’d gone into those woods alone. What will you do, silly mon? Escort me everywhere I go for the rest of our lives?”
Colin frowned, at a loss for words, and she went on.
“I dinna think so. I can just imagine what all your women would say then, you silly fool.”
“Aye,” Gavin put in. “Precisely what they should be saying anyway—nay!” He spoke with such heartfelt conviction that Meghan felt at home immediately. One thing everyone could count upon was Gavin’s piety in the face of anything at all. He was unswerving in his faith.
Colin cast Gavin a pained glance, and Meghan laughed, telling him, “Dinna say such a thing, Gavin. He will die else wise.”
Leith and Colin both chuckled and so too did Alison.
“And Meghan,” Leith continued, “I’ve something to tell you...”
Meghan looked up at her eldest brother to see that he had moved behind Alison, and she suddenly recalled her friend’s message.
“Oh! And I you,” she exclaimed. “Alison asked me to tell you, Leith, that not only will she wed you, but she will wed you with all her heart.”
Leith peered down at Alison in surprise. “Is this true?” he asked her, his hands going to her shoulders. He turned her to face him.
Alison smiled shyly up at him, and Meghan was so happy for the two of them—so happy she could cry. With a heartbroken sob, she cast herself between them. Alison took her once more into her arms.
“Rotten, heart-stealing, lying, conniving Sassenach wretch,” Meghan cried out. “I’m so happy for you, Alison.”
“Och, now,” Alison said, patting Meghan’s back, soothing her. “I know you are, Meghan. Just think... we’re going to be sisters now, in truth,” she said cheerily.
“I’m so happy,” Meghan exclaimed, and wept as though her heart would rent in two.
“Alison,” Colin said, his tone contrite. Alison turned to look at him, continuing to pat Meghan’s back. “Thank you for risking yourself for Meghan,” he said. “That was a brave thing for you to do, lass. We owe you a lot for it.”
Alison smiled brightly at him. “You owe me naught for that, Colin Mac Brodie. But thank you anyhow.”
“Och, now who could that be?” Leith said suddenly.
Meghan was so busy weeping, burying her face against Alison’s shoulder, that she didn’t see the approaching riders, nor did she hear them, until Colin exploded with anger.
“Curse and rot him,” her brother said.
“How dare he show his face here?” Leith said angrily. “English swine.”
“It’s Montgomerie,” Gavin said, aghast.
Meghan froze.
She peered up to see Lyon and his men approaching quickly.
Seated high atop his destrier, with his golden hair flowing behind him, he rode toward them, his look wrathful and full of purpose.
“Och!” Meghan exclaimed, coming to life as her brothers drew their swords and went to greet him. She seized Alison by the arm. “I cannot face him, Alison. Come with me.”
And she dragged Alison toward the chapel.
Chapter 27
He didn’t bother to deal with her brothers.
Meghan knew he must have spied her, for the rumbling of hooves reverberated throughout the sanctuary as he reined in before the chapel doors. His voice was an echo within the stone building as he commanded his men to remain and guard the door.
Meghan heard her brothers’ furious voices beyond the chapel doors. Threats passed between the men, and she prayed they’d not come to arms.
“I merely wish to speak with her,” Lyon assured her angry brothers. “And I shall go once I have said my piece.”
Meghan scarcely had time to return the sling to Alison and to replace her veil. No sooner had she hid herself behind a pew when Lyon came bursting into the chapel.
Meghan gasped at the sight of him and lay down on the floor upon her belly in a desperate attempt to conceal herself from his view.
She couldn’t face him just now. Couldn’t look into his eyes. And she definitely didn’t care what he had to say—didn’t wish to hear a word of it.
“Meghan!” His voice thundered within the tiny chapel. It bounced off the walls and battered against her heart. Her heart racing madly, she shimmied beneath the pew, desperate to conceal herself from his eyes.
Watching breathlessly as he approached Alison, his stride full of purpose and his expression stem with determination, she shuddered at the sight of him. He wore the same tunic and braies he’d worn yesterday, with the plaid belted at his waist, and his eyes seemed to glitter like the blue of a hot flame.
Och, but he was beautiful—beautiful but treacherous to her defenseless heart, for her arms cried out to hold him still, despite his falseness.
“Meghan,” he said with feeling, taking Alison by the shoulders and turning her about to face him.
The breath left her lungs as Alison cried out softly. Meghan felt ashamed for putting her friend once more in such an untenable position. And yet she just wasn’t brave enough to confront him herself.
He fell to his knees before Alison, and Meghan blinked in surprise as he took her gently by the hand.
“I read your notes upon my papers,” he disclosed, “and sent you away because I thought it was the right thing to do. Forgive me, Meghan.”
Alison remained silent, and Meghan bit her lower lip to keep from crying out that he was a lowly snake, and that she would never forgive him—not ever.
Did he want her absolution now for being such a shallow-minded knave?
“You see,” he continued, “you were right. I have been searching all my life for something I should have discovered within my own self long ago. And it took you, Meghan Brodie, to open my eyes.”
A fine way he had of showing his appreciation, Meghan thought bitterly.
“Can you ever forgive me?”
Never.
Alison stood frozen, staring down at him, and Meghan knew she was afraid to speak. Not Meghan. If she were standing there before him, she thought she would rear back and slap his much-too-bonnie face.
“Meghan,” he said, staring up at Alison’s veiled face. He shook his head. “All those years I searched for contentment in the arms of so many women...”
Meghan felt nigh t
o bursting with outrage at hearing that. How dare he remind her of such a thing just now. How dare he rub salt into her wounds.
“And I never found it,” he confessed. “Not until you…”
Meghan blinked in confusion.
Me? she thought, and mouthed the word, stunned by his revelation.
Me?
“Aye,” he answered, as though she’d spoken the question aloud. “Not until you,” he repeated, and then said, “Do not look so surprised, my love.”
My love?
Shock reverberated through her as surely as his voice echoed within the church walls. Meghan’s heart pummeled her ribs as she lay there upon the cold wood floor, listening to his confession.
“I love you, Meghan Brodie,” he declared fiercely. “I love you from the very depths of my soul.”
Meghan’s heart tripped a painful beat. Tears welled in her eyes, and a sob caught in her throat.
“You do?” she thought she’d asked, but it was Alison’s voice that echoed through the chapel and not hers. She couldn’t have spoken in that instant had she tried.
“Aye,” he answered with feeling. “I do not care what you look like. You could have warts upon your eyelids and hair upon your chin. You are my precious gift,” he told her. “And your heart is more precious to me than gold. And your smile,” he continued, “makes my heart sing. And your words... I wait with bated breath but to hear them. And your eyes... I would give the sparkle from every jewel I own simply to see its glitter for even a single day more. And your wisdom... I love you, Meghan Brodie. And if you will have me, I would be honored to have you for my wife. And I swear that I will love and adore you until the day I last close my eyes.”
Meghan’s heart blossomed with joy. Tears slid unchecked down her cheeks. She could scarcely believe her ears.
She held her breath, watching Alison and him together. The sight of him kneeling before her, pouring out his heart to her, was the most romantic thing she had ever beheld in all her life. It was the sort of thing troubadours sang of and bards wove their tales over. And his words were all for her—and she was hiding under a rotten pew.
Och! Say something, Alison! Tell him I love him too.
His blood pumping like fire through his veins, Lyon held his breath and waited for Meghan to respond. But she simply stood there, staring down at him as though he were a viper curled before her feet.
And then he happened to note the hand he held within his own, and his brows drew together in confusion. It was her left hand, not her right he held. And yet she had injured her left arm. How could it be that he was holding it now?
He peered up into her face.
Her crossed eyes gazed down at him in confusion and in fear. And his frown deepened as he noted once more that her bruise was on her left cheek and not the right. Where had it been last night when he’d sent her away? He’d been so weary and so preoccupied with his guilty conscience that he hadn’t taken the time to consider what it meant. But now that he did, he was more than certain she had injured her right cheek, and not her left...
And then his gaze fell once more to the hand he held, for he knew without a doubt that it was her left hand she had injured and that was precisely the hand which he held within his own just now.
Something was definitely amiss here.
He released her hand and stood, his body taut with growing suspicion, and stared into her face, his anger mounting.
The silence within the chapel was a roar in his ears.
His heart sank as he studied her eyes... They were familiar to him, certain enough, but though they were the same color, they were not Meghan Brodie’s eyes.
He ripped off the veil and was at first startled at the face that peered back at him.
And then his face hardened with fury.
“I see I have been played for a fool,” he said tautly, and nothing more.
Meghan thought she would weep at the look upon his face as he turned to go.
Tears coursing down her cheeks, she tried to crawl out from under the pew, but with her injured arm she was not fast enough.
“Nay,” she cried out. “Wait!”
He stopped and turned to face her, but didn’t see her, and Meghan waved from under the pew.
“Wait,” she exclaimed, wriggling as fast as she could out from under her wooden prison.
He saw her at last, and his expression was wholly unreadable for an instant as he stared down at her. Meghan stilled, her heart thumping wildly. She held her breath, lest he spit down upon the floor in disgust and leave her before she could chance to speak her mind.
“I do love you,” she cried out. “I do!” And she muttered an oath in sheer frustration. “But I am stuck beneath this accursed pew. Help me!”
“You do?” he asked, and came to her at once.
“I do,” she swore, and was vaguely aware that Alison stole away, leaving them alone to speak.
“Mercy, woman, what the devil are you doing beneath there?”
“Och! You daft mon,” she said. “I was hiding from you, of course.”
He dragged her out and took her into his arms, kissing her lips fiercely.
“Ah, Meghan,” he said. “Come home with me, my love?”
Meghan wrapped her good arm about his neck. “Aye,” she answered. “I want to go.”
That was all Lyon needed to hear.
He lifted her up into his arms and carried her out of the chapel, commanding his men to get out of his way.
Her brothers all shouted warnings, fought to reach her, swords drawn.
“Let her go,” Leith demanded of him.
“Not a chance,” Lyon refused them.
“Sassenach,” Colin shouted, and Meghan laughed.
“Tis all right,” she told them, announcing to one and all, “ ’Cause I’m going to wed the scoundrel, after all.”
Her brothers fell silent. They stared at one another in shock.
Lyon chuckled at her choice of words, but didn’t feel the least bit offended by them, and this time, as he stole his wife away from her brothers, she filled his ears with laughter and his heart with joy.
“Ah, Meghan,” he whispered. “You’re going to make me a very happy man.” David had not lied to him after all, it occurred to him as he looked back at the chapel, remembering the childhood promise. He’d found happiness and then had it all but handed to him upon a silver plate.
“As you will me,” Meghan assured him. “As you already have.”
And so he had.
And so she did.
Preview “Seana”
Book 3, Sweet Scottish Brides
Chapter 1
Seana, Sweet Scottish Brides, Book 3
Colin Mac Brodie was surrounded by laughter.
People were drawn to him—as Seana was—as everyone couldn’t help but be.
Watching from a safe distance, under the shade of an old elm, Seana sat nibbling on a tart she’d snatched from somebody’s window where it lay cooling. She felt guilty, but hunger had driven her to it.
Just now, the children were all ooohing and awwwing over some new dagger Colin’s da gave him. The boys were envious and the girls all properly impressed while Colin swaggered before them—as only Colin could—beaming as he sheathed the knife, then drew it from his belt.
Much as Seana would have liked to see it too, she knew better than to join them.
Sudden jeers and laughter caught her attention and she peered up to see that Lagan MacKinnon was looking in her direction. She froze. Seana didn’t like Lagan. He had cruel eyes that were full of anger and envy. And just now, they were filled with hatred, directed at Seana.
“Thief!” he shouted and threw a pebble in her direction. It skimmed the dirt and smacked the tree behind Seana and her heart beat faster.
She wasn’t afraid, she told herself.
“Ugly lame witch!” Lagan persisted.
Seana willed herself to remain calm.
They would have their fun and it would pass—as al
ways it did. Lame in one leg as she had been born, Seana was used to the jeers. People seemed afraid of her because of her limp leg, although she didn’t precisely know why.
She held her breath as Lagan stooped to pick up another stone, for it seemed this was far more cruel than usual. She braced herself as he threw it at her, hitting her in the shoulder this time. She didn’t cry out, but tears pricked at her eyes, and she swallowed the wave of grief that rose to choke her breath away.
“Colin doesna like ye!” he said, “Go away, witch!”
Seana felt like sinking into the ground. She didn’t respond, didn’t dare.
They all turned to Colin, teasing him suddenly... about Seana.
“Marry her, Colin!” Lagan taunted, laughing cruelly as he pushed at Colin’s shoulder. “Go on and wed the ugly witch!”
Colin pushed Lagan back, and cast Seana a harried glance.
Seana swallowed.
They were only teasing him, she knew as she had oft seen them do, but she realized Colin must not like it.
“She stole that tart from your minny!” one of the girls said to Lagan, casting Seana a disgusted glance.
Lagan’s eyes narrowed upon her. “Thief!” he said. “Hobbling wart-faced hag!” He seized Colin’s dagger suddenly, and threw it in Seana’s direction, snickering maliciously. “Go and get it, Colin!”
The dagger barely missed Seana, landing at her side. She blinked, thinking it might have had her eye out.
“Damn, Lagan, ye arse!” Colin said.
“Go on—get it!” Lagan taunted. But Colin merely stood there, looking at Seana, his expression one of frustration.
Seana’s heart hammered as she met his gaze and held it... och, but he had the most beautiful blue eyes.
He was afraid to come and get his dagger, she realized. But there was no hatred in his eyes, only fear.
Were they afraid that the weakness in her leg was contagious? Seana didn’t understand, but she felt—as she had countless times in her near eleven years—like some vermin to be stamped out.
Meghan: A Sweet Scottish Medieval Romance (Sweet Scottish Brides Book 2) Page 24
