Highlander Unmasked (14 page)

After a quick examination of the adjoining antechambers, Alex returned to the hall, joined a group of men discussing King James’s containment of the borders, and casually scanned the crowd for Seton. The sight that met his eyes made his blood run cold.

Meg had blatantly ignored his warning. If anything, her circle of admirers had grown, though Alex couldn’t help noticing that her attention seemed focused on one man in particular.

She’d defied him, though it shouldn’t surprise him. Meg Mackinnon challenged him in a way no woman had before. Normally, it might even amuse him. But right now, all he could do was force himself not to storm over there and smash his fist into the face of the man with whom she was engaged in deep conversation. An intimate conversation. Alex gripped the stem of his goblet tighter as the brazen fool leaned over and whispered close to her ear.

Abruptly, he put down his claret, excused himself from the group of men, and headed straight for Meg. His anger had taken on an entirely different edge, one consumed by an emotion so foreign that he almost didn’t recognize it.
Bloody hell,
he was jealous.

From the costume and mask the man wore, Alex realized he was the master of the revels for tonight’s performance. There was something else vaguely familiar about him, but Alex was too focused on Meg’s bewitching smile to ponder it further.

So focused that he almost walked right into Lord Chancellor Seton. Mumbling an apology, Alex watched as Seton moved to exit the hall. This was just the opportunity he had been waiting for. He had to take it. Pushing aside his jealousy and the compulsion he felt to tear Meg away from her admirer, Alex turned to follow Seton. The lord chancellor was almost to the doorway; in a minute, he would disappear into the corridors. Alex took a few steps after him and swore, unable to resist one more glance across the room at Meg.

It was a mistake.

His entire body drew taut as he watched the man trail his fingers seductively down Meg’s arm, his knuckles brushing the full roundness of her breast. From the sly smile that curved the bastard’s mouth, Alex knew he had done it on purpose. Seton temporarily forgotten, Alex started back toward Meg, rage surging through his veins. Alex was going to kill him.

The sly smile hovered on the edges of his memory.

Alex had almost reached Meg when the man’s identity hit him. The blood drained from his face. As if he could feel the weight of Alex’s stare, the man turned and confirmed what Alex had already known. He would never forget the flat eyes of his enemy.

The last five years faded away, and Alex stood on the bloody corrie under the looming majesty of the great Cuillin mountain range, catapulted back to the day that would be forever branded into his conscience.

The promise of blood permeated the morning mist. His warriors were eager for battle. It was so close now, Alex could almost smell it.

It was his first command, and Alex swelled with pride in the responsibility he’d been given. Not only would he lead his brother’s men, the MacLeods of Dunvegan, but he would also lead their kin the MacLeods of Lewis. Both branches of the clan had joined forces to fight the MacDonalds.

They hunted their quarry from the giant shadow of the great Cuillin mountain range. The kinsmen, descendants from the sons of Leod, numbered near fifty warriors strong. A large group, yet they moved soundlessly up the grassy path, climbing ever higher into the looming mountain above them.

Alex lifted his hand, signaling the men to halt. He motioned for two of his
luchd-taighe
guardsmen, his cousins John and Tormod from Lewis, to follow him. The three powerful mail-clad warriors took a few cautious steps forward, then got down on their bellies, slithering forward to peer over the edge of the hill.

The sight below them was not a pretty one for a MacLeod. Their prey—the despised MacDonalds—were celebrating a successful foray below them. The stolen cattle that the MacDonalds had lifted during their bloody raid on his brother’s Bracadale lands grazed peacefully in the corrie along the grassy banks of the fairy pools.

The bucolic scene fired Alex’s already smoldering anger. He was responsible for watching Rory’s lands while his brother was away. Even now, the brazen fools celebrated while still on MacLeod lands. Alex fought to control his anger, for this raid had occurred under his first command.

It was time to teach the thieving bastards a lesson.

With a fierce battle cry that pierced the quiet morning like the high-pitched wail of the Banshee, the MacLeod clansmen charged down the hillside and fell upon the unsuspecting MacDonalds.

The battle had begun.

The blistering sun moved slowly across the cloudless midsummer sky. After hours of relentless fighting, Alex and his men had long ago lost any advantage of surprise.

At the head of the battle, Alex faced Dougal MacDonald, leader to leader, champion to champion.

Blood saturated the crushed grass below Alex’s feet, making it difficult for him to move and maintain his footing. Sweat pooled behind the heavy mail and spewed off his weary limbs with each shattering stroke that he met of his opponent’s blade.

His grip on his claymore was starting to slip.

His vision clouded with perspiration that dripped from his brow. He fought to breathe through the overwhelming stench that filled the heavy air. The pungently sweet smell of death had long ago drowned out the fresh scent of heather.

Alex was tiring. His opponent sensed it and swooped in for the kill. Alex met the powerful force of Dougal MacDonald’s stroke, and a shuddering pain exploded up his arm. His fingers loosened, and his claymore suddenly lifted from his hands. It flew through the air like a gleaming silvery cross and landed with a dull thud well away from him. Shocked by his disarmament, he turned back to find the point of his enemy’s blade pressed firmly at his throat.

“Surrender,” Dougal warned. “Call off your men or we’ll slaughter them like the swine that they are.”

Alex glanced around at the carnage surrounding him—a bucolic landscape no longer. Bodies littered the once peaceful corrie. Blood tinged the clear waters of the fairy pools a gruesome crimson. A few of his men were still fighting. Some, like him, were caught. No matter. While there was still breath left in his lungs, he would fight. He’d never willingly face the shame of surrender.

He spat at Dougal’s feet, clenching the dirk still in his hand. “I’ll never surrender to a MacDonald whoreson.”

Dougal MacDonald appeared pleased with Alex’s words. He nodded to two of his men standing across the corrie and smiled.

In horror, Alex realized Dougal had motioned to the two men who held his captured cousins John and Tormod. Alex lashed out in protest and tried to pull away, but it was too late. His cousins tumbled to the ground in a horrible thud, gulleted—the dirk slashed across their throats so deep, there could be no doubt that they were dead.

“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?”