Highlander Unmasked (36 page)

“Whose side are you on, Jamie Campbell?”

She didn’t expect him to answer, but he did.

“Both.”

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 spine. 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.