Highlander Unmasked Read online

  Alex didn’t pretend to misunderstand this time. “Mistress Mackinnon, would you care to dance?”

  Meg hesitated. There was something about Alex MacLeod that gave her pause. Just as had happened last night when he’d stood so close and his spicy masculine scent enveloped her, her body came alive with awareness. Whenever she was near him, she felt as if every nerve ending were set on edge. Waiting. Anticipating. For what, she did not know.

  But she didn’t like it.

  On the other hand, her mother was probably already fast at work mentally compiling the guest list for the betrothal and picking out the color for Meg’s elaborate bridal gown. Truth be told, if Meg stuck around much longer, Rosalind would probably ask Alex which color he preferred. At this point, dancing was likely her only means of escape from a potentially even more embarrassing situation.

  One dance—surely there could be no harm in that?

  Nodding her acceptance, Meg allowed Alex to lead her to the dance floor for a reel. Her hand slid into the bend of his arm, and she fought the urge to pull it back as if shocked. His muscles flexed beneath her fingertips.

  Dear God, he was strong. And hard as a rock.

  Her heart beat a little faster.

  He placed his hand on her back to guide her toward the dance floor, and a swift jolt surged through her. Her skin felt branded with his touch. She could feel him.

  Meg flushed, and a strange heat spread over her. The force of her response was unsettling. What was wrong with her? She’d danced with many men, but never had she felt every touch, every movement, as powerfully as she did now. Alex MacLeod was dangerous. He made her mind race with things she’d never thought of before. Intimate things. Longings she’d thought buried.

  They formed a small circle with another couple, and the reel began. Every time they came together and clasped hands or his hand fell firmly on her waist to turn her through the steps of the energetic dance, Meg felt a shock of pure heated awareness. She had to fight hard to concentrate on the dance steps, unable to get her mind away from the warm tingle that radiated from under his possessive hold.

  Peeking out from beneath her lashes, she took the opportunity to study him closer. She could see the evidence of a hard life in the fine lines around his eyes and the thin scars peppered across his nose and cheeks, the telltale marks of a warrior. The slight dent in his chin and the strong angle of his jaw made him appear hard and forbidding. But his lashes were long and thick, and together with his sensual mouth, they softened an otherwise implacable face.

  His expression, as always, was inscrutable. She wondered what he was thinking. Could he tell how affected she was by his touch?

  Meg bit her lip. She hoped not. Unlike him, she was not accomplished at hiding her thoughts.

  The sooner this dance was over, the better.

  This dance was a mistake.

  Alex had successfully avoided Meg Mackinnon all night, until Rosalind Mackinnon had sunk her teeth into him. That woman could teach his men something about dogged determination.

  He could feel the weight of Meg’s gaze upon him as they danced, and as he’d done throughout the long evening, he forced himself not to return her stare. She looked like an inquisitive little kitten with her big eyes and tiny face, and every time he looked at her, something inside him shifted.

  Touching her was pure torture. He’d never been so damn aware of just how much touching there was in a reel. Each time he held her tiny hands in his or placed his hand on her waist to guide her through the steps, he didn’t want to let go. The soft curve of her waist fit neatly in his palm. Too neatly. He longed to caress every sweet inch of her. To slide his hands over her breasts, down her hips, and around her backside, exploring every delectable curve. She was slight, but the feel of her hips hinted of a voluptuousness well hidden under her farthingale.

  But it was the sight of her small white teeth nibbling on her plump lower lip that sent shards of lust bolting through him. His groin swelled with heat. The erotic movement cracked the cool reserve he’d struggled to maintain. The primitive desire he’d experienced on the battlefield came rushing back full force. He ached to taste her. To pull her into his arms and feel the press of her body against his. Each time he touched her, the narrow space between them seemed to crackle with anticipation. It would be so easy to lean down and cover her soft mouth with his, to run his tongue along the crease, to slide it in…

  Hell. He was half-hard already. He took a sudden interest in the gilded wall over her shoulder.

  The music had slowed, providing an opportunity for conversation that he wasn’t sure he wanted. Breaking the silence, she said, “You don’t have to worry, you know. I’ll keep your secret.”

  His eyes fell to hers, betraying nothing. “What secret?” That he wanted to ravage every inch of her with his mouth? To leave her panting with need? To bring out the passion hiding under her serious façade and hear the cry of his name on her lips as she came apart in his arms?

  “I know it was you who came to our rescue.”

  That secret. A small perverse part of Alex was pleased by her certainty, if not by her persistence. A corner of his mouth lifted in a half-smile. “I can see you’ve inherited your mother’s tenacity.”

  She looked surprised, as if she’d never recognized the similarity before. A shy, adorable grin lit her features, wiping away all vestiges of the strain and worry that seemed fixed on her expression.

  She should look like this always, he thought. Whatever burden she carried—and he was sure that she did carry one—was too heavy. He’d found himself watching her, wondering what made her look so serious. She was young and lovely, she should be having fun. Yet there was a maturity to her bearing that was at odds with her years.

  But, he reminded himself, it wasn’t his concern.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  He hadn’t meant it as a compliment, but she knew that.

  “And that wasn’t an answer,” she reminded him.

  “Was there a question?”

  She gave him a chiding look. “It was implied. But if you insist, I shall spell it out: Was it you who came to our rescue?”

  “You seem to think so.”

  “I know so.”

  “And how can you be so sure?”

  “I’d hardly forget the man who saved my life.”

  Alex smiled at her indignant expression. “As much as I’d like to take credit for doing so, I’m afraid I cannot. If this man resembled me as much as you say he did, it must be my brother.”

  “So you said last night,” she said dismissively. “But as I said earlier, you can keep your secrets.” She paused, and a gleam of something that made Alex nervous appeared in her eye: curiosity. “Though I do wonder why it should matter if you were in Lochalsh. Unless there is a reason you don’t wish people to know you were near Skye?”

  Damn, she did have a nimble mind. Meg Mackinnon was considered something of an oddity at court, “unusually bookish” was the term he’d heard bandied about. A euphemism for a smart woman that was intended to be unflattering. Lowlanders were such fools, he thought with disgust. If he was going to spend a lifetime with one woman, he’d make bloody well sure she was intelligent. “You have a suspicious nature, Mistress Mackinnon. Why should it matter if I were so near my home?”

  “Why indeed. It is only natural that you would wish to see your brother after being gone for so long. He is your chief.”

  It was on the tip of his tongue to say something. To advance the rumor that he and his brother had suffered a falling-out. But for some reason, he did not want to lie to her any more than was necessary. Perhaps he’d already guessed how she would react to the news.

  “It wasn’t necessary. My brother will be arriving at court in a couple of weeks to present himself to the Privy Council,” he explained, biting back his resentment at another of the king’s onerous requirements to keep his Highland subjects in line—forcing the chiefs to present themselves in Edinburgh each year to account for their �