Highlander Unmasked Read online

  “You agreed because you want to make your mother happy,” her mother said. “And it will make me happy to see to your hair and wardrobe tonight.” She sighed dramatically. “You are a beautiful girl, darling, if only you’d attend to your appearance the way you attend to the rents.”

  “The rents are important, the way I wear my hairisn’t,” Meg answered patiently, as if this were the first time they’d had this conversation rather than the hundredth. “And you can see how much trouble it is to tame this unruly mess.”

  Her mother shook her head with disbelief and attempted a stern expression, failing miserably. It was impossible for her mother to ever look sharply at anyone. “I don’t know why you are so upset about our escort for the evening. Alex MacLeod is a perfectly delightful man.”

  “I’m upset because you promised not to interfere. Besides, your efforts are all for naught. I’ve already decided that if he asks, I’m going to marry Jamie.”

  Her mother frowned. “But you don’t love Jamie. I’ve seen the way you look at Laird MacLeod. You are obviously attracted to him. All I’ve done is arrange it so that you can spend some time with him. You should be thanking me.”

  Meg’s cheeks heated. Her mother was far too observant. “I’m not blind, Mother. I’ll admit he’s handsome—forsooth, who wouldn’t? But there’s a difference between physical attraction and true sentiment. Besides, he has no interest in me.”

  Her mother put down the comb and crossed her arms. “Fiddlesticks.”

  Meg’s eyes widened. For her soft-spoken mother, that was akin to a curse.

  “You are blind if you can’t see that Alex MacLeod is far more than a handsome face. He is a laird in his own right, brother to one of the most powerful chiefs in the Highlands, a commanding presence, a warrior of obvious skill, intelligent, and witty. And more important, he can’t seem to take his eyes off you.”

  “You’re imagining things,” she said, tamping down the swell of pleasure that her mother’s words inspired. “For heaven’s sake, Mother, he’s a mercenary. He sells his sword to the highest bidder.”

  “Well, you have more than enough gold to bid.”

  “Mother!”

  Her mother lifted her pointed chin in a remarkable imitation of stubbornness. “We could use a good warrior at Dunakin.”

  “We need more than a good fighter. What of loyalty? Have you not heard of his falling-out with his brother? How could I trust his loyalty to Ian?”

  Rosalind waved her hand as if Meg’s concerns were meaningless. “Gossip.”

  Meg couldn’t hide her frustration, especially since her mother seemed to be voicing the very thing she herself refused to consider. She could not risk her brother’s future, her clan’s future, on an unknown. After all, what did she really know about Alex MacLeod?

  He was a man with questionable loyalties who’d arrived at court under an air of mystery and subterfuge. Why did he not want anyone to know he was near Skye? Why was he socializing with men who should be his enemies? And why had he been so quick to accuse her of spying on him? He was hiding something, of that she was sure.

  Admittedly, he was an exceptional warrior. He had all of a warrior’s command and natural authority, without the usual arrogant swagger. But although his leadership skills might have impressed her on the battlefield, she didn’t know whether he had the cunning to lead her clan into the future in dealing with the king’s men. And most important, would he stay loyal to her brother, or would he try to claim power for himself? There was something else that bothered her. She sensed something simmering under the surface, something that he struggled to contain. Alex MacLeod was a man of dangerous passions.

  She couldn’t trust him. Not enough to risk her brother’s future and her own. Nothing had changed. Jamie was still the only choice. “Stop interfering, Mother,” she said sharply. “I know what I’m doing.”

  Her mother’s eyes welled with tears at Meg’s harsh tone. “I’m sorry, darling. I only want you to be happy.”

  Meg took one look at her mother’s face and panicked. This was precisely what had gotten her into this situation of being trussed up like a Christmas goose in the first place. Unfortunately, Meg suffered from the same malady as her father—she could not stand to see her mother weep. Please, darling, just this once, Rosalind had beseeched. So instead of her usual refusal when her mother offered to help her with her wardrobe, Meg had given in.

  She took her mother’s hands and gave them a squeeze. “I know, Mother, forgive me. I know you only want what’s best for me. I will be happy. With Jamie.”

  Her mother opened her mouth to argue, but Meg cut her off.

  “I think we’d better call for Alys if we have any hope of being ready in time.”

  She could tell her mother wanted to say more, but thankfully she nodded and called for the maid.

  After seemingly hours of prodding and poking, Alys finished pinning the last curl in Meg’s new hair arrangement and stepped back. Meg was berating herself again for agreeing to this foolery when she heard her mother gasp. She spun around. “What’s the matter?” Her hands went to her head. “Is it that awful? I told you this would be a waste of time.”

  Her mother’s hands covered her cheeks, and her eyes were wide with awe. “Margaret…” She paused, continuing to stare at her. “You look beautiful.”

  Meg smiled, knowing how prone her mother was to dramatic exaggerations—especially when it came to the accomplishments of her children. “Oh please, Mother,” Meg dismissed, turning to look at Elizabeth, who’d just entered the room. But Elizabeth, too, looked shocked.

  “But you do look beautiful, Meg,” Elizabeth said. “Truly, I’ve never seen you such. You’re positively radiant.”

  Uncomfortable with such unusually sincere compliments, Meg felt her cheeks grow hot. “Nonsense.” How much could a new hairstyle and gown matter? Still, she couldn’t resist a quick peek in the looking glass.

  The woman who met her gaze was nearly unrecognizable. For once, her unruly curls were tamed and fastened becomingly at the back of her head. Alys had allowed a few of the more golden brown curls to dangle down her back and shoulders. A slight dusting of powder on her nose hid her less persistent freckles, and the pink remains of her embarrassed blush still swept her cheeks.

  Her eyes, wide with wonder, seemed to dominate her face. In comparison, the rest of her features looked unusually delicate: her chin tiny and pointed, her slight nose upturned, her mouth a soft pink bow. The combination lent her face a fragile vulnerability that Meg would have previously thought impossible.

  In honor of the masque tonight, Rosalind had chosen a simple silk gown in a shade of moss green that matched her eyes exactly. Dispensing with the bolster and farthingale, the soft folds of the dress hugged her slim figure and emphasized the gentle swell of her breasts rather than flatten them as did the stiff bodices and ruffs of her typical court attire.

  The woman staring back at her in the glass looked more like her mother than she could have ever dreamed possible. Meg actually looked…pretty, she realized with shock.

  She didn’t know what to say. She’d never had the time, or never allowed herself the time, to devote to her appearance. It had never mattered before. But at that moment, she realized that it was more than her duties keeping her from taking an interest in her appearance—she’d been scared. Scared to discover that it might not make a difference.

  Emotion gathered at the back of her throat. “Thank you, Mother,” she said with a grateful smile, leaning over to kiss Rosalind’s soft cheek.

  Her mother returned her smile, tears of joy shining in her eyes. “You’re welcome.” But being a mother, she couldn’t keep from adding, “Though I wish you had not fought the obvious for so long.” Rosalind studied her daughter. “I think tonight you might be surprised how much the bit of effort pleases you.”

  And only minutes later, as much as Meg wanted to deny her mother’s words, she could not. Rosalind was right, Meg was pleased. Excessively so.