Meghan: A Sweet Scottish Medieval Romance (10 page)

He lifted his brows. “If the light bothers you,” he said, “I shall put it out.”

“Oh, nay,” Meghan replied, incensed. “I am merely a prisoner here.” She turned over, facing away from him. “And a silly, brainless female at that. Dinna concern yourself with me.”

She had a few other choice words for him as well, but held her tongue and drew the pillow angrily over her head.

Arrogant man.

“
S
he’s ruined
,” Dougal MacLean raved. His fury boomed through the hall, unsettling even the dogs who rose prudently and slunk away with their tails tucked between their legs.

Alison wished she could join them.

“How dare you deliver her to me compromised, Mac Brodie?” her father raged.

Alison winced at the anger apparent in his voice. He’d been ranting more than an hour’s time now and still his tone had not softened in the least. She wholly dreaded the moment when Leith took his leave because she thought her da might very well wield his strap against her bottom. The very thought of it pained her already, and she cowered at the thunder in his voice.

Poor Leith had taken the brunt of his furor with nary an angry word in return. Alison watched him, admiring his self-possession. His expression was neither belligerent nor diffident, but rather stoic, and the set of his wide shoulders resolute.

“I have already explained the circumstances,” Leith said once more. “And I have offered to make amends in whatever manner I may. I do not know what more I can say.”

Her father’s face was florid. He slammed his fist down upon the table, and Alison flinched at the sound of it. “She is ruined,” he shouted once more. “There is naught you can do.”

“There is little need to belabor the point, Dougal. I am well aware of the circumstances,” Leith leaned forward in his chair, trying to make her father comprehend. He cast a solicitous glance at Alison. “But it could not be helped, I tell you. My sister is missing,” he reminded him once more. “She is still missing, Dougal. And Meghan is my first responsibility, as she is my sister. Can you not understand? I could not leave the search to bring Alison home.”

“My daughter had no business there to begin with, Mac Brodie,” her father countered, shaking his jowls furiously.

“I-it was my choice to go,” Alison interjected, speaking up at last, startling them with her avid declaration. In the heat of their discussion, they seemed to have forgotten her presence entirely. Both turned to look at her now.

She peered at her father, beseeching him. She simply couldn’t allow Leith to take all of the blame. “Meghan is my friend,” she said. “She would have done the same for me, Da.”

“I dinna care,” her father roared, slamming his fist yet again.

Alison winced, but didn’t cower this time.

“You had no business staying until the wee hours of the morn, daughter of mine. You should not have come home at all after that.”

Alison straightened her shoulders, a little wounded by his implication. She narrowed her eyes at him. “Would you rather I had made my way home alone, Da? Even after what happened to Meghan?” Never in her life had she spoken so disrespectfully to her father, but she couldn’t seem to help herself just now. “Is that what you would have preferred?”

Her question seemed to startle him as much as her angry outburst. He didn’t seem to know how to respond; he looked at Leith and then down at the table. “Did you not think I would worry?” he asked Alison after a moment’s silence. And his eyes were suspiciously moist when he met her gaze once more.

Alison blinked at his unexpected response. “You were worried about me, Da?”

His brows collided. “Aye,” he said bearishly and peered down at the table again, suddenly unable to face her.

Alison felt like weeping at his admission. She wished so much for the nerve to embrace him, but didn’t dare move from where she sat.

It was not her father’s way, she knew.

“I didna mean to make you worry,” she told him. “I was only thinkin’ of Meghan, Da. I did not consider the consequences.”

He shook his head. “You should have come to me first, lass. You should have come to me.” He continued to stare down at the table, scratching the wood with his ragged nails.

“I was afeared to, Da.”

His gaze flew up to meet hers. “Afeared? You were afeared... of me, Alison?”

Alison swallowed, and nodded.

His brows collided and his eyes grew moist once more. “How could you be afeared... of me, daughter?”

“I—because—”

Leith slammed his hand down upon the table suddenly, startling her. “Alison, you dinna have to say it,” he told her. “You dinna have to.”

Her father glared at Leith, suddenly furious once more. “Aye, Mac Brodie. She does.”

And for once, Alison had to agree with him. “My da is right, Leith.”

Leith’s gaze sought hers, held hers, reassured her. “Are you certain, lass? I swear you dinna have to.”

Alison nodded. “Aye, but I do, Leith Mac Brodie,” she said, “but I thank you for protecting me, anyhow.”

He nodded, seeming to understand, and she turned to her father and said, “Da... I had to go to them, you see... because I had a confession to make.” Her eyes filled with tears she refused to shed. All of this was her fault and it was time to make amends.

His eyes narrowed, scrutinizing her. “Confession? What confession would you have to be makin’ to a Brodie, Alison? And why didn’t you come to me instead?”

Alison lowered her head, unable to face her father, unable to speak for the shame.

“You’re a good lass,” she heard Leith whisper at her side, and it gave her the strength she needed to lift her gaze once more to meet her father’s glare. “I stole the goat,” she blurted.

Her father’s face contorted. “What wretched goat, Alison? What are you speakin’ of?”

Alison took a deep breath and then proceeded to confess all. Everything, from her unrequited love for Colin Mac Brodie, to her stealing the goat that started the feud, to her reasons why, to her failed attempt at making amends and her desire not to wed Piers Montgomerie. All of it, every last degrading detail.

Her father listened to the story quietly, his normally florid face turning the color of new parchment. He shook his head gravely when she finished, and said after a time, “Och, Alison... what have you done... what have you done?”

“I followed my heart,” Alison said despairingly, wanting desperately for him to understand—not to condone, but simply to understand. “I followed my heart, Da. I didna wish to end like Mairi, you see.”

He licked his lips and raked a hand over his thick jaw, then raised a hand to his breast, looking as though his heart were aching him. His eyes grew red-rimmed and welled with tears. Of all things she might have said to him, Alison knew this one made his heart bleed, for Mairi had been his favorite daughter, and he missed her so. She could never seem to measure up even to beautiful Mairi’s memory. And yet, knowing she would fail, she had never even tried.

Her sister had wedded the MacKinnon against her will and on the night she had borne him a son, she had taken her own life, plunging from the highest tower window onto the rocks below. Her death had been a terrible blow.

“Well,” Dougal began when he could speak once more, “you need not fear wedding Montgomerie, daughter of mine. I doubt he would have you now. All is lost,” he murmured. “I dinna know what to do, Alison. All is lost.”

“I’ll wed her,” Leith announced.

Alison lifted her gaze to his in shock. He couldn’t possibly wish to…

“You?” her father asked, sounding as aghast as Alison felt. “Why should you wish to do such a thing, Leith Mac Brodie? I dinna mean to disparage my own daughter, but you only just heard her tell us that she loves your own brother. Why would you wed with her knowing that?”

Leith held Alison’s gaze, assuring her without words that he meant every word he uttered. “Because I have great affection for Alison,” he said quietly.

Alison’s heart began to pound as it became clear to her that he was perfectly serious. “You do?” she asked him, bewildered.

“I always have.”

He’d never once led her to believe he’d even noticed her. She had always thought he’d considered her naught more than Meggie’s little friend.

“I... I did not realize,” Alison whispered in wonder.

“Och, lass... because you only had eyes for Colin. But if you will have me as your husband, I would be pleased to have you as my wife.”

Her father straightened within his seat. “Perhaps all is not lost as yet,” he proclaimed. And then he sobered at once, peering at Alison and shaking his head, seeming to temper his excitement for her sake. “Though if Alison will not have you, I cannot force her to wed where she will not,” he said, staggering her with his proclamation.

Tears pricked at Alison’s eyes. She understood what he was doing, and it warmed her heart, filled her with joy.

His gaze softened as he looked at her. “What say you, daughter of mine?”

Alison turned to face Leith. Leith smiled at her, and she knew the right thing to do.

“Aye,” she exclaimed. “I will wed with you, Leith Mac Brodie. If you truly want me—
if
you truly do...” She shook her head, scarcely able to believe that he would. “... it would be my honor to be your bride.”

“I do, lass,” he assured, and her father leapt up from his chair with a whoop of delight.

“Curse Montgomerie,” he proclaimed. “Curse David of Scotia, too. We’re going to have ourselves a wedding the likes of which these Highlands have never seen. But first things first,” he said, nodding at Leith respectfully. “Let us gather ourselves together and search for Meghan. And we’ll not stop until we’ve turned every last stone.”

L
yon awoke
at his desk in the wee hours of the morn, and his eyes were at once drawn to the bed. She’d completely distracted him from his intentions to leave with her wicked wit and he’d fallen asleep in his little, uncomfortable chair, content beyond measure listening to her slumbering breath.

Pale morning light filtered in through the hole in his ceiling, suffusing the room with a sweet glow. He didn’t lift his head, didn’t stir, didn’t dare wake her as yet.

He wanted to watch her sleep.

She looked more like an angel than any mortal had a right to…

She slept like an infant, he thought, upon her belly, with her hands extended as though embracing the bed, like a wee bairn clutching its mother’s bosom, her palms open and caressing the sheets, her face turned to one side and her long lashes pressed like ebony silk against her cheeks.

He stared, unable to keep himself from it, watching her sleep so peacefully. In slumber, her features were perfection... her lips full and perfectly formed, her lashes long and soft against high exotic cheekbones, her nose perfectly aquiline, and her hair a luscious copper mass of shining ringlets spread over the pale sheets.

He hadn’t dared to crawl in next to her... determined as he was to do this right. He could have seduced her, no doubt. The look in her eyes had assured him as much. Beneath that deliberate facade she wore, she hid a passion as fierce as his own.

He recognized it, and craved it.

The way she’d gazed at him when he’d sat here before her…

The mere thought made his blood simmer and burn. In truth, he wanted Meghan Brodie like he’d never wanted any woman in his life... not even in his youth had he been so driven by a pretty face or a sharp tongue.

And there was something more than her face that drew him... something he could not put his finger upon. A pretty face alone had little to recommend it, and he’d walked away from many a bed for lack of interest. Particularly so in the last few years.

This time was different.

Through the years, his desires had grown darker, and it had taken more and more to whet his appetite of late. He’d begun to think himself a little bit depraved that innocence no longer drew him as once it had. He remembered a time when a simple smile had been enough to make his heart thunder in his chest. And many had done so. He was a harlot’s son, after all, and it drew the sort of attention every lad craved from the moment he could turn a woman’s head.

His first suitor had been an earl’s wife. She’d been two and twenty to his ten and eight. He hadn’t been able to walk away from her, though he’d understood the peril to his soul.

His second had been a chambermaid who’d boasted to him that she’d loved his father as well.

And the third... well, she’d been a sweet infatuation of his... a lass three years his senior whom he’d dreamed of kissing for weeks until he’d finally taken the chance. And then she’d gone away and married her baron, and her memory was only a smear now upon his memory.

They were all a blur after that.

And now... he remembered not the faces, so much, but the appetite that had enslaved his very soul. He’d been so long a prisoner to his desires, and nobody but him had known. He could never condemn his mother, for he understood her only too well.

And then one day he simply hadn’t been interested any longer. The hunger that had consumed him body and soul had simply abated, and he’d found himself walking away from intent knowing glances that would have once set his heart to pounding and his blood to thrumming within his veins.

Nay, it had been a long time since a pretty face alone had been enough to stir him.

And though Meghan Brodie’s face was sheer perfection, it was the look in her eyes that tempted him and set his heart to pounding once more. She’d roused his hunger, and it had awakened hard as stone. He’d scarcely been able to think of anything else since the moment he’d first laid eyes upon her.

She made him feel alive as he hadn’t felt in far too long.

He wanted her, aye, but more than that... he wanted to know what thoughts stole through that engaging mind of hers. He wanted to know what stirred her heart and made her burn. There was something bewitching in those deep-green eyes... something compelling... something that drew him... something he wanted to know as intimately as one would a wife.

He wanted to be her husband. He’d never been more sure.

He lifted his head from his arms, watching the way she stirred.

And then he spied the lamb shivering in the corner, and frowned. How could they have forgotten the wee beast?

The poor animal probably needed to relieve itself—and was like to be half-starved, as well. He rose quietly from the desk, paused to take another long look at the woman lying so serenely within his bed, drinking in the sight of her... and then he set about taking her grandmother out to wee.