Meghan: A Sweet Scottish Medieval Romance (18 page)

And she truly did not. She had no notion what to think, what to feel, what to do... He was stirring her senses as though he were a master weaver and she the silken thread upon his golden loom.

She was suddenly so warm... and so... hot... heady... dizzy... It seemed as though a veil fell over the room.

Meghan wasn’t certain but it seemed she wavered a bit in the chair...

And the candle flame... seemed to dance away before her eyes, teasing her vision.

The pain in her arm faded along with the clarity of the room. The only thing she was acutely aware of... was the hands that cupped her face so tenderly... the lips that drew away from her own, leaving her mouth yearning... the eyes that watched her so intently...

She blinked, peering into his face, feeling intoxicated by his very presence.

The drogue was taking effect. She willed it away, not wanting it to dull her senses.

“Do you think me wicked?” he asked once more, and Meghan could scarcely breathe for his nearness. His blue eyes gleamed as they scrutinized her, scattering her thoughts.

She shrugged. “I cannot...” She swallowed. “... cannot make such a judgment.”

His eyes slitted, piercing her. “Cannot or will not, Meghan?”

“Cannot,” she whispered. “I dinna know you well enough, Lyon Montgomerie.”

“I beg to differ... you know me better than anyone else upon the face of this earth, Meghan Brodie. I poured my soul into those pages.”

Her face burned. She tried to look away. “I... I didna read them all,” she lied, unable to look him in the eyes after having such intimate knowledge of him. Her heart beat so loudly she was sure he must hear it as well—was sure that in the silence of the room it was amplified.

He forced her gaze back. “How much?” he pressed. “How much did you read?”

“I... I dinna remember.”

He lifted a brow. “You do not remember?”

Meghan shook her head.

He released her suddenly, and stood once more, looking down upon her. Her heart hammered as he slid aside the candle upon the desk. Without warning, he reached down, plucking her up from the chair. Meghan gasped in surprise as he sat her upon the desk, and then seated himself before her.

“Shall we rouse your memory, then?” he suggested, and reached down, sliding his hand beneath the arch of her foot. Meghan’s heart leapt into her throat at the intimacy of his caress.

“W-what are you going to do?”

“Shhh…”

His gaze never left her face as he began to massage her bare foot, stroking the arch and caressing her skin gently.

“Do you remember what I wrote of this, Meghan?”

Meghan’s breath quickened at the question. She nodded as his fingers massaged her foot, gently lacing through her toes. And then he raked the seat backward from the desk and Meghan thought she would swoon as he lifted her foot to his beautiful mouth, watching her face all the while as his lips alighted upon each of her toes in tender, sweet kisses.

A shudder flew through her.

Feeling paralyzed with uncertainty, and dizzy with anticipation, she watched as he kissed along the arch of her foot, where his fingers had caressed. And then her heart leapt against her ribs as he released her, easing her foot back to where it rested before and drew her closer, gently, hugging her to him with a tenderness she’d never known before.

“I want you for my own, Meghan Brodie,” he said without ceremony.

“You want my beauty,” she answered breathlessly, scarcely able to think for the way his arms were making her feel.

He didn’t want her. There was a difference, Meghan understood. She fought to remember that through the haze of pleasure.

“Aye,” he whispered, his voice low and husky with a desire he didn’t attempt to conceal. “I’ll not deny it. I do,” he confessed, and fell to his knees before her.

“I want your beauty, Meghan,” he whispered. “but I wish to know you too...heart and soul…”

H
is heart hammering
, Lyon closed his eyes and concentrated not on the burn of his skin, but on her breath as he held her once again, attempting to share her every breath…attempting to truly be at one with the woman in his arms.

He could see in her eyes that she was not completely lucid, and so he didn’t wish to take this any further.

Nay, this time it would be different.

Because
she
was different.

Deep in his soul, he sensed that in her arms he would find all his answers—all the revelations he sought were hidden behind the mirror of her gaze.

He craved them madly.

Answers.

Aye, he was well aware she was drugged... that she might not have allowed him so much liberty otherwise, but he’d never confessed to moral restraint. He’d never intended mercy in his pursuit, nor did he play fairly.

He played as he fought as he loved...

To win.

When at last she slept...

When at last she dreamt...

When she awoke in the morn...

He wanted her to remember this feeling.

He wanted her to think of naught else but him every waking hour of the day—as he did with her.

She was in his blood.

Who would have thought after all this time without a woman... he would find such pleasure in such simplicity, but he did.

He held her, taking thorough gratification in every beat of his heart against its cage.

Aye, this time was different, he assured himself, and he didn’t care if she was mad or not—if she was mad, let him be mad with her—he wanted Meghan Brodie for the rest of his life.

“
B
less you
, Cameron,” Alison MacLean said, and bent to kiss the old man upon the cheek. “Thank you again for coming to fetch me when Meghan fell. And bless your true Scots heart for doing this for me now.”

The old man blushed fiercely, his face mottling with color. “’Twas naught,” he replied. “Dinna thank me, lass, as I didna want the mon upon my birth land, anyhow, and I dinna appreciate the way he takes what he wills—arrogant Sassenach.”

“I know.” Alison agreed. “But I could not do this without you, Cameron, so I can thank you if I please.”

The old man nodded. “You were a brave lass,” he said, “going in there like that to help your friend.”

“How could I not?” Alison declared. “Meghan Brodie is my verra best friend. She would have done the same for me.” And Meghan would, she knew. It had twisted Alison’s heart to see her friend lying there in so much pain. If she could have lifted her up and carried her from that wretched place, she would have. As it was, she’d had to tend Meghan and then hurry away lest he recognize her face.

Cameron nodded again in agreement, and Alison went on, “I was so worried. I had to see with my verra own eyes that she was well.” In truth, she’d not thought up her plan until King David had sounded so uncertain of Meghan’s sanity. It had startled her, as Meghan Brodie was the sweetest, smartest person Alison knew. But Alison had taken advantage of David’s uncertainty and had formed this hasty plan. She hadn’t known how well it would go, but it was worth a try. “Anyway, Montgomerie did not recognize me so all is well. But I cannot risk myself again so soon, if I am to go back and trade places with Meghan later. So, then, be sure to give her this,” she instructed, and pressed a small sack into the old man’s hands. “’Tis verra important. And you tell her just what I told you, all right?”

“Aye, lass, I remember it all.”

“Verra good, and this is for you.” She held out a few gold coins.

“For me?” He peered up at her in surprise.

“Aye,” Alison smiled brilliantly. “For you. And thank you again, Cameron of the MacLeans, and go on with ye now. I’ll need you soon enough if my plan is to work. Run now to Meghan and tell her to follow my instructions precisely.”

The old man smiled as he took the coins from her. “Aye, lass. I’ll give her the sack the instant she is alone, I promise.”

“Thank you,” Alison said with feeling, and threw her arms about his neck in appreciation. “You’re a sweet auld mon,” she said and drew away. “Go quickly now,” she urged him.

“No sooner said than done,” he promised, and turned on his heel.

Alison watched him wend his way through the forest until he was gone from her sight, and then she turned and hurried home. There was much to do before her final performance, she knew.

She had colored her face with a thin layer of mud, not enough to make her appear grimy, but enough to dry her skin and give her the appearance of wrinkles, and she had been thankful for the dim light of his chamber that he could not make out her eyes, for though she’d met him only the once, she knew they were revealing, crossing as they did so oft.

She didn’t worry he would suspect her later, because by the time Cameron snuck her in to trade places with Meghan, he would be ready to believe anything. And her hair and eye color were close enough to Meghan’s that, as long as she kept her face concealed, it would give them more than enough time to sneak Meghan out and carry her home. And then Alison would simply slip away herself, remove her wimple and makeup, and leave with none the wiser. Meghan would be home and safe and just in time to see her wedded to Leith.

She smiled at that, certain that Meghan was going to be surprised with the turn of events. Alison could scarcely believe it herself, but Leith Mac Brodie had been so kind to her. And if she’d initially believed his proposal one of mere pity, she no longer thought so. He sent her gifts, one each day, and Alison was beginning to wonder what it was she ever saw in Colin Mac Brodie. A handsome face alone was not nearly enough to recommend a person, she knew, and Colin Mac Brodie had never treated her kindly. How could she have been so blind to Leith? How could she have done to him what Colin had done to her? She’d nearly discarded Leith without a second glance merely because his face was not as comely as Colin’s.

“You should be ashamed, Alison,” she berated herself. And she certainly was.

And that brought her to another thought entirely...

Could she have misjudged Piers Montgomerie as well? She knew what she’d spied in his eyes—the way he’d looked upon Meghan as she’d lain so still within his bed. It seemed to Alison that he had gazed upon her with genuine distress. And perhaps it was no more than he should rightly feel, as it was his fault Meghan was insured to begin with.

And yet... Alison could have sworn there was something more in his eyes when he gazed upon Meghan.

And he had purchased the potion at an exorbitant price—one she had set only to make him think her greedy. As far as Alison was concerned, Meghan had a right to choose her own husband. If Lyon Montgomerie wished to woo her once she was home, then that was another thing entirely. Let him court her properly as would any self-respecting man.

And with that decided, she lifted her skirts and ran the rest of the way home, not wanting to be discovered, not even by her father, lest he forbid her to do what she knew she must. For once in her life she was doing something that mattered, and Alison didn’t care what the risks were.

Meghan needed her.

The fact that she could make a difference so exhilarated her that she wanted naught more than to run home and share the news with her father. She wanted to run and tell Leith what she’d done and what she planned, but she didn’t dare, lest the two of them, in their silly male pride, forbid her to help and insist upon saving Meghan themselves. Nay, she wasn’t about to tell them. Male pride had gotten them thus far, and it was time to use their wits, not might.

Foolish men.

W
ith the morning
sun upon her face, Meghan lay wholly afraid to open her eyes.

The very thought of Lyon’s arms around her heated her cheeks.

Last night, though she’d been content and drugged besides, she had lain there, unable to sleep. And even now, this morning, the memory of their embrace made her belly stir with feelings she hardly could deny.

But she could scarcely sleep forever, no matter that the drogue kept her weary enough to do so.

Cautiously, she opened her eyes to the bright light of morning.

Lyon Montgomerie’s face was the first thing she saw.

He was kneeling by the bed, watching her. Meghan started, blinking in surprise.

“I mean to steal your heart, Meghan Brodie,” he said, and Meghan’s heart leapt.

She feared, somehow, he already had.

Her heart quickened its beat. “H-have you been watching me all morn?” she asked hesitantly, feeling both flattered and distressed all at once.

She had dreamt of him, his lips upon hers… And in her dream... she had awakened to find his head cradled in her lap….her fingers running through his hair. In her dream, he’d peered up at her, grinning lovingly, his eyes flashing with an unmistakable gleam as he’d taken her hand, whispering, “It’s only me.”

Meghan shuddered at the memory.

“Time to get up,” he said, avoiding the question. “I have something to show you.”

Meghan gave him an exasperated glance. “You are a despotic mon,” she said, taking comfort in her pique. “Do you never tire of ordering people about?”

“Never.” He grinned roguishly at her, his look much too boyish to be anything but engaging. It spoiled her ill humor.

Meghan grimaced as she tried to rise. He moved to help her.

“I can do it myself,” she exclaimed. “Stop being so nice. I dinna wish to like you,” she said honestly. “Don’t you realize?”

He chuckled at that. “And yet you do?”

Meghan gave him a withering glance. “I didna say such a thing.”

“But you are thinking it?”

“Och, but you are arrogant, too.”

L
yon merely shrugged at that
.

“Then I shall resolve to be less so,” he vowed, and inhaled a breath at the sight of her.

He could scarcely keep himself from staring.

He couldn’t seem to get enough of her.

He’d fallen asleep with a smile upon his face. And this morning he’d felt himself scarcely able to leave her, though he’d had matters to attend to. He’d left her only long enough to see them well in hand, and then had rushed back to her side.

What was wrong with him?

He felt as reckless as the boy he’d once been, eagerly chasing every skirt that passed him by.

Only he no longer wanted the rest.

He wanted this one.

He couldn’t stop smiling.

“I have told you, Lyon Montgomerie, I dinna want you to be so accommodating. Move out of my way,” she demanded, ripping the tattered bedsheets off and sliding her legs over the side of the bed.

Lyon sucked in a breath as her movement placed him kneeling before her once more.

She seemed to realize this belatedly and her brows lifted in surprise. Her gaze flew to his and her cheeks flushed.

He merely smiled at her, wholly satisfied with her reaction. He understood women only too well, and knew how to please them. He certainly wasn’t going to waste his God-given talents when he wanted this more than he wanted to breathe.

He lifted a brow. “Are you asking for a kiss?”

“Och,” she gasped in playful outrage. “You
are
a wicked knave. I’ve changed my mind. I do know you well enough to make such a judgment. You are wicked.”

“Aye,” he murmured, and he bent to plant a swift, but chaste kiss upon the bridge of her nose.

Her hand flew to her face at once, her fingers touching her nose where he had kissed her. “Why did you do that?” she asked, seeming confused by the innocence of the gesture.

“Because you are adorable,” he answered simply. “Come, let us go.” He rose, drawing her up with him by her good arm, though gently, lest he hurt her. “There is something I wish to show you this morn, and I hope it pleases you.”

He insisted she close her eyes as he led her along behind him, taking her to some unknown place.

M
eghan had
no choice but to follow, as her curiosity was too great to deny.

When he bade her open her eyes at last, they were in the meadow, with no one else in sight. The bright sunlight, after being secluded so long within his chamber, made her squint. She had difficulty focusing enough to see anything at all, and then, she only saw Lyon standing there before her, gazing at her expectantly, as though he were awaiting her response.

Her brow furrowed. “I thought you wished to show me something. I see naught.”

He was grinning at her.

She tilted a glance at him. “Why are you looking at me so?”

He lifted his brows, and his eyes shone with a boyish gleam that snuck its way into her heart. “Because,” he said playfully, “’tis not oft one beholds both the sun and the moon together, Meghan Brodie.”

Meghan tried not to roll her eyes at his exalted praise, and was thankful for his shameless cajolery as it helped her to keep him at bay. Accustomed as she was to men’s empty flattery, it no longer stirred her heart to hear it.

Except when Lyon Montgomerie spoke it, it seemed.

Her heart quickened.

“You are both the fiery brilliance of sunlight, Meghan, and the bewitching serenity of moonlight.” His ardent tone managed to seep into the cracks of the wall surrounding her heart—despite that Meghan sat behind it, casting mortar at every fracture.

“And you, I fear, have missed your calling, Lyon Montgomerie. You should have been a troubadour begging entrance at every manor.” She eyed him sharply. “You are a shameless flatterer. And I have told you I am unmoved by pretty words, and still you persist—why?” she demanded.

He stood there, looking entirely too beauteous for Meghan’s peace of mind—his smile too radiant, and his words entirely too blithe—and she wanted to loathe him for making her yearn for more.

“Because you’ve turned me into a besotted lad,” he answered unrelentingly, “who would do
anything
for merely the favor of a smile from his darling.”

Meghan frowned at him. “I am not your darling, lest you forget.”

She eyed him circumspectly. He wore a deep-blue tunic that brought out the vivid color of his eyes, with a strip of green and blue plaid about his waist and black braies that hugged his long lean legs. He stood tall before her, with his long hair stirring like silk in the breeze. It shimmered like spun gold beneath the mid-morning sun.

Och, but if ever a man could be called beautiful, Lyon Montgomerie was fiercely so.

And yet there was naught about him that made one doubt his masculinity. He was as hard and as beauteous as the hills that surrounded them.

And it didn’t help much to see that he seemed at ease here upon the land she loved so passionately. It was as though he’d been carved from the very stone, in fact, as those ancient cairns that bedecked this soil of her birth.

Despite her claims to the contrary, he was stealing her heart—curse his rotten soul.

His pretty words confused her—made her sigh for more.

But how?

When she knew better.

Was she so feckless that she would abandon her convictions so easily?

Were all her principles naught more than chatter?

Her condemnation for those who would not search beyond a face nothing more than hypocrisy?

Meghan only knew that his words of adulation made her heart beat faster and her knees melt like wax beneath a flame.

And och, she was as guilty as any man with covetous eyes, for she stood wholly entranced by the mere sight of him. When she looked into his gleaming sapphire eyes... her breath caught at what she saw there within their beautiful depths. And when she lowered her gaze to his mouth, which smiled at her with such sensual promise, she wanted to open her arms and beg him come to her once more.