My Highland Love: Highland Lords Series (2 page)

She started toward Steven. The ship listed
hard to port. She fought the backward momentum and managed two
steps before another wave crested. The deck lurched and she was
airborne. She braced for impact against the deck. Howling wind
matched her scream as she flew past the railing and plummeted into
darkness—then collided with rock-hard water.

Cold clamped onto her. Rain beat into the sea
with quick, heavy blows of a thousand tiny hammers. She kicked.
Thick, icy ribbons of water propelled her upward. She blinked.
Murky shapes glided past. This was Amelia's grave. Elise surfaced,
her first gasp taking in rainwater. She coughed and flailed. A
heavy sheet of water towered, then slapped her against the ocean's
surface. The wave leveled and she shook hair from her eyes. Thirty
feet away, the Amelia bounced on the waves like a toy. Her brother
had named the ship. But Amelia was gone. Steven, only twenty-two,
was also gone.

A figure appeared at the ship's railing. The
lamp high atop the poop deck burned despite the pouring rain. Elise
gasped. Could he be—"Steven!" she yelled, kicking hard in an effort
to leap above another towering wave. Her skirts tangled her legs,
but she kicked harder, waving both arms. The man only hacked at the
bow rope of the longboat with a sword. "Steven!" she shouted.

The bow of the longboat dropped, swinging
wildly as the man staggered the few steps to the rope holding the
stern. A wave crashed over Elise and she surfaced to see the
longboat adrift and the figure looking out over the railing. Her
heart sank. The light silhouetted the man—and the captain's hat he
wore. Tears choked her. It had been the captain and not Steven.

Elise pulled her skirts around her waist and
knotted them, then began swimming toward the boat. Another wave
grabbed the
Amelia
, tossing her farther away. The captain's
hat lifted with the wind and sailed into the sea. She took a quick
breath and dove headlong into the wave that threatened to throw her
back the way she'd come. She came up, twisting frantically in the
water until she located the ship. She swam toward the longboat, her
gaze steady on the Amelia. Then the lamp dimmed… and winked
out.

Chapter Two

Scottish Highlands

Spring 1826

England lay far behind him, though not far
enough. Never far enough. Marcus breathed deep of the crisp spring
air. The scents of pine and heather filled his nostrils. Highland
air. None sweeter existed. His horse nickered as if in agreement,
and Marcus brushed a hand along the chestnut's shoulder.

"It is good to be home," Erin spoke beside
him.

Grunts of agreement went up from the six
other men riding in the company, and Marcus answered, "Aye,"
despite the regret of leaving his son in the hands of the
Sassenach.

He surveyed the wooded land before
him—MacGregor land. Bought with Ashlund gold, held by MacGregor
might, and rich with the blood of his ancestors.

"If King George has his way," Erin said,
"your father will follow the Duchess of Sutherland's example and
lease this land to the English."

Marcus jerked his attention onto the young
man. Erin's broad grin reached from ear to ear, nearly touching the
edges of his thick mane of dark hair. The lad read him too
easily.

"These roads are riddled with enough
thieves," Marcus said with a mock scowl. His horse shifted, muscles
bunching with the effort of cresting the hill they ascended. "My
father is no more likely to give an inch to the English than I am
to give up the treasure I have tucked away in these hills."

"What?" Erin turned to his comrades. "I told
you he hid Ashlund gold without telling us." Marcus bit back a
laugh when the lad looked at him and added, "Lord Phillip still
complains highwaymen stole his daughter's dowry while on the way to
Edinburgh." He gave Marcus a comical look that said
you know
nothing of that, do you
?

"Lord Allerton broke the engagement after
highwaymen stole the dowry," put in another of the men. "Said Lord
Phillip meant to cheat him."

"Lord Allerton is likely the thief," Marcus
said. "The gold was the better part of the bargain."

"Lord Phillip's daughter is an attractive
sort," Erin mused. "Much like bread pudding. Sturdy, with just the
right jiggle."

A round of guffaws went up and one aging
warrior cuffed Erin across the back of his neck. They gained the
hill and Marcus's laughter died at sight of the figure hurrying
across the open field below. He gave an abrupt signal for silence.
The men obeyed and only the chirping of spring birds filled the
air.

* * * *

"Tavis," Elise snapped, finally within
hearing range of the boy and his sister, "this time you've gone too
far and have endangered your sister by leaving the castle."

His attention remained fixed on the
thickening woods at the bottom of the hill and her frustration gave
way to concern. They were only minutes from the village—a bare half
an hour from the keep and safely on MacGregor land—but the boy had
intended to go farther—much farther. He had just turned fourteen,
old enough to carry out the resolve to find the men who had
murdered his father, and too young to understand the danger.

Bonnie tugged on her cloak and Elise looked
down at her. The little girl grinned and pointed to the wildflowers
surrounding them. Elise smiled, then shoved back the hood of her
cloak. Bonnie squatted to pick the flowers. Elise's heart wrenched.
If only their father still lived. He would teach Tavis a lesson. Of
course, if Shamus still lived, Tavis wouldn't be hunting for
murderers.

Those men were guilty of killing an innocent,
yet no effort had been made to bring them to justice. The disquiet
that always hovered close to the surface caused a nervous tremor to
ripple through her stomach. While Shamus's murderers would likely
never go before a judge, if Price found her, his version of justice
would be in the form of a noose around her neck for the crime of
defending herself against a man who had tried to kill
her—twice.

Any doubts about her stepfather's part in
Amelia's death had been dispelled a month after arriving at Brahan
Seer when she read a recent edition of the London Sunday Times
brought by relatives for Michael MacGregor. She found no mention of
the
Amelia's
sinking. Instead, a ten thousand pound reward
for information leading to the whereabouts of her body was printed
in the announcements section.

Reward? Bounty is what it was.

The advertisement gave the appearance that
Price was living up to his obligations as President of Landen
Shipping. But she knew he intended she reach Boston dead—and reach
Boston she would, for without her body, he would have to wait five
years before taking control of her fifty-one percent of Landen
Shipping. She intended to slip the noose over his head first.

Elise caught sight of her trembling fingers,
and her stomach heaved with the memory of Amelia's body sliding
noiselessly from the ship into the ocean. She choked back despair.
If she had suspected that Robert had been poisoning her daughter
even a few months earlier—

"Flowers!"

Elise jerked at Bonnie's squeal. The girl
stood with a handful of flowers extended toward her. Elise brushed
her fingers across the white petals of the stitchwort and the
lavender butterwort. She was a fool to involve herself with the
people here, but when Shamus was murdered she been unable to remain
withdrawn.

"Riders," Tavis said.

Elise tensed. "Where?"

"There." Tavis pointed into the trees.

She leaned forward and traced the line of his
arm with her gaze. A horse's rump slipped out of sight into the
denser forest. Goose bumps raced across her arms.

Elise straightened and yanked Bonnie into her
arms "It will be dark soon—" Tavis faced her and she stopped short
when his gaze focused on something behind her.

Elise looked over her shoulder. Half a dozen
riders emerged from the forest across the meadow. She started. Good
Lord, what had possessed her to leave Brahan Seer without a pistol?
She was as big a fool as Tavis and without the excuse of youth. She
slid Bonnie to the ground as the warriors approached. They halted
fifteen feet away. Elise edged Bonnie behind her when one of the
men urged his horse closer. Her pulse jumped. Was it possible to
become accustomed to the size of these Highland men?

She flushed at the spectacle of his open
shirt but couldn't stop her gaze from sliding along the velvety
dark hair that trailed downward and tapered off behind a white lawn
shirt negligently tucked into his kilt. The large sword strapped to
his hip broke the fascination.

How many had perished at the point of that
weapon?

The hard muscles of his chest and arms gave
evidence—many.

The man directed a clipped sentence in Gaelic
to Tavis. The boy started past her, but she caught his arm. The men
wore the red and green
plaide
of her benefactors the
MacGregors, but were strangers.

"What do you want?" She cursed the curt
demand that had bypassed good sense in favor of a willing
tongue.

Except for a flicker of surprise across the
man's face, he sat unmoving.

Elise winced inwardly, remembering her
American accent, but said in a clear voice, "I asked what you
want."

Leather groaned when he leaned forward on his
saddle. He shifted the reins to the hand resting in casual
indolence on his leg and replied in English, "I asked the boy why
he is unarmed outside the castle with two females."

Caught off guard by the deep vibrancy of his
soft burr, her heart skipped a beat. "We don't need weapons on
MacGregor land." She kept her tone unhurried.

"The MacGregor's reach extends as far as the
solitude of this glen?" he asked.

"We are only fifteen minutes from the
village," she said. "But his reach is well beyond this place."

"He is great, indeed," the warrior said.

"You know him?"

"I do."

She lifted Bonnie. "Then you know he would
wreak vengeance on any who dared harm his own."

"Aye," the man answered. "The MacGregor would
hunt them down like dogs. Only," he paused, "how would he know who
to hunt?"

She gave him a disgusted look. "I tracked
these children. You think he cannot track you?"

"A fine point," he agreed.

"Good." She took a step forward. "Now, we
will be getting home."

"Aye, you should be getting home." He urged
his horse to intercept. Elise set Bonnie down, shoving her in
Tavis's direction. "And," the man went on, "we will take you." The
warriors closed in around them. "The lad will ride with Erin. Give
the little one to Kyle, and you," his eyes came back hard on Elise,
"will ride with me."

The heat in his gaze sent a flush through
her, but her ire piqued. "We do not accept favors from
strangers."

His gaze unexpectedly deepened.

She stilled.
What the devil? Was that
amusement on his face?

"We are not strangers," he said. There was no
mistaking the laughter in his eyes now. "Are we, Tavis?" His gaze
shifted to the boy.

"Nay," he replied with a shy smile. "No'
strangers at all, laird."

"You know this man?" Elise asked.

"He is the laird's son."

"Marcus!" Bonnie cried, peeking from behind
Elise's skirts.

Elise looked at him. Marcus?
This
was
the son Cameron had spoken of with such affection these past
months? It suddenly seemed comical that she had doubted Cameron's
stories of his son's exploits on the battlefield. She had believed
the aging chief's stories were exaggerations, but the giant of a
man before her was clearly capable of every feat with which his
father had credited him.

Prodded by the revelation, she discerned the
resemblance between father and son. Though grey sprinkled Cameron's
hair, the two shared the same unruly, dark hair, the same build…
and… "You have his eyes," she said.

He chuckled.

Heat flooded her cheeks. She pulled Bonnie
into her arms. "You might have said who you were." She gave him an
assessing look. "Only that wouldn't have been half as much fun. Who
will take the child?"

His gaze fixed on the hand she had wrapped
around Bonnie and the small burn scar that remained as a testament
of her folly. His attention broke when a voice from behind her said
in a thick brogue, "'Tis me ye be looking for, lass." She turned to
a weathered warrior who urged his mount forward.

Elise handed Bonnie up to him. Stepping back,
she bumped into the large body of a horse. Before she could move,
an arm encircled her from behind, pulling her upward across hard
thighs. A tremor shot through her. She hadn't been this close to a
man's body since—since those first months of her seven-year
marriage.

Panic seized her in a quick, hard rush. The
trees blurred as her mind plunged backward in time to the touch of
the man who had promised till death do them part. Her husband's
gentle hand on their wedding night splintered into his violent grip
the night he'd tried to murder her—the movement of thighs beneath
her buttocks broke the trance as Marcus MacGregor spurred his horse
into motion. His arms tightened around her and she held her breath,
praying he couldn't hear her thudding heart.

The ambling movement of the bulky horse
lifted her from Marcus's lap. She clutched at his shirt. Her
knuckles brushed his bare chest and she jerked back as if singed by
hot coals. Her body lifted again with the horse's next step and she
instinctively threw her arms around Marcus's forearm. His hold
tightened as rich laughter rumbled through his chest.

"Do not worry, lass. Upon pain of death, I
swear, you will not slip from my arms until your feet touch down at
Brahan Seer."