My Highland Love: Highland Lords Series (4 page)

"Elise," one of the young warriors called,
"come, talk with us, lass."

Her mouth quirked. "If I play with you, who
will finish dinner?"

The man's hearty chuckle gave evidence she
hadn't fooled him, and he approached with friends in tow.

Cameron stood. "Elise," he called over the
men's heads, "come here."

She turned. When her gaze met Cameron's,
warmth filled her eyes. She dried her hands on her apron and headed
in his direction.

"Go on, lads," Cameron said to the men who
teased her. "You have better things to do than dally with the
lassies."

When she came within arm's reach, he gripped
her shoulders. "Meet my son. He's returned today." He turned
her.

Her gaze met Marcus's. Her smile faltered but
quickly transformed into polite civility. "We've met."

"Oh?" Cameron replied, all innocence.

"Yes. He came by when Tavis, Bonnie, and I
were on our way home this afternoon."

"Ahh," Cameron said, then turned and gave the
man beside him an energetic greeting.

Elise looked again at Marcus and motioned
toward the kitchen. "I have work to do."

"Aye," he said. The memory of her breasts
pressed against his chest caused him to harden.

She backed up a few steps, then turned and
ran headlong into the man behind her. He reached to steady her. A
flush colored her cheeks and Marcus bit back a laugh when she
dodged the warrior. Marcus leaned forward, catching one last look
at her backside before she disappeared through the kitchen
door.

Chapter Three

At the sound of horses padding past the
cottage she shared with Winnie, Elise looked up from the table
where sat the teacup she had been refilling. She glanced from the
curtained window to Winnie, who remained bent over her needlework.
Elise took two steps to the fireplace, hooked the kettle over the
fire, and went to the window. She pulled back the lace curtain to
see a procession of warriors filing past the cottages.

Marcus MacGregor rode at the head of the
company. He sat straight, his body shifting in easy motion with the
horse's rhythmic movements. Her father had exuded the same careless
confidence. Elise recalled her mother often watching from a window
as he rode away. The warmth spreading through Elise now gave her an
understanding of what her mother must have felt.

"Ridiculous," she muttered.

"What?" Winnie called, but she didn't answer,
mesmerized as Marcus turned his profile to her and addressed the
man to his left.

The edges of his dark hair curled along the
line of his ear and down his neck. He smiled. The remembered feel
of his solid chest against her breasts arose with surprising
intensity. What would his chest feel like beneath her fingers? Her
pulse quickened. Where had that thought come from? Marcus's horse
disappeared around a sharp turn in the path. Elise surveyed the
long line of men following.

"Where are they going?" she murmured.

"To the Hastings Campbells," Winnie said.

"I thought the MacGregors and Campbells were
feuding."

"They are."

The last of the men disappeared from view.
"Why go then?"

"To deal with Shamus's murderer."

Elise swung her gaze back to Winnie. "Shamus
has been dead two months. Why has Cameron waited so long to bring
the guilty man before the law?"

"Cameron
is
the law," Winnie
replied.

A tremor rippled through Elise. Price, too,
had appointed himself law. "How can Cameron be impartial? It is his
kin who was murdered."

The housekeeper grunted. "How impartial
should he be?"

"Surely he wouldn't kill in cold blood?"

Winnie's head snapped up. "Cold blood? What
the Campbells done—killing Shamus—that was cold blood."

Elise realized she had crushed the curtain
and released it. She crossed to the table and grasped the back of
the chair across from Winnie. "Has Cameron identified the
killer?"

"Each kinsman is responsible for the
other."

Elise stared. "Have you any idea what you are
saying?"

"Every Highlander will tell you the
same."

"Even the Highlands of Scotland can't be so
uncivilized as to seek recompense of the guilty party's neighbors.
The man who committed the crime, he alone is responsible."

"Mayhap," Winnie said as she squinted at the
tiny stitching. "But his kinsmen would have to hand him over to his
accusers, and the Campbells are not known for thinking themselves
guilty for ridding the world of a MacGregor."

Elise kept her tight grip on the chair. Would
the MacGregors hand her over to Price? Would the ten thousand pound
reward sway them? "So an entire clan will suffer for one man's
wickedness?"

"'Tis a funny thing you'll find in the
clans," Winnie said, her attention intent on the sewing. "Some do
nothing but fight. Others are peaceful, while some are just plain
scoundrels. Whatever they are, 'tis generally agreed amongst
themselves. Like begets like. If a man differs, he can take refuge
elsewhere."

Warmth rippled through Elise. Just as she had
taken refuge here. She watched Winnie stitch the intricate
needlework on the linen blanket meant for Chloe's new baby. How
much like her were these people? Sadness wound through her. What
did it matter? When Price finally believed she had perished at sea
and stopped advertising the notice, she would then board a ship
without fear a bounty hunter was looking for her. Her wedding band,
hidden behind a loose stone in the ladies' drawing room, would buy
passage to America. There she would testify that she shot Robert in
defense of her brother and herself.

Would her word be enough? She wasn't the only
person who had survived the sinking of the Amelia. Someone had
reported to Price that she shot Robert. Was that person friend or
foe? Would that person try to stop her from bringing Price Ardsley
to his knees? Elise startled at the realization that she intended
to dispense her own brand of justice.

"Justice isn't always what it should be," she
murmured.

Winnie snorted. "It is the law of the
land—every land—and the Campbells know it. They're a bloodthirsty
lot." Her countenance softened and she nodded toward her teacup.
"Fill my cup."

The normalcy of the request loosened the
tightening in Elise's stomach. She retrieved the kettle from the
fire and poured hot water into Winnie's cup, then dropped in a tea
ball.

"You canna' know," Winnie began, still
working her stitching, "what it is to have everyone against ye,
even your own king."

Elise returned the kettle to its place and
seated herself at the table. Her soul grew heavy at hearing how
more than two hundred years ago the government gave the Campbells
all MacGregor land, heedless of the fact the property was
occupied.

"Even the MacGregor name was outlawed,"
Winnie said. "Our line would have died if not for Ryan
MacGregor."

Winnie went on to tell how the foresight of a
single man saved an entire people. Ryan MacGregor, traitor to the
Scottish crown, married a woman wealthy enough to shun the
insidious alliance of the merchants and government, then bought
land and furnished his people with weapons to keep it.

"How he angered the Campbells," she said with
satisfaction. "We still lived and died by the sword, mind you, for
a Campbell cannot bear to see a MacGregor at peace. But we had a
sword to fight with."

But the horror had only begun, Elise realized
as Winnie went on. The political tide then turned against all
Highlanders.

"Clearances, they call it. Evictions." Winnie
jabbed her needle into the cloth. "Murder. Our chiefs evicted us.
Their own kin. All in the name of progress. But the Duchess of
Sutherland, she is the devil incarnate. Ninety families, she
started with, but the numbers got as high as two thousand families
in a single day."

Elise gasped. "Dear God, how is that
possible?"

"It happened."

"Who is this duchess?"

"The most powerful woman in all
Scotland—mayhap, the world. She owns tens of thousands of acres of
land. When she realized ranching held better profit than farming,
she began evictions. Thousands thrown out of their homes no matter
their age or infirmity. Many were left by the wayside to die like
animals. Not a family lives who hasn't been touched by the
clearances. My great uncle Duncan McKay," Winnie's voice grew
shaky, "he and his family, caught in the dead of night. Four bairns
burned in their beds."

Elise's throat constricted at the picture of
burning beds and children screaming for their parents.

Soundless tears rolled down Winnie's cheeks.
"Duncan lived, poor devil, despite being nearly burned to death.
They brought him here."

"Here?" Elise asked in a choked voice.

"Aye. My mother was Cameron's father's
healer, then his for many years. But she couldna' do a thing for
Duncan. He could have lived, or so she said, but the spirit died
with his wife and children. There are others, but Duncan I remember
best." She looked up "Have you ever seen a man burned?"

Unreasonable panic rose with the memory of
the fire that had so quickly spread across the Amelia's cabin
floor. Elise shook her head.

"Pray you never do." Winnie returned to her
embroidering. "The Campbells stood alongside the duchess. They had
government and church sanction. We were to be broken, you see. It
did not matter that our men fought for the crown while their
families died at home. We never bowed to their authority and that
pricked them."

"And the Campbells," Elise said, "they took
part in the… the…"

"Aye." Winnie nodded. "They made it their
business to see to the MacGregors."

Elise's heart swelled when she learned of
those few leaders who stood by their own. Of how the MacLeod chiefs
improved the lives of their clansmen by ensuring their monies were
shared amongst the people. The MacDonalds, too, had not partaken in
the atrocities.

"Then," Winnie said, her voice softening, "we
have the MacGregor."

Warmth emanated from her as she related how
Cameron MacGregor, along with his young son, Marcus, defended their
people. Only a few scant years ago Marcus picked up the gauntlet
passed from father to son and returned to Brahan Seer with over a
hundred ragged and defeated Highlanders. They were all he could
save from the Sutherlund riots at Gruids.

"The Campbells were there," Winnie went on.
"They gained noble rank—at the expense of the MacGregors. It's our
wealth they stole. But we didn't lay down for it—and how they hate
us for it." Her fingers convulsed on the embroidery needle. "They
hate Cameron even more because he offered asylum to any Highlander.
Two years ago, Marcus met them with a fist of iron when he attacked
the Bannatyne Campbells."

"Dear God, why?"

"Katie MacGregor. If you had seen what they
did to the lass—" Winnie forced the needle through the soft linen
as if it was leather and gave a sudden cry.

A small pearl of blood splotched the beige
cloth from beneath.

"Winnie!" Elise jumped to her feet.

Winnie snatched up the cloth and began
sucking the blood from the linen. Elise grabbed the rag hanging
over the hearth and wrapped it around Winnie's finger. Elise
gripped it tightly, stanching the flow of blood. Winnie examined
the cloth, then began sucking again.

"Shall I fetch some water?" Elise asked.

"Nay," Winnie replied, still sucking. "The
saliva of the blood's owner is what takes blood from cloth." She
looked at the cloth. The blood had disappeared. "This isn't the
first MacGregor blood spilled because of Campbells, and it will not
be the last."

A chill snaked through Elise. Would the next
dead MacGregor be amongst those who just set out for Campbell
land?

* * * *

Elise bolted upright in bed, the echo of a
scream giving way to the pounding in her ears. She looked wildly
about the room but, instead of flames surrounding her as they had
an instant before, only the hearth burned with soft, red embers. A
faint light radiated from the coals. She gulped a deep breath upon
recognizing the shadowed contours of the cottage she shared with
Winnie. Which dream had awoken her this time? The one where she
hadn't escaped her stateroom before it went up in flames, or the
one where the flames of hell surrounded her?

Dear God, forgive me.

She choked back tears. He might forgive her,
but Amelia and Steven wouldn't.

"Elise."

Elise jerked her attention to the far side of
the room where Winnie slept.

"What is amiss?" the housekeeper asked in a
sleep-laden voice. "You cried out—" Her gaze swung in the direction
of the door. "What in God's name?"

The insistent knocking at the door penetrated
Elise's brain and she realized the noise had yanked her from the
dream.

Winnie threw back the covers and jumped out
of bed. She draped a wrap about her shoulders and hurried to the
door. "Who is it?" She yanked open the door. "Mary, girl," Winnie
growled at the maid, "you had better—"

"The men have returned," the maid
interrupted. "They're demanding supper."

"Mother of God," Winnie whispered. "Go along,
child. I will follow in a minute." She shoved the door shut and
scampered on tiptoe across the drafty floor to her bed.

"I'll come," Elise said as Winnie pulled off
her shift and reached for the grey dress draped over her bed's foot
board.

"No need." Winnie slipped the dress over her
head.

Elise got to her feet. "No sense lying here
while you work."

She quickly dressed, then grabbed the
plaide
from the foot of her bed and draped it over her
shoulders as she followed Winnie out the door.

Minutes later, Elise slowed two paces into
the kitchen, startled by the grim silence that pressed in about the
room. Winnie hastened to the counter where Mary and another girl
were placing mutton and chicken on platters. Elise shook off the
morose feeling and tossed the plaide she wore onto the counter,
then hurried forward to join in the preparations.