My Highland Love: Highland Lords Series (6 page)

"Laird." The young man's voice hit like ice
water and Marcus looked at him. "She doesn't know our ways," Erin
said.

Marcus relaxed and shifted his gaze to her.
"If it pleases her to stay, we shall. But only for dinner."

She gave a snort, then strode past them and
out the door.

As the evening wore on, Marcus watched Elise
entice them into becoming willing participants in the preparation
of the meal.

"You three will not sit idle while I do all
the work," she said.

"Lass," Michael protested, "what would poor
men such as ourselves know of preparing food?"

"Enough, I'm sure." She thrust the handle of
a knife into his hand.

An instant later, she'd replaced the copy of
the
Sunday Times
sitting on the table beside him with an
onion. Michael looked at her as if she were mad but, in the end,
peeled and sliced the onion, his lip twitching with barely
suppressed amusement.

"Erin." Elise placed a bowl of flour, sugar,
and cream of tartar in his hands. "You stir the biscuits. Marcus,"
she said, surprising him, "see to the grouse on the fire."

Marcus obeyed, but turned a moment later when
she cried, "Erin!" and saw Erin had spilled flour from the bowl
onto the table.

Erin looked to his father.

"Do not look at me, lad. 'Tis not my fault
you can't stir flour without dumping it all over yourself."

Elise grasped Erin's hand, trying to show him
how to gentle his touch. Marcus jolted at seeing her slender
fingers covering the young man's large hand.
Damn it, surely the
boy posed no threat?
Marcus knew he'd lost his mind. Bloody
hell, he was jealous.

"Ohh," she said in frustration as more flour
went over the side of the bowl.

Marcus laughed at the sheepish look on Erin's
face. She snatched up the bowl and Michael joined in when she
muttered incoherently and strode to the stove to finish the
biscuits.

"So, tell me, Marcus," Michael said through
his laughter. "How was London?"

"The same as always."

"And Kiernan?"

At the mention of his son's name, Marcus
recalled his surprise at how much the boy had grown in the last
year. At only eighteen, he towered over most Englishmen. Referred
to as the dark giant, he deserved the nickname. Still, Marcus never
ceased to marvel at the fact that one noticed his mother's raven
hair and blue eyes when he entered a room. Unbidden, his father's
words echoed in Marcus's mind,
"Do you not wonder if the
sacrifice is worth your son?"

"Is it worth it?" he said under his
breath.

"What's that you say?" Michael asked.

Marcus focused on him. "The lad is doing as
well as can be expected, considering."

"Considering?" Elise asked.

"Aye," he said, glad his father wasn't
present to hear his response. "Considering he lives among the
Sassenach."

At meal's end, Marcus insisted they go.
Elise's expression darkened and she looked as if she might protest,
but he caught her glance in the direction of father and son and
relaxed when he saw she had chosen discretion over pride.
Anticipation surged through him, despite the knowledge she
considered him the lesser of the evils.

They stood at the door. Elise rose on tiptoes
and planted a kiss on Michael's cheek. "Stay off your wounded
leg."

"Thank you. You're a good lass." He gave her
a bear hug.

"No toying with me."

The impish wink she gave Michael made Marcus
regret ending the evening. She would be more reserved with her
charms once they were alone. She went outside where Erin waited
with their horses.

Marcus clasped Michael's hands.

"Do not wait so long to come back," Michael
said.

Marcus started to release his hand, but
Michael's grip tightened. "Be careful." He glanced in Elise's
direction. "The dark has been known to bite."

Chapter Four

To be bitten in the dark.

Marcus glanced at Elise. Moonlight filtered
in dim rays through the trees, making it impossible to distinguish
her features atop the mare. He slid his gaze over her figure. It
was a shame Erin had a mare she could ride.

"Marcus," she broke into his thoughts.

He checked the surge of eagerness that leapt
to life. "Aye?"

"Why does your son live in England?"

"Politics, love."

"Ah," she replied. "I see."

He was sure she didn't but was pleased
nonetheless.

"Having your son living amongst a people so
different from your own can't be easy."

"Nay?" They moved out of the trees into pale
moonlight and he discerned an indulgent smile on her face.

"I'm not ignorant of the differences between
the Highland life and that of London."

"You have been to London?" he asked.

"No, but where I'm from can't be much
different."

"Where might that be, lass?"

"Boston."

"Do you miss it?" he asked.

"No."

He wondered at the quick answer, then his
gaze caught on her mouth. What would it be like to kiss those lips?
Moonlight glistened on the dark hair that cascaded down her cloaked
shoulders. She straightened in the saddle, sharpening the curve of
her breasts. He imagined his hand sliding over them and downward to
the soft curls nestled below. Marcus shifted in the saddle to
accommodate his growing arousal. Elise shook her head and ran a
hand through her hair. What would she do if he took her now? Just
when he'd convinced himself she wouldn't resist, his mind snapped
to attention at hearing an unexpected noise.

"Do you—" she began.

"Hush," Marcus commanded in a whisper.

He reined in alongside her. Grabbing her
mare's bridle, he pulled both horses to a stop. He dismounted, then
hauled her down from the saddle and drew her close to whisper in
her ear, "There is a hill just ahead. I'm going for a look. Do not
move." He shoved the reins into her hand and slinked into the
darkness.

Near the top of the hill, Marcus crouched,
then finally went to his knees, crawling the last few feet to the
crest. Between the hill where he crouched and the opposite hill,
three men on horses picked their way across the rocky ground. Their
colors were indistinguishable, but he knew they were Campbells.

When he had demanded Shamus's killer be
turned over to him, John Campbell had complied after Marcus and his
men threatened to take John in his kinsmen's place. The fact the
man was turned over to Peter McKinlay of the Glasgow police for a
proper trial made no difference. John Campbell had been
furious.

The men disappeared into the trees, and
Marcus hesitated. The keep was another ten minutes' ride. Could he
send Elise on alone? He remembered Katie MacGregor and cursed. He
couldn't gamble with Elise's safety.

Marcus quietly made his way back down the
hill and, minutes later, distinguished her form in the darkness.
"Elise," he called in a whisper.

Her head jerked in his direction, but she
didn't cry out. After another instant, he reached her side. He
grasped her shoulders and pulled her close, whispering, "We must
ride—and fast." She started. "All will be well." He squeezed her
shoulders. "You ride with me. Can you stay in the saddle?"

She nodded.

"Good lass." He reached for the reins

She grabbed his arm. "What's happened?"

He hesitated. "Campbells."

She glanced at the hill. "So close to Brahan
Seer?"

"Aye."

Marcus vaulted into his stallion's saddle,
then extended a hand toward her. Elise yanked her skirts thigh
high, grabbed his hand, and jumped nimbly up behind him as he
pulled. She wrapped her arms around his midsection. The soft
contours of her breasts pressed into his back. He gritted his teeth
and nudged the stallion into a quiet walk, keeping the mare close
until they were well out of earshot of the small camp. Then he
urged the stallion into a gallop.

The men on the castle walls sprang to life at
their approach half an hour later. Marcus brought their horses to a
skidding halt before the gate. "Open!" he shouted. "'Tis me,
Marcus."

The gate creaked open and he drove the horses
through before the doors had swung wide. He halted amongst the
gathering warriors and brought his leg over the horse's head,
sliding from the saddle.

"Marshall," he called to the nearest man as
he pulled Elise from the saddle, "find Daniel and have him gather
twenty men. We ride in ten minutes. Where is my father?"

"I dinna' know," Marshall answered. "Mayhap
the great hall?"

Marcus started off, then stopped and whirled
to see Elise standing where he left her. "Go to your cottage," he
ordered then, cursing the powers that be, set out after his
father.

* * * *

Elise glanced at Michael, who rode alongside
her. His gaze remained directly ahead. The rigid set of his mouth
indicated he was still angry with her for coming alone to his
cottage. Guilt unsettled her. His anger was born out of concern,
and he was more right than she cared to admit. To make matters
worse, the trip had been a waste. He hadn't received a recent copy
of the
Sunday Times
.

Birds abruptly took flight in the trees up
ahead. She gave a small cry. Michael shot her a look that said,
Not so sure there aren't any Campbells on MacGregor land, are
you?

Heat warmed her cheeks and she looked
straight ahead. The Campbells had eluded Marcus that night three
weeks ago. No further trace of them or their kinsmen had been found
since, but Marcus was on a mission to discover who had trespassed
onto his land. As a result, she wouldn't be able to ride more than
an hour without encountering one of his men.

Damn him. If not for his watchful eye, she
would be on a ship to America. The night he fetched her from
Michael's, she had decided not to return to Brahan Seer but to
continue to Glasgow and chance the first ship away from Scotland.
The wanted notice had been in the Sunday Times dated three weeks
prior, but Price could have given up since then.

She took a shaky breath and closed her eyes.
Price stared back at her from behind her father's mahogany desk at
Landen Shipping. MacGregor men wouldn't crawl the land like mice
much longer. Soon she would return for the man who had put her
mother in an early grave, then quietly took part in her daughter's
murder. Her heart constricted. Steven was a casualty of her
making—a casualty she knew Price Ardsley relished. Elise forced
back tears.

Beware, stepfather. I will return.

"Will you come to the great hall?" Elise
asked Michael when they passed through the castle gates.

"Aye," he replied shortly.

"Michael," she began, but he pulled his horse
to a halt beside her and dismounted.

He came around to her and helped her from the
saddle. "Go on." She hesitated, and his eyes softened. "I'll be
along after I have seen to the animals."

She pressed a kiss to his cheek. "You're a
good man, Michael MacGregor."

He shook his head, but she could see that he
was pleased. He limped off leading the horses, and Elise headed for
the great hall. At the postern door, she entered and saw Marcus
standing near the hearth. He broke off his conversation with the
two men who stood with him and glanced over his shoulder. The drawn
look on his face snapped into a dark scowl. He started forward.
Elise faltered when she saw he meant to intercept her. His
companions disappeared up the nearest staircase and a hum of
apprehension began deep in her stomach.

Marcus rounded the table and reached the
midway point when she blurted, "Good afternoon, Marcus. How are
you?"

"Where have you been?" he demanded.

"I—" She fell back an unsteady step when it
seemed he would ram into her. He halted three feet from her. "I
have just returned from visiting Michael."

"So I was told," he replied curtly. "Winnie's
warning did nothing to deter you?"

"Winnie's warnin—" Elise recalled her
encounter with Winnie that morning. Good Lord, Winnie had told him
she saw her leave.

Marcus's eyes narrowed. "Aye, you remember.
Fortunately for you, I only just discovered your absence.
Unmanageable wench," he added in a dark voice.

"You have your answers," she shot back. "Why
bother asking?"

"Because I couldn't believe you were
traipsing about the countryside."

"I was not traipsing about the country. Not
that it's your business."

"It is my business—and I will see to it you
no' do it again."

She ignored the warning bell the definite
hardening of his brogue set off inside her head. and said, "You're
insane if you think I'll be ordered about."

"Ye will do as you're told," he said in a
quiet voice that was perversely more unsettling than a shout.

"I come and go as I please, just as everyone
else at Brahan Seer."

A keen light shone in his eyes. "If you will
note, the women are staying close to home." His expression
hardened. "At the express command of their men."

Elise gasped, then glanced past him, gauging
the distance between him and the freedom the kitchen offered. He
stepped closer and her temper flared. She raised her hands to
shield herself from his advance and her palms met the unexpected
warmth of his chest. She gaped at her fingers splayed across tanned
skin where his shirt lay open, and her senses reeled at the raw
power in the heavy rise and fall of his chest.

"Lord," she whispered, and yanked her hands
away.

The vague realization that strong fingers had
gripped her wrists was overshadowed by the jolt she felt when
Marcus forced her hands back to his chest. Her mind screamed to
break free, but the sight of her palms gliding over his dark
skin—the need to touch every contour, to know intimately his
powerful body—held her rooted to the spot. She tore her gaze from
his chest and looked into his eyes. The fire blazing there drew
her—commanded her—and she leaned into him.