My Highland Love: Highland Lords Series (9 page)

"Touch her and I'll kill you," her captor
said through a mouthful of food.

A pause followed, and Elise shivered as much
from the threat as the cold. She pulled the tartan up over her
shoulders, closing her eyes.

"You wouldn't be wanting her for yourself,
would you, William?" Rory demanded.

"She isn't yours, Rory."

"What if she escapes?"

"She was knocked half senseless," William
replied. "She couldn't manage it."

"I know women who could," Rory retorted.

"She wouldn't know which way was home."
William paused. "She's asleep."

"Easy pickings," Rory commented.

Grunts of approval from the men sitting in
the group sounded.

"Mayhap not so easy." William shifted, the
sword strapped to his hip scraping against rock.

Elise shrank beneath the tartan and ate the
last bit of biscuit. Finally, the men's voices quieted. A moment
later, she heard a nearby rustling. She peered past a corner of her
tartan and discerned the forms of men lowering themselves to the
ground. She recognized William, still sitting with his back to
her.

A close snigger told her Rory was among the
men bedding down nearby. Her stomach wrenched. She glanced
heavenward. Dawn was no more than four hours away. MacGregor
territory lay southeast of Campbell land. They had ridden
approximately fifteen hours. She could reach Brahan Seer by
tomorrow afternoon. Marcus might not welcome her back, but she had
to make sure he knew who was responsible for Allister's death. She
thought of the wedding band sewed to the lining of her shift. She
had planned to go from Michael's to Glasgow and catch the first
ship away from Scotland. But Allister deserved recompense just as
much as Amelia and Steven.

When snores at last told Elise the men had
fallen asleep, she crawled from beneath her blanket. The biscuit
had settled her stomach, but the trembling deep within
persisted.

"Where are ye going?"

She stopped at the sound of William's voice
and twisted to look over her shoulder. He still sat on the rock,
back to her.

"I-I need a moment of privacy."

"There are guards," he said.

"What?"

"Out there." He motioned with his head to the
blackness beyond their camp.

Her blood chilled, but she forced her body
into motion and crawled around the rock.

* * * *

Marcus tensed at sight of a figure moving in
the shadows where the Campbell horses were tethered. "Did you
notice any of the guards returning to camp?" he demanded of
Michael, who squatted beside him on the hill from which they
watched.

"Nay," Michael whispered.

Marcus strained to make out the figure's form
in the moonlight, but the hill cast too dark a shadow on the
valley. "God damn it," he muttered. "If anyone has given away our
presence—" The loud neigh of a horse broke the quiet. "What the
bloody hell?"

"The horses," Michael hissed as the Campbell
horses bolted.

Shouts rose, and the Campbells sprang up and
after their mounts.

"What are they up to?" Marcus yanked his gaze
back onto the figure in the shadows near the horses. He leaned
forward in the saddle and was riding to the left of the camp.

"Take two men and bring back that rider,"
Marcus said. "Be careful not to alert the others to our
presence."

Marcus turned his attention onto the Campbell
men running through the trees in an effort to retrieve their
scattered horses. Then waited.

The light sound of a boot treading close came
from the darkness and Marcus jerked his head around.

"Laird," one of his men said, "come quick. We
have the rider."

He pulled his breacan close and backed away
from the crest of the hill, jumped to his feet, then hurried
downhill at a near run. At the bottom, he broke through the circle
of his men, hand on the hilt of his sword.

"Nay! Laird, stop!" came a chorus of low
voices.

Marcus felt his sword arm jerked back, but he
saw the prisoner even as someone grabbed his other arm. He went
stock still. "Elise?"

"Yes," she replied.

Even in the shallow light of the cloudy
darkness, he could discern her drawn expression. "Are you
unharmed?"

She smiled, her mouth quavering a little. "I
have a blazing headache, but I'll live."

Marcus started forward, but two of his men
seized his arm. "Release me." He yanked free, then took two steps
and halted before her. "You are the rider?"

"Yes."

She swayed. Marcus caught her to him.

Elise clutched at his shirt, burying her head
in his chest. She didn't move for a long moment, then took a
shuddering breath and mumbled against him, "If I could sit
down."

He whipped off his cloak and wrapped it
around her. Marcus slipped an arm beneath her and she threw her
arms around his neck when he lifted her into his arms. He knelt and
gently settled her in a seated position on the ground. Her arms
remained tight about him for a moment, then finally relaxed.

Marcus straightened, his gaze falling on her
bare feet. "Where are your shoes?"

She glanced from her feet back at him. "I
took them off. What woman attempting an escape would go barefoot?"
She gave him a hopeful look. "Sensible, don't you agree?"

"Sensible?" he repeated.

Elise abruptly grasped her stomach. Marcus
held her head to the side as she wretched violently. The convulsion
ceased and he wiped her mouth with the tartan.

She sat up. "Had to happen eventually," she
croaked.

"Will you be all right?"

She nodded but averted her face. "I'm much
better."

Marcus stood. "Michael, you, Brian, and Finn
remain here. Get the horses," he said to the remaining men, then
looked at Elise. "I assume you freed their horses?"

She nodded.

"Marcus," Michael said. "We stumbled upon two
Campbells. They were the guards west of the camp. Seems we were
wrong. They had moved. Probably the only ones who had horses."

"Dead?"

The older man nodded.

Marcus's men returned with the horses.

He took Alexis's reins and mounted, then said
to Michael, "It may take some time, but I won't leave before
catching every last one of the bastards. If so much as a shadow
flickers, get out."

Michael nodded, and Marcus reined his horse
around, his men following.

* * * *

Marcus stood, legs apart, staring down at
Elise. She sat on the couch, head bowed, her gaze on the carpeted
floor of his library. He took a deep breath and seated himself
beside her.

"A day on the trip home and I held my
tongue," he said. "Then a day here at Brahan Seer. You're well
enough now to answer to me. What in God's name were you doing?"

"I promised Michael I would come."

"Michael would not hold you to any such
promise."

She lifted her chin and met his gaze. "I
didn't go alone, as you know."

"You took a boy, Elise."

Pain flickered across her face. "I will not
make that mistake again."

"Nay, you will not, but that doesn't explain
why you insist upon going. Bloody hell, Elise, no one but you is a
risk-taker."

She stiffened. "I am sorry you had to come
for me—"

"
Sorry I had to come for you?
You
little idiot. It wasn't the coming for you that you need be sorry
for, but the fact you nearly got yourself killed. It's a miracle
you survived the fall from your horse."

Marcus shifted his gaze to her right cheek
where the light yellow of a severe bruise peeked out from beneath
her thick hair. He was well aware of the gash that lay hidden
beneath her hair. She had taken great pains to hide the wound. What
else did she hide?

"What of the Campbells, Elise?"

She frowned. "I don't understand why they
took me."

"Nay?"

She started. "I'm not a complete fool. I
understand their intentions. But why make off with me? Why not
attack me there?"

A mental picture of them
attacking
her
there rose on a tide of a fury that forced Marcus to his feet. He
strode to the sideboard, poured a whiskey, drank it in one gulp,
then set the glass down and faced her. He leaned against the
sideboard and folded his arms across his chest.

"They like to savor their victims."

Her lips parted in a soft gasp.

"Did you think otherwise?" he asked.

"The beady-eyed one, Rory, would have taken
me there, but their leader, William—"

"William?" Marcus interjected savagely. He
started toward her. Her eyes widened when he closed the gap between
them. He yanked her from her seat. "What did William want,
Elise?"

"He stopped Rory from…"

"Did he now?" Marcus shoved her onto the
couch, pivoted, and returned to the sideboard. He poured another
drink and emptied the glass as he had the last, then faced her
again. "It didn't occur to you he didn't want a woman who was used
up?"

Her cheeks reddened, then her expression
hardened. "There had been no sign of Campbells for weeks. How long
am I supposed to let your fears rule me?"

"Until I say otherwise. Just be glad I don't
tie you to your bed."

Her eyes narrowed. "What sort of threat is
that?"

"The kind I will enforce with relish."

Elise jumped to her feet. She swayed
slightly. Marcus started forward, then stopped when she fisted her
hands at her sides.

"Ooooh." She drew the word out in a long
frustrated breath. "You are an arrogant knave, Marcus MacGregor,
not to mention foul natured. Does it give you pleasure to threaten
me?"

"Threaten you?" He gave an exasperated laugh.
"I haven't given you even a small sample of my power."

"I advise you to keep such threats to
yourself," she said through clenched teeth.

"God help me, I should turn you over my
knee—which is what I planned in the beginning."

Elise took a step back and he advanced. "In
fact, if you have any defense, say your piece now, for you shall
receive the only recompense your sex allows."

"I have nothing to tell you." She retreated
another pace.

Marcus halted. Bloody hell, were his
suspicions right? "What are you hiding, Elise?"

Her eyes flashed but not before widening
enough to tell him he'd caught her off guard. "What could I
possibly—"

"You're a fool if you expect me to believe
you simply want to visit Michael. We both know he is well. Who do
you meet when you leave Brahan Seer?"

Her eyes lit with indignation.

Feminine fury. Had he hit the mark? Had she
taken a lover?

The blood pounded in his ears. "You would
risk death—or worse—for a common liaison?"

Her expression flashed to hauteur. "Any
assignations I have are none of your concern."

Relief rammed through him. Womanly pride
drove her, not fear of discovery. Why, then, the insistence on
going to Michael's?

She turned, but he caught her wrist and
whirled her around. "What are you hiding?"

Elise clenched the hand he grasped. "Is it so
hard to believe someone might care enough about another human being
to take a risk?"

"You expect me to believe you are so
foolish?"

She gave a harsh laugh. "Believe what you
will."

"I believe you are lying."

"Why bother coming for me, then?"

For the thousandth time, Marcus saw Elise as
Katie MacGregor had been when she was found raped and beaten. He
yanked Elise to him, his mouth crashing down on hers. She shoved at
his chest, but he only tightened his arms around her and roughened
the kiss. He thrust his tongue inside her mouth and felt her body
stiffen in surprise then slacken against him. Her breath quickened.
Marcus remembered the couch only a few feet away, but she abruptly
wrenched her mouth free. He hugged her close, burying his head in
her hair.

"Elise," he whispered hoarsely. "When I
think—" his voice caught. "They had their hands on you." He hugged
her even closer. "Never again."

He kissed her neck, placed gentle kisses
behind her ear and down to where neck met shoulder. She gasped, and
he lifted his head to look down into her wide eyes. He lowered his
mouth to hers, tenderly this time, moving slowly until her lips
softened beneath his. She gave a sudden small gasp, then pushed
away, her hand going to her lips. He focused on the action.

"Ohhh," she drew out the word on a soft
breath.

Marcus stepped toward her. She backed up
until the chair before his desk barred her retreat. He halted, his
body inches from her. She gripped the top of the chair, then
stepped aside, shoving the chair toward him. Marcus reached for
her. The chair hit his shin. Pain shot through his leg, but he
stumbled forward, grabbing for her. His fingers closed around thin
air as she dashed for the door and disappeared down the
corridor.

Chapter Six

Movement to his left caused Marcus to jerk
his head in the direction of the woman emerging from the kitchen
into the hall. She was not Elise. The woman's brown hair had fooled
him for an instant. He shoved his chair back, rose from his seat,
and strode to the kitchen. He stepped aside for another serving
maid as she hurried past into the hall with a plate of food in
hand. He scanned the kitchen. Elise wasn't among the women serving
the evening meal.

By God, she was avoiding him.

Why
she was avoiding him, he knew; how
she had managed to do so for a day and a half, he suspected could
be answered by Winnie, who, oddly enough, was also absent. He
turned and headed for the postern door, wincing at the ache in his
knee. Once in the quiet of the brightly lit courtyard, he veered
north toward the cottages.

"Marcus."

Marcus glanced over his shoulder at the sound
of his father's call and stopped at sight of the MacLaren warrior
walking alongside Cameron. They halted in front of Marcus.