“Elise—” Marcus froze at hearing footsteps in the hallway.
She opened her eyes, confusion mingled with the clouded look of desire. He yanked her away from the door and stepped in front of her as it swung open and a warrior entered.
“Forgive the interruption, laird.” The man kept his gaze on Marcus's face. “A rider from Drummond territory is demanding to see you. Says it's important.”
Fear displaced passion. Drummond. At this hour? Had the old chief finally died?
Marcus gave the man a curt nod. “See him to the hall.”
The door closed and Marcus faced Elise. Her cheeks were flooded with color. She had pulled the nightgown straps back over her shoulders and her arms were crossed over her breasts. He reached for her, but she stiffened.
“You have a guest waiting,” she said.
He clasped her arm and directed her the few steps to where the discarded plaide lay on the carpet. Marcus released her and bent to pick it up. He settled the blanket around her shoulders, drawing her close once again.
“One more stolen moment, aye?” he asked.
Marcus wrapped his arms around her, pinning her arms between them, and kissed her. She breathed through parted lips, and he answered the invitation with a slow thrust of his tongue. He gently drew out her passion until she trembled with the final tracing of his tongue along her lips. He forced himself from her. Her head fell to his shoulder, and relief mixed with the lust still churning in him. He waited, unwilling to part even for his old friend.
She raised her head. “I should go.”
Marcus walked with her to the stairwell that led to her chambers. He gave her a final kiss on the cheek. “Go, love.” He urged her up the first step.
He watched the sway of the blanket until she disappeared around the bend, then turned on his heel and headed for the great hall.
* * *
Distant footsteps sounded in the hallway outside the drawing room where Elise sat. She looked up from the book she was reading. Surely Marcus hadn't returned from the fields so early? She hadn't seen him since last night. If he were to catch her here alone… would they finish what they'd started? The footsteps stopped in front of the door. Her heart thudded. The door swung open and a petite woman, smartly dressed in a burgundy velvet riding habit trimmed in gold, stood in the doorway.
“Have tea served here,” the woman ordered Mary, who stood behind her. The woman concentrated on the gloves she peeled from small, elegant hands. “I am hungry, as well. The ride this morning—” She looked up, her gaze on Elise, and she halted the tug on her glove.
No warmth shone in the woman's blue eyes and Elise wondered that such porcelain-like beauty should be marred with a statue's coldness. The woman's expression turned appraising.
“Do Brahan Seer's servants habitually lounge in the drawing room during the day?”
“Just myself,” Elise replied.
The woman's gaze sharpened. She stared for a moment, then waved a dismissive hand at Mary.
“Thank ye, Lady Margaret.” Mary bobbed a curtsy and backed out of the room, leaving Elise alone with the stranger and an increasing sense of apprehension.
Elise rose, hugging the book to her breast.
“You are American.” Lady Margaret yanked off the remaining glove.
Elise halted. “I am.”
“How long do you think you can hold his interest?”
Elise frowned. “What—” She froze.
“Let us get to the point,” Lady Margaret said in crisp tones. “He is a man, and there are certain things we must accept in men.”
Anger heated Elise's belly, but she replied in a cool tone, “Perhaps we have different standards.”
Surprise flickered across Margaret's face, then disdain settled on her features. “I have seen it before and with women possessing far more charms than you.” She raised a brow. “You are… twenty-six, twenty-seven, perhaps?”
Despite the fact Elise knew it made no difference—tomorrow she would be gone—the barb hit its mark. Marcus never asked her age. He, too, probably thought her younger than her thirty years.
Margaret raked her eyes over Elise in an unladylike fashion. “Men are intrigued by the new and unusual.” She waved her hand in the same dismissive manner she had with Mary. “That will change once we are wed.”
Elise couldn't prevent a gasp.
Margaret lifted a brow. “He did not tell you? Pity. You can't be surprised he kept the news from you, of all people.”
Elise narrowed her eyes. “Marcus is no liar.”
“He hasn't lied. The news has not yet been announced. We are awaiting permission from King George.” Margaret regarded her with a curious intensity. “You don't believe me.” She laughed, the sound filled with disdain and, to Elise's surprise, pleasure. “Tell me,” Margaret said, “do you like the way he slides his tongue over your lips?”
A chill pooled in Elise's belly.
“Or perhaps you find the way he runs his hands along your body more memorable. He is a man who enjoys touching a woman—and let us not forget the way he moves in a deliciously languid motion—”
“What do you want?” Elise demanded.
Margaret slapped her gloves against her hand. “You have nothing I want. His fancy will pass soon enough—as it always does.” Then, under her breath, “Though it doesn't please me he has so openly taken his pleasure while I have been away.”
While I have been away. A clear explanation for why Marcus had avoided the issue of his wife-to-be.
“He has not taken his pleasure, madam,” Elise shot back, remembering all too well how he had nearly done that very thing just last night. How she was just hoping it was he who came looking for her to take his pleasure.
Surprise shone on Margaret's face. “Why, there must have been many opportunities…” Her eyes widened. “You mean to marry him.”
Elise jerked. “What?”
“You think if you make him wait, he will marry you. My girl, Marcus does not marry out of lust. The Marq—”
“It is quite evident love is not the driving factor in your marriage,” Elise snapped.
Margaret's eyes blazed.
“My congratulations, madam. I wish you, Marcus, and all his paramours a happy union.” Elise hurried past her toward the door.
“How dare you, you little—”
Elise yanked the door open and slammed it behind her as she stepped into the hallway, leaving Margaret's final words behind. She stumbled forward. Tears clouded her vision. She reached out a hand to the wall, steadying her progress, and discovered she still held the book. She gripped it tighter and took one wobbly step after another until she reached the stairs. She started down, but the sound of voices echoing up the stairwell stopped her. Cameron. She turned, scanning the hall for some form of escape, then remembered the small alcove around the bend she had just passed. She dashed up the stairs and down the corridor.
Elise reached the alcove and yanked back the tapestry, nearly falling headlong inside. She straightened, then turned and backed up, stopping only when her shoulders touched cold stone. Sliding to the floor, she dropped the book and hugged her knees to her chest.
“Nae.” Even from the distance of the stairwell, Cameron's voice boomed within the narrow confines of the corridor. “'Tis likely he won't be back for several days.”
“I hadna' realized he meant to stay so long in the fields,” came Daniel's voice.
“He believes the Campbells mean to do mischief during the harvest.”
“The guards around the wall remain on double watch,” Daniel said.
Elise held her breath as they passed the alcove.
Cameron sighed. “His thirst for revenge is likely never to be quenched. He cannot forgive them for taking Elise.”
She stifled a gasp. Winnie's words unexpectedly rang in her mind. “…it was Marcus who made it clear threats against his own would be met with an iron fist.”
The male voices faded down the hallway and Elise rose
to her feet. She tiptoed to the tapestry and drew the fabric back a fraction. She glanced left then right in the empty corridor, then stepped from the alcove and hurried to the stairs.
Memory of the previous night rose in even more vivid detail than when she'd faced Margaret. If not for the arrival of Marcus's guest, she would have given herself to him. Heat flared in her cheeks. He had held her intimately. So intimately that in her dreams he had caressed her, taken each nipple in his mouth as he slipped a finger between the wet folds of her womanhood. She had never experienced a dream so real… so erotic. Her vision blurred on the stairs and she slowed.
In her dream, it hadn't been him who took her, but she who had willingly parted her thighs, then pulled him between them. She had wrapped her hand around his swollen rod and teased him—teased herself—by rubbing the tip against her throbbing sex, then between the folds before finally guiding him inside her. Elise halted and collapsed back against the wall, her breath heavy and the throb between her legs as real now as it had been in the dream.
The cool of the stone penetrated the thin fabric of her servant's dress. She forced her breathing into a more natural rhythm, then started down the stairs again and didn't stop until she reached her room. Elise closed the door with a soft click. Her knees shook and she suddenly doubted her ability to cross the few paces to the bed.
“Fool,” she hissed. She had almost spread her legs for him. A stab of longing startled her. Dear God, the deed would have meant nothing to him.
The unexpected sound of footsteps racing down the hallway jerked her attention to the door. The light tread belonged to a woman and she approached at a run. Elise darted from the door, headed for the screen in hopes of ducking behind the barrier. The footsteps halted outside her bedchamber and the door burst open before she reached the screen.
“Thank God!” Mary cried.
Elise whirled.
“You must come quickly!” Mary dashed across the room and grabbed her arm, then tugged her toward the door.
“What in God's name is wrong?” Elise wrenched free.
“'Tis Lady Margaret,” Mary wailed. “She's in an awful fit and is sure to beat Jinny.”
Elise pushed past Mary and rushed from the room, along the corridor, then down the steps into the great hall. She raced across the great hall, coming to a skidding halt in the kitchen.
Jinny cowered in a corner with Margaret standing over her.
“What is the meaning of this?” Elise demanded.
Margaret turned.
“Cease this nonsense,” Elise ordered.
Margaret stared, slack-jawed.
“Close your mouth,” Elise snapped. “In polite circles, it is considered rude to stare.”
Margaret's mouth twisted into a gruesome frown. “How dare you?”
“What right have you to terrorize this household?”
Margaret's eyes gleamed with malicious satisfaction. “I have every right—as you know.”
“Don't count your chickens before they are hatched. I venture Marcus will not take kindly to your actions.”
“Marcus again, is it?”
Elise recognized the jealousy in the woman's eyes and gave her a calculated look. “Jinny,” she addressed the young cook who still cowered, “fetch Cameron.”
“Cameron?” Margaret's brows rose in a mocking manner.
“Yes. Jinny, I saw him upstairs only a few minutes ago. He was probably on his way to the library.”
“Stay where you are,” Margaret threatened.
Jinny's wary glance darted from Margaret to Elise.
“It's all right,” Elise urged.
Jinny shot a sidelong look at Margaret, then eased a foot to the side. Lady Margaret took a step toward the girl. Elise slid between them.
“Don't take your petty jealousy out on her.” Elise stepped so close Margaret was forced to look up in order to maintain eye contact. “Are you such a coward you will only fight those who don't have the power to fight back?”
Margaret raised her hand and swung, palm open, for a hard slap. Her gaze flicked past Elise and her eyes widened as a much larger hand intercepted her palm before it hit its intended mark.
“Enough, lass,” Cameron commanded softly.
“I—” she began.
“Never mind,” he said. “Marcus isna' here. 'Tis best if you go.”
Margaret looked as if she would say more but lifted her skirts and headed for the door.
Cameron looked at Elise. “Are you all right, lass?”
She kept her gaze on Margaret's retreating form then, as Margaret stepped from the kitchen to the great hall, Elise started forward. Cameron stayed her with a firm grip on her arm.
“Whoa, lass. Where are you going?”
She shook his hand from her arm. “Why did you interrupt?”
“I heard you tell Jinny to fetch me. I would think you were glad for my timely arrival.”
“A timely arrival would have been three seconds later.”
“But she would have struck you by then.”
Elise saw Margaret open the postern door. “Correct.”
“You wanted her to hit you?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Elise looked at him. “Because then I could have hit her back.”
* * *
Elise stopped before Winnie's cottage. Her sharp rap on the door quieted the evening crickets and she entered without waiting for an invitation.
Winnie looked up from where she sat at the table. “What's wrong?”
“Something must be wrong?” Elise asked.
Winnie rose and bustled to the door. “Supper is finished and you are visiting me. If you had good news, you would have told me then.” Winnie prodded her into a chair at the table, then turned to the hearth and grabbed the kettle from the fire. “Have some tea.”
She set a cup in front of Elise, picked up a tea strainer from the basket sitting on the table, and plopped it into the cup. Winnie filled the cup with hot water, then did the same for herself. She replaced the kettle over the fire, seated herself across from Elise, and stared, an expectant look on her face.
Elise dipped a finger inside her cup and fiddled with the tea strainer so that it bobbed in the water. “I haven't spoken about my life before Brahan Seer.”
“Nae.”
“Perhaps that was unfair.”
A silence drew out between them before Elise said, “The details no longer matter, only that I lost everything. I began again here,” a tremor rippled through her at the lie, “but now I see myself entangled in a mess no better than the one I came from.”
“A mess?” Winnie repeated.
Elise smiled gently. “By now, all of Brahan Seer knows what happened today between me and Lady Margaret.”
“Aye, though no one was surprised by such mischief from Lady Margaret.”
Elise lifted a brow. “Indeed?”
“Aye,” Winnie said. “She's a bitch.”
Elise blinked, then couldn't help laughing.
Winnie frowned. “Well, she is.”
Elise released a breath. “That doesn't change the truth… or the fact I must leave.”
“Leave?” Winnie snorted. “Surely not because of Lady Margaret?”
Elise leaned forward on the table. “Winnie, he is to marry her.”
The older woman's shocked expression said she knew nothing of the betrothal. Elise experienced a sense of relief she hadn't hoped for. Winnie hadn't been a part of the deception.
“I don't believe it,” Winnie said.
“No?” Elise asked. “Because you don't like her?”
“Nae.” But this time, the denial held less conviction.
“I am going. Tomorrow.”
Winnie's brows snapped together. “So soon? Mayhap you should wait just a little while, give Marcus a chance—”
“A chance for what?” To win me over? The very thing she couldn't allow. For she would submit, then the leaving would only break her heart all the more. A
nd she would leave. For Amelia. For Steven. And because he had lied to her.
“Marcus is away,” she said. “It's better I go now.”
“You plan on returning to America?”
Elise nodded.
“I suppose you can manage there as well as here.”
“I need your help.”
Winnie gave her a wary look. “I dinna' like the look in your eye.”
“I must leave early if I am to reach Glasgow before nightfall. Leaving so early is sure to raise suspicion. If you and I go together to the village—”
“Lord save us.” Winnie rolled her eyes heavenward.
“You know it will take trickery.”
“Oh, it will take trickery.”
“If you know another way?”
“There is a secret passage leading outside the gates.”
“A secret passage? Where does it emerge?”
“Near the gate.”
“That might work,” Elise murmured.
Winnie unexpectedly shook her head. “Nae. 'Tis a bad idea.”
“Why?”
“If you are caught, the jig is up. We will do as you said and go early. Only you cannot go all the way to Glasgow alone. Peter will go with you.”
“Peter?” Elise's heart thumped. “I won't risk another person's life.”
Winnie's face softened. “Peter is no green boy. He's my niece's cousin, a seasoned fighter and a crack shot. And,” Winnie paused for emphasis, “he knows nothing of Marcus's, er, desire for you to stay.” Elise hesitated, and Winnie added, “He would have returned home anyway. Glasgow is not far out of his way. Trust me, he can get you there safely.”
Elise nodded, despite the knot in her throat. God help her if she miscalculated again.
Chapter Eight
Marcus stared at the warrior standing before him in the great hall. The anticipation he had felt only an hour ago had given way to a throbbing in his head that threatened to incite him to violence. “You found her buying a ticket for an Australian-bound packet?” he managed in an even voice.
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