Castles, Kilts and Caresses

by Carmen Caine

  He glanced again at the clock. Elise wouldn't journey home in the dark. He sat the platter of meat on the table. If she did, he would clip her lovely wings.

  * * * *

  When Elise didn't return the following afternoon, Marcus went in search of his father and found him in the stables keeping watch on Coreen.

  "It isn't unusual for her to be gone a day or two when she goes to Michael's," Cameron said. "She likes to make sure he is well-cared-for."

  "What the blazes does that mean?" Marcus demanded.

  His father stopped mid-stroke as he ran his hand across the mare's distended belly. "Hell, lad, the man is my age. What would he want with a lass Elise's age?"

  "Age has not stopped you of late."

  Cameron flushed. "A man cannot resist the charms of a woman forever, you know."

  "That's exactly what I am afraid of," Marcus muttered.

  "Although," Cameron said, his tone thoughtful, "I didna' see young Erin return with you. Did he go directly to Michael's? He has not seen his father in months."

  "Yes, by God. How long did you say she usually stays with Michael?"

  The mare nickered and Cameron began stroking her again. "She does, on occasion, stay a couple days, but, certainly, never longer."

  "And it has been two days."

  "It has," Cameron said with such emphasis that Marcus looked at him.

  "I'll ride out and make sure she is safe."

  "A fine idea. We would not want anything to happen, would we?"

  Marcus gave his father a recriminating look, then snapped out an order for his stallion to be saddled.

  Marcus stopped in front of Michael's cottage, dismounted, and tossed the reins over the post to the right of the porch. He entered the cottage without knocking.

  "Back for more, lass?" came Michael's voice from behind the curtain that enclosed the corner bed.

  "More of what?" Marcus demanded.

  Michael drew back the curtain with a flourish. He met Marcus's gaze and grinned. "Marcus, this is a surprise."

  "I imagine so," he said as Michael rose and hobbled toward him.

  The old man halted. "Is something wrong?"

  "Nay. Where is Elise? She's been gone some time and Cameron is concerned."

  "Concerned?" Michael looked puzzled. "I cannot imagine why—" He stopped, his eyes narrowing shrewdly. "Are you sure 'tis not you who is worried?"

  Marcus relaxed. "Where is she?"

  "Marcus, you've come all this way, and I haven't seen you in an age. Surely, you can spare a civil word? Sit down." He motioned toward the table sitting before the hearth. "Have a drink. Dinna' fash over Elise. She'll return soon."

  "Return?" Marcus started. "Where is she?"

  Michael sighed and gave him a disgusted look. "Out in the barn with Erin."

  Marcus left the cottage, the words with Erin ringing in his head as he strode across the meadow to the barn.

  "I want to thank you for all you've done for my father." Erin's voice filtered from the barn as Marcus neared.

  "It's nothing," Elise replied.

  Marcus paused at the open door. The sound of milk squirting into a pail was followed by a low moo from the heifer.

  "Nay," Erin went on, "you lifted his spirits. It's difficult, him out here alone."

  "Why hasn't he moved into the village?"

  "This land has been worked by our family for generations. He refuses to give it up."

  "I can understand—" She cried out in unison with the clang of a hoof against metal.

  Marcus shot forward but halted inside the door at seeing Elise on her backside in a puddle of spilt milk, the pail on its side beside her. Erin leaned with his arms over the cow's back, staring down at her.

  "Oh, dear." She looked up at Erin. "I haven't quite got the hang of it."

  The young warrior came around the cow and squatted beside Elise. "Are you all right?" His voice betrayed the mirth he clearly felt.

  "Fine," she replied wryly and extended a hand. "If you please?"

  He stood, pulling her to her feet. She twisted in an effort to examine the back of her skirt.

  "You have milk in your hair. How did you manage that?"

  Elise gave him a dry look and shook out her skirt. "Perhaps I need a dip in the loch."

  "Rather cold."

  "True, but it would be better than this milk. It's getting late and I doubt I'll return to Brahan Seer tonight."

  "Aye," Marcus said. "You will return to Brahan Seer tonight."

  Her head snapped in his direction as Erin whirled. "Marcus, what is amiss?"

  Marcus looked at Elise. "I am here to take Elise home."

  "Take her home?" Erin echoed.

  "Aye. It's late, and Cameron was growing concerned." Marcus wondered at his rapidly increasing ability to lie with such ease.

  "Of course." Erin faced Elise and bowed. "Thank you for coming. I know my father was pleased to see you."

  He stepped back, and Elise turned a calculating eye on Marcus. His body tensed under her scrutiny.

  "I am not going anywhere."

  "Nay?" he asked, quelling the tightening of his groin at the cool note of confidence.

  "My visit here is not finished."

  "Nay?" he repeated.

  She glanced at the pail laying near her feet and Marcus prepared for a quick retreat.

  "No," she answered, and he relaxed upon seeing her turn her attention, albeit reluctantly, from the pail. "It's late and I have no horse," she said. "The trip home on foot after dark is dangerous."

  "Aye," Marcus agreed.

  Her brow knit in confusion, then her eyes widened. "I will not make another trip with you on your mount."

  The statement was made with such force that Marcus nearly laughed.

  "I will lend you a mare," Erin offered.

  Marcus regarded her and lifted a brow in question.

  "I promised Michael dinner."

  "Elise," Erin put in, "my father will understand."

  She kept her gaze on Marcus. "You may leave. I will find my way home."

  His heart beat wildly at the open defiance expressed with such aplomb. He stepped forward and Erin moved to intervene.

  "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 incoher
ently 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 f
ather'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."