by Carmen Caine
"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.
"There ye are, lad. I was just look—"
Elise twisted as Cameron reached the bottom of the nearest staircase. He lifted a bushy brow. She looked back at Marcus. His hold loosened and she snatched her hands away. She retreated, stumbling over her own feet. Marcus reached for her, but she dodged his hand with another unsure step backward.
"I-I must go," she stammered, and fled the room.
"Elise—bloody hell!"
Marcus's voice echoed off the stone walls as she shoved through the postern door.
Elise avoided Marcus that night. Yet his memory persisted. Alone in bed, her cheeks burned with the recollection of how he had forced her hands against him in a rough caress. Though only a moment passed between them, her senses had taken in every contour as her fingers glided along the unyielding muscle. The hint of brandy on his breath, the hammering of his beating heart, his hard body—with a flourish, she threw back the covers. Cold air crept over her. Yet it wasn't the cold that made her shiver, but the vision of Marcus's hands touching her as she had touched him. Oh, treacherous body! To be undone by desire.
A desire beyond that which drew you to the man you shot, her mind whispered.
Elise examined her hands in the moonlight that spilled across the bed from the window above her head. It hadn't occurred to her she would touch another man as she had Robert. A porcelain doll, Robert had called her, to be admired but not touched. The fact he had suffered her in his bed only long enough to get her with child had proven even her beauty had been lacking. Yet the memory of Robert's scorn didn't stop the leap of her heart at the thought of Marcus.
Time grew short—shorter than she had realized. Dare she wait another week or even a day before leaving Scotland?
* * * *
Marcus stood on the battlement speaking with Daniel when he spied Elise emerging from the stables astride a horse.
"By God," he cursed.
"What is it?" Daniel looked in the direction Marcus stared.
"Stop her!" Marcus shouted down to the guards, then hurried down the stairs.
Her gaze met his as he leapt from the battlement steps into the courtyard. "Out of my way," she ordered.
"Woman, only yesterday you fled from me as if I were an ogre. Now you dispense imperious orders as though you are a queen. Where are you going?"
"To find Tavis and box his ears. Then I'll drag him and his sister back."
Marcus raised a brow. "Tired of chasing the little fools all over God's green earth? A pity they won't listen to good advice. Come down from there." He reached to pull her from the mare's back.
She slapped his hand. "They purposely sneaked out."
"Disobedient brats," he said.
Her eyes narrowed.
"Never mind," he said.
"Never mind?" she choked. "If I hadn't heard it myself, I wouldn't have believed it." She jerked on the reins. "Out of my wa—" Elise shrieked when he yanked her from the saddle.
Marcus brought her face level with his. "Yesterday, you left against my command. Will you attempt to disobey me again today?"
Her eyes narrowed. "I planned to enlist Brady's help in finding the children."
"And if he's not available?"
"He's the stable master. He is always in the stables."
"Aye," Marcus said. "But if he isn't, you will use good sense and return to the keep?" He added before she could argue, "I'll fetch the children."
Her eyes lit. "I'll wait while you get a horse."
He released her, then pried the reins from her fingers and mounted. "I will go."
"But—"
"Elise," he growled, "are you saying I cannot deal with two errant children?"
"No-no, of course not. It's just that Bonnie is so little, and Tavis—" Her eyes blazed. "The boy is going to get them both killed."
"Why does he take his sister with him?" Marcus asked.
"He doesn't. She's a clever child. She watches, then follows."
"Bloody hell," he said under his breath. "She is but seven."
Elise laid a hand atop Marcus's hand, which rested on his thigh. "Why does Tavis persist in going out like this? I thought you dealt with his father's murderer."
"Revenge is never satisfied," Marcus replied.
Her fingers moved against his and he looked at her hand. His gaze caught on the long, thin scar on the outside edge of her palm. He had noticed it before, had meant to ask her—She snatched her hand back.
Marcus looked down at her and smiled softly. "It is all right, love. I will bring them safely home." He brushed a finger across her cheek.
She looked startled and a blush crept up her cheeks.
Marcus urged his horse forward, satisfied.
* * * *
Two hours later, Elise looked up from her seat in the kitchen to see Marcus enter with Bonnie on his shoulders. A general round of praise went up from the women. He gave a gallant bow, very obviously pretending to forget Bonnie, then grabbed her at the last moment and shoved her back into place on his shoulders.
Warmth rippled through Elise at sight of him pausing to pluck slices of apples from a bowl on the counter. She silently cursed her schoolgirl giddiness. Marcus popped a slice into his mouth, then passed one to Bonnie. Elise's thudding heart kicked up a notch when he looked in her direction. He started toward her and she hastily returned her attention to the potatoes she was peeling. He pulled Bonnie from his shoulders and lowered himself into the chair beside Elise. Bonnie settled on his lap and leaned back in the crook of his arm. Absorbed in her apple, she munched contentedly.
"I think we need not worry any longer about Bonnie running after Tavis," Marcus said.
Elise looked to find a lock of hair had fallen across his forehead, making him look very much like a large child himself. She resisted the urge to smooth the lock back into place.
Focusing instead on her potatoes, she said, "Why is that?"
"Because he won't be taking any more trips."
"How can you be sure?"
"I told him not to."
Elise sighed. The boy would probably obey without even a whimper. She hazarded a glance at Marcus. He was grinning.
Her heart unexpectedly constricted. How would she live without seeing that smile every day?
* * * *
When Elise entered the kitchen the following afternoon, she frowned at finding the room empty. Winnie napped in the early afternoon and several of the younger women tended to their families' needs, but Jin
ny was usually present, starting preparations for the evening meal.
Jinny's voice abruptly sounded from the eating hall. "Please, milaird, let me go."
"Come now," a male voice boomed, "'tis only a friendly gesture."
A round of riotous laughter followed this statement.
"Nay, laird," Jinny pleaded, "I dinna' want you to be friendly."
"You haven't given me a chance," the male voice began as Elise retrieved a large cast-iron pan from the ten plate stove located against the wall near the hearth. She crept toward the door leading to the great hall and heard, "I can be verra friendly, given the proper incentive."
From the kitchen door, she saw Jinny, held on a man's lap, twist in an effort to avoid his kiss.
Elise stepped through the doorway. "Enough!"
The command rang through the stone chamber, quieting the group.
The brute blinked. "Who might you be?"
"Let her go," she ordered.
He shared an amused look with his comrades, then lifted Jinny from his lap and rose.
"Go along, Jinny," Elise said.
The girl whirled and fled out the postern door. The brute strode to where Elise stood.
He clasped his arms over his large chest and cocked his head to the side. "Now what?"
"You released her. Satisfy yourself you've escaped intact."
"I need a replacement." He reached for her.
In one long movement, Elise swung the pan, bringing the cast iron pot across his shoulder. Metal met muscle with a loud crack, and the blow sent the sizeable man tumbling to the floor. He lay sprawled on the floor, blinking up at her.
Elise stared down at him. "Try such nonsense again, and the next one will be across that thick Scots head of yours."
Howls of laughter filled the room from the brute's comrades. He pushed to his feet. "Seems you need a lesson, lassie."
"Nay, Declan," came Marcus's voice behind her.
Elise whirled. Marcus caught the hand holding the pan. She glimpsed Jinny near the kitchen door.
"You won't be needing this anymore." Marcus gently worked the pan free of her grasp.
She looked down at the pan and released it.
Declan grabbed for her, but Marcus pulled her to his side. "No touching the lass."
"But you saw what she did. I willna' hurt her." He gave her an appraising look. "Not really."
Elise shot him a recriminating look.
"You brought this on yourself," Marcus said.
"You aren't taking her side?"
"I am."
"Nay," he said in clear disbelief.
"Aye."
He gave Marcus a dubious look, then grumbled as he retreated to his seat, "Probably not worth the trouble, anyway."
Marcus placed the pan on the counter, then started for the great hall.
"Marcus," Elise said as he brushed past her.
He stopped and turned.
"Keep him away from Jinny."
* * * *
Marcus reached for the pitcher of ale sitting on the table before him and Declan and refilled their glasses. "How many cattle were stolen?" Marcus set the pitcher back on the table. The man to his right snatched up the pitcher and passed it down the table to the men gathered for dinner.
"Thirty or forty head," Declan replied.
"Within two months?" Marcus gave a low whistle. "My guess is Campbells."
"Aye," Declan agreed. "But I havena' been able to catch the bastards in the act."
"We've had Campbells on our land of late."
"The bastards," Declan said with feeling. He picked up a piece of bread from one of the platters sitting before him and stuffed a piece into his mouth. "They get around, eh?" His eyes gleamed. "If it's a fight they're wanting, I'll oblige."
"That would be nothing to scoff at," Marcus said.
Declan's own men, plus extended relatives, rallied a force of six hundred men. Add the MacGregor forces, which numbered nearly twelve hundred, and they commanded a small army.
"I can't blame you for wanting to put an end to the foolishness," Marcus said, "but a little rustling isn't worth a war." Declan started to reply, but Marcus cut him off. "War it would be, Declan. There isn't a clan in the district who would pass up the chance to even the score against the Campbells."
"And the Campbells hold their own grudges," Declan put in. "They haven't forgiven you for your assault on Assipattle two years ago."
Marcus's jaw tightened. They had better not forget. He hadn't forgotten Katie MacGregor. "The next time they attack a MacGregor woman, I will raze every Campbell keep from the border to Assipattle."
Chapter Five
A branch snapped with a loud crack. Elise jerked her gaze onto her companion Allister, then twisted in the saddle and peered over her shoulder. A blur of green and blue plaide shot from the trees at the top of the hill. She gasped.
Campbells.
Elise faced Allister. The young man stared back at the Campbells, eyes narrow with fury. Dear God, she hadn't believed them to be a genuine threat, but in an effort to buy time when she didn't return to Brahan Seer, she had asked Allister to accompany her to Michael's. If anything happened to him—
He yanked the dirk from the leather scabbard strapped to his horse and snapped his eyes onto her. "Ride."
She kicked violently into the mare's belly. The mare lunged forward alongside Allister's gelding. The sound of pursuing hoof beats bore down upon them. She hugged the horse's neck, urging the mare into a harder gallop down the mountainside.
The heaving horses closed in from behind. Elise's heart thudded in unison with the pounding of her mount's hooves. Tears stung her eyes as she clung to the horse, the jerky rise and fall of the animal's neck jolting her body with each swift stride. Allister's horse nosed ahead and Elise knew the young man was restraining him in order to keep pace with her.
From the corner of her right eye, she glimpsed the nose of a horse gaining—then a flash of metal and a man's cry as Allister's dirk found its mark. The other men shouted and her heart leapt into her throat. She cracked the reins over the rump of the horse, then suddenly pitched forward. She tumbled over the horse's head as the mare hit the ground nose first. Allister shouted her name.
The mare somersaulted over herself, and Elise saw the hooves bearing down on her as she and the mare plummeted downhill. The wind gushed from her lungs, then a splitting pain shot through her head when she thudded to the ground, grinding her cheek into the hard, rocky soil. The blurry figure of the horse landed a few feet away, rolled, then jumped up, and disappeared.
A shot sounded.
"Bloody animal got away," a man muttered as horses drew up alongside her.
Booted feet appeared at her side.
"She's broken her neck," another said.
"What of the boy?" another asked.
Fingers gingerly probed her forehead, then temples.
"Dead."
"She's hit the front of her head," said a deeper voice—not Marcus's voice, but who—Sudden pain registered through the fog as she was rolled to her side. She groaned.
"She's not dead," the deep voice said.
Fingers ran along her spine.
"She hasna' broken her back. She'll live."
Arms slid beneath her, then lifted her from the ground and pressed her against a warm body. She opened her eyes, but her blurry vision made out only the wall of flesh her face was shoved against.
"Leave her," said the other. "If we bring her back damaged, it'll be our heads."
"Toss the saddle over the mountain." The speaker shifted her in his arms. Pain splintered through her back "Round up the gelding," the man said, "and throw Greig's body over his back. Damn the MacGregor dog who killed him. If he wasn't already dead, I would kill him myself."
Shock reverberated through Elise. Young Allister was dead?
* * * *
As Marcus approached the village stables, he glimpsed movement through the open door. He yanked aside his steward Harris as a rider
burst from the stables. The youth riding the horse seemed not to notice he had forced them from his path and galloped toward the village.
"Youth," Marcus muttered, and entered the stables. "I want Gaelan's, Logan's, Sloan's, and Neal's places finished by summer's end." He strode along the line of stalls.
Harris made notations in his notebook. "We can have them patched by month's end."
"Patch Sloan's," Marcus said. "The others, replace."
"That'll take 'til Fall, and we will need materials."
"Order what you need from Edinburgh. In the meantime, get started on the minor repairs for the other cottages. I want you back in Ashlund by month's end. I don't plan on returning for"—he thought of Elise in his bed, her hands on him—"for some time." Marcus halted at the stall that housed the horse he wanted to examine. "Gerald," he murmured to the gelding, who stood, head hanging over the stall door. Marcus rubbed Gerald's nose while he unlatched the door and stepped inside. "Getting along in years, are you, lad? Harris," Marcus called.
Harris entered the stall.
"What do you think?" Marcus ran a hand down the horse's leg. "He stumbled last week."
Harris squatted and looked closely at Gerald's knee. "A might knobby." Harris stood and walked around the horse, feeling belly and rump as he went. "His coat is dull and"—the steward came around to the horse's head again—"his head is hanging low."
"Aye," Marcus agreed. "We'll need two more plow horses then. Alen could last another season, but we will use him for delivery. Don't order from MacFie. I have another seller in mind. Belgian draft horses."
"Aye," Harris replied.
Marcus went around the rump of the horse. "Go yourself. There's a Russian Trotter I want you to look at. You can order the supplies while in Edinburgh."
"What are ye saying?" A shout from outside the stall intruded upon their conversation.
Marcus recognized the stable master's voice.
"Where did they go?" Brady demanded.
"Mary didna' g-go with Elise," Craig, the stable boy, stammered.
Marcus stilled.
