by Carmen Caine
She shook her head. "That isn't important."
"But it is."
"No—"
"If I am to consider any petition," he interrupted, "I must know all the facts."
After a moment's silence, she mumbled an answer.
"What? Speak up, lass."
Marcus strained, but missed the single word she repeated.
"Margaret?" Cameron repeated loudly.
Marcus started forward.
His father's attention jerked to him. "Hold, Marcus." Their gazes locked, Cameron's mouth twitching, then he looked back at Elise. "Is this what the two of you were fashin' over?"
"Margaret?" Marcus echoed.
Elise released an audible groan.
Cameron looked at him. "You should have seen 'em. Had I not arrived when I did—"
"It isn't funny," Elise snapped.
"Aye, lass"—his shoulders began to shake with laughter—"it is."
"All this over a silly conversation with Margaret?" Marcus demanded.
"It would seem so," Cameron said between fits of laughter.
"I will put an end to Margaret's troublemaking." Marcus muttered. His father had been right; he should have dallied with the demimonde and left the noblewomen to their own devices.
Elise grabbed Cameron's arm. "But, Cameron," she shook his arm, "it's not true."
"Wha—"
"She's lying," Elise insisted
Marcus's mind snapped to attention.
Cameron gave a final grunt, then sobered. He focused on Marcus. "Is this true? I had thought—" he broke off with a slight cough and a sideways glance at Elise.
Marcus swung his gaze onto Elise. "What are you doing?"
"Marcus," Cameron cut him off.
Marcus looked at his father.
"Is it true?" Cameron repeated.
"Damn close," Marcus replied with force.
"Marcus!" Elise cried.
"Do not act as if it isn't true," he replied irritably.
She shot to her feet. "You are no gentleman, sir."
"Elise," his father said, "sit."
She cast a dark glance at Marcus. He raised a brow, but she did as ordered and reseated herself.
Cameron addressed Marcus. "Is it true, lad?"
"Aye, she speaks the truth."
"Margaret ought not to have lied." Cameron gave Marcus a quick glance. "'Course, she had no way of knowing it was a lie." He rubbed his chin. "If ye don't belong to Marcus—"
"Cameron!" Marcus strode across the room to his father's side.
Elise leapt from her chair. "Be quiet, Marcus MacGregor, and let your father speak."
"She may have a point," Cameron said.
Marcus kept his gaze on Cameron. "Father," he growled, "you know my feelings on this."
"Aye, lad, but if you haven't done anything about it yet—"
"Cameron—"
"I warn you, Marcus." Elise stalked toward him. "Remain silent and let your father finish, or I'll…" she stopped, looking wildly about the room. Her gaze stopped on the weapons mounted on the wall, and she ran to them.
Marcus cast his father a look and they both burst out laughing. Elise made a frustrated sound as she began tugging on a scabbard containing a large sword. The weapon remained fixed and she moved to another. That one didn't budge, nor the next or the next.
"Elise, lass," Cameron said between howls of laughter, "you're tugging on the scabbards." He laughed even harder. "If you wish to draw a weapon"—he slapped the table with his hand, "grab the"—he gasped with laughter—"hilt." He doubled over with laughter. "By God," he wheezed, "are ye sure you're not Irish, lass?"
"Irish?" She laid a hand on the hilt of a lady's sgian dubh mounted above the swords she had already tried. "You've never seen an Irish temper like my father's. Except, perhaps"—she turned back to the wall—"mine."
Elise pulled the dagger free of its scabbard. She stepped a pace from the wall, drew back, and threw the knife. The sgian dubh whizzed between Marcus and his father, entering the wooden table with a loud thwang.
Aside from a "Sweet mother of God" from the kitchen doorway, silence reigned. Both men stared at the knife.
Marcus pulled the dagger free of the wood and held it up, looking at her. "You missed."
She raised a brow. "I did not."
"Sweet mother of God," Cameron repeated. "Where did you learn to throw a knife like that?"
She gave him a disgusted look.
"Are you sure you want her, Marcus?"
"Aye," he replied, not taking his eyes off her.
Cameron slapped the table again. "A Celtish woman who can throw a knife. I knew I liked you." He patted the chair. "Come, sit."
Marcus tensed for the moment she studied them before crossing to the chair and reseating herself.
Cameron leaned back in his chair. "Why didn't you tell us you are Celt?"
"I didn't know it mattered."
He gave Marcus a satisfied look.
"What?" she demanded. "What has happened?"
"'Tis as you said," Cameron said, "you fall under Highland law. You're an Irishwoman. We are family."
"I am free to go, then?"
"Well," he answered slowly, "'tis not so easy."
"But Winnie said any clansman who didn't agree with their clan could leave."
Cameron's lips thinned. "I wouldn't speak of Winnie. That isn't working in your favor."
"But—"
He shook his head. "She would be the first to admit that she wasn't talking about women traipsing off alone."
"What?"
Cameron gave her a considering look. "Did she not send Peter with you?"
"Yes, bu—"
"And did she not tell you it was a bad idea?"
"I wouldn't say—"
Cameron raised a brow.
"I have a right to come and go as I please."
"You're a woman," he insisted. "You must submit to your lord."
She stiffened. "I have no lord. I am unmarried."
"All women have a lord," he explained gently.
Elise shook her head. "I am free."
"Aye, you are a free woman—not a slave—but I am your lord."
"You? Ridiculous."
"You are under my roof. You are a part of us."
"Cameron—"
"It would be wrong of me to let you go," he interrupted gruffly. "You should never have run off in the first place."
"But you were going to let me go," she insisted.
He shrugged. "I was considering it, but I hadn't made up my mind either."
Elise jumped up and whirled on Marcus. "This is your fault."
"My fault? This was your idea."
"Now, lass," Cameron interjected, "tomorrow Marcus will deal with Margaret and she'll never interfere again."
Elise turned on Cameron. "Cameron, please—"
He brought his palm down on the table. "Enough." He looked to Marcus. "Marcus, take her upstairs and put her to bed—once and for all."
Marcus took hold of her arm. She started to resist, but Cameron gave a single shake of his head. Marcus prodded her toward the stairs and her shoulders slumped.
"This is wrong," she said, taking the stairs with deliberate slowness.
"It's finished," Marcus replied.
"You have nothing to say about it."
"I have been patient," he said, as they reached the top of the stairs.
"I never asked for your patience."
He placed a hand on her back and urged her down the hallway at a quicker pace. "Count yourself fortunate that's what you've gotten. Now go to bed."
They came to a halt before her bedchamber door.
"I'll go to bed when I am good and ready," she retorted.
Marcus leaned in close behind her. "Go to bed before it's too late."
She shook her head.
"You play a dangerous game." He opened the bedchamber door and shoved her inside.
"What the devil are you talking about?"
He stepped into the ro
om, shutting the door behind him. "By God, did your husband teach you nothing of respect? What of trust"—desire flared to life inside him—"or…desire?"
Elise paled.
Marcus started at her sudden expression of pain. "Bloody hell." He reached her side in an instant. "Forgive me, love."
She turned away, but he grasped her shoulders.
"Please go," she said, her head averted.
"Did you love him deeply?" Marcus asked. She grasped his wrist and tried to disengage them from her hands, but he tightened his grip. "Elise?"
She lifted her head and met his gaze. "No."
Marcus blinked. Her eyes widened and he was unsure if he read fear or remorse. "What happened?" he asked.
Her expression hardened. "That is none of your concern."
"Mayhap, but I want the answer."
At first it seemed she wouldn't comply, then in a tired voice, "Riley shouldn't have married. He didn't want the ties of a wife, and certainly not the responsibilities of a child."
"How can a man not love a beautiful wife who gives him children in his own image?"
She dropped her gaze, but he didn't miss the scarlet that crept up her cheeks.
"Elise."
"You have your answers. Now go."
With a finger, he forced her chin upwards. "The man was a fool. How he could not want you—"
She twisted from his grasp. "I never said he didn't want me. We had a daughter."
"A child need not come of passion."
She shot him a defiant look. "You tread on dangerous ground."
He slid an arm around her back. "Tell me, love, did he kiss you like this?"
Marcus pressed his mouth to hers, gently caressing her lips with his. She squirmed, but he tightened his hold. Slowly deepening the kiss, he parted her lips with his tongue, tasting the hot moistness of her mouth and encouraging her to enjoy him. Her breath quickened, and he slid wet kisses across the smooth skin of her neck. He grazed a breast with his hand and felt her sharp intake of breath. He kissed her mouth, harder this time. At last, he released her.
Elise looked into his eyes, her expression flat. "That is lust. Any man can feel lust."
"True," Marcus agreed. "And I can find a woman to satisfy lust. But this is need. A need," he cupped her bottom, pressing her to him, "born of strong desire, fueled by something much deeper. This leads to true passion."
Keeping her close, he lifted her from the floor and carried her to the bed. He settled her upon the bed, then lay down beside her.
"This is a need so great it drives a man wild." He stroked her neck. "That's what I felt our first meeting in the meadow. You have no idea what you do to me." He nuzzled her neck. "Even the ride home with you in my lap was painful." He kissed her neck. She shook her head, but he went on. "Just the thought of you incites me like a raging fire."
Marcus rolled onto her. He stroked her shoulder, then slid his hand down to cover a breast. He kissed the base of her neck. She gripped his shoulders and it seemed she would resist. He slipped a finger inside her bodice and brushed a nipple. Her hold tightened on his shoulders.
"Sweet," he whispered, "ye are beautiful. I want you." He tugged her bodice down and grasped the nipple between thumb and forefinger, rolling it gently. She arched a breath's movement toward him. "Aye," he coaxed. "You want me." He moved against her. "Tell me you want me. Come, sweet, surely you can give me those simple words." He kissed her, moving against her more ardently.
She abruptly shoved at him. He rocked against her again. She shoved harder.
"No," she said in a voice hoarse with effort.
"Wha—?" He tried to focus his eyes.
She arched.
"Elise." He buried his head in her hair.
"Get off me." Her fingernails pressed through his shirt, biting into his shoulder.
Marcus lifted his head. "What has happened? What's wrong?"
Elise pushed harder, grunting with the useless effort. "I will not be your mistress."
He frowned. "I'm not asking you to be my mistress."
She stopped pushing at him. "Then what is this all about?"
"What does it look like?"
"Why don't you ask the woman you are going to marry?"
"I would be glad to, if she would allow it."
Elise stared. "What kind of man involves his future wife with his mistress?" She began struggling again. "Let me go!"
"Not until you explain what this is about."
"I have told you."
"Nay. You've only spoken in riddles."
"I'm sure Margaret would not think it was much of a riddle," she retorted.
"Margaret? You're still fretting about her silly comments? I told you, tomorrow I will—" The horrified look on Elise's face halted him.
"Marcus," she said in a trembling voice, "if you have any feeling for me, you will not do this. Margaret made it perfectly clear how she felt about you flaunting your mistress—"
"Flaunting my mistress?" Anger flooded him. "This is none of her bloody affair."
"None of her affair? For God's sake, you are to marry her. I certainly wouldn't—"
"I what?"
Elise blanched.
"Margaret," he said through gritted teeth, "I will wring your meddling little neck."
Elise bristled. "You have no right to be angry just because she spoiled your plans."
"Aye, but I do."
"You think you can use women as pawns."
"Love—"
"Do not address me in that familiar fashion. I tell you, I will not be your mistress." She struggled beneath him. "I won't change my mind, no matter what you say."
Marcus caught her face between his hands. "No matter what I say?"
She tried shaking her head, but he held her firm.
"I am happy to hear that," he said. "For 'tis not Margaret I intend to marry, but you."
Chapter Nine
A hard knock sounded on the door of Winnie's cottage. Elise started from her concentration on the teacup Winnie stood filling with hot water. They exchanged a questioning look before Winnie called "Come in" as she turned and replaced the kettle over the fire.
The door opened and Mary entered. She brushed back the shawl thrown over her head as cover against the light rain and addressed Elise. "Ye must come to the castle."
"Why?"
"'Tis the MacGregor's command."
Elise bristled. His imperious commands—her stomach did a somersault—were those of a husband-to-be. She summoned a believable amount of female condescension. "What does he want?"
"He and Lady Ross are in his library. Says you must come without delay."
"Margaret?" Elise shot a glance at Winnie.
"The man keeps his promises," Winnie remarked.
"The man is an idiot." Elise turned back to Mary. "Tell him I'm busy."
The girl gasped. "I canna' do that. He'll have my hide."
Elise's stomach gave another turn. It was her hide he wanted.
Tell him the truth, her mind insisted, but she ignored the urging now as she had last night when Marcus said it was her he wanted to marry and not Margaret. He wasn't the sort of man who would let his wife set off to America with the intention of avenging herself against a killer. And Amelia and Steven deserved more than to be forgotten at sea.
"Tell him I'm busy," Elise said.
Mary shot Winnie a beseeching look, but Winnie shrugged. "Lady Margaret can go to the devil."
Mary looked at Elise again. "You can't refuse."
Elise gave a single shake of her head. Mary looked from one to the other, then whirled and left the cottage.
Elise still sat across the table from Winnie, deep in conversation, when another rap sounded on the cottage door, this one sharper than the last.
"Who in the world?" Winnie complained. She hurried to the door and threw it open. "Marcus." The housekeeper stepped back.
Elise flicked her gaze from Marcus to Margaret, who stood beside him, then narrowed her eyes on him. He
lifted a brow as if to ask where she would now hide and, despite her efforts, her heartbeat accelerated.
"May we?" Marcus indicated the interior of the cottage with a nod.
"Aye, of course." Winnie stepped clear of the doorway.
Margaret glided into the room ahead of him and sat in the chair Winnie had occupied. Marcus leaned against the doorframe.
A moment of silence passed before Margaret addressed Elise. "I understand there has been a misunderstanding between us."
For the hundredth time, Elise thanked God for the misunderstanding. Otherwise, Marcus would have looked deeper for the reason behind her running away.
"I wish to apologize for any distress I caused," Margaret said.
Elise quirked a brow. A tinge of red heightened the color in the woman's cheeks. Satisfaction shot through Elise. What would the woman think of Marcus's marriage proposal to a lowly servant? The thought vanished with the realization that Marcus might have told her. Who else might he have told? The possibility of spending the rest of her life with this man—
"I regret you misinterpreted my words," Lady Ross went on.
"I understood you perfectly," Elise replied.
Another long silence drew out before Margaret looked at Marcus. "Now that this is all settled, your—" She stopped, and Elise caught sight of the now hard set of his jaw. Margaret turned her attention back to Elise. "We understand one another, then?"
"We do."
Lady Ross angled her head. "I shall be going." She glanced at Marcus. "If I may?"
With a brusque nod, he straightened from the doorframe. "Winnie, escort Lady Ross to the stables, if you please."
Margaret rose and walked to the door. She paused beside Marcus as though to say something but, with a curtsy, left with Winnie closing the door behind them.
When they'd gone, he closed the door and faced Elise. "I sent for you."
"Yes."
"Yet you forced me to bring Margaret to you."
"Yes."
"And when we arrived, you were less than gracious."
"Milord," Elise said in exaggerated tones, "you can force me to sit quietly while you issue commands, but you cannot force me to agree."
Marcus blinked, then started toward her. She tensed as he threw himself into the chair beside hers, folded his arms across his chest, and regarded her.
"Is it so difficult to do as I ask?"
"In this case, yes," she replied.
"This request, then, went against your… moral fiber?"
