by Scott, Tarah
"Take those." Winnie pointed to the bottles of wine sitting on the table, then turned back to the bread she had unwrapped from its cloth cover.
Elise hesitated. Four uneventful months at Brahan Seer had dulled her senses. Why hadn't she realized Cameron's son would be with his men tonight? A tremor rocked her belly. Neither had she considered that he could have read the wanted notice for Elisabeth Kingston while in London. He was far more sophisticated than Michael and, surely, far less trusting. Given time, would Marcus MacGregor recognize Elise as the nickname for Elisabeth?
"Elise."
She snapped from her thoughts and saw Winnie staring expectantly at her. Elise grabbed the bottles of wine on the table and reentered the hall. Marcus's plate was untouched. She set the wine on the table. His gaze met and held hers for an instant before he shoved back his chair and rose.
She remained rooted to the spot as he strode to the stairwell. At the stairs, he paused and looked back at her, eyes dark with need. He turned suddenly and headed up the stairs. Her breath caught at sight of his shirt, taut across his shoulders, and her gaze dropped to his calves in the instant before he disappeared from view. Elise broke the stare and realized her pulse had jumped to a gallop. Good Lord, was the greater danger Marcus connecting her to the Elisabeth Kingston wanted for murder, or her reaction to him? Until now, she hadn't worried how long Price persisted in searching for her. She had been sure she could wait him out. Now, could she afford to wait—could she afford to remain even another night near Marcus MacGregor?
* * * *
Marcus awoke, his body hard with arousal. He shifted his thoughts from Elise to the Campbells, but the memory of her face the night before persisted. Her eyes changed with her mood. Would those eyes darken with passion when she lay beneath him? He stirred restlessly. How might she cry out as he brought her to her pleasure? He would find out—and soon.
Ten minutes later, Marcus entered the kitchen to find the women busy with preparations for the meals. "Good morning, Winnie." He seated himself across the table from her.
She reached for a sprig of herbs from one of the piles before her and began grinding it in a mortar bowl. "Morning."
He glanced at the rear door.
"No sense watching the door. She isna' here."
He leaned forward. "You are a witch, Winnie, my love. Where is she?"
"Michael's. She set out early this morning."
"Why?"
"He broke his leg. She makes sure he is tended to."
"Indeed?"
"Indeed." Winnie reached for another sprig of herbs.
Marcus rose and kissed her cheek. "Making trouble while I've been gone, I wager?"
She looked up. "No more than usual."
"So I thought," he said, and left the kitchen.
* * * *
Marcus looked from his father to the warrior entering the great hall. The man strode past the men gathered for the evening meal and stopped at the table opposite him.
"Lady Ross to see you, laird," he said.
"And you back but a day from fighting with Campbells," Cameron said.
Marcus sighed. "I suppose she knows I'm here."
The guard looked uncomfortable.
"You can escape out the back," his father suggested, but the door opened again and Lady Margaret Ross entered dressed in a tightly fitting riding habit that said she'd been in the saddle the better part of the day. "I told ye not to dally with noblewomen," Cameron added under his breath, and stood as she approached. "Margaret, lass, how are you?" He clasped her hands in his.
"Your Grace." She dipped into a deep curtsy.
He shot Marcus a dry look while her head was bowed. "Enough, lassie." He pulled the petite woman to her feet. "We are not in Edinburgh." He released her hands. "You will forgive me, if I dinna' stay. I have a mare that bears attending." He winked. "You won't miss me, I feel sure."
"It is always good to see you, Your Grace."
"It is good to see you, as well."
"You haven't had your supper, Cameron," Marcus remarked.
"Aye, well, I cannot leave Coreen alone too long. She is due to foal any time."
"Craig can watch after her."
Cameron snorted. "The boy doesna' know a gelding from a stallion."
"The next time you geld a stallion, have him watch. He'll remember after that."
His father cast a sheepish look at Margaret. "Well, I do not think—"
"Never mind," Marcus cut in. "As you say, you have a mare to attend to."
"I do," he agreed, and made a hasty exit.
Lady Ross looked to Marcus. "Lord Ashlund." She started to curtsy again.
"None of that, Margaret," he said.
She paused and studied him from beneath her lashes then, with an incline of her head, straightened. She gave him an inquiring look and he stood.
"Gille," he addressed the man seated to his right, "give your seat up to the lady."
The man stood and bowed.
Lady Ross angled her head in thanks, then sat. "You are looking well," she said. "Did you enjoy London?"
Once again, the postern door opened and Marcus paused in sitting to look see who entered. Recognizing the newcomer as another of his men, he seated himself.
"Lord Ashlund," came Margaret's insistent voice.
"My visit went well." He forced his attention to her.
"I'm sorry I could not accompany you as you wanted."
"It was you who requested an escort, Margaret, not I who requested your presence."
"A shame my plans changed," she went on. "Unfortunately, I now must go to London." She smiled. "I would be glad of your company."
He gave a mirthless laugh. "London twice a year is quite enough. I have no wish to make it three."
She laid a hand on his arm. "Not long ago you would have done this for me."
"Made a special trip to London? You're confusing me with another of your admirers."
The women began serving the food and he glanced at the clock over the mantle. The evening grew late. "Did you come alone?" he demanded.
"I did."
Marcus frowned. "Very foolish."
The postern door creaked open again. Daniel stepped in. He looked in Marcus's direction. Amusement flicked across his face before he turned and exited.
"Are you expecting someone?" Margaret asked.
A maid placed a platter of mutton on his side of the table and he reached for it. "I will have one of my men escort you home." He dished a helping of meat onto his plate.
"It is so late, I thought perhaps…"
Marcus paused and looked at her. "You knew you would arrive after dark. Why do it?"
She stiffened. "Sheathe your conceit, Marcus. You were not the only person I visited today." She pursed her lips. "If my staying is too much of an inconvenience…"
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 s
troking 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 incoherently 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 c
hosen 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.
