by Scott, Tarah
"They've been spending an unusual amount of time on MacGregor land of late."
"So I have noticed." A pause followed, and Marcus said. "You have something on your mind?"
"'Tis interesting they made off with her. One would expect them to take care of business and be done with it."
"I'm not one to question good fortune," Marcus said.
"But you are." Declan's expression sobered. "What do you know of the lass?"
"She's American, as you know. The ship she and her husband sailed on went down in a fire. Shannon and Joshua found her washed ashore at Solway Firth."
"She is no serving wench," Declan commented.
"Nay."
"Have you any idea why she is acting the part?"
Marcus gave a single shake of his head. "Nay, but I will find out."
* * * *
Hooves pounded on moist ground, the roll of their thunder cutting in heavier strikes as they neared the castle. Swirls of thick fog whipped upwards and into the night as the gates of Brahan Seer swung open by an unseen hand. One after another, men forced their way in until the keep overflowed with the blue and green of Campbell plaide.
Fear lodged in Marcus's throat at sight of his enemies' raised swords.
"Buadhaich!" came the battle cry.
A shudder shook Marcus.
The devils' weapons stabbed through the grey of the murky fog. Pleas for mercy resounded. Still, Marcus remained rooted to the spot, watching until the last MacGregor fell.
A Campbell glanced at him, the first to acknowledge his presence. The man smiled, stepping on the head of a vanquished enemy and grinding the skull with his foot. As if magically freed from unseen bonds, Marcus lunged at him. They crashed to the ground, Marcus's grasp closing around nothing. He leapt to his feet, seizing another Campbell. He, too, vanished. One by one, they disappeared each time he grabbed their necks. His mind sought for purchase within the ghostly battle, his senses reeling with the echo of laughter that rose from the curling mist.
Finally, every Campbell gone, Marcus stood, his breath coming in labored gulps. Torn and twisted bodies lay scattered about him—the ruin of his clan. A cry broke the silence. He whirled. Elise lay on the ground, a trembling hand raised to him.
Marcus rushed to her side. He fell to his knees, lifted her head, and cradled it in his lap. Tears streamed down his cheeks, splashing onto her lips. With gentle fingers, she wiped a tear from his cheek.
"Shh," she murmured. "It's not your fault." Her hand fell away and her eyes closed.
He tightened his grip but she vanished, causing him to tumble forward. Her garments twisted in his hands. He shoved and kicked, trying to dislodge himself from the fabric. Leaping up, his fingers closed around a post—
Marcus stood in darkness, gasping in heaving gulps of air. His grip on the bedpost tightened as he looked about wildly in the darkness. No moon shone overhead. No bodies lay around him—a soft chime sounded—a clock. A shudder reverberated through him and he fell to his knees on the stone floor of the bedchamber. The cold of the floor against his knees contrasted the sweat that beaded his forehead. A drop trickled along his hairline. A dream. But Elise's kidnapping had been no dream. Had she not escaped… Marcus bowed his head, the cold barely noticeable to his naked body, and he touched the tear trailing down his cheek.
The clock chimed again. Four gongs this time.
His heartbeat had slowed and his body chilled. Fingers still wrapped around the bedpost, Marcus pulled himself onto shaky legs. He gathered his kilt from the floor near the foot of the bed and wrapped the plaide around his waist. Brahan Seer lay but half a day's ride away. Marcus paused.
A dream.
To return home before visiting the young MacFarlene chief would be foolish.
A dream.
His heart rate increased. A dream where everyone he loved had perished. Where Elise had perished. He grabbed his belt from the chair, then halted. He had left the keep well-guarded. He would wake his man Kyle. One day for Kyle to ride to Brahan Seer and make sure all was well, then meet them tomorrow at the MacFarlene holding.
* * * *
Marcus studied the men gathered in the MacFarlene great hall, then returned his attention to Langley, the young MacFarlene chief, who stood beside him at the massive hearth. Marcus set his glass of scotch on the mantel. "No sign of Campbells on your land?"
Langley nodded to one of his men. "Nay." He finished his scotch, then placed the glass next to Marcus's. "If I had, they would be buried—and King George would never find them."
Marcus well remembered Langley's uncle, Cory MacDonald. The MacDonalds had not forgiven the Campbells for the Glencoe massacre over a hundred years ago. MacDonald blood flowed as hotly in Langley's veins as did MacFarlene blood.
"Ye have a spy, MacGregor."
Marcus's attention snapped back to the young man. "What?"
"How else do you explain their success in creeping about your land? You say Shamus was killed in Montal Cove. That isna' MacGregor land. I remember hearing about Katie MacGregor. She was in MacLaren territory when they attacked her." Langley regarded him. "Before this last incident, how long since they were seen on MacGregor land?"
"Two months." Marcus stilled. "The night I escorted Elise back from Michael's."
"The same lass they made off with?" Langley grunted. A young woman carrying several bottles of whiskey wound her way through the crowd. "Brenda," he called. "Bring me one of those bottles, lass."
She turned and hurried forward. He took a bottle from her tray. She glanced at Marcus.
"Off with you," Langley said.
With a flash of a smile for Marcus, she sauntered away.
Langley opened the bottle, filled their glasses, then set the bottle on the mantel. He took a large drink before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Two months ago, you say?"
"Aye," Marcus replied.
"What came of it?"
"Nothing. They were gone when I returned."
"A shame, and a little strange, wouldn't you say?" Langley finished the drink, reached for the bottle, and refilled his glass.
"They may have heard me passing by and ran, or luck might have been with them."
"Aye," Langley agreed. "They're a cowardly lot. But considering they returned, that makes the situation more strange than lucky." He shrugged again. "Think what you like, but you have a spy." He lifted a brow. "Mayhap it's you they want?"
"They had their chance when they abducted Elise. They knew I would pursue them yet didn't lay in wait for me."
Langley grunted. "The pleasures of the flesh are a powerful distraction."
Marcus's jaw tightened.
"Dinna' lose your temper," the young chief said. "'Tis an observation, nothing more."
"An astute observation," Marcus muttered, then added, "Someone who is reporting the comings and goings."
"What they are reporting, I can't say. But 'tis clear they are hunting. I wager it's big game. 'Course, we will fight alongside you."
Marcus smiled to himself. The clans feuded far less in these modern times, giving a restless Highland heart such as Langley's no outlet for its brand of justice.
"You will stay until tomorrow morning and train?" Langley motioned toward the men who tonight sported with whiskey and lasses, but tomorrow would train hard.
"Aye," Marcus replied, the memory of Kyle's report that all was well at Brahan Seer fresh in his mind.
Langley gave an acknowledging nod, then grabbed the bottle and strode toward several men who vied for the attention of two kitchen maids.
Marcus watched him go. A lot of Langley's father Glen lived in the boy. Glen had refused to give up the old ways and he had fought English injustice the only way he knew how: midnight raids. Marcus smiled, remembering the chief's delight in slaughtering the sheep of an offending lord, then leaving the animals on the lord's doorstep. As a young man, Marcus had ridden with him three days from MacFarlene territory on just such a raid. Unfortunately, Glen went on one t
oo many clandestine rendezvous and was felled by a young baron on the English coast. Marcus understood the battle cry that had driven the old chief. However, in their modern age, it was bad business to consider teaching the Sassenach the error of their ways.
Suddenly, Marcus wearied of politics and war. Even wealth and power hadn't exempted the MacGregors from the English disdain for Highlanders. Still, Ryan MacGregor had done well in choosing a woman of courage. Thank God for a good woman. His loins stirred at the thought of another good woman. Desire swept through him, bringing his body to the now-familiar ache.
Marcus left the revelry. He fell into bed, his body hard with the memory of Elise's touch. In his mind's eye, he saw her wrap slim fingers around his shaft. He reached down, his hand closing over hers. She called to him, her song as sweet as that of any Ceasg. He groaned. Slowly, and with great precision, she pulled him into murky depths where willowy shapes tortured his body and held him hostage long into the night.
* * * *
Elise sighed when Winnie shoved the book across the kitchen table toward her.
"Nay," Winnie shook her head, "I canna' do it. I have no brain for it."
"Ridiculous," Elise snorted. "Now, calm yourself. We aren't finished."
"Aye, we're finished." Winnie jumped from her chair and began pacing. "We're finished for good." She rubbed her temples as if to drive the frustration from her mind.
"But you were doing so beautifully. Come," Elise entreated, "sit and rest."
The housekeeper paused, eyes narrowed, but flung herself into the chair, nonetheless.
Elise repressed a smile when Winnie picked up the offending book and glanced in the direction of the fire. "Winnie—"
"Dinna' try to talk me into any more reading." She dropped the book on the table as if horns had sprouted from the cover. "'Tis no use. I haven't the brain for it."
Elise raised a brow. "Surely you're not afraid of a little effort?"
The housekeeper shot her a shrewd look. "Isna' that and you know it."
Elise shrugged. "It's not for me to judge. You will be the one to explain to your friends why you cannot read to them as promised."
"You think you're mighty smart, eh, lass?" She snatched up the book.
Elise leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. "The next two lines, please."
"O, woo-would, or I," she began slowly, "had seen the d-ay that tre-tra—" She snorted in frustration.
"Treason," Elise prodded softly.
"—treason thu-s cud—"
"Could," Elise corrected.
"Could sell us, my au-ld grey heed—" Winnie grunted, then repeated with vehemence, "head," then again slowly, "had lien in c-l-ay wi' Bruce and loyal Wallace," she ended with a flourish.
"Excellent. Read half an hour tomorrow and the next day. Then we'll review those pages."
Winnie hesitated.
"Don't worry." Elise smiled. "In no time at all you will have everyone in the village begging you to read for them."
"Well, I don't know about that," Winnie replied, but her nonchalant attitude didn't hide the small smile at the corner of her mouth.
"I do," Elise said with conviction.
"So do I," added a deep voice from the kitchen doorway.
Elise twisted in her chair to stare at Marcus
He lounged against the doorframe. "I believe, milady," he addressed Winnie, but never took his eyes off Elise, "if your teacher has her way, you will never have a moment's peace."
"Nothing will have changed then." Winnie sniffed, then rose.
"No need to go," Elise said too quickly.
"Aye, there is." Winnie gave her a knowing look as she brushed past. "Good night to ye, Marcus," she said on the way out the door.
"You're back," was all Elise could say.
"Aye, love. 'Tis my home, remember?" He pushed off from the doorframe, his gaze holding hers as he walked forward. He stopped by her side.
The embers in the fire crackled, causing her to jump. "The fire needs more wood."
He gave no indication he'd heard, then turned and went to the hearth. Marcus grasped the poker and stoked the fire. "How have things been during my absence?"
"The same." She prayed he didn't read into her answer the fact that every day he had been away she had recalled the look on his face when he'd burst through his men and saw her after she escaped the Campbells, and the whispered words "Never again" when he pressed her close… and the kiss that had followed.
Marcus reached for a log from the pile beside the hearth. He bent to one knee, his kilt falling across the calf of the bent leg. She tried tearing her gaze away. Instead, her attention fixed on the play of muscle in his shoulder as he tossed the log onto the fire. Here was the reason behind his command to move her into the castle. If she were nearer him, how long could she resist his advances? Damn him. He had further hampered her movements. In the three days he'd been gone, she had yet to leave the castle without someone marking her movements. Had he enlisted all MacGregors as spies?
Marcus unexpectedly glanced back over the shoulder she was staring at. Her heart pounded wildly in the moment he studied her. How transparent were her thoughts? He rose. She tensed when he leaned the poker against the wall and turned.
"Elise," he began as he approached, "I handled things badly." He halted before her.
"Well, you were a bit…" She gave him a rueful look. "I haven't been a saint." Her heart lurched at the understatement, then fluttered at the thought of confessing the truth. What would he do if she threw herself into his arms and told all?
Marcus smiled. "No matter." He extended a hand. "Come, love, walk with me."
She stared at his outstretched hand, held steady for her. The gentleness there belied the strength.
"'Tis all right," he coaxed. "I promise not to bite."
Elise looked up at him. "Are you in the habit of making promises you cannot keep?"
He reached for her and she resisted the urge to slap his hand back.
* * * *
Marcus stood behind Elise on a hill overlooking the village. Lights dotted the valley, shining in haloed rings from the cottages. A balmy breeze blew, yet Marcus saw her shiver.
Marcus resisted the urge to wrap an arm around her and stepped up beside her, fingers laced behind his back. He turned his attention to the flickering lights below. "What do you think of the Highlands, lass?"
She said nothing for a moment, then, in a quiet voice, "The Highlands are… unusual. Despite all odds, life thrives here." She laughed softly. "At least, the Highland notion of life." She slanted a smile in his direction. Marcus stilled, afraid the spell would dissolve. "Highland life is full and lush." She returned her attention to the valley. "Yet, some would say, like a woman, it changes at a moment's notice, suddenly wild and furious."
Did he detect a sensual note in her voice? Marcus tightened the grip on his emotions. Now wasn't the time to test her. Yet a voice from within asked, If not now, when?
"The rugged wilderness here is frightening," she went on. "Yet, at the same time, it is compelling to the extreme." Elise motioned with her head at the broad expanse before them. "Those hills lure with a beauty uniquely their own. They call to the soul, drawing it into their mystery like…"
Marcus leaned toward her before catching himself. Inhaling a deep breath, he said in a hushed voice, "Like a lover."
She looked at him, her expression open. "Yes, you've captured the heart of it."
Not yet, love, he thought, but soon, very soon. "How did you come to be in Scotland?"
Surprise flickered on her face, but instantly relaxed into the even reply, "Surely you know I was washed ashore when our ship went down in a fire."
"Aye. I mean, why were you in Solway Firth?" Elise frowned, and he added, "Sailing from America to London, you would pass the south of Ireland. To reach Solway Firth you must pass north of Ireland, then head south between Ireland and Scotland. The route would add a week or more to your journey."
Surprise flashed
across her face. "A week?"
"Aye."
Her expression clouded and she murmured, "Amelia."
"What?"
She started. "What?"
"Who is Amelia?"
Elise looked out over the valley. "Amelia was my daughter."
"Was—Elise."
She shook her head. "Odd, isn't it? I sail from America for London, am shipwrecked—barely on Scottish soil—and here I am, miles away, in the Highlands."
"Strange, indeed," Marcus murmured, sending up silent thanks for the huge difference in that short distance. "And why come here to Brahan Seer?"
She gave a small laugh. "I had nowhere better to be."
"Are you happy?"
Can you be happy without husband and child?
"Your father has been kind. I liked him the moment I met him."
"What did you think upon first meeting me?" At the startled look on her face, he cursed his foolish curiosity.
"Why, milord," the title fell in teasing accents from her lips and her eyes widened with mock gravity, "I thought you were the fiercest warrior I'd ever had the misfortune to meet."
Marcus blinked, then threw his head back and laughed, for he remembered her assessment of his sword—not to mention his open shirt.
"Sit with me." He took her hand, settled her on the ground, and lowered himself down beside her. Marcus turned his gaze onto her and gave a soft smile. "Tell me about Amelia."
Pain flickered across her features and she lowered her gaze. When, at last, she spoke, her words were flat. "Amelia was six years old and very ill. We were traveling to England to see a specialist. I should have known she wasn't strong enough for the journey—I did know—but I couldn't bear the thought of never again looking upon her sweet face.
"Selfish," she muttered. "When Amelia smiled…" Elise's breath quickened and Marcus tensed, recognizing the anxiety in the sudden rise and fall of her breasts. "The corners of her eyes crinkled and her eyes sparkled as only a child's can." The moon illuminated Elise's face, revealing the part of memory that couldn't be conquered, and a pain that would never wholly die. "She died three days before the fire."
