Cowboys and Highlanders

by Scott, Tarah

  "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?"

  "That is one way of putting it."

  A gleam appeared in his eye and a prickle of dread crept up her neck.

  "This means," he went on, "you will honor future requests so long as they do not go against your moral convictions?"

  "Perhaps," she answered tentatively.

  "Mayhap a distraction would help." His gaze held hers. "Would you like to know what sort of distraction I have in mind?"

  "No," she replied, and mentally cursed the all-too-quick response.

  "Too late."

  Marcus stood. In one quick motion, he grasped her waist and lifted her onto the table. With a single finger, he tilted her chin upward so she was forced to look directly into his eyes.

  "I have found my threats are meaningless. Probably because you know I am incapable of carrying them out against your beautiful body."

  He shifted his gaze to her neck and moved his finger lightly on the hollow of her throat. Elise tried to quell the quiver in her stomach, but the almost imperceptible, yet arrogant twitch at the corner of his mouth said she hadn't been completely successful.

  "I am, however, more than willing to do this every time you disobey me." He cupped the nape of her neck as he bent and covered her mouth with his.

  Elise twisted in an effort to distance their bodies. Marcus gave a satisfied grunt and shoved her thighs apart with his knee. He pulled her close, pressing her stomach against his erection. A gust of desire startled Elise. He slipped a hand beneath her skirt.

  She wriggled in an attempt to break the kiss. Her belly rubbed across his hard shaft. She jerked back, but he hugged her closer as he traced circles up her inner thigh. S
he seized his shoulders and tried to shake his immoveable body. His tongue slipped past her lips and thrust gently against her tongue.

  In her mind's eye, she saw him ease her back onto the table and pull up her dress until she lay bared before him. How easily he could spread her legs, then lift his kilt and—Elise jolted. His hand had moved farther up her thigh. She swayed with dizziness. Body and mind seemed connected only through the roiling in her stomach. His fingers brushed the sensitive skin on the uppermost part of her thigh.

  Elise tore her mouth from his and buried her head in his shoulder. "Enough," she said between heavy breaths.

  His hand stilled. "Have I selected an effective distraction?"

  "You know perfectly well what you've done."

  Marcus removed his hand from her thigh, then grasped her shoulders, holding her at arm's length. "Beware," he said, and something suspiciously close to a smile played on his mouth, "for, if I find you disobeying me too often, I will conclude you crave the distraction."

  Realization washed over her. "You odious man!" She pushed him from her.

  Clutching his breast, Marcus took a step back. "You wound me, my sweet."

  "I'm in no mood for games." She stood and began smoothing her rumpled skirts, slowing the action upon seeing her hands tremble.

  "I assure you," he said with a seriousness that yanked her attention onto him, "this is no game." The glitter in his eyes reflected the edge in his voice.

  Elise stared. "You can't be serious. You wouldn't…"

  "Do what I have just done? That and more. Passion is a powerful distraction."

  His gaze held hers and she knew he was remembering his final words before leaving her room last night, "I will wed you."

  He abruptly turned and strode to the door.

  Elise tried tearing her gaze from his muscled calves but found herself unable to blink until the door closed softly behind him. How was she going to get out of this mess? If she told him she didn't love him, he wouldn't believe her.

  * * * *

  Elise sat on the bed beside Chloe, gripping the girl's hands and keeping them pressed against the mattress as Winnie placed a hand on Chloe's stomach. Her deft fingers inched along the skin until she located the unborn child's buttocks. Winnie pressed hard, trying once again to coax the buttocks away from the birthing canal. Elise rubbed her forehead against her shoulder in an effort to brush back sweat-matted hair from her eyes.

  Winnie suddenly pushed hard on the baby's rear. Chloe flinched, crying out. Elise twisted and met the older woman's gaze. Winnie straightened and gave a small but significant shake of her head. Elise gently massaged Chloe's wrists before reaching for the rag floating in a water basin beside the bed. Elise wrung out the rag and wiped the girl's forehead. Chloe writhed.

  "Shhh," Elise soothed. "It'll soon be over."

  "Nay!" Chloe shoved at her hand. "I've killed my own bairn."

  Elise wiped Chloe's neck. The girl's body clenched. "Winnie!" Elise called, but Winnie was already pressing down on the baby.

  Chloe jerked and would have bolted upright, but Elise grabbed her shoulders and shoved her deep into the mattress.

  "I've killed him," Chloe whimpered.

  She relaxed, the contraction receding, but her weeping continued. Elise looked at Winnie, who again placed a hand over the baby's buttocks and tried forcing the head into position. Elise watched the skillful hands at work. Winnie had an uncanny knack for understanding the core of a problem. She always had some potion ready for any ailment. But no potion could be concocted for Chloe. The girl no longer wept. She lay, eyes closed, her tear-stained face resigned.

  With a short nod to Elise, Winnie pressed down on Chloe's stomach again. Elise held Chloe's arms. The girl did little more than grunt when Winnie bore down on her stomach. Another contraction struck. Chloe's hips arched off the bed. Elise bit her lip to keep the tears in check. How much more could the girl endure? She'd labored for twenty-two hours. Soon, she would grow too weak to birth the child.

  Winnie pressed down on the baby for an agonizing hour and a half, then abruptly took a quick step back and reached beneath the sheet covering Chloe's legs. Elise felt a sudden jerk on Chloe's body, and the girl nearly wrenched free of her hold.

  "Hold her!" Winnie shouted.

  Elise closed her eyes. Chloe screamed. Elise heard a loud swooshing noise and her eyes shot open as Chloe went limp.

  No loud wail followed.

  Chloe bolted upright. "Give him to me!"

  "Now, Chloe," Winnie cooed, her back to them. "Let me take the babe and—"

  "Nay!" Chloe screamed. "Give me my bairn."

  Winnie looked over her shoulder. "Chloe, 'tis best if ye don't see him." Her eyes softened. "Trust me, lass, I know."

  Chloe looked at Winnie, her face suddenly far older than her nineteen years. "He's mine. I have the right to hold him." Her pained expression deepened.

  A pain of the soul, not the body. One Elise knew all too well.

  "The bairn is a part of me," Chloe ended simply.

  Winnie sighed, then faced them. Elise told herself to avert her gaze, but maternal instinct, the memory of her own lost child, brought her gaze to bear on the beautifully formed babe. Winnie placed him in his mother's arms. Chloe cradled him as tenderly as if he had lived. She wiped the blood from his face, then traced his mouth with a gentle finger. She looked up at Winnie.

  "He has Daniel's mouth."

  "Aye," Winnie replied.

  Chloe began to rock as she sang in a low voice. The Gaelic words were as Greek to Elise but the meaning was clear. Unshed tears stung her eyes. The picture of mother and child blurred with the memory of holding her own dear Amelia, the feel of her daughter's skin, baby soft against her breast. Elise's gaze focused on the blood-smeared body of Chloe's child. Were things so different for her? Did Chloe love the nameless child any less than she had loved Amelia?

  Love had deepened for Amelia as time passed. Yet she and Chloe shared the same pain that came with lost possibilities. The young woman had glimpsed her husband in their child. Elise had seen much of Robert in Amelia. Who would the children have grown up to be? Who would they have fallen in love with? What children might they have brought into the world?

  Winnie snatched the child from Chloe's arms. Chloe's tear-filled gaze locked on the babe as Winnie whirled and disappeared through the door. Elise froze. She was alone with the grief stricken mother. Her own loss, instead of creating a bridge between them, had widened the chasm, bringing her to the precipice where roiled unrealized emotions, more bittersweet memories—and another, deeper, more concrete conviction that she, too, had failed as a mother.

  "I killed him," Chloe whispered.

  Elise stared. When had it happened? What had been the defining moment in history when womankind became convinced that if anything went awry in the lives of those they loved, they were somehow responsible? Had it begun with Eve? Had the beguiling serpent planted the seed that all mankind would suffer as a result of her misdeed? Elise fell to her knees beside Chloe's bed.

  "No." She took the shaking girl into her arms. "It isn't your fault. It's no one's fault."

  Chloe clung to her, her tears bathing Elise's neck.

  It seemed hours later when Elise heard the creak of the door and looked up to see Winnie standing in the doorway. Winnie's gaze went to Chloe, who slept, then came back to Elise. Elise rose from the bed and tiptoed across the floor. Winnie stepped from the doorway and Elise followed, quietly closing the door behind her. The porch, not long ago filled with friends and neighbors joyously awaiting the arrival of the newest MacGregor, now held only silence.

  "You told Daniel?" Elise asked.

  "Aye."

  "Where is he?"

  She nodded to the left of the cottage where the path led into the cover of the moonless night. Elise started down the steps.

  "Perhaps ye had best leave him to his grief," Winnie offered.

  Elise paused, then disappeared into the darkness.


  Daniel hadn't gone far. She saw him, arm outstretched on a tree, shoulders shaking with silent tears. She halted a few feet from him. "Daniel." She heard his quick intake of breath and stepped closer in order to put a hand on his shoulder. "Daniel."

  His shoulder stiffened beneath her fingers. She turned him toward her. Without hesitation he fell into her arms and wept.

  "A son," he said between sobs.

  "I know," she replied, and his tears fell even more freely.

  At last, he released her and stepped back. He straightened, again the proud warrior. Elise breathed a silent sigh of relief. He would recover. Now for Chloe. "Daniel, the loss of the child is terrible, but you have something else which must be dealt with now."

  "What?"

  "Chloe."

  "Is something amiss? Winnie said she would live." He looked as if he would race back to the cottage.

  "No," Elise quickly put in, "you misunderstand. She will live. However…" Elise hesitated. These Highland men weren't known for having a deep understanding of their women, and she, a stranger, stood before one of them, presuming to tell him how to better deal with one of his own.

  "Out with it," he growled. "If she is in danger—" His voice lowered. "Did Winnie lie?" He seized her shoulders.

  Elise laid a hand on his arm. "The danger doesn't lie with her body, but her heart."

  "Her heart?"

  "She blames herself. What's worse, she believes you blame her."

  His hands dropped away. "Of course I don't blame her."

  "She thinks otherwise."

  He gave a dismissive wave of his hand. "She'll think differently tomorrow."

  Anger shot through Elise. "You, sir, have no idea what a woman thinks."

  A silence drew out between them before he said, "What did she say?"

  "She didn't tell me outright, but I… I understand how she feels."

  Daniel studied her. "You lost a child?"

  "Yes."

  He breathed deep. "What's to be done?"

  "Go to her. Be with her. Let her know you still love her. It's you she needs."

  He stared for a moment then, without a word, strode toward the cottage.

  Elise watched until he disappeared into the darkness. A moment later, she heard the shuffle of boots on the porch. With the click of the cottage door, exhaustion washed over her. She took three steps to the closest tree and leaned against the trunk, resting her head. What a fool she was to have become too entangled with these people. They were no longer faceless strangers, but named friends whose lives had touched her. Friends she had deceived—Marcus most of all. She pushed from the tree and started down the path.