Highlanders

by Tarah Scott

  By the time Erroll reached Tobermory port, the horse was fagged, and Erroll was shaken that he hadn’t overtaken Eve. She’d had a little more than an hour’s head start and should have been easy to catch. Surely she hadn’t ridden at a gallop as he had?

  Erroll left his horse in front of the harbormaster’s office and quickly discovered that two ships had sailed from port that morning, both cargo ships bound for England, and neither had taken on passengers. The harbormaster had sold no tickets, nor seen a woman matching Eve’s description—or any woman, for that matter—on the docks that morning. But Erroll wasn’t satisfied, and insisted on speaking with the captains of the half dozen ships at port.

  “As ye wish,” the grizzled harbormaster said. “But if you find one of the scoundrels took a woman aboard without my permission, I’ll hang him from the mast.” The old man rose from his battered desk and limped toward Erroll. “In fact, I’ll come with you, and we’ll start with Captain Heller. There’s a man ye can’t trust.”

  They found no trace of Eve, and fear gnawed a hole in Erroll’s gut. Tobermory was the main port on the island and the only port Eve would know of; certainly the only one she would dare ride to on her own. Where else would she have gone? Nowhere, he realized with rising panic. Something had happened to her on the road.

  Erroll stopped at the sheriff’s office and ordered a search of the city, as well as the road. He didn’t wait for the sheriff to gather men, but sped back to the road, looking for any clues that she had ridden along the road or been forced off it. He reached Ravenhall with not one piece of evidence, nerves ragged and fears running amuck.

  He headed for his father’s study, but found the room empty. Then he went to his mother’s chambers, only to find silence there as well. Bloody hell, had everyone deserted Ravenhall?

  He went to the kitchen.

  “Where are my parents?” he demanded of Mrs. Henderson.

  The room went quiet.

  She froze in opening the oven door. “We took tea to them in the drawing room.”

  Without a word, Erroll whirled and headed for the drawing room. In the moments it took to race there, he thought he would lose his mind. He burst through the door and stopped cold. Eve, his mother, Olivia, and Grace sat on the sofa, swaths of fabric spread across their laps. The rest of the family—Eve’s father and Somerset included—were gathered in the room. Everyone looked at him.

  “Erroll, what’s wrong?” His mother set aside the fabric and rose, as did his father and Ash.

  Erroll ignored them and strode toward Eve. “Where have you been?”

  She frowned. “Here? What is amiss, my lord?”

  “You were gone when I awoke.”

  She glanced at his dusty clothes. “I do not understand. Have you been in the fields? What—”

  “Where have you been?”

  She glanced at Ash. “I went riding with Olivia and Ash.”

  “Olivia and—” Erroll looked at his brother. “The three of you?”

  Ash lifted a brow. “Aye.” Amusement twitched the corner of his brother’s mouth. “Your wife didn’t tell you?”

  Erroll swung his gaze back onto her. “She did not.”

  Her expression darkened. “I didn’t realize I had to report my every move to you, my lord.”

  “You do when you threaten to leave for France.”

  She—along with the other ladies—gasped. Ash laughed.

  “By God, Eve,” her father thundered, “if you said—”

  “Not a word from you, sir,” she cut in. “You married me off, so you have no say in my domestic affairs.”

  Tolland’s gaze sharpened. “As you say. Lord Rushton, she is yours to reprimand as you see fit.”

  Satisfaction shot through Erroll. “I have plans for you, madam.”

  She sipped her tea. “What might those be, my lord?”

  “I am certain you would rather I didn’t say in public.”

  Eve snorted a laugh. “As if it won’t get around anyway.”

  He blinked. “What?”

  “Everything you do has a way of getting around. Don’t you have a ship to catch?”

  The desire to turn her over his knee flared. “Not without you, Wife.”

  The echo of hurried boot steps sounded outside the room. “Move aside, lass,” said a gruff male voice Erroll knew all too well. He whirled as the door opened and Jean appeared with his son, nephew and, glory be, Sheriff Laine.

  “Laird,” Leslie began, but Jean and Laine pushed past her as Tolland and Somerset rose.

  “We came as soon as we heard,” Jean said.

  “What is it?” the marquess demanded.

  “Have you discovered any clues to your wife’s whereabouts?” Laine demanded.

  The unfamiliar experience of embarrassment washed over Erroll. He’d forgotten about alerting the sheriff.

  Jean frowned. “She’s sitting right there. And who is the lass sitting beside her?” Jean elbowed his son, who was already staring at Grace.

  She cast him a haughty glance.

  “You found her?” Laine’s eyes shifted onto Erroll. “What happened?”

  “Yes,” Ash said, “what did happen, Rush?”

  A light hand touched Erroll’s arm and he whirled to face his wife who had risen to stand beside him.

  She stared, eyes searching his face. “Never say you were worried about me, sir?”

  His chest tightened. “You threatened to run as far as the Colonies to escape me.”

  “Bloody hell, man,” Jean exclaimed. “You’ve been married three days. What did you do in so short a time to make her want to run away?”

  Eve clamped a hand over her mouth, eyes sparkling with hilarity. “I told you everything you did had a way of getting around,” she said through her fingers.

  She was right. News that his new bride threatened to flee the Continent to escape him would be all over the island by nightfall—and would reach London by tomorrow.

  Erroll stepped close and whispered in her ear. “I redeemed the jewels as a favor to a friend. Nothing more. Her note was a fantasy on her part.”

  “Speak up lad, we can’t hear,” Jean said in a loud voice.

  Eve drew back, her eyes fixed on his face, and removed her hand from her mouth. “She isn’t your…”

  He shook his head.

  Her brow furrowed and Erroll’s heart pounded in his chest when he read the uncertainty in her eyes. A mental picture flashed of him one day returning to an empty house with no idea whether she had fled to France or the Colonies. He deserved nothing less, but wouldn’t survive the loss.

  “Eve, I swear, I broke it off two weeks past. “Come, read my response to her letter.”

  “Damn it,” Jean cursed. “Do ye know what they are talking about, Ash?”

  “What in hell is going on?” Laine demanded. “Are ye saying she was never missing?”

  “Not for a moment,” Ash said.

  “You have caused more than enough trouble in the few days you’ve been here,” Laine grumbled.

  “Leslie,” the marquess said, “see to it that the sheriff is fed and send him home with ample provisions for his family’s dinner.”

  Laine frowned, and Ash said, “It’s the best bargain you will get today.”

  The man’s expression cleared and he shook his head. “Aye.” He turned and left.

  When the door clicked softly behind him, Jean said, “Well, lad, are ye going to stand there all day staring at her, or are you going to kiss her?”

  Erroll sighed and said to Eve. “I did warn you about my relatives.”

  “You did.”

  “If it’s what you want, Eve, I’ll leave England, stay here, and do my best to make myself useful.”

  Her mouth parted in surprise. “I never said leave England behind. You have responsibilities. You cannot simply abandon the people who depend on you.”

  “I can’t?”

  “What about the people who depend on you here?” Jean demanded.

&
nbsp; “Maxwell has had a dozen mysterious deaths amongst his herd and we have yet to discover why,” Ash said.

  Erroll looked sharply at him. “Only Maxwell’s herd?”

  “So far.”

  “Then there’s the cottages down south,” Jean said. “We lost half a dozen in a fire, and are still waiting on supplies from the mainland.”

  Erroll frowned. “Why has Angus not seen to the supplies?”

  “He’s one man,” the marquess said.

  “Hence the reason Ash took over,” Erroll said.

  “Ash took on the responsibilities because there was no one else.”

  “There wasn’t?” Erroll asked.

  Jean snorted. “There has always been someone else. But he’s a stubborn fool who refused to come home.”

  Erroll stared dumbly and said, “I must be in Norfolk for the harvest. I ordered a thresher.”

  “We can return for the harvest,” his father said. “I am very interested in that technology. It won’t be difficult to find a good man to oversee the work there. You did say there were many men looking for work.”

  “Let us not forget the press gang,” Ash interjected. “If I have to chase after Johnson, we’ll need even more help.”

  Erroll’s chest tightened. “I am at your service.”

  “What will the king say?” Ash asked.

  Erroll grinned. “Let His Highness come here and say what he will.”

  Jean whooped. “About time. You’re a Highlander, man—with noble English blood,” he added with a quick bow to the marchioness.

  “It seems you’ve found your home, my lord,” Eve murmured.

  “So it does.” Erroll wrapped an arm around his wife, drew her close, and whispered in her ear, “I love you.”

  “What’d he say?” Jean demanded. “Damn it, man, speak up.”

  She drew back and looked up at him. “What did you say, my lord?”

  He smiled down at her and said again, louder, “I love you.” Then he kissed her.

  “It’s a damn good thing he finally kissed her,” Jean said. “I thought maybe I would have to do it for him.”

  ###

  And that, ladies, is how you tame a Highland earl...well, one way, anyway. I hope you had as much fun reading about Erroll and Eve as I did writing about them. There’s lots more to come in the MacLean Highlander saga, so stay tuned! For your reading pleasure, I have included a few chapters from the first book in the Highland Lords series, My Highland Love.

  TARAH

  MY HIGHLAND LOVE

  How does a woman tell her betrothed that she murdered her first husband?

  Shipwrecked in the Scottish Highlands, American heiress Elise Kingston quietly plans revenge for the deaths of her daughter and the brother who sacrificed his life to save her.

  When Marcus MacGregor, Marquess of Ashlund, returns to his Highland home to discover a stunning American woman has been taken in by his clan, his attraction is instant and he resolves to make her his--no matter what secret she's keeping.

  Elise is shocked by her need for Marcus and, too late, discovers that her feelings make him a target of her enemy--a man powerful enough to destroy even a Scottish nobleman.

  Chapter One

  America

  Winter 1825

  "The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away." Or so her eulogy would begin.

  The heavy gold wedding band clinked loudly in the silence as he grasped the crystal tumbler sitting on the desk before him. He raised the glass in salutation and whispered into the darkness, "To the dead, may they rot in their watery graves." He finished the whiskey in one swallow.

  And what of that which had been hers? He smiled. The law would see that her wealth remained where it should—with him. A finality settled about the room.

  Soon, life would begin.

  Solway Firth, Scottish-English border

  Elise jumped at the sound of approaching footsteps and sloshed tea from the cup at her lips. The ship's stateroom door opened and her grip tightened around the delicate cup handle. Her husband ducked to miss the top of the doorway as he entered. He stopped, his gaze fixing on the medical journal that lay open on the secretary beside her. A corner of his mouth curved upward with a derisive twist and his eyes met hers.

  With deliberate disinterest, Elise slipped the paper she'd been making notes on between the pages of the journal and took the forestalled sip of afternoon tea. She grimaced. The tea had grown cold in the two hours it had sat untouched. She placed the cup on the saucer, then turned a page in the book. As Robert clicked the door shut behind him, the ship's stern lifted with another wave. She gripped the desk when the stern dropped into the swell's trough. Thunder, the first on the month-long voyage, rumbled. She released the desk. This storm had grown into more than a mere squall.

  Robert stepped to her side. "What are you doing?"

  "Nothi—" He snatched the paper from the book. "Robert!" She would have leapt to her feet, but her legs were shakier than her hands.

  He scanned the paper, then looked at her. "You refuse to let the matter lie."

  "You don't care that the doctors couldn't identify what killed your daughter?"

  "She is dead. What difference can it possibly make?"

  Her pulse jumped. None for you. Because you murdered her.

  He tossed the paper aside. "This has gone far enough."

  Elise lifted her gaze to his face. She once thought those blue eyes so sensual. "I couldn't agree more."

  "Indeed?"

  The ship heaved.

  "I will give you a divorce," she said.

  "Divorce?" A hard gleam entered his eyes. "I mean to be a widower."

  She caught sight of the bulge in his waistband. Her pulse quickened. Why hadn't she noticed the pistol when he entered?

  Elise shook her head. "You can't possibly hope to succeed. Steven will—"

  "Your illustrious brother is in the bowels of the ship, overseeing the handling of the two crewmen accused of theft."

  Her blood chilled. When her father was alive, he made sure the men employed by Landen Shipping were of good reputation. Much had changed since his death.

  "One of the men is wanted for murder," Robert said.

  "Murder?" she blurted. "Why would a stranger murder me?"

  Robert lifted a lock of her dark hair. "Not a stranger. A spurned lover." He dropped the hair, then gripped the arms of her chair and leaned forward. "Once the board members of Landen Shipping identify your body as Elisabeth Kingston, the stipulation in your father's will shall be satisfied and your stock is mine."

  The roar of blood pounded through her ears. If he killed her now, he would never pay for murdering their daughter. And she intended that he pay.

  Elise lunged for the letter opener lying in one of the secretary compartments. The ship pitched as her fingers clamped onto the makeshift weapon. As Robert yanked her to her feet, she swung the letter opener. Bone-deep pain raced up her arm when the hard mass of his forearm blocked her blow. The letter opener clattered to the wooden floor.

  She glimpsed his rage-contorted features before he whipped her around and crushed her to his chest, pinning her arms to her sides with one powerful arm. He dragged her two paces and snatched up the woolen scarf lying on the bed. In one swift movement, he wound it around her neck.

  Robert released her waist, grabbed the scarf's dangling end, and yanked it tight around her neck. Elise clawed at the scarf. Her nails dug into the soft skin of her neck. Her legs buckled and he jerked her against him. His knees jabbed into her back and jolts of pain shot up both sides of her spine. She gulped for air.

  His breath was thick in her ear as he whispered, "Did you really think we would let you control fifty-one percent of Landen Shipping?" He gave a vicious yank on the scarf.

  No! her mind screamed in tandem with another thunder roll. Too late, she understood the lengths to which he would go to gain control of her inheritance.

  The scarf tightened. Her sight dimmed. Cold. She was so cold.


  Amelia, my daughter, I come to you—the scarf went slack. Elise dropped to her knees, wheezing in convulsive gasps of air. Despite the racking coughs which shook her, she forced her head up. A blurry form stood in the doorway. Steven.

  The scarf dropped to her shoulders and she yanked it from her neck. Robert stepped in front of her and reached into his coat. The pistol. He had murdered her daughter—he would not take Steven from her. Elise lunged forward and bit into his calf with the ferocity of a lioness.

  Robert roared. The ship bucked. Locked like beast and prey, they tumbled forward and slammed against the desk chair. The chair broke with the force of their weight. The secretary lamp crashed to the floor. Whale oil spilled across the wooden floor; a river of fire raced atop the thin layer toward the bed.

  Steven yanked her up and shoved her toward the door. Robert scrambled to his feet as Steven whirled and rammed his fist into Robert's jaw. Her husband fell against the doorjamb, nearly colliding with her. Elise jumped back with a cry. Robert charged Steven and caught him around the shoulders, driving him back onto the bed.

  The ship bucked. Elise staggered across the cabin, hit her hip against the secretary, and fell. The medical journal thudded to the floor between her and the thick ribbon of fire. Her heart skipped a beat when Robert slammed his fist into Steven's jaw.

  She reached for the open book and glimpsed the picture of the belladonna, the deadly nightshade plant. Fury swept through her anew. She snatched up the book, searing the edge of her palm on the fire as she pushed to her feet. Elise leapt forward, book held high, and swung at Robert with all her strength. May this belladonna kill you as your powdered belladonna killed our daughter. The crack of book against skull penetrated the ringing in her ears. Robert fell limp atop Steven.

  The discarded scarf suddenly blazed. Elise whirled. Smoke choked her as fire burned the bed coverings only inches from Robert's hand. Steven grabbed her wrist and dragged her toward the door. He scooped up the pistol as they crossed the threshold and they stumbled down the corridor to the ladder leading up to the deck.

  "Go!" he yelled, and lifted her onto the first tread.