My Highland Love

by Tarah Scott

  He halted. The lush hair that hung loosely about her shoulders didn't hide the thinness of those shoulders and arms. He detected a difference in her stance. Gone was the lofty air. In its place was a stronger sense of being in the here and now. Steven was right; she was the same yet wasn't.

  Marcus continued forward. When he reached the end of the aisle, Elise turned as if she heard his approach. The faint smile on her face snapped into a gasp as their gazes met. She gave a cry and collapsed onto the stone bench beside her. Her hand flew to cover her heart and her wide eyes remained fixed on him. He halted a few feet from her. He discerned dark smudges beneath her eyes—eyes that weren't the clear brown he remembered. They wore a haunted look, one that perhaps mirrored his own. No joy shone in her expression. That, too, he knew, mirrored his own. Still, she was beautiful. Damn her—damn her beauty.

  During the month-long trip to America he had remembered every lovely line of her face, the soft timbre of her voice and sweet gestures that had enchanted him so. Upon arriving in Boston, his thoughts had been consumed with finding her and bringing her safely home. Those months had distanced him from the goddess she had become in his mind and she had become the woman who stood before him now—more flesh and blood than angel.

  As if reading his mind, she said, "I told you that you couldn't know."

  "I could have, had you told me."

  Elise dropped her gaze. "So easy to say now. I couldn't be sure—there was no time—"

  "How much time would have been enough, Elise?"

  She looked at him and he saw the tears pooling in her eyes.

  The sadness in her expression deepened. "You're right." She turned so that her profile was barely visible to him and he realized she fought tears. "I cannot believe you're here," she said in a whisper. "Cannot believe I am here. You should have left me there. Were you hurt?"

  "Look at me and see for yourself." Her head jerked up and he locked her gaze. "Do I look well?"

  "I—"

  "Do I resemble a man who has lived the past three months in wedded bliss?"

  "I know I endangered you," she replied.

  "And Kiernan."

  She blanched. "Yes, Kiernan—and the others. I didn't intend on returning. I wouldn't have done that to you."

  "Wouldn't have done that to me?" he thundered. "Instead, you would have left me in misery the remainder of my days?"

  "If I am here, you are in misery; if I am gone, you are in misery."

  "Misery of your making."

  Elise shot to her feet. "I am aware of my mistakes. I've had plenty of time to recount them."

  "Aye," he replied. "And did you recount the biggest mistake of all?"

  Her eyes blazed with a bravado he believed bordered on hysteria. "Which biggest mistake would that be, Marcus MacGregor?"

  "Leaving me before I had the chance to really love you—and be loved by you."

  She faltered as if she would crumple back onto the stone bench.

  His hands worked into fists at his sides. "We are finished with lies. God knows, I'm as guilty as you. I knew you feared something. I have been a fool." He stared at her astonished face. "I won't make you a prisoner, but I must know you will use good sense in the future. Do you understand that, as my wife, you cannot go about like a peasant's wife?"

  "I used good sense when I left Whycham House," she retorted.

  "Aye?" He clenched his fists tighter. "You can say that when you knew Ardsley had a bounty on your head? You didn't tell me, the one man who could have—would have—protected you. You married me but didn't trust me. I told you I would not fail you."

  Elise burst into tears and covered her face with her hands.

  "Surely, you expected no less?" he pressed.

  This, Marcus suddenly realized, was to be his revenge. She would have to live the rest of her life with him loving her, no matter her faults. Mayhap she would love him in return, despite his faults. Love him, aye. Forgive what had happened in Boston… what had happened to Steven? Perhaps not.

  She reseated herself. Marcus sat beside her. He placed a hand on her shoulder. She stiffened, but he recognized the reaction as fear not loathing.

  "I must know what happened," he said. Then we shall see what you think of my sins.

  He waited. Her sobs at last subsided into a deep sigh. She faced him but avoided his gaze. "I left Whycahm Hall. Mary told me—" Her gaze abruptly jerked to meet his. "Oh, Marcus," she cried in a voice so full of sadness it startled him, "Mary—" She choked.

  "Aye," he said quickly. "I know."

  "No! Mary was the spy. She was giving the Campbells information."

  "What?" Blood pounded through his veins, the rushing sound in his head making it hard to think.

  "Yes," Elise went on hurriedly. "She argued with Price. I heard enough to understand she had been passing information to the Campbells. That's why they were on MacGregor land. I didn't believe you when you said their presence had something to do with me. I am at fault, and I don't deserve to be here, but I swear, I wouldn't have left Whycham house if not for her urging."

  "What happened?" Marcus demanded.

  "After Sophie showed us to the guest chambers in Whycham House, Mary told me about Ashlund and how the stables were too close to the main house. I remembered Winnie telling me of her uncle who died of terrible burns, and Mary was so vivid in her descriptions of Ashlund—"

  "Mary had never been to Ashlund," Marcus cut in savagely.

  The anguish in Elise's eyes nearly did him in. "How could I know?"

  Aye, how could she know? "I was wrong not to understand how little of us you understood," he murmured.

  "You can't blame yourself, that is—"

  Marcus leapt to his feet. "You are ignorant of a great many things here, Elise. Don't make the same mistake you made before."

  She blinked and he knew he'd hurt her, but he wouldn't allow her ignorance to go unchecked this time. "Mary has received her just rewards. Forget her. What happened next?"

  "About forty-five minutes after we left Whycham House, we were accosted by highwaymen—or I thought they were highwaymen." Elise shuddered with such obvious fear Marcus clenched his hands at his sides to keep from slamming a fist through the solarium's glass wall. "I thought they were simple highwaymen so threw my wedding band out the window of the carriage." She looked at Marcus. "I am sorry. Sophie told me the emerald was in your family for centuries, but I meant to give you a clue."

  So, Sara McPhee hadn't taken the ring. "You did right," he said.

  Gratitude flickered across her features, then she went on. "When we reached the point where they were gaining on us, more men appeared from within the trees and intercepted us." Tears streamed down her cheeks. "Your men fought valiantly. Price shot Richard and Taylor."

  Two of the men he had planned on hunting down and killing. "They were good men."

  "Price pulled me from the carriage. He left Mary inside. The men…" Elise faltered. "Three—no—four of them, they were beaten half senseless, then the carriage was run off the cliff."

  Marcus's mind raced. The woman who he thought was Elise must have been put in the carriage after it crashed into the water. What poor soul had Ardsley snatched from her life to take Elise's place?

  "The other man," Elise rushed on, "I don't remember his name." She turned an anguished look on him. "I should remember his name."

  "What happened to him?"

  "I don't know. Price forced laudanum down my throat. I awoke aboard a ship. He made threats. I didn't fear his threats against me, but…"

  "He threatened me?" Marcus asked quietly.

  "Yes. But…" she halted and he saw the agony on her face.

  "Kiernan?" he pressed.

  "Not him…" Her gaze dropped again and she said in a whisper, "Your other child."

  "My other—" Marcus fell back a pace, feeling as though he had collided headlong with a horse racing toward him at breakneck speed. "What are you saying?"

  Elise was shaking. "I-I couldn't
be sure so early on. I had missed my monthly flux by only a week. When Price told me he knew, I was so startled that he instantly knew."

  Marcus grasped Elise by the shoulders. "You are with child?"

  She slumped in his grasp and began crying so hard that Marcus was shaken to the core.

  "Elise," he insisted with more gentleness.

  "The laudanum." She forced back the tears. "They fed me laudanum every day—every hour, it seemed." She appeared to deflate even more. "I lost the child."

  Hot rage flashed in a thick lightning bolt of red across his vision. He had sat across from Ardsley, stared into his eyes, and all along the bastard had known he was responsible for the loss of the child—my child. Yet the man had returned his stare and smiled.

  "If I faced Ardsley now—" Marcus cut off the statement at seeing the sudden terror on Elise's face, but her expression said she understood all too well the unfinished words. Nothing could stop me from killing him—nothing will stop me from killing him. The oath never to set foot on American soil again rang in his head—a vow he would break.

  "This is why I didn't tell you the truth before our marriage." Tears streamed down her cheeks. "I am sorry. I realized too late you would st-stop at nothing to—"

  Marcus crushed her to him. Her body melted against his and he prayed the action was the first in the weakening of the wall between them.

  * * *

  Marcus shifted his gaze from the flames in the hearth of his London study to the Earl of Loudoun. The shocked expression on the earl's face when Marcus had laid the edict signed by King George on the desk was far better revenge than any Marcus could have devised.

  "You drag me here for this rubbish?" Loudoun demanded.

  "By King George's command," Marcus replied evenly.

  "Ridiculous," he muttered.

  "Would you have preferred I continue to take matters into my own hands?"

  The look on Loudoun's face said he would have preferred just that.

  "You do not seem to comprehend," Marcus said. "I tire of the fight. It will end one way or another. I can raze every keep between Brahan Seer and Castle Kalchurn. You cannot doubt I have the power."

  "You have the power," Loudoun snarled.

  "Yet you crave the war—a war you would most assuredly lose."

  "We have not yet lost," Loudoun snapped.

  "You have not won."

  "The Campbells are a force to be reckoned with."

  "How many more of your men must die to prove that?"

  The earl's mouth tightened.

  "You need not love a single MacGregor for us to live in peace, Loudoun."

  "We cannot live in peace."

  "King George disagrees." Marcus motioned to the document. "You may keep this copy. Copies have been sent to every Campbell leader of consequence."

  Loudoun placed the tips of his fingers on the paper, then slowly slid it inch by inch into his hand until it formed a ball. He abruptly threw the paper at Marcus. Marcus didn't flinch when the paper rebounded from his chest and landed on the floor.

  "A law purchased with Ashlund gold," Loudoun sneered.

  Marcus held his gaze. It mattered not if Loudoun knew that half the Ashlund fortune had been the final bargaining price that induced King George to sign the law condemning both Campbell and MacGregor to death for murdering any man—or woman—from the opposing clan. A sense of weary finality washed over Marcus. Ashlund gold had bought MacGregor freedom, but it was the wisdom of one MacGregor so long ago that had illuminated this better path.

  "Bought with MacGregor blood," Marcus murmured, then louder, "and Campbell blood."

  The earl rose in one graceful motion. "Forgive me, Lord Ashlund, but I find it likely King George will countermand this foolishness with the next turn of wind. He will find fault with you and your clan soon enough."

  Marcus gave a short laugh. "I wager King George would be just as pleased to find fault with you as he would with me."

  Loudoun's face reddened. He whirled and headed for the door.

  "Loudoun," Marcus called.

  The earl halted and faced him.

  "I will make sure King George enforces this edict."

  Loudoun's lip curled upward. "Even if it takes every last crown in the Ashlund vault."

  "Even if it takes every last crown."

  Loudoun turned and left the room.

  Only a moment passed before the library door opened again. Marcus turned from staring at the hearth and smiled as Elise's head appeared around the edge of the door.

  "I saw the earl leave," she said. "How did the meeting go?"

  "As to be expected."

  "Your son is waiting to speak with you."

  Marcus raised a brow. "Why not come himself?"

  She laughed, opening the door another inch but didn't enter. "He tells me you forbade him so many things when he last saw you he fears forgetting one of your rules."

  "He has done as I instructed and we're in London, after all. He has free reign here." Marcus grimaced. "Nay, 'tis best you not repeat that." He regarded her. "Do you intend on standing in the doorway the entire day?"

  Elise blushed and opened the door fully. She wore a simple gown of soft turquoise muslin. This was the most festive dress she had worn since returning from Boston. Perhaps she was truly beginning to forgive herself—and him. The softness in her eyes gave him hope.

  She remained in the doorway. "I'll send Kiernan to you."

  "Will you return later?" Marcus asked as she started to turn.

  She looked at him. Her expression displayed some of the shy reticence he had seen during those first months at Brahan Seer

  "Perhaps," she replied with the hint of a smile, and turned to close the door.

  Marcus's gaze fell upon the mail he had received just before Loudoun arrived. A letter from Boston lay at the bottom of the mix.

  "Elise," he called.

  She paused and looked over her shoulder.

  "Have Kiernan meet me in the stables in fifteen minutes. I have something to attend to and I planned a ride before lunch. He can accompany me."

  She nodded and left him alone.

  Marcus seated himself at his desk and fished the Boston letter from the pile. He tore open the envelope and removed a letter, two folded newspaper clippings, and a sealed envelope addressed to Elise. He laid the two letters aside and unfolded one of the newspaper clippings. The title read:

  November 10, 1826

  The Wellington leaves Boston harbor carrying twenty-five American convicts headed for Australia.

  Marcus scanned the report, which listed the twenty-five men, their crimes, and sentences.

  He picked up the second clipping and unfolded it. The report read:

  November 10, 1826

  BOSTON SHIPPING MOGUL MISSING

  Boston shipping mogul Price Ardsley, recently charged by the board of directors of Landen Shipping with fraud, has been missing since November 9. Landen Shipping contends that Ardsley fled the country to avoid prosecution.

  The night Price Ardsley disappeared, Mister Jacob O'Riley reported witnessing two men outside Ardsley's estate accost a lone rider. A hood was thrown over the victim's head, then he was tied and thrown into the back of a carriage driven by his two assailants.

  William Sheldon of the Boston Police Department interviewed Mister O'Riley but determined the event O'Riley witnessed is not connected with the disappearance of Price Ardsley.

  Anyone having information about Mister Ardsley's whereabouts is directed to report to Captain Sheldon immediately.

  Marcus reread the first clipping. Price Ardsley in Australia. Heated satisfaction shot through him. So, he would not have to return to America after all. He refolded the two clippings, slipped them back in their envelope, then opened the letter and began reading.

  Ashlund,

  Six weeks have passed, and I am fully recovered from the knife wound you inflicted. Had the doctors not insisted on the long convalescence, I would have caught the next ship
bound for Scotland and run a dagger through your leg for good measure.

  I imagine you've read the newspaper clippings I sent. Strange things are afoot. I can't say what lies ahead. Though I feel certain Price Ardsley won't be in a position to pay anyone to kill another man—or two men, as the case may be—again in the near future.

  See that Elise gets the letter addressed to her.

  Take care of her.

  Steven

  Marcus refolded the letter and placed it in the envelope with the clippings. He took the letter addressed to Elise and went to her chambers. He sighed upon finding her room empty. Perhaps when he returned she would be here and… He left the letter on her dresser, then headed for the stables.

  Marcus heard the approach of footsteps even as Elise called out his name. He exchanged a glance with Kiernan before turning from the stall where his son was saddling the stallion he had chosen to ride. As she hurried down the stable aisle toward them, Marcus's heart began to hammer out the heavy beat he had been experiencing more and more of late when in her presence. He noticed a letter—Steven's letter—tightly clutched in her hand.

  Elise had nearly reached them when she lifted the letter. "This came today?"

  "Aye," Marcus replied.

  "Steven says he is fully recovered and out of the hospital." She stopped beside Marcus. Her expression clouded over. "Marcus, please, don't lie. How bad was the wound? Is it possible he truly is out of danger?"

  "I told you the truth, love," he said. Except for the fact Steven had turned at just the wrong moment and the knife Marcus had thrown pierced the breastbone above the heart instead of his arm, as intended. Marcus shuddered inwardly as he always did when remembering how close he came to killing his wife's brother—and how close the brother came to killing his own son.

  "The wound wasn't life threatening." Or so the doctors said two days later, when Steven began to show signs of recovering from the loss of blood. Marcus would have arrived back in Scotland a week earlier had he not tarried in Boston to assure himself the boy would recover.