by Tarah Scott
“Yes, they are,” she retorted. “To the extent you are to be a duke!”
“You aren't being honest,” he continued, forcing back frustration. “Admit it. Had you known in the beginning, you wouldn't have agreed to marry me because of my station.”
“So you did lie.”
“I did not.”
“Father,” she said, keeping her gaze on Marcus, “isn't the sin of omission the same as a direct lie?”
The priest took a deep breath. “It is.”
“Are you saying you won't marry me because I will one day be a duke?” Marcus demanded.
“I am saying, I will not marry a man I cannot trust.”
“Bloody hell,” he cursed. “After all the years the MacGregors have fought for their good fortune, to have it turned against us—”
Her eyes flashed. “Make no mistake, Lord Ashlund, it isn't the MacGregors's good fortune I hold against you.”
“It is,” he cut in sharply. “If I were Michael's son instead of Cameron's, you would view my suit as proper.”
“That is not the point—”
“It is exactly the point. With anyone else I would not have had to say, You do realize I am a marquess? Yet, you say that is exactly what I should have done.”
“You knew not telling me was a manipulation.”
“How am I to answer?” he snapped. “Had I made a point of telling you, you would have balked. Yet, not telling you is a grievous sin.”
Elise eyed him critically. “When did you plan to tell me? Once we arrived in civilization and someone bowed before you?”
“Nae, as I just said, when you signed the wedding certificate you would have known.”
“And when would that have been, the moment before we took the wedding vows?”
Marcus looked at Father Whyte. “When, Father?”
“Tomorrow.”
Marcus looked back at her. “A far cry from the wedding day.”
“But far too long considering the length of our courtship.”
“You're being foolish.” He grasped her arm.
She shook him off. “How did you expect me to react?”
He wished mightily Father Whyte weren't present. “I had hoped some feeling had developed that would negate these foolish concerns.”
“I need to be alone with my foolish concerns.” She brushed past him.
Marcus glanced at Father Whyte, who gave him a troubled look, then Marcus shifted his gaze onto Elise as she disappeared out the chapel doors.
* * *
Elise closed her bedchamber door, then walked to the couch and sat down. Placing a hand on her belly, she pressed it in an attempt to quiet the twisting, which had begun as a flutter and was now a wrenching unlike anything she had experienced since the last night on the Amelia.
Elise Merriwether would be the name of the woman to marry the Marquess of Ashlund. It was foolish for her to have given her great-aunt's surname, but when she'd come out of her delirium in Josh and Shannon's home, she'd given the first name that came to mind. Would Price connect that Elise Merriwether to her? Her mind raced. Would he see the notice? The announcement would go into the London Sunday Times, probably The Scotsman in Edinburgh, as well. But would the news reach America? She thought of the Boston papers and recalled the news when King George III died and his son took his place. Occasionally, large business ventures were reported, but she couldn't recall any marriage announcements for the nobility.
Elise released a shaky breath. It was unlikely the announcement would make the American papers. She leaned back against the cushions and closed her eyes. Looking back, it now seemed ridiculous she hadn't realized there was more to the MacGregor men than mere wealth. She had missed all of the warning signs. How had she been so blind?
“Oh, Marcus,” she whispered. “What have you done?”
A duke can protect even a murderess, her mind contended. Her insides gave a vicious twist. He could, she agreed. But could his reputation survive the scandal? And could she live with herself for hurting him?
First thing tomorrow morning, she would go to Cameron and demand to leave.
* * *
At the sound of voices in the great hall, Elise paused on the stairs. Who would be roused at this early hour? It wasn't yet dawn.
“I know what ye told me,” a young male voice said.
Tavis.
“Aye,” came another, deeper voice.
Marcus.
“I'm willing to take my punishment, laird,” Tavis said.
Elise didn't breathe.
“I told you not to leave Brahan Seer again,” Marcus said. “You are a man—the only man in your household. You're old enough to understand that responsibility.”
Elise crept down the remaining four stairs and peeked around the corner. They stood on the far side of the table nearest the postern door, Marcus's hand on Tavis's shoulder, Tavis's gaze downcast. The worry on Marcus's face stirred something deep within her. The day the Campbells attacked, he had been ruthless. But this was a gentleness as kind as his ruthlessness had been cruel.
“The thirst for revenge will eat a man alive,” he said. “I swore to deal with your father's murderers, and did. Leave it be.” He sighed, the action revealing a great weariness. “If those dogs came for you, even with a warrant from King George, I wouldn't give you up.” A tiny smile played at his mouth. “Lad, we aren't as different from the Campbells as we believe. They were as unwilling to hand over their kinsmen as I would be.”
Elise couldn't check a surge of hope. He would not give up one of his own—even in the name of justice?
Marcus crossed his arms over his chest. “I have no intention of facing your mother with the news that you have followed your father to the grave. Therefore, you go to London.”
Tavis gasped.
“Nae,” Marcus said. “You will have no more opportunities to go wandering off by yourself.” He raised a brow. “You know your sister follows.”
“I made sure she did not,” the boy protested.
Marcus laughed. “Never underestimate a female, no matter her age.”
“Laird,” Tavis begged, “I promise—”
“Nae,” Marcus said shortly.
“Not London then, but Edinburgh.”
Another laugh from Marcus, this one tinged with fondness. “London it will be, lad. Edinburgh is too close for comfort.”
“Laird,” Tavis said, desperation in his voice.
The mirth in Marcus's eyes faded. “Erin will accompany you to England.”
Elise felt her breath quicken. A decree she would have made had she the power. Realization washed over her in a tidal wave. If she confessed the truth, Marcus would sail across the ocean and kill Price with his bare hands. If she disappeared, he would leave no stone unturned until he found her. If she told him she would not marry a duke, he would follow her to the ends of the earth in order to change her mind.
God help him, he loved her.
And God help her, she wouldn't sacrifice him… not even for Amelia and Steven.
* * *
Marcus entered the great hall the following afternoon to discover the room filled with people and humming with unexpected excitement. He scanned the familiar entourage until his gaze settled on his cousin Sophie and, to his surprise, Elise, who looked as though she hadn't a care in the world. The two women stood, profiles to him, and neither had noticed his entrance. He hung back near the door, watching.
He hadn't spoken with Elise since she left him standing in the abbey the night before. He had gone to her room early this morning and found her bed empty. She had slept there, however, a fact he had verified in the dead of night. His search that morning didn't turn her up in the kitchen or the ladies' drawing room. Even his library, a favorite haunt, had been empty. The kitchen maids informed him she and Winnie had gone to visit Chloe.
Marcus studied Elise. What had transpired after she'd sequestered herself in her room? What other ridiculous considerations surfaced during those waking hour
s? She hadn't sought him out to inform him there would be no wedding. Neither had she confirmed there would be a wedding. No note, no message, nothing.
He shifted his attention to his cousin. Sophie, Lady Whycham, was one of the few Ashlund relatives he liked. Though petite, her flaming red hair and voluptuous body had made her all the rage before she wed Justin Ellington, the Earl of Whycham.
She caught sight of him, ceased speaking, and raised a meticulously plucked brow. Elise turned, and he started toward them.
“Sophie,” he said as he neared. “What brings you here, lass?”
“Don't play the innocent with me, Marcus MacGregor. You know full well I would not let my favorite cousin wed without me.” The keen curiosity in her gaze vanished and her eyes narrowed in a fashion that Marcus knew well. “I am wondering, Cousin,” she said, “why it is I read of your engagement in the newspapers instead of hearing it from you.”
Marcus looked at Elise, whose impassive expression didn't quite hide the sense that she, too, wondered the same thing.
He slid an arm around Elise. She stiffened. The small hope inside him sagged, but he kept his gaze on her. “When last I visited Ashlund, I had no notion I would marry.”
“No?” Sophie said, bringing both their attentions onto her. “Still, you could have sent a personal missive.”
He again felt Elise's thoughts echo the question, and he looked down at her. “Forgive me, Sophie,” he said, and smiled gently at Elise. “Since Elise agreed to be my wife, I have thought of little else.”
“Not so, Cousin,” Sophie replied. “You didn't forget the formal announcements.”
Marcus shot his cousin a sharp look.
Sophie groaned. “Elise, are you sure you will be able to put up with him for the rest of your life?”
Marcus started. He cursed silently at Sophie, then his future wife when her expression remained unreadable save a hint of curiosity.
“Everyone is speculating about the woman who has captured Marcus's heart,” Sophie went on.
“Good Lord,” Elise blurted
Sophie laughed. “Didn't you know, my dear? Marcus is a confirmed bachelor.”
Marcus stilled as Elise looked directly at him for the first time. “Really? I wouldn't have believed it.”
“Why is that?” Sophie asked, the eagerness in her voice so transparent that Marcus wanted to thrash her.
“Because your cousin pursued me with such a vengeance that I would have thought he was desperate for a wife.”
Sophie burst into howls of laughter, and his desire to laugh with her forced him to cough loudly several times.
“Does this,” he began, but halted abruptly to clear his throat before saying, “Does this mean—”
“This means, sir,” Elise cut in, “you should attend to your guests.”
He opened his mouth to reply, then closed it again.
* * *
Elise opened the door to the library and stepped aside. “Forgive me, Lady Whycham. I hadn't expected company, so the ladies' drawing room isn't ready to receive guests.”
“Call me Sophie.” She brushed past Elise. “We shall soon be related. No need to stand on formality. Now,” Sophie seated herself on the divan and waited until Elise had taken a seat beside her, “tell me what my cousin has done to annoy you.”
Elise startled but managed a hasty, “I'm not sure what you mean.”
Sophie's eyes twinkled. “I know my cousin.” She laughed, a small snort escaping in the process. “Still, he did surprise me with the decision to wed again.” She leaned close. “Marcus had formed no lasting attachments since Jenna's death. Though he is no womanizer—he is a remarkably discriminating man—he isn't one to refrain from female company.”
“I didn't have the impression he denied himself the company of women,” Elise said dryly.
Sophie's eyes widened with mirth and she clapped a hand over her mouth. Elise blinked, then gave into the infectious laughter.
Sophie lowered her hand. “All right, Cousin, what has he done?”
Elise hesitated. How did she explain that Marcus hiding the fact he was a rich and powerful man could prove to be his and her undoing?
When Elise had finished relating the tale of how she had come to Scotland and of Marcus's deception, Sophie took a deep breath. “I suppose learning the man you're to marry will one day be a duke could be a shock. But the fact he cares for you—” Sophie halted, and Elise knew her shock showed.
“You doubt his feelings?” Sophie asked.
She didn't, but she hadn't grown used to the idea, and the fact Sophie had so easily seen it made her want to cry. So, she countered with, “How can any woman know what a man thinks?”
“Come now, you must comprehend that Marcus isn't a man to make a commitment lightly.”
“What I comprehend is that Marcus is a man accustomed to having his way.”
“That is true of any man with half a wit.”
Elise couldn't help laughing. “I suppose you're right.”
Sophie's expression softened. “You aren't betraying your husband by loving again.”
Elise nearly choked. “N-no, of course not.”
“There is no one for you to return home to?”
She recalled the blood darkening Steven's coat. “No.”
“Your husband's family, what of them?”
“There is no one.”
Sophie sighed. “A shame.”
“Yes,” Elise replied, and couldn't prevent a picture of the two who waited for her at the bottom of the sea. Her chest tightened and she rose. “Would you care for a drink?” She crossed to the sideboard. “Marcus keeps an excellent Napoleon brandy.”
“Brandy?”
Elise paused, her hand on the decanter lid, and twisted to look at Sophie. “Don't tell me you're going to lecture me. Are all MacGregors so puritanical?”
Sophie's eyes lit with amusement. “I've heard the MacGregors called many things—bloodthirsty, uncouth, barbaric, ignorant—but never have they been compared to anything so noble. Puritanical, indeed.”
Elise couldn't resist. “There is port, if brandy is too strong for you.”
“Brandy it is,” she said without hesitation.
Elise poured two glasses of the brandy and returned to the divan. She handed a snifter to Sophie, then sat down.
“Did I mention that I tried escaping to Australia?”
“I do not recall the story,” Sophie replied with such gravity that Elise couldn't help wondering if someone had indeed repeated the tale in the short time the countess had been there.
“Marcus's men retrieved me,” Elise said.
“Retrieved you?”
“It seems strange now that I left,” she said more to herself than Sophie.
“What happened when my cousin's men came for you?” Sophie asked.
“Cameron sent them. Marcus wasn't aware I had left. He told me if he had come, it would have gone far worse for me.”
“I can well believe that. Why did you leave?”
Elise grimaced. “The reason was sound.”
“Do you mean to extract a little revenge now?”
Elise looked at Sophie. “Things aren't always as simple as they seem.”
Sophie nodded once. “And often not as complicated as we think. What stops you from leaving again?”
“He would only come for me again.”
“But of course,” Sophie agreed. “There is nowhere you could hide from him. I do see your point.”
Elise looked sharply at her. Merriment danced in Sophie's eyes, and Elise realized she referred to Marcus and not Price, as her imagination had jumped to think. She was hallucinating—either that or drunk.
“Just how rich is my husband-to-be?” The countess's eyes widened, and Elise cried, “Good Lord, that didn't come right at all.” She groaned and collapsed against the divan back.
“I imagine you wonder what sort of reception you'll receive once you leave Brahan Seer?”
Elise's hear
t jumped, but the reaction was stalled by the honesty that shone in the countess' eyes. “I swear, Sophie, as foolish as it sounds, I had no idea he was a duke. Here at Brahan Seer… I knew him as Cameron's son and leader of the MacGregor clan. I knew they weren't destitute, but a duke!” She laid a hand on Sophie's hand. “I am no duchess.”
“And I was no countess,” Sophie replied.
“What?”
“I was only Lady Ashlund. Of course, my family has money.” Sophie's eyes danced. “All Ashlunds have money. But, then, so does Justin.”
“Ashlund,” Elise repeated. “They are MacGregors?”
“Oh, no. Ryan MacGregor married Helena Ashlund about one hundred and fifty years ago. Helena was an only child, therefore, the dukedom fell to Ryan when Helena's father Coll Ashlund died.” Sophie shook her head and a shadow passed over her face. “That was a terrible time. The MacGregor name had been outlawed.”
“The clearances?” Elise asked.
“Oh, no. Those atrocities are much more recent,” she said. “There was a great deal of political strife”—Sophie laughed—”when hasn't there been political strife in Scotland? In any case, the crown seized MacGregor land, and the MacGregors fought back. It is said in our family that, if not for Helena marrying Ryan, his brand of the MacGregors, Marcus's line, wouldn't be here today.”
“Ashlund money,” Elise murmured.
“You have it,” Sophie said.
Indeed, Elise thought. Now what am I to do with it?
Chapter Fifteen
Much later that evening, Marcus pushed past the cluster of men outside the library doorway watching Elise and Sophie, each with a glass in hand as they sat on the floor in front of the fire giggling like school girls. He stopped and looked from the women to the decanter on the floor beside them. On the sideboard, other decanters sat in disarray. Some had been left uncovered—one actually lay empty on its side. Marcus turned his attention back to the women. He could scarce believe his eyes. They were drunk.
The women looked up as he strode toward them. “I suppose 'tis my fault for not looking for you here first.” He stopped before them.
Elise and Sophie looked at one another and shrugged.
