Wicked Highland Lords: Over 1100 pages of Scottish Regency Romance

by Tarah Scott

  “Price,” Brentley said, “we have just spoken with Miss Poteck and Elise.”

  “Miss Poteck?” Price said as if he had never heard the name in his life.

  “Don't,” Brentley cut in, his quiet voice harsh. He produced two folded pieces of paper from his front coat pocket. He unfolded them and held up one. “This is a signed affidavit from Miss Poteck, explaining in detail how you paid her to impersonate Elise Kingston.” Price frowned, but Brentley went on. “This,” he lifted the other document, “is Elise's statement.” He continued in a half strangled voice, “She swears you kidnapped her in Scotland and brought her to Boston against her will, then incarcerated her in Danvers Hospital.” Marcus's heart raced as if hearing this for the first time. Brentley lowered the papers. “If I had been given this information without the benefit of witnesses, I would put a bullet between your eyes.”

  A murmur circulated through the men. Surprise flickered across Price's impassive face. Marcus had the sudden urge to slip the knife from his boot and throw it at him. However, the mental image of Price's fine white shirt darkening with his blood dissipated when Brentley said, “As it is, I will have to satisfy myself with the punishment allowed by the law. As you may know, Judge Quinley and I are well acquainted. I will see to it he takes a personal interest in this case. I have always known you were a scoundrel, but this”—Brentley faltered—”this goes beyond anything I could have imagined.”

  He shook his head, his blue eyes clouded with disbelief. “The things Elise claims in this document…” He paused and held Price's gaze. “It's a wonder the girl survived.” He looked at Marcus. “You have my deepest sympathies, Lord Ashlund.”

  Marcus's gut twisted. What more was wrong with Elise than Steven had admitted? What had Brentley seen that the younger man hadn't? Marcus gave a single nod and, once again, everyone began talking. He glanced at Ardsley. Price met his gaze with the same unruffled expression he always wore. A chill passed through Marcus. He turned and left the room.

  A moment later, Marcus and Steven stepped from the mansion out onto the front steps. Marcus looked from the boy who stood at the bottom of the stairs holding his and Steven's horses across the trees surrounding the mansion to the sky that hinted at dawn. He and Steven strode down the steps, mounted their horses and urged them into a walk. They rode in silence until passing from the gates.

  “Elise is safely sailed on the Surrey?” Marcus asked.

  “Justin smuggled her off the Josephine. An easy feat with the Surrey docked only two slips down. I watched the ship sail. No one suspected a thing, including Brentley and the others.”

  Marcus allowed the first breath of relief since Elise had gone missing. Autumn was just beginning. The journey would be an easy one. “Steven,” he said in a quiet voice, “is she truly well?”

  “As I said, her shoulder is dislocated and she hasn't bathed since leaving Scotland.”

  “Otherwise?”

  Steven hesitated, then said, “In a way, she's the Elise I knew; in a way, she isn't.” He paused. “She has passed through fire since I last saw her, but losing Amelia changed her, and there is her marriage to you.”

  “We were wed but a night when Price took her.”

  Steven blew out a breath. “You didn't mention that.”

  Marcus looked at him. “She is my wife. It doesn't matter whether for a day or a year.”

  “I suppose not.” Another moment of silence passed and Steven said, “She had no idea you were coming for her.”

  Marcus jerked his gaze onto Steven.

  “I believe she had hoped you wouldn't come.”

  “Bloody hell,” Marcus burst out. “Why?”

  “It's easy to see she lied to you.”

  “She didn't tell me about Ardsley.”

  “Neither did she tell you she shot Robert.”

  “Nae,” Marcus replied.

  “She saved my life. You think she knew about the bounty on her head?”

  “How could—” Marcus stopped, remembering the night at Michael's when she laid the onion before Michael after removing his copy of the Sunday Times—the copy Erin had brought.

  Everyone in Brahan Seer knew how Michael loved reading the newspaper. Anyone passing through Edinburgh brought a copy at least as far as the Glaistig Uain. From there, the copy, eventually, made its way to Michael. Elise lived at Brahan Seer for four months before Marcus returned. All that time she had been going to the cottage and searching the paper for news. By God, on his return from London the last time, he had brought a copy of the paper. It still sat on his desk.

  “Why not simply ask to have the paper brought to Brahan Seer?” Marcus whispered.

  “What?” Steven asked.

  “I thought I had never met a woman more stubborn.”

  “And something has altered your assessment?”

  Marcus smiled, but the smile faded as quickly as it appeared. He looked past the trees that lined the road up to the sky. The ship he was to sail on awaited him. Three more weeks would pass before he got his answers. His gut tightened another notch. He had enough answers to last a lifetime. Elise hadn't wanted him to come for her. Did he need more?

  “She asked about you,” Steven said.

  “What?” Marcus looked at him, startled.

  “We had no time for discussion.” Steven gave a mirthless laugh. “Seems that's how it has been with us for some time. Had I taken more time—never mind. We had a devil of a time convincing her to get on the ship this morning. She didn't want to leave without you.”

  Relief mingled with frustration. “By God,” Marcus muttered.

  Steven laughed in earnest this time. “Surely, you expected no less.”

  “I expect her to have some common sense.”

  “What is common sense, Ashlund? Well, never mind. She's made a mess of things and knows it—”

  A shot rang out.

  A bullet whizzed past Marcus's ear. His horse lunged forward. Marcus yanked on the reins, following Steven, who already galloped for the cover of trees. Another shot resounded and Marcus saw wood splinter in the tree he sped past. He pulled his horse up alongside the place Steven had leapt from his horse.

  “Price,” Steven hissed.

  He yanked the pistol from his waistband and crept toward the edge of the trees. Marcus jumped from his horse and started after him. Steven halted just before the trees gave way to the road, then darted from the cover of the forest.

  “Steven!” Marcus shouted, and raced after him.

  Marcus's heart hammered against his chest. He dove into the trees across the road and came to a skidding halt at seeing Steven, pistol raised and aimed at Kiernan.

  “Son-of-a-bitch!” Steven yelled, and squeezed back on the trigger.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Marcus paused on the deck of the Dauntless, one foot on the gangplank, and scanned the Edinburgh dock. It was not quite noon, yet storm clouds filled the sky, casting dark shadows reminiscent of nightfall. The docks teemed with activity. Bales of dry goods and crates of supplies lay stacked on the boardwalk. Sailors and dock workers hurried to load them onto ships before the rains fell. Marcus spotted Erin near a crowd of sailors.

  Erin caught his gaze, and Marcus nodded, then started forward. He avoided a man carrying a bag of provisions on his shoulder and stepped onto the dock. For the thousandth time, Marcus swore an oath to go to the grave before setting foot on another ship bound for America. He had been forced to make too many hard choices these last three months—more than enough to last a lifetime. Elise might never forgive some of the choices.

  He stopped before Erin, who was looking past him. “What is it?” Marcus demanded.

  “I don't see Kiernan.”

  Marcus's throat tightened. “Kiernan—”

  “Father!”

  He turned at hearing his son call.

  The boy was hurrying down the gangplank. He dodged his way through the people and passing hackneys before reaching Marcus.

  “Kiernan,”
Erin said with obvious relief. “Your grandfather sends word you are to come immediately—”

  “Kiernan will be going straight to London,” Marcus said. “I will deal with my father.” Marcus looked pointedly at Kiernan.

  “Yes, Father. Directly to London.”

  “Do not return to Brahan Seer until I send for you.”

  “That's rather unreason—”

  “You have no say in the matter,” Marcus cut him off.

  Kiernan sighed. “As you say, Father.”

  “If I hear you have left London before I give permission to do so, I'll come for you myself.”

  “So you have said,” Kiernan replied.

  “Then you comprehend the situation.”

  “I do.”

  Marcus gave him a curt nod. “I assume you can make your way from here?”

  “Of course.”

  The sailors who stood nearby suddenly let up a cheer and several among their ranks jostled Marcus and Kiernan. Marcus motioned Kiernan and Erin to follow. He strode several paces from them, then stopped and faced the two young men.

  “It's early yet,” he said to Kiernan, “you can cover at least a third of the journey if you start immediately.” Marcus looked at Erin. “You brought three horses?”

  “Aye. They are at the Bliney tavern.”

  “Good. Kiernan, you may have lunch before leaving. Erin and I will begin straightaway for Brahan Seer.” Marcus started in the direction of the tavern but stopped when Erin said, “Laird.” He turned. Neither of the young men had moved. “What is it?”

  “Lady Ashlund is not at Brahan Seer.”

  “Not at—where the bloody hell is she?”

  “Ashlund.”

  Marcus frowned. “Is something amiss at Brahan Seer?”

  “Nae,” Erin quickly assured him. “She simply refused to go there.”

  “Has my father seen her?”

  “He is at Ashlund.”

  Erin reached into his pocket and produced a note. Marcus recognized the paper his father used on the rare occasions he wrote missives. He took the letter, tore open the seal, and read.

  Marcus,

  Elise is safely in Ashlund. When she refused to come to Brahan Seer, I left for Ashlund. She gave me your letter. I read it, then read it to her, but only after she confessed to me what she says is her entire story. It seems she knew nothing of your travels in America. I believe the danger you faced genuinely upset her. That is only right.

  I thought it better not to force her to return to Brahan Seer, so we await you in Ashlund. Bring my grandson with you.

  Cameron

  Ashlund lay a three-hour hard ride away. He would see Elise before the evening meal.

  Three hours later, Marcus and Erin rode into the stables at Ashlund. The stables were empty when they arrived, so Marcus left Erin to attend his horse and hurried to the mansion. His butler met him.

  “Welcome home, Lord Ashlund,” Nelson cried.

  “Nelson.” Marcus smiled. “Where will I find my father?”

  “He is in the library, I believe.”

  “And my wife?”

  Nelson looked thoughtful. “She planned to go to the solarium.”

  Marcus didn't move.

  “Was there something else, Lord Ashlund?” Nelson asked.

  “Nae,” Marcus replied, and strode down the hall toward the solarium.

  Marcus jerked open the solarium door with unexpected violence. He paused, startled at the intensity of feeling, then, regaining his composure, stepped inside and closed the door softly behind him. He had a clear view of the aisle ahead of him and Elise wasn't in sight. He started forward, scanning the foliage and flowers that separated the aisle he walked down from the other aisle. Suddenly, he caught sight of her through the calanthe rosea. She stood gazing out the window, her back to him. The small lavender orchids snaked up their fragile vines, framing her body between their branches.

  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.”