My Highland Love: Highland Lords Series (11 page)

Langley gave an acknowledging nod, then
grabbed the bottle and strode toward several men who vied for the
attention of two kitchen maids.

Marcus watched him go. A lot of Langley's
father Glen lived in the boy. Glen had refused to give up the old
ways and he had fought English injustice the only way he knew how:
midnight raids. Marcus smiled, remembering the chief's delight in
slaughtering the sheep of an offending lord, then leaving the
animals on the lord's doorstep. As a young man, Marcus had ridden
with him three days from MacFarlene territory on just such a raid.
Unfortunately, Glen went on one too many clandestine rendezvous and
was felled by a young baron on the English coast. Marcus understood
the battle cry that had driven the old chief. However, in their
modern age, it was bad business to consider teaching the Sassenach
the error of their ways.

Suddenly, Marcus wearied of politics and war.
Even wealth and power hadn't exempted the MacGregors from the
English disdain for Highlanders. Still, Ryan MacGregor had done
well in choosing a woman of courage. Thank God for a good woman.
His loins stirred at the thought of another good woman. Desire
swept through him, bringing his body to the now-familiar ache.

Marcus left the revelry. He fell into bed,
his body hard with the memory of Elise's touch. In his mind's eye,
he saw her wrap slim fingers around his shaft. He reached down, his
hand closing over hers. She called to him, her song as sweet as
that of any Ceasg. He groaned. Slowly, and with great precision,
she pulled him into murky depths where willowy shapes tortured his
body and held him hostage long into the night.

* * * *

Elise sighed when Winnie shoved the book
across the kitchen table toward her.

"Nay," Winnie shook her head, "I canna' do
it. I have no brain for it."

"Ridiculous," Elise snorted. "Now, calm
yourself. We aren't finished."

"Aye, we're finished." Winnie jumped from her
chair and began pacing. "We're finished for good." She rubbed her
temples as if to drive the frustration from her mind.

"But you were doing so beautifully. Come,"
Elise entreated, "sit and rest."

The housekeeper paused, eyes narrowed, but
flung herself into the chair, nonetheless.

Elise repressed a smile when Winnie picked up
the offending book and glanced in the direction of the fire.
"Winnie—"

"Dinna' try to talk me into any more
reading." She dropped the book on the table as if horns had
sprouted from the cover. "'Tis no use. I haven't the brain for
it."

Elise raised a brow. "Surely you're not
afraid of a little effort?"

The housekeeper shot her a shrewd look.
"Isna' that and you know it."

Elise shrugged. "It's not for me to judge.
You will be the one to explain to your friends why you cannot read
to them as promised."

"You think you're mighty smart, eh, lass?"
She snatched up the book.

Elise leaned back in her chair and closed her
eyes. "The next two lines, please."

"O, woo-would, or I," she began slowly, "had
seen the d-ay that tre-tra—" She snorted in frustration.

"Treason," Elise prodded softly.

"—treason thu-s cud—"

"Could," Elise corrected.

"Could sell us, my au-ld grey heed—" Winnie
grunted, then repeated with vehemence, "head," then again slowly,
"had lien in c-l-ay wi' Bruce and loyal Wallace," she ended with a
flourish.

"Excellent. Read half an hour tomorrow and
the next day. Then we'll review those pages."

Winnie hesitated.

"Don't worry." Elise smiled. "In no time at
all you will have everyone in the village begging you to read for
them."

"Well, I don't know about that," Winnie
replied, but her nonchalant attitude didn't hide the small smile at
the corner of her mouth.

"I do," Elise said with conviction.

"So do I," added a deep voice from the
kitchen doorway.

Elise twisted in her chair to stare at
Marcus

He lounged against the doorframe. "I believe,
milady," he addressed Winnie, but never took his eyes off Elise,
"if your teacher has her way, you will never have a moment's
peace."

"Nothing will have changed then." Winnie
sniffed, then rose.

"No need to go," Elise said too quickly.

"Aye, there is." Winnie gave her a knowing
look as she brushed past. "Good night to ye, Marcus," she said on
the way out the door.

"You're back," was all Elise could say.

"Aye, love. 'Tis my home, remember?" He
pushed off from the doorframe, his gaze holding hers as he walked
forward. He stopped by her side.

The embers in the fire crackled, causing her
to jump. "The fire needs more wood."

He gave no indication he'd heard, then turned
and went to the hearth. Marcus grasped the poker and stoked the
fire. "How have things been during my absence?"

"The same." She prayed he didn't read into
her answer the fact that every day he had been away she had
recalled the look on his face when he'd burst through his men and
saw her after she escaped the Campbells, and the whispered words
"Never again" when he pressed her close… and the kiss that had
followed.

Marcus reached for a log from the pile beside
the hearth. He bent to one knee, his kilt falling across the calf
of the bent leg. She tried tearing her gaze away. Instead, her
attention fixed on the play of muscle in his shoulder as he tossed
the log onto the fire. Here was the reason behind his command to
move her into the castle. If she were nearer him, how long could
she resist his advances? Damn him. He had further hampered her
movements. In the three days he'd been gone, she had yet to leave
the castle without someone marking her movements. Had he enlisted
all MacGregors as spies?

Marcus unexpectedly glanced back over the
shoulder she was staring at. Her heart pounded wildly in the moment
he studied her. How transparent were her thoughts? He rose. She
tensed when he leaned the poker against the wall and turned.

"Elise," he began as he approached, "I
handled things badly." He halted before her.

"Well, you were a bit…" She gave him a rueful
look. "I haven't been a saint." Her heart lurched at the
understatement, then fluttered at the thought of confessing the
truth. What would he do if she threw herself into his arms and told
all?

Marcus smiled. "No matter." He extended a
hand. "Come, love, walk with me."

She stared at his outstretched hand, held
steady for her. The gentleness there belied the strength.

"'Tis all right," he coaxed. "I promise not
to bite."

Elise looked up at him. "Are you in the habit
of making promises you cannot keep?"

He reached for her and she resisted the urge
to slap his hand back.

* * * *

Marcus stood behind Elise on a hill
overlooking the village. Lights dotted the valley, shining in
haloed rings from the cottages. A balmy breeze blew, yet Marcus saw
her shiver.

Marcus resisted the urge to wrap an arm
around her and stepped up beside her, fingers laced behind his
back. He turned his attention to the flickering lights below. "What
do you think of the Highlands, lass?"

She said nothing for a moment, then, in a
quiet voice, "The Highlands are… unusual. Despite all odds, life
thrives here." She laughed softly. "At least, the Highland notion
of life." She slanted a smile in his direction. Marcus stilled,
afraid the spell would dissolve. "Highland life is full and lush."
She returned her attention to the valley. "Yet, some would say,
like a woman, it changes at a moment's notice, suddenly wild and
furious."

Did he detect a sensual note in her voice?
Marcus tightened the grip on his emotions. Now wasn't the time to
test her. Yet a voice from within asked,
If not now,
when?

"The rugged wilderness here is frightening,"
she went on. "Yet, at the same time, it is compelling to the
extreme." Elise motioned with her head at the broad expanse before
them. "Those hills lure with a beauty uniquely their own. They call
to the soul, drawing it into their mystery like…"

Marcus leaned toward her before catching
himself. Inhaling a deep breath, he said in a hushed voice, "Like a
lover."

She looked at him, her expression open. "Yes,
you've captured the heart of it."

Not yet, love, he thought, but soon, very
soon. "How did you come to be in Scotland?"

Surprise flickered on her face, but instantly
relaxed into the even reply, "Surely you know I was washed ashore
when our ship went down in a fire."

"Aye. I mean, why were you in Solway Firth?"
Elise frowned, and he added, "Sailing from America to London, you
would pass the south of Ireland. To reach Solway Firth you must
pass north of Ireland, then head south between Ireland and
Scotland. The route would add a week or more to your journey."

Surprise flashed across her face. "A
week?"

"Aye."

Her expression clouded and she murmured,
"Amelia."

"What?"

She started. "What?"

"Who is Amelia?"

Elise looked out over the valley. "Amelia was
my daughter."

"Was—Elise."

She shook her head. "Odd, isn't it? I sail
from America for London, am shipwrecked—barely on Scottish soil—and
here I am, miles away, in the Highlands."

"Strange, indeed," Marcus murmured, sending
up silent thanks for the huge difference in that short distance.
"And why come here to Brahan Seer?"

She gave a small laugh. "I had nowhere better
to be."

"Are you happy?"

Can you be happy without husband and
child?

"Your father has been kind. I liked him the
moment I met him."

"What did you think upon first meeting me?"
At the startled look on her face, he cursed his foolish
curiosity.

"Why, milord," the title fell in teasing
accents from her lips and her eyes widened with mock gravity, "I
thought you were the fiercest warrior I'd ever had the misfortune
to meet."

Marcus blinked, then threw his head back and
laughed, for he remembered her assessment of his sword—not to
mention his open shirt.

"Sit with me." He took her hand, settled her
on the ground, and lowered himself down beside her. Marcus turned
his gaze onto her and gave a soft smile. "Tell me about
Amelia."

Pain flickered across her features and she
lowered her gaze. When, at last, she spoke, her words were flat.
"Amelia was six years old and very ill. We were traveling to
England to see a specialist. I should have known she wasn't strong
enough for the journey—I did know—but I couldn't bear the thought
of never again looking upon her sweet face.

"Selfish," she muttered. "When Amelia
smiled…" Elise's breath quickened and Marcus tensed, recognizing
the anxiety in the sudden rise and fall of her breasts. "The
corners of her eyes crinkled and her eyes sparkled as only a
child's can." The moon illuminated Elise's face, revealing the part
of memory that couldn't be conquered, and a pain that would never
wholly die. "She died three days before the fire."

"Three days?" Marcus exclaimed. "Had you not
gone by way of Solway Firth—"

"Yes," Elise agreed in a voice far removed
from Scotland—from him. "Yes."

"Why take that route?"

She shrugged. "We encountered bad weather and
must have been blown off course. I didn't concern myself with the
route." The bitterness in her voice said she now counted that a
mistake.

Marcus kept to himself the knowledge that a
storm couldn't have taken them to Solway Firth had they not been
north of Ireland to begin with.

"You can't know what it is to watch your
child die." She looked down into her lap where her hands lay
clasped. "We could do nothing. When Steven heard of a specialist in
England, we set sail immediately. I thank God she died in peace.
Facing what came afterwards would have been far worse."

"And the others on the ship?" Marcus
asked.

"We traveled on a barque, three-masted. Not a
large ship, with only a crew of eleven. Then there was Steven,
R-iley and I."

"Riley?" Marcus repeated.

"My husband."

"Who is Steven?"

"My brother." Elise stared out over the
valley. "The commotion woke me in the middle of the night. By the
time Steven came for me—"

"Steven, not your husband?"

"No. By the time Steven got to my cabin,
smoke filled the corridors. He dragged me up on deck. I was sure we
wouldn't make it; the corridor was so thick with smoke."

"No chance the ship could be saved?"

"They tried. Flames lapped up from the galley
and the sails were ablaze. The wind blew hard. A storm had kicked
up and the sails flapped furiously. Oh, how the wind can howl."

"Storms are common in the sound," Marcus
said. "What started the fire?"

She grunted, a low but distinctly disgusted
sound. "Likely an unattended lamp." She gave a mirthless laugh. "I
knew what Steven meant to do. But, damn him, he knew me just as
well. He gave me no chance." She looked at Marcus, her gaze burning
into him. "Threw me overboard without so much as a
by-your-leave."

"Indeed?"

"Damn you, one and all," she said under her
breath.

Marcus cleared his throat. "He managed a
boat, I take it?"

"What?" she answered on a distracted note.
"Oh, yes." All bitterness had vanished from her voice. "I should
have warned him, but I never dreamed—" her voice broke and Marcus
realized she was weeping.

"Elise, love."

She shook her head, turning away. He sat up
and reached for her. She tried to stand but couldn't manage her
skirts quickly enough. He hauled her onto his lap and hugged her
close.

"I would like to go home," she said into his
shirt between quiet tears.

"Love," he whispered, "you are home."

"Amelia was gone," she said as if not having
heard him. "But Steven—"