My Highland Love: Highland Lords Series (20 page)

"How long have they hated us?" his father
demanded with more vehemence than he'd heard in his voice since
before his mother's death.

Blood lust shot through Marcus. "I will kill
every last one of them."

"Aye. And condemn more men to die. What of
their wives—their children?"

"We have dealt with them for
years—centuries," Marcus snapped.

Cameron grunted. "King George is likely to
tire completely of the fight and finance the MacGregor's
annihilation."

Though King George had remained quiet, Marcus
knew the king forbade any Campbell reprisal after Marcus attacked
Assipatle in retaliation for Katie MacGregor's rape. His
intervention had saved many lives. But the sovereign's mood swung
between reality and fantasy, his mind controlled by liquor and the
laudanum he kept ready at his bedside. Where his loyalties would
lie tomorrow was anyone's guess.

"If he takes that course of action, he'll
regret it as long as I draw breath," Marcus bit back.

Cameron slumped against the chair cushion. "I
dinna' want to bury my only son." He looked directly into Marcus's
eyes. "You have a son. What will be his legacy?"

"By God, Cameron, you would have me believe
Elise is a spy and, in the same breath, demand I change the course
of the raging river that is the Campbells." He strode to the door.
"I will keep you apprised of my progress in discovering our
traitor's identity." He yanked open the door. "Rest assured, when I
find the guilty party—no matter who they are—there will be no place
for them on this earth, save the grave."

Minutes later, Marcus entered the kitchen and
scanned the busy room. "Winnie, where's Elise?"

Winnie turned from the counter, tray in hand,
and handed it to a girl waiting nearby. "With Nell."

"Nell?" he demanded in a voice which quieted
the bustle in the kitchen.

"Aye."

"Elise dared leave the keep after today—and
especially at night?"

"So far as I know, she did not step foot
outside the walls. I settled Nell in my cottage. With her mother
dead and her aunt run off to wed, Elise offered to sit with her."
He winced when Winnie added, "I feared leaving her alone." Winnie
grasped a pitcher of water sitting on the cabinet. "Back to work,"
she ordered the women, shoving the pitcher toward a girl who took
it and scurried toward the great hall. Winnie focused again on
him.

"Elise will not be here for the evening meal
then?" he asked.

"I sent their meals to my cottage."

Marcus gave a curt nod, then strode past the
women and out the back door.

When he arrived at the cottage, he knocked
lightly. Hearing no answer, he pushed the door open to find food
sitting on the table untouched and both women missing. Marcus
hurried back to the castle. He looked in Elise's room. His heart
rate kicked up at finding it empty. He went next to the ladies'
drawing room, but even as he opened the door he sensed the
silence.

Dread coiled tight in his gut at sight of the
empty room. If she wasn't inside the keep and she hadn't attempted
to pass through the gates, only one answer remained: she had left
through the passageway leading from the dungeons. Why go to such
lengths to leave unseen? His father's words earlier returned,
"…she is the most likely suspect."
He remembered her
agitation when he sent John with her. She couldn't be the traitor,
it simply wasn't possible.
Why
, his mind asked?
Because
you love her?

"Yes," he snarled, and slammed the door.

She could be in his library. But even the
warmth that wafted out to meet him as he opened the library door
didn't dispel the deadly silence. He looked at the chair his father
had occupied earlier—the chair he had discovered Elise curled up in
on many occasions.
"Mayhap the why and the who are the
same,"
his father had said.

Marcus shook himself from the vise which
gripped him, then closed the door on the vacant room. He considered
employing more men in the search. Nay. If he found evidence of her
culpability, he would deal with her before he could change his
mind. He strode down the corridor, continuing through the castle
until reaching the last sconce burning in that wing of the castle.
He disengaged the light from the wall, then took the final steps to
the staircase leading into the bowels of Brahan Seer.

Narrow step after narrow step, Marcus wound
his way down to what, during his grandfather's rule, had been
dungeons where he incarcerated criminals such as the one who
betrayed them that afternoon. He paused in the long corridor before
one of the cells and gave the door a shove. With a grinding creak,
the heavy iron swung open. The sconce's flame jumped as if gasping
for breath.

Marcus settled his gaze on the iron shackles
hanging on the far wall in open defiance of time's passage. How
would a woman survive chained in those irons? If Elise braved these
dungeons, had even a tremor passed through her when she hurried by
these rooms of torture? What sort of woman entered such a
place?

A woman with something to hide.

He hurried past the cell to the next right
turn, stopping at the sudden dead end. Squatting, Marcus lowered
the sconce and slowly edged the light forward in order to examine
the stone floor and discerned a single set of boot prints beneath
the thin layer of dust. His heart pounded against his chest. He
jerked the sconce up, searching the wall for the hairline crack
recognizable only to one who knew it existed. He found the seam and
depressed the spot. The panel sprang open with a squeal.

Marcus rose and stepped inside the
passageway. Sconce low, he proceeded slowly, inspecting the packed
dirt floor until he reached the end of the passageway. He faced
left where lay the concealed door which opened to the outside and
pushed against the door. The stone slid noiselessly open and he
stepped into the night.

Ten minutes later, Marcus entered the kitchen
again. "Elise is not to be found." He stopped before Winnie.

"Surely ye aren't worried," she said, but
Marcus had caught the flicker of surprise in her expression.

"Who took the meal to them?"

"Bartholomew."

He started for the door.

"By now he's on duty at the wall," she called
as he disappeared into the darkness.

Moments later, Marcus mounted the battlement
stairs and found Bartholomew standing guard on the west corner of
the wall. The guard straightened at his approach.

"You delivered the food to the women in
Winnie's cottage?" Marcus demanded.

"Aye, laird."

"Were the women in the cottage when you
arrived?"

Bartholomew shook his head.

Marcus narrowed his eyes. "And you thought
nothing of it?"

He swallowed. "I didn't know I should."

Marcus hesitated, then turned and hurried
along the battlements and down the stairs. He returned to Winnie's
cottage but found nothing changed.

This time, when he entered the kitchen,
Winnie halted the task of pulling scones from their baking pan and
watched his approach.

He stopped beside the table. "They weren't in
the cottage when Bartholomew delivered the meal."

Her gaze moved past him.

"What's wrong?" came Elise's voice at his
back.

He pivoted to face her. Nell stood alongside
her. "Where the blazes have you been?"

Elise's brow snapped into a frown.

"Well?"

"We were on the hill, near the storehouse,"
she replied.

Marcus looked at Nell.

"Aye, laird, we—" she looked at Elise.

"What is it?" he demanded.

"We were star gazing," Elise said in a
reprimand.

He glanced at her, then looked back at Nell.
"You two have been together all evening?"

"Aye," she said, obviously confused.

"By God," he muttered, and advanced toward
them. Elise blinked and Nell retreated a pace, but he continued
forward. When within reach of them, he grabbed Elise's wrist and
started toward the great hall. Several men stared from the
doorway.

"Be about your business," he ordered.

The men scattered in a hurried scuffle as he
pulled Elise through the doorway and into the noisy hall. The din
quieted slightly, men parting as he strode to the stairway.

"Marcus, what—"

"Hush," he commanded without looking back at
her.

She didn't balk until they reached the door
to her bedchamber. There, she yanked her hand free of his
grasp.

He whirled on her. "Where were you?"

"I told you."

"I searched all of Brahan Seer."

"Clearly not all, or you would have found us.
Ridiculous," she added in a mutter. "You act as if we need worry
while inside the keep."

"Worry?" he repeated. "The Campbells meant
harm, Elise. Did you think I would let them touch you?"

Her brow furrowed. He discerned the quick
lift and fall of her breasts, the surprise—uncertainty perhaps? His
body tightened. He realized the desire to take her with quick and
hard actions.

"No," she replied.

He jarred from the erotic picture of her
against the wall, him pressed between her legs. "Seeing you"—she
faltered—"seeing them…" She shook her head, ending with a quiet,
"It was strange."

"The Highlands are far more violent than
Boston," he shot back.

She hesitated and his blood chilled when he
realized it wasn't the violence of the Highlands that had startled
her, but the violence in him. He felt anew the cut of his sword
through Campbell flesh. He tensed, this time in fury.

"God damn bastards," he whispered, "they knew
exactly what they were doing."

"What do you mean?"

He watched her carefully. "They knew when to
attack—were aware of our weakness."

"Weakness?"

"Their attack coincided with the change of
guard."

A tiny pause, then she said, "But that would
mean—" She gasped. "That's not possible."

"Aye, 'tis not only possible, but true."

She shook her head vehemently. "I don't
believe it."

The swirl of her hair, the tight-lipped
determination, cut Marcus to the quick and he suddenly wished for
nothing more than to hold her, to feel her heart beat against his
chest as she slept in his arms. She fastened her gaze on him and he
registered the lines of strain around her eyes.

"To bed," he said, and opened her bedchamber
door. "And don't leave your room again this night."

She started to protest, but he shoved her
inside and closed the door behind her. Marcus still gripped the
handle. God damn it, he'd allowed his father's suspicions to poison
his thoughts. Elise had been with Nell all evening. She wasn't the
traitor… unless she had made those boot prints in the dungeon some
time before tonight.

* * * *

The following afternoon, Marcus entered his
library to find Elise sitting in the chair before a low burning
fire, looking just as he prayed he'd find her the night before. She
jumped, the book she was clearly not reading sliding from her lap
to the carpet.

He closed the door behind him. "You are the
most unpredictable creature."

She bent to retrieve the book. "What have I
done now?" She placed the book beside her on the chair.

Marcus walked to her and squatted beside the
chair. He ran a finger down her arm. "Nothing, love. I'm preparing
to leave for London and my mind is elsewhere." He smiled slightly.
"It is my own shortcomings that plague me today. Not you."

Elise frowned. "Your shortcomings?"

He rose and strode to the sideboard "Never
mind." He poured a drink. "It doesn't concern you."

A pause followed, then she said, "I think it
does."

At her clipped tone, he looked over his
shoulder. Her lips were pursed. Despite his mood, he smiled
ruefully.

"I am no fool, Marcus MacGregor," she
said.

He raised a brow.

"What shortcomings?" she demanded.

Marcus remained silent.

She shrugged. "I can easily find out."

He turned, leaving his drink untouched, and
leaned against the sideboard. "How do you propose to do that?"

Elise slid him a sidelong glance. "Milord, do
you think you are the only one with powers of persuasion?"

The sensual lift of her mouth startled him.
He couldn't believe it. Was the little minx threatening to use her
charms against him? A thrill reverberated deep within him. Lounging
against the chair, she tipped her head back. His excitement grew
as, closing her eyes, she reached back to tousle her hair. The
locks cascaded in silken layers about her shoulders. Her fingers
slid from her hair and along her throat. His body tightened when
her fingertips skimmed the valley between her breasts. Her palms
flattened across her belly, smoothing her dress, and finally came
to rest in her lap. She toyed with him—but he wanted her. He
commanded his gaze to break from the sultry picture, but his mind
refused to comply.

Elise patted the tiny space on the seat
beside her. "Come sit with me, milord."

Her use of "milord" tantalized him, despite
the knowledge she used the title only when angry or mocking him.
"Nay, lass. I think not."

"Afraid?" She gave a low laugh.

Confound the woman! She hadn't even bothered
to open her eyes when addressing him.

"Not afraid, love," he replied.
"Cautious."

"Ah, I see."

Aye, he was sure she did.

She stretched her legs in one fluid motion.
She opened her eyes and, leaning forward, shook out her skirt, a
flash of white chemise showing before the fabric settled about her.
She rose and glided over to him.

"If you're not in the mood," she tugged the
collar on his shirt, "we can discuss this later."

She smoothed his shirt with the same
maddening slowness she had used when straightening her dress. When
her fingers tucked his shirt into the waistband of his kilt, he
yanked her to him.