My Highland Love: Highland Lords Series (21 page)

"You're playing with fire," he said.

She gazed up at him. "Am I?"

He bent to kiss her, but she dodged his
mouth. He lifted a questioning brow and she met his gaze.

"You won't sit with me yet have no qualms
about accosting me? Are you not tired?' she asked abruptly.

"Nay."

"Good. Then we shall talk."

Extricating herself from his hold, she
wrapped a hand around his forearm and led him to the couch. Elise
directed him down onto a cushion, then knelt on the cushion beside
him.

"You are much too tense." She turned his back
toward her.

With great care, she massaged the hard muscle
of his shoulder. Marcus felt himself relax. He closed his eyes,
contemplating ways to entice her hands lower. He became aware of
her breath on his neck. He throbbed, anticipating her quick intake
of breath when her gaze fell upon the noticeable lift of his kilt.
She shifted and her breath came hot in his ear. Marcus shuddered as
her lips brushed his ear.

"It wasn't your fault, you know."

His eyes flashed open and he twisted to face
her. "I will not discuss this with you."

She shrugged, then nearly bounced into a
sitting position beside him. "That doesn't change the fact I'm
right."

"You know nothing of it," he snapped.

"I know enough."

Marcus faced her. Words poured from his mouth
even as he blushed at defending his actions to a woman—especially
this woman. "It is my responsibility to see that no harm comes to
any here. I nearly failed."

"But you didn't."

The flat response brought him up short.

She shook her head as if speaking to a child.
"You found a flaw in your defenses. Do you think it's the only
one?"

Fear rushed through him. He hadn't considered
there could be a single flaw, much less two, three or…

Elise took his hand in hers. "You aren't God.
Close, perhaps," she gave a faint smile, "but still human. I
understand how difficult this is, but you must accept the fact
that, like most mortals, you are flawed." She paused. "Those
attackers will never harm another person, and you learned a
valuable lesson. Most would count themselves fortunate. Don't look
so sullen. I am sure you will find a way to assuage your
anger."

Marcus blinked, then grasped her shoulders
and tugged her across his thighs. He pressed his lips to her ear
and murmured, "What am I to do with you?"

Elise lifted a brow, saying, "Certainly not
what you think," and gingerly shifted in his lap.

* * * *

Marcus looked past his father and the other
people crowding the courtyard until his gaze fixed upon Elise. She
stood with a group of women, rifling through a basket of provisions
they were distributing to the men who were to accompany him to
London.

Cameron clasped his shoulder. "All will be
well." He glanced meaningfully at Elise, his hand dropping back to
his side.

Marcus focused on his father. "She isn't to
leave Brahan Seer while I am away."

"Aye."

"If Loudoun doesn't agree to intervene with
his clansmen, I will seek an audience with King George."

Cameron nodded. "The earl willna' relish the
possibility of losing his property to one of our attacks. Castle
Kalchurn is his pride and joy."

"I plan on using that fact," Marcus replied.
He nodded toward Elise. "I had better say my good-byes."

Marcus strode to Elise. The warrior she
handed a small cloth package to grasped it and murmured thanks
before joining his nearby comrades. She turned, taking a surprised
step back when she nearly collided with Marcus.

"You will honor your promise?" he asked.

"I won't leave Brahan Seer."

She couldn't leave. He had seen to that. The
passageway had been boarded shut and the guards had orders not to
let her pass. Marcus drew her to him. His heart pounded with every
halting step closer she allowed until he could wrap his arm around
her. Marcus cupped her neck in his free hand. Her gaze flitted to
the side, but he cared nothing for the crowd. He kissed her. The
familiar hunger lashed out. Had she any understanding of his need
for her? She had called it lust. By God, he did lust after her.

Marcus took a long draught of her. When he
returned, he would have set in motion what he should have done a
month ago: discover her identity. He released her and motioned to
the man who stood near the gate holding his horse's reins. The man
pushed through the crowd and stopped beside him, reins extended.
Marcus mounted, then paused, locking gazes with Elise.

"Elise."

She waited.

"I will return."

It seemed she didn't breathe.

"Be ready when I do."

* * * *

Three days away from Brahan Seer—from
Elise—had taken a toll. Marcus looked up from the letter he was
reading to the grandfather clock in the far corner of the study in
his London home. He curbed a growing irritation. He'd been forced
to follow the Earl of Loudoun to London, and now that Marcus
awaited his arrival, the fool had the temerity to be late. Marcus
finished the drink sitting before him, then returned his attention
to the note sent to him by Margaret's father, Lord Ross.

Marcus,
the note began,
I was
unexpectedly called to London and have just learned of your arrival
two days ago.
He gave a low laugh. "You hate London nearly as
much as I do. What story did Margaret concoct to coerce you into
accompanying her?" Marcus continued reading the note.
Lady Ross
is giving a ball tomorrow evening. I trust you will have time to
attend. Marcus tossed the invitation aside.
"You trust wrong,
Ferris. I have no interest in seeing your daughter."

Marcus looked up from reading the
Sunday
Times
when a knock sounded on the door nearly an hour later.
The door opened and his butler entered.

"The Earl of Loudoun to see you, Lord
Ashlund."

Marcus glanced at the clock. An hour and a
half late. "Show him in, Bower." Marcus refolded the paper and laid
it on the desk as Loudoun entered.

He bowed. "Lord Ashlund, it has been some
time."

Marcus indicated the chair in front of his
desk. "It has," he said, noting Loudoun hadn't had the good grace
to acknowledge his tardiness. It was impossible to civilize a
cur.

The earl seated himself. "I understand you
wish to see me on a matter of some importance." Bored amusement
shone in his green eyes.

"Have you seen your Hastings clansmen
lately?" Marcus asked without preamble.

Surprise flitted across Loudoun's features,
but he replied, the boredom reaching his voice, "Haven't been to
Scotland in an age. Why?"

"They attacked a group of women at Brahan
Seer."

Surprise resurfaced. Then… satisfaction in
the guise of disbelief. "Come now," he drawled. "Surely, you are
mistaken."

"I was there."

"I suppose one cannot question the word of
the Marquess of Ashlund. Was your father, the duke, there as
well?"

"Nay. You know anything of the attack?"

"Me?" The earl laughed. "I never involve
myself in the petty squabbles on that side of the family." He
studied Marcus. "Attacked your women, did they?"

Marcus nodded.

Loudoun shrugged. "Probably just wanted a bit
of sport. Why bother yourself? If someone had been hurt or if it
had been cattle—"

"Do not try my temper," Marcus cut in. "You
know nothing of it?"

"As I said, I have little to do with those
barbarians."

"In that you may be wise. I assume you still
exercise some authority over them?"

"I suppose so. Can't say I've ever cared to
try. Their actions are their own, so long as they don't interfere
with my life."

"Spoken like a true Campbell," Marcus
muttered.

Loudoun's eyes flickered, and there was a
biting edge in his cultured voice when he said, "Unlike you,
Ashlund, I am far removed from those people. I don't live in the
wilds of Scotland, yearning for the days of old."

"It isn't the days of old I yearn for, but,
like any civilized man, simple peace. Yet, it is your clansmen who
make that impossible."

"Mayhap you should appeal to our king. He is
in a better position than I to help."

"Mayhap," Marcus agreed. "Unfortunately, he's
not in England. I should warn you, if trouble arises before he
returns, you may find your clansmen intruding upon your life.
Castle Kalchurn is between Brahan Seer and Assipattle, if I
recall."

The earl's face tightened. "You have no cause
to threaten me, MacGregor. I've done nothing. I am not involved in
this matter, I tell you."

"Ah, but you are. Despite your complacent
attitude, you would not be saddened to hear of my demise or the
demise of any MacGregor, for that matter—man or woman—which makes
you as guilty as your kinsmen. Now," Marcus leaned forward, elbows
on his desk, "if there's a possibility you can get to the bottom of
this before it turns into something we will all regret, you would
find me most appreciative."

"Just what the devil does that mean?" Loudoun
demanded.

"It means, my dear Earl, that I might refrain
from running a sword through your black heart."

Marcus found Kiernan at his favorite club.
Pausing to observe his son as he lounged in one of the plush
chairs, pride filled his heart at the man the boy was becoming.
Kiernan's brow furrowed in response to something he read in the
paper spread across the arm of his chair, and a tenderness stirred
in Marcus at recalling where Kiernan had learned that look. It
amazed him how much the boy resembled Jenna.

The old sadness revived in Marcus. There had
been no great love between him and Jenna. The marriage could have
been better. She hadn't been happy. Despite his noble blood, he was
a Highlander—a clan leader—and Jenna couldn't comprehend the
archaic way of life. Marcus hadn't been able to find it in his
heart to blame her. She was of Scottish blood, not Highland.
Never the twain shall meet,
she had once said.

Still, he grieved when she died. Kiernan, a
boy of ten, had been inconsolable. Marcus worried his son had never
quite forgiven the world for taking her from him. Even now, he
glimpsed flashes of resentment. They were rare, but the emotion ran
deep. Kiernan always seemed to ask—to demand—why Marcus had been
unable to save her when she'd been thrown from her horse. She
hadn't died immediately. It would have been better if she had.
Instead, she'd lingered a day, an afternoon, really.

Kiernan had stolen into his mother's room
while she lay dying. Jenna hadn't wakened. Whether that was better
or not, Marcus had never been sure. But Kiernan had said his
good-byes. Marcus recalled seeing the lad on his knees beside his
mother's bed. When he entered the room, Kiernan remained
motionless. Neither moved for some time. At last, the boy rose and
left.

Marcus shook off the morose memories. He
crossed the room. Kiernan looked up from the paper. His face
brightened and he stood, flashing a smile that dispelled the fear
in Marcus's earlier memory. He grasped his son's hand and pulled
him close. They separated.

"What brings you to London again so soon?"
Kiernan pointed to a chair next to his, then sat. "I hadn't thought
you'd be here until spring."

"Not glad to see me?" Marcus chided.

A corner of Kiernan's mouth lifted a little
higher. "Never say you braved London for me. Why, Father, I don't
know what to say." He motioned to a steward. "Two brandies," he
said when the man reached hearing distance, then turned his
attention back to Marcus. "Or are you missing city life?"

Marcus grimaced. "Nay. I had business with
Loudoun."

Kiernan's smile vanished. "Damnation, Father,
what sort of business?"

"Unsavory business."

Kiernan grunted. "That's about the only sort
you could have with him."

Marcus gave an account of recent events. When
he'd finished, he took the final swallow of his brandy.

An all-too-familiar gleam entered his son's
eyes. "Perhaps I should return to Brahan Seer. You can use all the
help you can get. I'm handy with a sword, if you recall." He
flashed a cocky grin.

Aye, Marcus recalled all too well. His son
had nearly bested him with his own sword just last year. Damn, the
lad was truly grown.

"I do have some good news," Marcus said. He
paused. "I am to marry."

Kiernan looked as if he had been hit in the
belly. Marcus gave a quick explanation.

A moment later, Kiernan shook his head, his
expression disbelieving. "You say she hasn't actually
consented?"

"Aye."

"Isn't an announcement a bit premature?"

"No announcements. I am telling only
you."

Marcus watched his son. He hoped to glean
some insight into Kiernan's thoughts but, aside from obvious shock,
he displayed no other emotion. The boy had grown too skilled at
hiding the workings of his mind.

"Nothing to say on the matter?" Marcus
finally asked outright.

"I assume you care for her."

"I do."

"Then congratulations are in order."

"Aye," Marcus replied, while wondering
exactly how he would get Elise to agree. His gaze fell to the
Sunday Times
still open on the arm of Kiernan's chair. "Let
me see that." He nodded toward the paper.

Chapter Twelve

The afternoon sun hung low in the overcast
sky when Elise came to an abrupt halt outside the storehouse
located in the southeast corner of Brahan Seer's compound. Marcus
strode past the children playing at the bottom of the hill, headed
up in her direction. Her grip on the small sack of flour she held
tightened. He'd been gone less than a week. He hadn't delayed in
returning to Brahan Seer—neither had he delayed in seeking her out.
She had left the kitchen a few minutes ago and he hadn't been
there. He could have only just arrived. Only one thing would cause
him to come for her before even his horse could be unsaddled: he
had found the notice and made the connection between Elise
Merriwether and Elisabeth Kingston.