My Highland Love: Highland Lords Series (22 page)

Her heart pounded against her ribs and she
had to force herself not to run.
Where would you go?
she
asked herself. He made escape impossible.
You think he couldn't
find you within the confines of Brahan Seer?
He crested the
hill and their gazes met. Her breath caught at the haggard look in
his eyes.

He knows.

The children's shouts melted into the
background as he halted so close, the warmth of his breath
displaced the cool, early summer air against her face. She dropped
her gaze and bit back tears. Why did he torture her so?

"Hello, love," he murmured.

Elise jerked her gaze up to his. No anger
shone in his eyes. He tugged the sack of flour from her grasp and
let it drop to the ground, then wrapped an arm around her waist and
drew her close. Passion shot between them in a blazing kiss. She
gasped when he showered lush kisses along her chin and down the
base of her throat. She inhaled his scent and nearly cried when the
familiar fragrance engulfed her senses.

Marcus wrapped his free arm around her and
gave her a fierce hug. "I missed ye." He leaned back and looked
into her eyes.

Her heart leapt with joy and sorrow in
unison. Would it have been better for him to have found the wanted
notice and confront her? He brushed aside locks of hair the breeze
had blown across her cheek. He crooked a finger under her chin and
tilted her face up toward his. Her cheeks warmed and she flicked a
glance at the children who seemed oblivious of them. He stroked her
lips with his thumb. A dangerous grin flashed across his face.

"Wha—"

Marcus dragged her behind the thick brush
around back of the storehouse. He glanced at the massive oak tree
behind them.

"Marcus—"

He backed her against the tree and pinned her
with his body.

"You can't be seri—" The protest was cut off
as much by the sudden awareness of the hard length of him pressing
into her thigh as by his kiss.

Marcus broke the embrace just as abruptly as
he'd begun, ending the kiss with a loud smacking sound. Elise
stared. He grinned. She shoved at his chest. He bent over her once
more and she heard his quiet laugh before his mouth covered hers.
He parted her lips with his tongue, not asking, but taking. He
shifted and the vague awareness of his fingers closing around her
wrists penetrated her consciousness. He lifted her hands above her
head, pressing them against the tree as he leaned his weight
against her. A tremor ripped through her and her body coiled in
readiness for the hard press of him against her thigh again. But
Marcus released her mouth and, dipping his head, nipped at her
flesh from cheek to ear.

"I haven't forgotten how mercilessly you
teased me before I left." He rocked against her. The press of him
against her weakened her knees. "Feel what you do to me, sweet," he
said.

Elise inhaled sharply.

"Aye," he whispered.

Marcus rocked again, then again. She arched
as he kissed his way down her neck. He released her hands and
tugged down her bodice.

"Marcus!" She forgot the remonstration as his
weight lifted from her and he bent, his wet mouth closing over a
nipple.

Desire spiked through her. His tongue circled
the nipple, then released it. She closed her eyes, shivering as the
wind slid across her breast, puckering the bud to a hard peak.
Marcus abruptly pulled her away from the tree. She snapped open her
eyes. He eased her to the ground. The scent of crushed ivy ground
cover enveloped her as he came down beside her.

"They're expecting me to return with the
flour," she said. "When I don't—"

"They know I came in search of you." He
slipped a knee between her legs. "They won't come."

He covered a breast with his palm and slowly
teased the nipple with his thumb, while kissing the other breast.
His mouth captured the nipple and a rush of pleasure shot from both
breasts to the juncture between her legs. He lifted his head and
she forced her eyes into focus. His gaze remained fastened on hers
as he ran a hand along her ribs. His palm glided past her waist,
then along her thigh. He grabbed a fistful of her skirt and pulled
it up. She gasped at the feel of his warm hand flattening against
her skin, then caressing her inner thigh.

"Marcus," she whispered.

He said nothing, only continued caressing
upward until his fingers tickled the hair between her legs. She
tensed. He kissed the swell of her breast, her neck, her ear, then
her mouth, lengthening the kiss as he slipped a finger between her
folds. His thumb brushed the nub swollen with desire. She clutched
his shoulders. His muscles tensed beneath her fingers. She ached to
feel those arms around her. He stroked her deliberately while
slipping another finger inside. He released her mouth and leaned
his forehead against hers. His breathing grew ragged as he thrust
gently with his fingers. His thumb stroked in quicker movements.
Pleasure swirled in a restless coil deep insider her, spiking up in
wide ribbons of intensity that took her breath away.

Marcus nuzzled her neck. "Come to me."

She started at the whispered words.

"Come to me," he repeated.

And she did.

Elise took one of the scones Jinny had baked
that evening from the pan on the kitchen counter. They were still
warm to the touch. She pulled the tartan covering her shoulders
closer as she stuffed half the scone into her mouth and leaned
against the counter. Despite a large supper and wine, she had been
unable to sleep. Two glasses of wine hadn't been enough. She should
have made it three. At least she would have slept, even if
fitfully.

Why had she let Marcus touch her? When he
left for London, she had counted on him being away longer than
seven days and intended on being gone before he returned. Given
enough time, Cameron would have seen her confinement for the prison
sentence it was. She had planned on approaching him with care. When
he thought she had been wronged by Margaret, he understood her
desire to leave. An out-and-out demand for release, however, would
be viewed with suspicion. After all, why would a woman with only
fifty pounds to her name and no place to go want to leave?

She finished the second half of the scone. If
she had listened to her head and not her heart and had shunned
Marcus… Elise gave a mirthless laugh. She hadn't—and now she had to
deal with him while searching for the secret passage Winnie had
spoken of.

She reached for another scone, then decided
to take some to her room. She found a cloth napkin in the cabinet
and wrapped two scones. Male voices sounded in the direction of the
great hall as she had folded the napkin's last flap.

Elise cocked an ear. They approached from the
hall leading from the main entrance. Scooping up the scones, she
froze at sound of a familiar laugh. Marcus. She tightened her hold
on the tartan and darted through the kitchen door toward the stairs
but was still half a dozen steps from the concealment offered by
the staircase when the men burst into the room. Their laughter
ceased.

Marcus's "Good evening, lass. What mischief
brings you to the great hall tonight?" stopped Elise. She gripped
the tartan more tightly about her throat and turned, lifting her
hand to display the wrapped scones.

The men looked at the proffered scones and
burst into laughter. She began to relax, then caught sight of
Marcus's intense gaze.

* * * *

The colors of the throw Elise wore dissolved
in Marcus's mind in a blur of red and blue to the memory of her
lying alongside him in the ivy. He felt again her body as she
trembled beneath his hand, the moist heat of her—

"Good night, gentlemen," she said.

Marcus jerked his attention back to her as
she turned to the staircase and started up. He brushed past his
comrades and hurried after her. She paused midway up the staircase
and looked over her shoulder. He continued forward and she hurried
up the stairs and down the corridor to her bedchamber door where
she whirled to face him.

"Marcus, perhaps—"

He leaned forward, his shoulder brushing hers
as he reached around her and pushed open the door. The door swung
wide and he cupped her bottom, lifting her from the floor. She
squeaked and threw her arms around his neck, dropping the plaide
and the scones. He stepped inside, kicked the door shut, and took
the final steps to the bed. He fell atop her on the soft
mattress.

"I need you," he whispered.

The spicy scent of clean bed linen met his
nostrils as he kissed her. The fire crackled and it seemed the heat
in his blood ignited in unison. Elise gripped his shoulders. The
power in her hold belied the soft compliance of her lips. Marcus
ended the kiss.

He rose to his knees and pulled her up and
off the bed with him. He tugged the straps of her night rail down
over her shoulders, forcing her arms down so that the garment
skimmed along her body and pooled at her feet. His heart hammered.
At last, she willingly stood before him, soft curves his to touch,
her charms his to take. He forced back the need to crush her
beneath him and pound into her heat with all the force in his body
and drew her into his arms. She rested her head on his shoulder. He
held her quietly until the pounding in his ears dulled to a low
roar, then bent and brushed his lips across hers.

When Marcus lifted his head, he held her gaze
as he rotated his hips against her. Uncertainty played across her
face. She dropped her lashes at the second, more ardent grinding of
his arousal against her mound. He stepped back and she looked up in
surprise. He raked his gaze over her, then brought his attention
back to her face. A furious blush crept up her cheeks.

He unbuttoned his shirt and dropped the
garment on the floor. His left boot followed, then the right,
leaving him standing in nothing but his kilt. Marcus studied her as
he removed his belt and let it, along with the kilt, fall to the
floor. The belt buckle clinked on the stone, but Elise's eyes
remained fixed on his face. He took the few steps to her and,
grasping her wrist, gently brought her hand to his shaft. Her gaze
jerked down to where he firmly held her. He wrapped her fingers
around him and nearly came to his knees at the cool feel of her
fingers against his pounding heat.

"Do I frighten you, lass?" he asked.

Her head snapped up. "No."

Marcus gave a hoarse laugh. Bloody hell,
mayhap she wasn't afraid, but he was. He picked her up and carried
her to the bed. Placing her on the mattress, he lay down beside
her. He ignored the hammering in his head and ran a shaky finger
along her arm.

"I'll be gentle," he said.

She frowned. "I won't break."

"Nay, love," he agreed. "But compared to me,
you are naught but a feather."

Elise sat upright. "I am no porcelain doll to
be kept on a shelf."

Marcus opened his mouth to deny the
implication but stopped. "Is that how your husband treated
you?"

A long silence drew out.

"You cannot compare me to him," Marcus
finally said. "I'm no fool."

She blinked, then rolled to her side and
started toward the edge of the bed.

"Nay." Marcus grabbed her.

"You can leave now." She twisted as he yanked
her back.

"Nay." He rolled on top of her. "Hush," he
commanded when she opened her mouth.

He kissed her. She pressed herself into the
mattress, but he lengthened the kiss. She wriggled as though to
sidle out from beneath him, rocking their bodies together. Pleasure
shot through him. Marcus ended the kiss, breathing hard.

"Elise," he whispered hoarsely, "you are not
discouraging me."

She ceased.

Marcus slipped a knee between her legs. "I am
a fool," he said. "I wanted you the moment I laid eyes on you. You
know that."

He reached between them and drew apart the
folds that protected her sex. He feared, at first, she would resist
in earnest and he would be forced to spend yet another night
without her, but an instant later, she wrapped her arms about his
neck. Marcus touched her in heated strokes. He breathed deep of her
scent filling his nostrils, stroking, petting until, at last, she
cried out and buried her head in his shoulder. He trailed a long,
moist kiss from her ear to a breast, taking the hardened nipple in
his mouth.

"
Marcus
," she groaned.

He continued to tease her while settling
himself between her legs. He probed for entrance into her body,
aware of the sudden rise and fall of her breast, the subtle tension
in her. His body tensed in response, hungry for the resistance. The
tip of his shaft slipped into the moist opening.

"You're ready for me," he rasped, and in one
swift motion, thrust.

Her nails pierced the flesh of his shoulders.
She stiffened. Marcus stilled, waves of pleasure radiating from his
groin. He took a shaky breath and focused on her face. His mind
instantly cleared at sight of the drawn brow and hard lines around
her mouth.

"Bloody hell," he cursed. "I hurt you."

"No," she denied so quickly he wouldn't have
believed the pope had he said she spoke the truth.

"You may be no porcelain doll," he muttered,
"but you aren't to be misused."

"You don't understand—"

"I understand well enough." He began to lift
himself off her.

Elise held fast to his shoulders. "You do
not, but it doesn't matter. If you will just continue, it will
pass."

He frowned. "If you think I could misuse
you—"

"Good Lord." She rolled her eyes.

"What in God's name has possessed you this
evening?" he demanded, feeling frustration grow and himself
soften.

"You, I thought."

Marcus blinked. He stared at her face for a
moment, then dropped his gaze to her breasts. The nipples no longer
stood erect. He lowered himself so that his chest brushed the soft
peaks. They instantly stiffened. He hardened. He shifted slightly,
gasping as the tight passage closed in around him in a hold he
hadn't recalled since—Marcus froze, jerking his attention back to
Elise's taut face—since he'd bedded Jenna on their wedding night.
She'd been the only virgin he'd ever had, but the memory remained
vivid. However, there had been no maidenhead with Elise. She had
been married, had a child. She was no virgin.