My Highland Love: Highland Lords Series (28 page)

She wrinkled her nose in distaste. "Of course
not."

"I am serious," he added.

"Marcus, I don't interfere in the affairs of
others."

He gave her a reproachful look.

She screwed one side of her mouth into a wry
smile. "Not really, I don't, and you cannot deny that I have never
interfered in your life."

"True."

"But that doesn't mean I can't see what is
happening. What measures have you taken to discover the truth?"

"That is nothing you need concern yourself
with."

Sophie sighed. "I feared you would say that.
Marcus. I like the girl. Still, I would ask that you inform me if
any… problems arise."

"I will keep your request in mind," he said,
and wished her a good day.

* * * *

Her wedding day brought with it all the
promise of a hailstorm in June. Wind blew in clouds so dark, it
looked as though God's wrath would rain down upon them. Elise sent
up a prayer of thanks for Sophie's experienced hands. She held her
breath while Sophie deftly fastened the buttons that went from the
neckline of the yellow silk gown to the small of her back.

"There." Sophie gave a final tug to smooth
out the dress. Elise turned as Sophie reached for the matching lace
veil. "Look at this beautiful work."

"Yes," Elise agreed. "Winnie is a master
needlewoman."

Sophie smiled and positioned the veil's band
atop Elise's hair. The lace fell to her waistline. A lace overskirt
continued the illusion of fog amid petals to the floor. Sophie
stepped back. Elise watched her soon-to-be-cousin, touched by the
genuine pleasure on her face.

"Lovely." Sophie's expression sharpened.
"Well, Cousin, you've done it now."

Elise glanced at the clock on her mantel. "I
still have half an hour."

"A full thirty minutes in which to explain to
Marcus why you changed your mind."

Elise jerked her gaze onto the countess.

"Come now, you know your anxiety is only due
to the gravity of the vows you will take." A gleam appeared in
Sophie's eyes. "Unless you fear you cannot keep your vows."

"You MacGregors," Elise began, then amended,
"Ashlunds," at the look on Sophie's face. "Born troublemakers."

"A long line of troublemakers." Her mouth
assumed an impish grin. "Perhaps you are nervous about the wedding
night? I have not once seen Marcus making his way to your
room."

"Good Lord! Is nothing sacred?"

"No," she said, then picked up the bouquet
that lay on the bed.

Elise looked again at the clock, then back at
Sophie. "I still have twenty-five minutes. Sophie," she began, but
Sophie cut her off.

"I will await you in the drawing room."

Elise smiled her thanks. As Sophie closed the
door behind her, Elise seated herself on the couch. Twenty-five
minutes from now, the key that bound her soul to Amelia and Steven
would lay at the bottom of the sea with them. She had considered
using her position once she married to quietly bring about Price's
fall, but had recalled Marcus's words
"The thirst for revenge
will eat a man alive
." The same was true of a woman.

She was trading Steven and Amelia's rest for
Marcus's safety. May they forgive her.

Chapter Sixteen

At sight of Marcus dressed in a new kilt, a
crisp, white lawn shirt meticulously tucked into his waistband and
buttoned to the neck, and a bonnet cocked to one side, Elise
faltered the last few steps from where he stood at the altar. In
minutes, this man would be her husband. Her gaze met his and she
saw there an intensity that demanded she leap into his arms from
across the final precipice that separated them. Her knees weakened.
Marcus held out his hand. She flushed and dropped her gaze.

He grasped her hand in a firm grip, turning
with her to face Father Whyte. The priest spoke the Latin vows
slowly, then patiently waited until she repeated them as he had
coached. Marcus repeated his vows and, before Elise realized it, he
slipped a large emerald onto her finger. The ring was a size too
large, but her heart skipped a beat at the weight of the jewel and
the cool of the metal encircling her finger. Father Whyte gave the
final blessing and a shout went up when Marcus took her in his
arms. Her attention jerked from the emerald to him as he finalized
the ritual with their first kiss as husband and wife.

Hand on her back, Marcus guided her around to
face the guests who stood cheering. He urged her down the aisle and
out the chapel doors. The crowd waiting outside shouted in
exultation, and those following joined in more shouts. Waves,
squeals, and cries of good wishes followed them to the castle.
Marcus opened the postern door and Elise stepped inside.

With a sweep of her gaze, Elise took in the
gold and purple swags adorning the walls, the velvet surfaces
softening the light cast by sconces burning from holders erected
while she slept last night. On the far side of the room, hung on
each end of the wall, were two intricately woven tapestries
depicting Highland men in battle. The table was laden with food,
and serving girls dodged guests who had arrived too late to find
space near the chapel. Another cheer went up and several women
hurried forward, grasped Elise's arms, and whisked her across the
room to a place near the hearth. She was instantly surrounded.
Sophie stood among their ranks and she gave Elise a knowing look.
Elise turned to see Marcus reach the opposite side of the room, a
glass of whiskey already in hand, his friends clapping him on the
back.

The men spoke loudly and, despite the din,
Elise caught bits and pieces of their bawdy suggestions for the
wedding night. Her female companions giggled, all but Sophie, whose
mouth twitched, and Elise realized they, too, had heard the advice
given her husband. Her cheeks warmed and she wished very much for
the quiet of her bedchambers.
Her bedchambers.
Goose pimples
prickled her arms.
Their
bedchambers. She would occupy the
lady's chambers, but she wouldn't sleep there. The look in Marcus's
eyes when the priest had pronounced them man and wife had dispelled
any doubts about their wedding night. Sophie was right; she'd done
it now.

Serving girls emerged from the kitchen, trays
piled high with lamb, beef, chicken, delicately stuffed quail and
wild pheasant. Salmon, perch, flounder and whitefish followed, all
caught from the fresh waters of Loch Katrine and Lock Lommund. On
the way to the castle, Elise had glimpsed the wagons loaded with
meats, cheeses, fruits and vegetables that would be carted to the
village so that all who had crossed MacGregor land for the wedding
could partake in the festivities.

She had overheard Marcus give instructions
for fine liquors to be included in the bounty. Elise glanced his
way. He stood among the warriors and peasants as though among
equals. Who, but the wealthy—those who need not worry for
tomorrow's bread—stood so casually?
And what of those who toil
for the bread to feed those they love?
something deep inside
her whispered.

Her heart pricked. Idiot that she was, not
until two days ago had she found the presence of mind to go to
Marcus's library and research the Highland clan system. Knowledge
is power, her father had said. She had forgotten that precept. Had
she followed her head instead of her heart, the moment her
traitorous heart had stirred at the sight of Marcus MacGregor she
would have made it her business to know his business. A chill stole
through her and settled in her gut. What good had that done her
with Robert? His family was counted among the elite of Boston, yet
he had been a murderer. Elise focused abruptly on the man and woman
who stepped before her.

The woman offered a bundle wrapped in simple
cloth. "For ye, m'lady," she said in a thick accent.

Elise reflexively reached for the parcel.
"Thank you."

She untied the twine that bound the bundle.
The knot loosed easily and the cloth fell away to reveal a finely
stitched linen blanket. Elise slipped a finger beneath the
material's folds and, grasping it between her fingers, ran them
along the edge.

"It's beautiful," she breathed, and opened
the blanket to its full four feet. She placed the cloth covering on
the hearth's mantel, then pressed the linen to her cheek. None
finer had she found, even in the expensive boutiques of Boston.
"How soft." She looked questioningly at the woman.

The woman blushed. "We grow the flax. I
harvest the reeds, then make the linen."

Elise stared. She knew the arduous task of
creating linen. As a young child, she had watched her great
grandmother, a woman of seventy-two years, draw bundles of flax
(straws pulled, not cut, her great grandmother stressed, for
cutting made the stems useless) across boards filled with spikes
set far enough apart to allow the flax stalks through but not the
seed heads. That was but the beginning of the long process that led
to the creation of the yarn used in the weaving.

Elise looked at the woman. "I've never seen
finer work."

The woman blushed deeper and glanced from her
husband back to Elise. "'Tis a blanket for the bairn."

"Bairn?"

The woman smiled. "The one sure to come next
spring."

Emotion shot through Elise. The memory of
Amelia as a newborn, wrapped in swaddling cloth, flashed before her
only to be replaced by Amelia's lifeless body wrapped in a white
burial shroud.

Another child?

She jerked her gaze onto Marcus. As though
aware of her alarm, he looked in her direction. His attention
focused on the blanket she still pressed against her cheek. His
eyes softened and she knew he realized the blanket's significance.
Elise dropped the blanket from her cheek and looked back at the man
and woman.

"Thank you," she said in a hoarse voice.

The man looked at his wife, his pride in
Elise's reaction taken as proof they had pleased the lord's bride.
He gave a small bow and ushered his wife away. Elise turned and
came face to face with Sophie.

"Shall I take that?" Sophie placed a hand on
the blanket.

"Oh, Sophie," she cried in a small voice,
"what have I done?"

"One never quite forgets the pain of losing a
child," Sophie said.

The bagpipes struck up, followed immediately
by the fiddle, then the remaining instruments blended into one for
Elise. She watched as Sophie lifted the blanket and examined the
intricate pattern.

"Society would pay a great price for such
work," she commented. "And to think you found it here in the
Highlands." Sophie looked up from the blanket. "Interesting what
one finds in the most unlikely places."

Hours later the revelry showed no signs of
abating, so Elise retired. Sophie saw to her undressing, then the
donning of the nightgown she had given Elise as a wedding gift. The
gown made of pale-green silk brushed her ankles. She hadn't worn a
night dress so fine since leaving Boston. Sophie slipped the
sleeves of the matching robe over her arms. Elise examined the
small satin rosettes encircling each sleeve hem.

"Lovely," she murmured.

Sophie stepped back and surveyed her. "You're
lovely, and Marcus is sure to agree."

Elise grimaced, although inwardly she
trembled. The heated look in his eyes when she'd turned before
going up the stairs made her stomach do somersaults every time she
remembered their passion. Why in heaven this should be so, she
couldn't fathom. Tonight would not be the first time they'd made
love. How much closer to
love
might tonight bring her?

Sophie assisted her into the large,
four-poster bed and pulled the covers up to her chin. She kissed
Elise's forehead then left. When the door clicked shut, Elise
turned onto her side, facing the low-burning fire. Sophie had said
the men would keep Marcus occupied well into the night. It seemed
every time she had glanced in his direction, his glass was being
filled. Father and son were following his example. She expected the
lot of them to pass out on the stone floor of the great hall.

A glint from the corner dresser drew her
attention. A gold chain, another gift from Marcus, sat beside a
garnet-crowned heart brooch. A gift from Cameron. The brooch had
belonged to Marcus's mother. Moisture had glistened in Cameron's
eyes when he pinned it on her dress. Tears stung her eyes. What
would Marcus's mother have thought of her son marrying a murderess?
Elise slipped an arm beneath her pillow and hugged it close as she
drifted off to dreams of ships tossed about by high winds, a child
lost in the darkness, and a man who called from a place she
couldn't distinguish.

* * * *

"Quiet, lads." Marcus slapped Declan's
shoulder. He rode atop the shoulders of Declan and Kiernan. "Ye are
sure to wake the dead."

Declan pretended to misstep, jostling him.
Marcus grasped Declan's shoulder.

"Don't make me fetch my sword and deal with
you," Marcus laughed.

The procession of men stopped before the new
lady's bedchambers. Declan kicked open the door. It hit the wall
with a resounding bang and Elise bolted upright with a small cry.
She blinked against the soft light of the candle illuminating her
nightstand. At the sight of disheveled brown locks cascading down
her shoulders and over the creamy rise of her breasts, Marcus's
groin tightened. She looked from him to Declan. When her gaze came
to Kiernan, her eyes widened and she snatched the sheet up to her
chin.

Probably best, Marcus realized. Kiernan was
no threat, but a band of drunken Highlanders barred the only exit.
He bit back a laugh when her attention shifted to the top of his
head where, earlier, had sat the now-missing bonnet. Her gaze
traveled downward, her eyes narrowing when they reached the missing
shirt buttons—a shirt open to his navel and only half tucked into a
kilt, which looked as though it might come unpleated with a brisk
sneeze.