He gave Marcus a satisfied look.
“What?” she demanded. “What has happened?”
“'Tis as you said,” Cameron said, “you fall under Highland law. You're an Irishwoman. We are family.”
“I am free to go, then?”
“Well,” he answered slowly, “'tis not so easy.”
“But Winnie said any clansman who didn't agree with their clan could leave.”
Cameron's lips thinned. “I wouldn't speak of Winnie. That isn't working in your favor.”
“But—”
He shook his head. “She would be the first to admit that she wasn't talking about women traipsing off alone.”
“What?”
Cameron gave her a considering look. “Did she not send Peter with you?”
“Yes, bu—”
“And did she not tell you it was a bad idea?”
“I wouldn't say—”
Cameron raised a brow.
“I have a right to come and go as I please.”
“You're a woman,” he insisted. “You must submit to your lord.”
She stiffened. “I have no lord. I am unmarried.”
“All women have a lord,” he explained gently.
Elise shook her head. “I am free.”
“Aye, you are a free woman—not a slave—but I am your lord.”
“You? Ridiculous.”
“You are under my roof. You are a part of us.”
“Cameron—”
“It would be wrong of me to let you go,” he interrupted gruffly. “You should never have run off in the first place.”
“But you were going to let me go,” she insisted.
He shrugged. “I was considering it, but I hadn't made up my mind either.”
Elise jumped up and whirled on Marcus. “This is your fault.”
“My fault? This was your idea.”
“Now, lass,” Cameron interjected, “tomorrow Marcus will deal with Margaret and she'll never interfere again.”
Elise turned on Cameron. “Cameron, please—”
He brought his palm down on the table. “Enough.” He looked to Marcus. “Marcus, take her upstairs and put her to bed—once and for all.”
Marcus took hold of her arm. She started to resist, but Cameron gave a single shake of his head. Marcus prodded her toward the stairs and her shoulders slumped.
“This is wrong,” she said, taking the stairs with deliberate slowness.
“It's finished,” Marcus replied.
“You have nothing to say about it.”
“I have been patient,” he said, as they reached the top of the stairs.
“I never asked for your patience.”
He placed a hand on her back and urged her down the hallway at a quicker pace. “Count yourself fortunate that's what you've gotten. Now go to bed.”
They came to a halt before her bedchamber door.
“I'll go to bed when I am good and ready,” she retorted.
Marcus leaned in close behind her. “Go to bed before it's too late.”
She shook her head.
“You play a dangerous game.” He opened the bedchamber door and shoved her inside.
“What the devil are you talking about?”
He stepped into the room, shutting the door behind him. “By God, did your husband teach you nothing of respect? What of trust”—desire flared to life inside him—”or…desire?”
Elise paled.
Marcus started at her sudden expression of pain. “Bloody hell.” He reached her side in an instant. “Forgive me, love.”
She turned away, but he grasped her shoulders.
“Please go,” she said, her head averted.
“Did you love him deeply?” Marcus asked. She grasped his wrist and tried to disengage them from her hands, but he tightened his grip. “Elise?”
She lifted her head and met his gaze. “No.”
Marcus blinked. Her eyes widened and he was unsure if he read fear or remorse. “What happened?” he asked.
Her expression hardened. “That is none of your concern.”
“Mayhap, but I want the answer.”
At first it seemed she wouldn't comply, then in a tired voice, “Riley shouldn't have married. He didn't want the ties of a wife, and certainly not the responsibilities of a child.”
“How can a man not love a beautiful wife who gives him children in his own image?”
She dropped her gaze, but he didn't miss the scarlet that crept up her cheeks.
“Elise.”
“You have your answers. Now go.”
With a finger, he forced her chin upwards. “The man was a fool. How he could not want you—”
She twisted from his grasp. “I never said he didn't want me. We had a daughter.”
“A child need not come of passion.”
She shot him a defiant look. “You tread on dangerous ground.”
He slid an arm around her back. “Tell me, love, did he kiss you like this?”
Marcus pressed his mouth to hers, gently caressing her lips with his. She squirmed, but he tightened his hold. Slowly deepening the kiss, he parted her lips with his tongue, tasting the hot moistness of her mouth and encouraging her to enjoy him. Her breath quickened, and he slid wet kisses across the smooth skin of her neck. He grazed a breast with his hand and felt her sharp intake of breath. He kissed her mouth, harder this time. At last, he released her.
Elise looked into his eyes, her expression flat. “That is lust. Any man can feel lust.”
“True,” Marcus agreed. “And I can find a woman to satisfy lust. But this is need. A need,” he cupped her bottom, pressing her to him, “born of strong desire, fueled by something much deeper. This leads to true passion.”
Keeping her close, he lifted her from the floor and carried her to the bed. He settled her upon the bed, then lay down beside her.
“This is a need so great it drives a man wild.” He stroked her neck. “That's what I felt our first meeting in the meadow. You have no idea what you do to me.” He nuzzled her neck. “Even the ride home with you in my lap was painful.” He kissed her neck. She shook her head, but he went on. “Just the thought of you incites me like a raging fire.”
Marcus rolled onto her. He stroked her shoulder, then slid his hand down to cover a breast. He kissed the base of her neck. She gripped his shoulders and it seemed she would resist. He slipped a finger inside her bodice and brushed a nipple. Her hold tightened on his shoulders.
“Sweet,” he whispered, “ye are beautiful. I want you.” He tugged her bodice down and grasped the nipple between thumb and forefinger, rolling it gently. She arched a breath's movement toward him. “Aye,” he coaxed. “You want me.” He moved against her. “Tell me you want me. Come, sweet, surely you can give me those simple words.” He kissed her, moving against her more ardently.
She abruptly shoved at him. He rocked against her again. She shoved harder.
“No,” she said in a voice hoarse with effort.
“Wha—?” He tried to focus his eyes.
She arched.
“Elise.” He buried his head in her hair.
“Get off me.” Her fingernails pressed through his shirt, biting into his shoulder.
Marcus lifted his head. “What has happened? What's wrong?”
Elise pushed harder, grunting with the useless effort. “I will not be your mistress.”
He frowned. “I'm not asking you to be my mistress.”
She stopped pushing at him. “Then what is this all about?”
“What does it look like?”
“Why don't you ask the woman you are going to marry?”
“I would be glad to, if she would allow it.”
Elise stared. “What kind of man involves his future wife with his mistress?” She began struggling again. “Let me go!”
“Not until you explain what this is about.”
“I have told you.”
“Nae. You've only spoken in riddles.”
“I'm sure
Margaret would not think it was much of a riddle,” she retorted.
“Margaret? You're still fretting about her silly comments? I told you, tomorrow I will—” The horrified look on Elise's face halted him.
“Marcus,” she said in a trembling voice, “if you have any feeling for me, you will not do this. Margaret made it perfectly clear how she felt about you flaunting your mistress—”
“Flaunting my mistress?” Anger flooded him. “This is none of her bloody affair.”
“None of her affair? For God's sake, you are to marry her. I certainly wouldn't—”
“I what?”
Elise blanched.
“Margaret,” he said through gritted teeth, “I will wring your meddling little neck.”
Elise bristled. “You have no right to be angry just because she spoiled your plans.”
“Aye, but I do.”
“You think you can use women as pawns.”
“Love—”
“Do not address me in that familiar fashion. I tell you, I will not be your mistress.” She struggled beneath him. “I won't change my mind, no matter what you say.”
Marcus caught her face between his hands. “No matter what I say?”
She tried shaking her head, but he held her firm.
“I am happy to hear that,” he said. “For 'tis not Margaret I intend to marry, but you.”
Chapter Nine
A hard knock sounded on the door of Winnie's cottage. Elise started from her concentration on the teacup Winnie stood filling with hot water. They exchanged a questioning look before Winnie called “Come in” as she turned and replaced the kettle over the fire.
The door opened and Mary entered. She brushed back the shawl thrown over her head as cover against the light rain and addressed Elise. “Ye must come to the castle.”
“Why?”
“'Tis the MacGregor's command.”
Elise bristled. His imperious commands—her stomach did a somersault—were those of a husband-to-be. She summoned a believable amount of female condescension. “What does he want?”
“He and Lady Ross are in his library. Says you must come without delay.”
“Margaret?” Elise shot a glance at Winnie.
“The man keeps his promises,” Winnie remarked.
“The man is an idiot.” Elise turned back to Mary. “Tell him I'm busy.”
The girl gasped. “I canna' do that. He'll have my hide.”
Elise's stomach gave another turn. It was her hide he wanted.
Tell him the truth, her mind insisted, but she ignored the urging now as she had last night when Marcus said it was her he wanted to marry and not Margaret. He wasn't the sort of man who would let his wife set off to America with the intention of avenging herself against a killer. And Amelia and Steven deserved more than to be forgotten at sea.
“Tell him I'm busy,” Elise said.
Mary shot Winnie a beseeching look, but Winnie shrugged. “Lady Margaret can go to the devil.”
Mary looked at Elise again. “You can't refuse.”
Elise gave a single shake of her head. Mary looked from one to the other, then whirled and left the cottage.
Elise still sat across the table from Winnie, deep in conversation, when another rap sounded on the cottage door, this one sharper than the last.
“Who in the world?” Winnie complained. She hurried to the door and threw it open. “Marcus.” The housekeeper stepped back.
Elise flicked her gaze from Marcus to Margaret, who stood beside him, then narrowed her eyes on him. He lifted a brow as if to ask where she would now hide and, despite her efforts, her heartbeat accelerated.
“May we?” Marcus indicated the interior of the cottage with a nod.
“Aye, of course.” Winnie stepped clear of the doorway.
Margaret glided into the room ahead of him and sat in the chair Winnie had occupied. Marcus leaned against the doorframe.
A moment of silence passed before Margaret addressed Elise. “I understand there has been a misunderstanding between us.”
For the hundredth time, Elise thanked God for the misunderstanding. Otherwise, Marcus would have looked deeper for the reason behind her running away.
“I wish to apologize for any distress I caused,” Margaret said.
Elise quirked a brow. A tinge of red heightened the color in the woman's cheeks. Satisfaction shot through Elise. What would the woman think of Marcus's marriage proposal to a lowly servant? The thought vanished with the realization that Marcus might have told her. Who else might he have told? The possibility of spending the rest of her life with this man—
“I regret you misinterpreted my words,” Lady Ross went on.
“I understood you perfectly,” Elise replied.
Another long silence drew out before Margaret looked at Marcus. “Now that this is all settled, your—” She stopped, and Elise caught sight of the now hard set of his jaw. Margaret turned her attention back to Elise. “We understand one another, then?”
“We do.”
Lady Ross angled her head. “I shall be going.” She glanced at Marcus. “If I may?”
With a brusque nod, he straightened from the doorframe. “Winnie, escort Lady Ross to the stables, if you please.”
Margaret rose and walked to the door. She paused beside Marcus as though to say something but, with a curtsy, left with Winnie closing the door behind them.
When they'd gone, he closed the door and faced Elise. “I sent for you.”
“Yes.”
“Yet you forced me to bring Margaret to you.”
“Yes.”
“And when we arrived, you were less than gracious.”
“Milord,” Elise said in exaggerated tones, “you can force me to sit quietly while you issue commands, but you cannot force me to agree.”
Marcus blinked, then started toward her. She tensed as he threw himself into the chair beside hers, folded his arms across his chest, and regarded her.
“Is it so difficult to do as I ask?”
“In this case, yes,” she replied.
“This request, then, went against your… moral fiber?”
“That is one way of putting it.”
A gleam appeared in his eye and a prickle of dread crept up her neck.
“This means,” he went on, “you will honor future requests so long as they do not go against your moral convictions?”
“Perhaps,” she answered tentatively.
“Mayhap a distraction would help.” His gaze held hers. “Would you like to know what sort of distraction I have in mind?”
“No,” she replied, and mentally cursed the all-too-quick response.
“Too late.”
Marcus stood. In one quick motion, he grasped her waist and lifted her onto the table. With a single finger, he tilted her chin upward so she was forced to look directly into his eyes.
“I have found my threats are meaningless. Probably because you know I am incapable of carrying them out against your beautiful body.”
He shifted his gaze to her neck and moved his finger lightly on the hollow of her throat. Elise tried to quell the quiver in her stomach, but the almost imperceptible, yet arrogant twitch at the corner of his mouth said she hadn't been completely successful.
“I am, however, more than willing to do this every time you disobey me.” He cupped the nape of her neck as he bent and covered her mouth with his.
Elise twisted in an effort to distance their bodies. Marcus gave a satisfied grunt and shoved her thighs apart with his knee. He pulled her close, pressing her stomach against his erection. A gust of desire startled Elise. He slipped a hand beneath her skirt.
She wriggled in an attempt to break the kiss. Her belly rubbed across his hard shaft. She jerked back, but he hugged her closer as he traced circles up her inner thigh. She seized his shoulders and tried to shake his immoveable body. His tongue slipped past her lips and thrust gently against her tongue.
In her mind's eye, she saw him ease her ba
ck onto the table and pull up her dress until she lay bared before him. How easily he could spread her legs, then lift his kilt and—Elise jolted. His hand had moved farther up her thigh. She swayed with dizziness. Body and mind seemed connected only through the roiling in her stomach. His fingers brushed the sensitive skin on the uppermost part of her thigh.
Elise tore her mouth from his and buried her head in his shoulder. “Enough,” she said between heavy breaths.
His hand stilled. “Have I selected an effective distraction?”
“You know perfectly well what you've done.”
Marcus removed his hand from her thigh, then grasped her shoulders, holding her at arm's length. “Beware,” he said, and something suspiciously close to a smile played on his mouth, “for, if I find you disobeying me too often, I will conclude you crave the distraction.”
Realization washed over her. “You odious man!” She pushed him from her.
Clutching his breast, Marcus took a step back. “You wound me, my sweet.”
“I'm in no mood for games.” She stood and began smoothing her rumpled skirts, slowing the action upon seeing her hands tremble.
“I assure you,” he said with a seriousness that yanked her attention onto him, “this is no game.” The glitter in his eyes reflected the edge in his voice.
Elise stared. “You can't be serious. You wouldn't…”
“Do what I have just done? That and more. Passion is a powerful distraction.”
His gaze held hers and she knew he was remembering his final words before leaving her room last night, “I will wed you.”
He abruptly turned and strode to the door.
Elise tried tearing her gaze from his muscled calves but found herself unable to blink until the door closed softly behind him. How was she going to get out of this mess? If she told him she didn't love him, he wouldn't believe her.
* * *
Elise sat on the bed beside Chloe, gripping the girl's hands and keeping them pressed against the mattress as Winnie placed a hand on Chloe's stomach. Her deft fingers inched along the skin until she located the unborn child's buttocks. Winnie pressed hard, trying once again to coax the buttocks away from the birthing canal. Elise rubbed her forehead against her shoulder in an effort to brush back sweat-matted hair from her eyes.
Winnie suddenly pushed hard on the baby's rear. Chloe flinched, crying out. Elise twisted and met the older woman's gaze. Winnie straightened and gave a small but significant shake of her head. Elise gently massaged Chloe's wrists before reaching for the rag floating in a water basin beside the bed. Elise wrung out the rag and wiped the girl's forehead. Chloe writhed.
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