He scanned the grounds, his gaze centering on Winnie's cottage in the distance. He started to turn from the deserted-looking building when the door opened and a woman stepped out. Marcus studied the figure as she hurried down the single step onto the ground and started in the direction of the castle. He followed her progress until he discerned Mary's features, then turned from the wall. Perhaps she knew something of Elise's whereabouts. A moment later, he pushed through the postern door and strode through the eating hall to the kitchen. Mary appeared in the kitchen's back door as he entered.
“Have you seen Elise?” he demanded without preamble.
The girl paused in the doorway. “N-Nae, laird.”
Marcus surveyed the women in the room, all of whom had stopped their work and were looking at him. “No one here knows where Winnie is?”
A general “Nae” went up and he turned from the kitchen. Where the bloody hell was Elise? And as for Winnie…
A cursory investigation of the castle turned up no sign of Elise. Only three weeks earlier he had been searching for her in much the same manner.
Her absence then was innocent enough. Yet the number of times she had gone to Michael's against his express command, combined with last month's disappearance, unsettled him.
Two hours later, after a more thorough search, including the dungeons, Marcus stalked toward Winnie's cottage. The secret passageway had become his nemesis. At every turn, he feared Elise had somehow managed to escape through it, despite the fact he'd had it sealed from the outside.
He found Winnie's cottage empty. Marcus worked his way through the keep, his temper rising with every step. At last, he reached Lauren's home. Aye, she'd seen Elise, only that had been over an hour ago. He strode from her cottage, across the compound, and into the kitchen. Winnie, this time, sat at the table, plucking a chicken, just as she should have been.
“So, milady,” he said, bringing her attention to him, along with that of the other women in the room, “you have returned to the roost.”
Winnie looked up from yanking tail feathers from her victim's rump.
“Have you seen Elise?”
Comprehension shone on her face.
“Don't play games with me, Winnie,” he warned. “You have seen Elise. I can see it in your eyes.”
“No need to get testy.” She turned to her chicken. “Try the women's drawing room.”
Another five minutes and Marcus shoved open the drawing room door. The women jumped as the door hit the wall with a bang. He swept his gaze across the room before settling dangerously on Elise, who sat on the large couch against the left wall. No one moved as he strode toward her.
“Good Lord, what in the world is wrong?” she blurted when he halted in front of her.
With a jerk of his head, Marcus cleared the room. The door closed with a soft click and he demanded, “Where have you been?”
She blinked. “I-I have just come from Lauren's—”
“Not just come. You left there over an hour ago.”
“What have I done now?” she retorted in the same dark tone he'd used.
“It never occurred to you to inform someone—anyone—where you were going?” Marcus grabbed her shoulders. “Don't do this again.” He hadn't realized until seeing her, just how far his fear had run. He hugged her.
She wriggled within his grasp. “Marcus.”
He leaned back and looked into her face. “The next time you leave the castle, tell someone.”
Her brow furrowed, then her lips pursed. She wrested herself from his arms and tumbled back onto the couch. “Go away,” she snapped, and reached to smooth her skirts, which had bunched beneath her.
Marcus sat beside her. “Listen to me. There is mischief afoot, and I won't live in fear for your safety, even within the walls of my own home. Do you understand?”
Her eyes narrowed. “What do you want from me? I am a veritable prisoner as it is. Now, like some child, I must ask permission before stepping outside my room?”
“Bloody hell, do you think the Campbells came here out of boredom?”
“What do you mean?”
“They wanted you.”
She snorted. “That's ridiculous.”
He raised a brow. “Is it?”
“What are you saying?”
He thought, Who are you? Do the Campbells want you simply to hurt me? But said, “They wish to hurt me. Remember, they tried once before.”
“True,” she agreed. “But why put themselves in danger in order to kidnap me again?”
“I beg you to trust me,” he said. “Allow me some peace. Your confinement is for a short time, I swear.”
Elise studied him. “Your father concurs with this theory?”
“He does.”
“All right.”
“There is something else that would ease my mind.”
She sighed. “What is that?”
“I'm planning another trip to London. I wish to take you.”
Surprise flickered across her face, then her brows rose. “This, after nearly chaining me to the castle walls?”
“Beware, my sweet. You may yet find yourself in chains.”
“Sounds very nice, indeed,” she muttered.
Despite the feminine nonchalance, Marcus detected caution. Did she suspect what he had in store for her? “I said your incarceration would last only a short time. I will feel more secure if you're with me.”
“London?” she repeated.
Ah, there it was, a note of interest. “Aye.”
She looked thoughtful, then said, “Perhaps the Campbells would forget about me in the meantime.”
“Perhaps,” he said, though a niggling doubt said otherwise.
“I will go,” she said.
Marcus braced himself. “Good. Then I'll send for Father Whyte.”
Chapter Thirteen
“What?” Elise asked softly—too softly.
“I'll send for Father Whyte,” Marcus repeated.
“Why?”
“Last I heard, a priest was needed for a wedding.”
Her eyes widened. “Married?”
“I said we would marry.”
“I never agreed.” She looked away.
“You swore not to become my mistress under any circumstances.”
Elise looked sharply at him. “Yes, but—”
“Unless we marry, that is exactly what has happened.”
She jumped to her feet, backing away several paces. “Not so.”
Marcus raised a brow.
Her eyes darkened. “You know perfectly well what I meant when I said that.”
“Aye, just as I have said.”
“No,” she retorted. “I would not be your mistress when you were to marry.”
He lounged back against the cushions. “Interesting interpretation.”
“It is not an interpretation!”
“Surely, you can understand my confusion.”
“You are trying to trick me,” she snapped.
“Nae, love. I only point out the facts. When you thought I was to marry, you left. You now know the truth yet are still here. Do you plan on running away again?”
Elise jerked her chin up with such a defiant gesture he had to stifle a laugh, despite knowing fear was the driving factor in her reaction. She blew out a loud, frustrated breath.
He stretched out a hand. “Come.”
Elise responded with a quick shake of her head.
Marcus repressed a smile. He remembered the last time he'd offered her his hand. Though reluctant, she had accepted it then. Would she do the same now?
“Come,” he repeated.
She again shook her head, but he noted the tiny puckering of her brows. She doubted.
“You fear me?” he asked.
Her brow puckered tighter. “You think you are clever, don't you?”
“Not so clever,” he replied. “Come.”
“I have no intention of being tricked.”
“Aye,” he replied.
&nb
sp; “I-I have to go.” She turned.
Marcus dropped his hand to his side. “Where will you go?”
She halted. Relief flooded through him. She wanted him. He stood and crossed to her.
“Come.” He grasped her hand and drew her to the couch.
He sat, then gave a gentle but firm yank to her hand, and she tumbled onto his lap.
“I cannot—” she began, but he cut in.
“Let us be honest.”
“I have been—”
“You say,” he continued, “you will be my mistress now that you know I never planned to marry Margaret.”
“I never—”
“But wouldn't it be more honest to admit you love me?”
Her eyes widened.
“You can trust me.” Marcus discerned a quickening of her breath. He'd hit the mark. “For you know,” he added, “I love you.”
Elise gasped. He felt the muscles in her body tense in readiness to push from his lap and tightened his hold. She thrashed, though without real violence, and he gripped her chin, turning her face toward his.
“Admit you love me.” He kissed her.
She tried pulling away, but he held fast, his mouth gentle until he felt a slight tug when she grasped his shirt. He released her mouth and buried his face in her hair.
“Can you deny what you feel for me?”
“You don't know—can't possibly know—”
“I know all I need.”
She grasped his shoulder and pushed him back until their gazes met. “Today doesn't matter. Tomorrow your fancy may change.”
Marcus stared at her. “I am no young buck. I know what I want.”
She gave a mirthless laugh. “Age has little to do with a man's desire.”
He started to speak, to explain that her younger age might not allow for the understanding of his more experienced wisdom, but he stopped, remembering the empty marriage she'd endured.
“Hmm,” he began slowly. “One day your feelings for me shall fade?”
“You are cruel,” she cried. “You know that is not my meaning.”
Marcus's chest tightened. She hadn't denied loving him. He gently squeezed her hand. “I am not Riley.”
Elise twisted in his arms in an earnest attempt at escape. “You overstep your bounds, milord.”
He barely repressed a sudden laugh when she thumped his arm with a small fist. She shoved at his chest and Marcus hugged her so close their lips almost met.
“Surely, I have proven I am not faithless,” he demanded.
“Faithless? Good Lord, you're lucky I don't sacrifice you for my own selfish needs.”
“Needs? Aye, lass, you need me. Nae,” he added when she opened her mouth to interject. “Don't think I am ignorant of your needs.” He slid a hand into her hair. “They are not unlike my own.”
Marcus kissed her. She breathed deep and he felt his body throb with a need that he now realized had only begun to surface. What would he have done that first day he saw her in the meadow had he known just how badly he would one day need her? Send his men away and take her there—leave her no choice, nowhere to go but to him? Turning and fleeing straight back to Ashlund would have been the wisest course of action. But he would not have—could not have—even then. He had loved—or thought he loved—other women. He had been hurt in the past, but Elise held the power to destroy him. He slid his mouth down her chin and along her neck to the swell of her breast. Her head fell back onto his arm without resistance.
“You would marry a stranger?” she murmured.
Marcus froze.
“Take a lowly servant girl to wife.”
He jerked his head up. “I wouldn't relegate anyone to that status, least of all, you.”
Her eyes unexpectedly softened. “I know, but that doesn't change the differences in our classes.”
“I care nothing for so-called classes. I care about living life.”
Her expression turned appraising. “Even you did not flout that responsibility. Didn't you marry out of a sense of duty?”
“Aye. Which is precisely why I will not do so again.”
Marcus crushed her lips to his. She didn't protest this time, and he slid her from his lap and onto the couch. Grasping her hand, he slipped it beneath his kilt and forced her fingers around his erection.
Elise started.
“Nae,” he breathed in her ear. “Do not run from me. God, you haunt me at every turn.” Releasing her fingers, he yanked her dress up and reached between her legs. “Your body responds to me without reservation. Let your heart follow. I promise, I will love you.”
He slipped a finger inside her slick heat. Her grip on his shaft tightened convulsively. Marcus drew in a sharp breath, gritting his teeth to keep from spending himself. He removed his hand and slid on top of her, pressing his lips against her ear.
“Guide me into you, sweet,” he whispered. “Let me show you how much I want you. Let me show you what love is.”
She did as he urged, and he caressed her with his movements, his body meeting hers, arching away, then gently thrusting again.
“Is marrying me so terrible?” he asked against her neck.
She breathed deep. “No, but after the fact you”—she gasped when he thrust with a quick motion—”you will regret being chained to me.”
Marcus laughed. “It will be the sweetest of tortures.” He drove deep again.
She cried out as her muscles clenched around him.
“It's not as if you need to marry me.” She blurted in a strained voice. “I have not withheld myself from you.”
Marcus halted. Bracing a hand on either side of her, he looked down at her. “I love you. I want you—need you.” He held her gaze as he moved slowly, nearly filling her, then thrust quickly and pulled back.
“I haven't left you,” she insisted.
“You withhold a part of yourself. If not, you would be dragging me to the altar.”
Elise reddened.
“You don't trust me.” He kissed her ear.
She shook her head. “I cannot believe we are having this discussion in the middle of… that is, I can't believe we are-are doing this in the middle of a disagreement.”
Marcus chuckled. “'Tis a new experience for me, as well. But, if we must disagree, this is a most pleasant way to do so.” He slid his hands beneath her thighs, coaxing her legs around his waist. “Aye.” He buried his face in her hair at the nape of her neck and drove into her. “I will protect you.” He cupped a breast—she was breathing hard now, she wanted him—needed him.
He thrust quicker. Her breathless response told him she neared her pleasure. “You will be my wife, my marchi—”
“Your servant girl made mistress of the manor,” she said.
Marcus jerked, his thrust going hard and deep. Elise gasped. He remained inside her, full to the hilt. “Why did you allow me to touch you?” he demanded. “Don't say it is because I am lord and you are servant. We both know better. I have the power to care for you, protect you.”
At last, uncertainty shown in her expression.
“As my wife, your security is assured. No Campbells, or anyone else, can harm you.”
“Nothing is that certain,” Elise replied.
“I haven't failed you yet.”
Her mouth parted in surprise.
He kissed her mouth and moved in her again. Kissed her forehead, cheek, then ear. “Admit you want me.” He quickened his thrusts.
Her muscles tightened around him in readiness for her release.
“Admit it,” he pressed. “You want me now and every day and night hereafter.”
Elise hugged him tight. “Yes,” she cried as her climax rolled over her.
“You are mine,” Marcus rasped. “You will not regret the choice.”
* * *
Elise found herself being pulled down the hall of Brahan Seer. Marcus intended to take her directly to his father to announce their betrothal. Her head whirled as much from his lovemaking as his proposal. He
picked up speed, nearly dragging her down the hallway.
She needed more time. “Marcus, wouldn't it be wise to give this more thought before telling anyone?”
“Nae.”
“Slow down. I can barely keep up with you.” She tugged on the hand he grasped.
“I can carry you, if you like,” he responded, still striding in long paces.
“Good Lord, no. Marcus.” Elise yanked hard on his hand.
He came to an abrupt halt and she tumbled into his arms.
“Aye, sweet,” he drawled. “You wanted something.”
“Slow down. I'm not a sack of potatoes to be dragged along behind you.”
His gaze dropped to her breasts. “True, and I could easily forget myself even here in the common walkway.”
Surely, he wouldn't have asked her to marry him if he'd seen the notice in the paper? Could she live with herself for deceiving him? “You needn't marry me,” she said, then silently added, This is your chance, Marcus MacGregor. Save yourself. “I can't refuse you,” she said, “even here.”
His eyes jerked up to meet hers, the amorous light gone. “I believe we were on our way to see my father.” Taking her hand once again, he continued at an even more relentless pace.
Five minutes later, they entered the stables where Cameron stood with the young foal born that summer.
“Father,” Marcus called.
Cameron looked over his shoulder at Marcus, then her.
“We have an announcement,” Marcus said as they drew up beside Cameron.
Cameron's expression turned bemused, but Elise knew better.
“Elise and I are to be married.” Marcus's hold on her hand tightened. “And soon.”
Her heart jumped into a gallop. “No one said anything—”
“Hush,” he commanded, and looked at his father. “Have you anything to say?”
Cameron shrugged. “You are old enough to make your own decisions.”
Marcus grinned, and she muttered, “Bloody idiotic men.”
Both men regarded her.
She looked back at them. How could she explain that the woman he wished to marry was wanted for murdering her husband? 'You see, my husband poisoned my daughter with tiny doses of the deadly nightshade. The symptoms were subtle, which explains why the doctors couldn't pinpoint the disease. I never caught Robert in the act, but he knew I knew and tried to kill me. I shot him in self-defense. Ignore the wanted notice in the London Sunday Times. It will eventually go away.'
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