Castles, Kilts and Caresses

by Carmen Caine

  He chuckled.

  Heat flooded her cheeks. She pulled Bonnie into her arms. "You might have said who you were." She gave him an assessing look. "Only that wouldn't have been half as much fun. Who will take the child?"

  His gaze fixed on the hand she had wrapped around Bonnie and the small burn scar that remained as a testament of her folly. His attention broke when a voice from behind her said in a thick brogue, "'Tis me ye be looking for, lass." She turned to a weathered warrior who urged his mount forward.

  Elise handed Bonnie up to him. Stepping back, she bumped into the large body of a horse. Before she could move, an arm encircled her from behind, pulling her upward across hard thighs. A tremor shot through her. She hadn't been this close to a man's body since—since those first months of her seven-year marriage.

  Panic seized her in a quick, hard rush. The trees blurred as her mind plunged backward in time to the touch of the man who had promised till death do them part. Her husband's gentle hand on their wedding night splintered into his violent grip the night he'd tried to murder her—the movement of thighs beneath her buttocks broke the trance as Marcus MacGregor spurred his horse into motion. His arms tightened around her and she held her breath, praying he couldn't hear her thudding heart.

  The ambling movement of the bulky horse lifted her from Marcus's lap. She clutched at his shirt. Her knuckles brushed his bare chest and she jerked back as if singed by hot coals. Her body lifted again with the horse's next step and she instinctively threw her arms around Marcus's forearm. His hold tightened as rich laughter rumbled through his chest.

  "Do not worry, lass. Upon pain of death, I swear, you will not slip from my arms until your feet touch down at Brahan Seer."

  Elise grimaced, then straightened in an effort to shift from the sword hilt digging into her back.

  "What's wrong?" He leaned her back in his arms and gazed down at her.

  She stared. Robert had never looked so—she sat upright. "I've simply never ridden a horse in this manner."

  "There are many ways to ride a horse, lass," he said softly.

  Elise snapped her gaze to his face, then jerked back when her lips nearly brushed his. She felt herself slip and clutched at his free arm even as the arm around her crushed her closer. Her breasts pressed against his chest where his shirt lay open. Heat penetrated her bodice, hardening her nipples. A surprising warmth sparked between her legs. She caught sight of his smile an instant before she dropped her gaze.

  * * * *

  Their ascent steepened. Marcus closed the circle of his arms around the woman's waist. She leaned into him. It was a shame she wore a cloak. Without it, her bare arms would lay against his chest. He hardened. Bloody hell. Shift even a hair's breadth and the challenge he'd seen in her gaze an hour ago would resurface, accompanied by a slap across his face.

  She had betrayed no fear when he came upon her—other than her open assessment of his weapon. Odd his sword should be what frightened her. She must have known if he meant mischief, he needed no weapon save his body. An erotic picture arose of her straddling him, breasts arched so he could suckle each until she begged him to lift her onto his erection.

  He forced back the vision and focused on her determination to defend the children with her life… or perhaps, her body. He smiled, then gritted his teeth when he further hardened at the memory of her leaning over Tavis's shoulders as she scanned the forest for the riders he'd sent. Hands braced on her knees, her posture revealed the curve of a firm derriere.

  When she turned at their approach, the wind had blown her brown hair about her shoulders, bringing his attention to the sensual curve of modest breasts visible just above the edge of her bodice. He envisioned hips tapering into long legs and wondered what those legs would feel like wrapped tightly around his waist while he thrust deep inside her.

  Her accent had caught him off guard. What was an American woman doing on MacGregor land, and how had she come to know Tavis and Bonnie well enough to track them through the woods? Hot fury shot through him. The little fool. Had the wrong man come upon her, she might well have ended up like Katie.

  The majestic heights of Brahan Seer's west tower abruptly loomed in the distance. Marcus's steed unexpectedly faltered, then steadied. The woman tensed and Marcus's body pulsed. He closed his eyes, breathed deep of her hair, then looked again at the tower. For the first time in his life, he regretted the sight. His ride with her cradled in his arms would soon end.

  Higher they climbed, until Brahan Seer's walls became visible. The gates were open. At their approach, his captain Daniel hailed from the battlements. Marcus nodded as they rode through the entry. Inside the courtyard, he halted and Daniel appeared at his side.

  "Elise," he addressed the woman, surprise apparent on his features. He glanced at the children, his gaze lingering on Bonnie. His mouth tightened. "Mayhap Marcus can take a hand with you, Tavis. Get along, and take your sister. Your mother will be worried."

  Marcus handed Elise down to him. Before Marcus's feet touched the ground, she had started toward the castle. He dismounted and clasped Daniel's hand while watching from the corner of his eye the sway of her cloak about her hips as she answered a welcoming smile from two of his men headed toward the stables.

  "What were they doing out alone?" Marcus demanded of Daniel.

  "I've ordered the boy not to go wandering the woods," he replied.

  "And Bonnie?"

  "This is the first. I imagine she chased after her brother."

  Elise turned the corner around the castle and Marcus cut his gaze onto her the instant before she disappeared. Lust shot to the surface and tightened his shaft, but he turned back to Daniel. "Why is Shamus letting his children run wild—never mind. I'll speak to him. You look well."

  Daniel hesitated, then said, "Chloe is with child."

  Marcus smiled in genuine pleasure. "Congratulations, man."

  Daniel smiled, then took the reins as Marcus turned toward the castle.

  Through the busy courtyard, he answered greetings, but his thoughts remained on the image of Elise as she vanished from sight. She had a forthright, strong quality. Yet—he bent his head to breathe her lingering scent from his clothes—the lavender bouquet in her hair was decidedly feminine. It would be some time before he forgot the feel of her buttocks across his thighs. But then, perhaps he wouldn't have to. Marcus entered the great hall to find his father sitting alone in his chair at the head of the table.

  Cameron brightened. "So, ye decided to come home?"

  Relaxing warmth rippled through Marcus.

  "Tired of wandering the land?" Cameron made a wide sweeping gesture.

  "You knew I was on my way, but, aye." He stopped at the chair to his father's right and lowered himself onto the seat. "I am pleased to be home."

  "How is my grandson? I see you did not bring him with you."

  Marcus sighed. "Nay, Father. You knew I wouldn't."

  Cameron snorted. "We would not want to offend the mighty Sassenach."

  "Father," Marcus said in a low tone.

  Cameron shook his head. "The clan never asked you to concede to the English, you know. I never asked for it. Did you ever wonder if the sacrifice is worth your son?"

  "Aye," Marcus murmured. He'd wondered. Politics had ruled the MacGregor clan for centuries and that wasn't easily changed. He paused. "Have I been gone too long, or is something different about the great hall?"

  "You have the right of it, lad." Eyes that mirrored his own looked back at him. "More than you can imagine."

  Marcus looked about the room. "I can't quite place it. What's happened?"

  Cameron took a long, exaggerated draught of ale.

  "Cameron."

  "Enough of your looks, lad. They do not work with me." He chuckled. "I taught them to you. Remember? It is no mystery, really. Look around. When did you last see the tapestries so bright, the floors so clean?" He motioned toward the wall that ran the length of the room, framed by stairs on either end. "When have you s
een the weapons so polished?"

  Marcus scanned the nearly two hundred gleaming weapons mounted across the wall. He rose and walked the wall's length, perusing the weapons. Each one glistened, some nearly as bright as newly forged steel. He glanced at the floor. The stone looked as if it had just been laid.

  He looked at his father. "What happened?"

  "The women came one day—or rather, one month—and swept out the cobwebs, cleaned the floors, the tapestries, weapons."

  Marcus rose and crossed the room to the kitchen door where the women worked. The housekeeper sat at the kitchen table. Ancient blue eyes, still shining with the bloom of youth, smiled back at him. Winnie had been present at his birth. Marcus knew she loved him like the son she'd never had. He, in turn, regarded her with as much affection as he had his own mother.

  She turned her attention to the raw chicken she carved. "So, you've returned at last."

  "Aye, milady."

  A corner of her mouth twitched with amusement.

  "I am looking forward to the company of some fine lasses tonight," he said. "'Tis a long and lonely trip I've had. Perhaps next time I shall take you with me." He gave her a roguish wink before striding back to his seat in the hall.

  Marcus lowered himself into the chair he had occupied earlier. "Must have taken an army just to shine the weapons alone. Not to mention the walls and floors."

  "It did. You will see the same throughout the castle. Not a room went untouched."

  "Whatever possessed them to do it?"

  "It was the hand of a sweet lass," Cameron replied.

  "Which one? Not Winnie—"

  "Nay. The lass Shannon and Josh found washed ashore on the coast. They brought her when they returned from the south."

  "Washed ashore?"

  "An American woman. Her ship perished in a fire."

  "American?"

  Cameron scowled. "Are you deaf? Shannon is the one who discovered her at Solway Firth."

  "What in God's name was she doing there?"

  Cameron gave his chin a speculative scratch. "Damned if I know. They were headed for London."

  "London? Sailing through Solway Firth requires sailing around the north of Ireland. That would add a week or more to the journey."

  His father's mouth twisted into a wry grin. "You know the English, probably got lost."

  "I thought you said she was American."

  "English, American, 'tis all the same." Cameron's expression sobered. "But dinna' mistake me, she is a fine lass. She came to us just after you left for Ashlund four months ago. You should have seen her when they brought her here. Proud little thing."

  "Proud, indeed," Marcus repeated.

  "'Tis what I said." Cameron eyed him. "Are you sure something isn't ailing you?"

  Marcus shook his head.

  "At first, she didn't say much," Cameron went on. "But I could see a storm brewed in her head. Then one day, she informed me Brahan Seer was in dire need of something." He sighed deeply. "She was more right than she knew."

  Marcus understood his father's meaning. His mother's death five years ago had affected Cameron dramatically. Only last year had his father finally sought female comfort. The gaping hole created by her absence left them both thirsting for a firm, feminine hand.

  "It's a miracle she survived the fire," Cameron said. "'Course, if you knew her, you would not be surprised."

  "I believe I do," Marcus remarked.

  "What? You only just arrived."

  "I picked up passengers on the way home—Tavis, little Bonnie, and an American woman." Marcus related the tale. "I recognized her accent," he ended. "Got accustomed to it while on campaign in America."

  Cameron smiled. "Elise is forever chasing after those children."

  "Why?"

  His father's expression darkened. "Shamus was murdered."

  Marcus straightened. "Murdered?"

  "Aye."

  "By God, how—Lauren, what of her?"

  Sadness softened the hard lines around his father's mouth. "She is fine, in body, but… her mind has no' been the same since Shamus died. We tried consoling her, but she will have none of it."

  A tingling sensation crept up Marcus's back. "What happened?"

  "We found him just over the border in Montal Cove with his skull bashed in."

  "Any idea who did it?"

  "Aye," Cameron said. "Campbells."

  Marcus surged to his feet. He strode to the wall, where hung the claymore belonging to his ancestor Ryan MacGregor, the man who saved their clan from annihilation. Marcus ran a finger along the blade, the cold, hard steel heating his blood as nothing else could. Except… Campbells.

  Had two centuries of bloodshed not been enough?

  Fifty years ago, King George finally proclaimed the MacGregors no longer outlaws and restored their Highland name. General John Murray, Marcus's great uncle, was named clan chief. Only recently, the MacGregors were given a place of honor in the escort, which carried the "Honors of Scotland" before the sovereign. Marcus had been there, marching alongside his clansmen.

  Too many dark years had passed under this cloud. Would the hunted feeling Ryan MacGregor experienced ever fade from the clan? Perhaps it would have been better if Helena hadn't saved Ryan that fateful day so long ago. But Ryan had lived, and his clan thrived, not by the sword, but by the timeless power of gold. Aye, the Ashlund name Helena gave Ryan saved them. Yet, Ryan MacGregor's soul demanded recompense.

  How could Ryan rest while his people still perished?

  Marcus removed his hand from the sword and faced his father. "It's time the MacGregors brought down the Campbell dogs."

  * * * *

  Feminine laughter spilled from the kitchen into the great hall during the evening meal. Marcus sighed with contentment. Light from sconces flickered like a great, filmy curtain across the room. Two serving girls carrying trays of food stepped from the kitchen, and the men, who blocked the doorway, parted. The sense of contentment came as an almost unconscious realization. He had missed sharing the evening meal with his clansmen. Marcus leaned forward, arms crossed in front of him on the table, and returned his attention to the conversation with Cameron and Daniel.

  "We will be ready at first light, laird," Daniel said.

  "The Campbells will not be expecting trouble," Cameron put in.

  "If word has reached them that I've returned, they may be," Marcus said.

  Cameron grunted. "Lot of good it will do."

  The feminine voice Marcus had been waiting for filtered out from within the kitchen. "Easy now, Andrea," Elise said.

  The conversation between his father and Daniel faded as Marcus watched for her amongst the men who crowded between the door and table. The thought of seeing her beautiful body heated his blood. Elise stepped from the kitchen, balancing a plate of salmon. She passed the table's end where he sat and carefully picked her way through the men until reaching the middle of the table. She set the oval platter between the chicken and mutton.

  "Beth, place the carrots to the left. Andrea—" She took the plate of potatoes from the girl, then set it to the right and turned toward the kitchen.

  "Elise," one of the young warriors called, "come, talk with us, lass."

  Her mouth quirked. "If I play with you, who will finish dinner?"

  The man's hearty chuckle gave evidence she hadn't fooled him, and he approached with friends in tow.

  Cameron stood. "Elise," he called over the men's heads, "come here."

  She turned. When her gaze met Cameron's, warmth filled her eyes. She dried her hands on her apron and headed in his direction.

  "Go on, lads," Cameron said to the men who teased her. "You have better things to do than dally with the lassies."

  When she came within arm's reach, he gripped her shoulders. "Meet my son. He's returned today." He turned her.

  Her gaze met Marcus's. Her smile faltered but quickly transformed into polite civility. "We've met."

  "Oh?" Cameron replied, all innocence.
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  "Yes. He came by when Tavis, Bonnie, and I were on our way home this afternoon."

  "Ahh," Cameron said, then turned and gave the man beside him an energetic greeting.

  Elise looked again at Marcus and motioned toward the kitchen. "I have work to do."

  "Aye," he said. The memory of her breasts pressed against his chest caused him to harden.

  She backed up a few steps, then turned and ran headlong into the man behind her. He reached to steady her. A flush colored her cheeks and Marcus bit back a laugh when she dodged the warrior. Marcus leaned forward, catching one last look at her backside before she disappeared through the kitchen door.

  Chapter Three

  At the sound of horses padding past the cottage she shared with Winnie, Elise looked up from the table where sat the teacup she had been refilling. She glanced from the curtained window to Winnie, who remained bent over her needlework. Elise took two steps to the fireplace, hooked the kettle over the fire, and went to the window. She pulled back the lace curtain to see a procession of warriors filing past the cottages.

  Marcus MacGregor rode at the head of the company. He sat straight, his body shifting in easy motion with the horse's rhythmic movements. Her father had exuded the same careless confidence. Elise recalled her mother often watching from a window as he rode away. The warmth spreading through Elise now gave her an understanding of what her mother must have felt.

  "Ridiculous," she muttered.

  "What?" Winnie called, but she didn't answer, mesmerized as Marcus turned his profile to her and addressed the man to his left.

  The edges of his dark hair curled along the line of his ear and down his neck. He smiled. The remembered feel of his solid chest against her breasts arose with surprising intensity. What would his chest feel like beneath her fingers? Her pulse quickened. Where had that thought come from? Marcus's horse disappeared around a sharp turn in the path. Elise surveyed the long line of men following.