Castles, Kilts and Caresses

by Carmen Caine

  "Where are they going?" she murmured.

  "To the Hastings Campbells," Winnie said.

  "I thought the MacGregors and Campbells were feuding."

  "They are."

  The last of the men disappeared from view. "Why go then?"

  "To deal with Shamus's murderer."

  Elise swung her gaze back to Winnie. "Shamus has been dead two months. Why has Cameron waited so long to bring the guilty man before the law?"

  "Cameron is the law," Winnie replied.

  A tremor rippled through Elise. Price, too, had appointed himself law. "How can Cameron be impartial? It is his kin who was murdered."

  The housekeeper grunted. "How impartial should he be?"

  "Surely he wouldn't kill in cold blood?"

  Winnie's head snapped up. "Cold blood? What the Campbells done—killing Shamus—that was cold blood."

  Elise realized she had crushed the curtain and released it. She crossed to the table and grasped the back of the chair across from Winnie. "Has Cameron identified the killer?"

  "Each kinsman is responsible for the other."

  Elise stared. "Have you any idea what you are saying?"

  "Every Highlander will tell you the same."

  "Even the Highlands of Scotland can't be so uncivilized as to seek recompense of the guilty party's neighbors. The man who committed the crime, he alone is responsible."

  "Mayhap," Winnie said as she squinted at the tiny stitching. "But his kinsmen would have to hand him over to his accusers, and the Campbells are not known for thinking themselves guilty for ridding the world of a MacGregor."

  Elise kept her tight grip on the chair. Would the MacGregors hand her over to Price? Would the ten thousand pound reward sway them? "So an entire clan will suffer for one man's wickedness?"

  "'Tis a funny thing you'll find in the clans," Winnie said, her attention intent on the sewing. "Some do nothing but fight. Others are peaceful, while some are just plain scoundrels. Whatever they are, 'tis generally agreed amongst themselves. Like begets like. If a man differs, he can take refuge elsewhere."

  Warmth rippled through Elise. Just as she had taken refuge here. She watched Winnie stitch the intricate needlework on the linen blanket meant for Chloe's new baby. How much like her were these people? Sadness wound through her. What did it matter? When Price finally believed she had perished at sea and stopped advertising the notice, she would then board a ship without fear a bounty hunter was looking for her. Her wedding band, hidden behind a loose stone in the ladies' drawing room, would buy passage to America. There she would testify that she shot Robert in defense of her brother and herself.

  Would her word be enough? She wasn't the only person who had survived the sinking of the Amelia. Someone had reported to Price that she shot Robert. Was that person friend or foe? Would that person try to stop her from bringing Price Ardsley to his knees? Elise startled at the realization that she intended to dispense her own brand of justice.

  "Justice isn't always what it should be," she murmured.

  Winnie snorted. "It is the law of the land—every land—and the Campbells know it. They're a bloodthirsty lot." Her countenance softened and she nodded toward her teacup. "Fill my cup."

  The normalcy of the request loosened the tightening in Elise's stomach. She retrieved the kettle from the fire and poured hot water into Winnie's cup, then dropped in a tea ball.

  "You canna' know," Winnie began, still working her stitching, "what it is to have everyone against ye, even your own king."

  Elise returned the kettle to its place and seated herself at the table. Her soul grew heavy at hearing how more than two hundred years ago the government gave the Campbells all MacGregor land, heedless of the fact the property was occupied.

  "Even the MacGregor name was outlawed," Winnie said. "Our line would have died if not for Ryan MacGregor."

  Winnie went on to tell how the foresight of a single man saved an entire people. Ryan MacGregor, traitor to the Scottish crown, married a woman wealthy enough to shun the insidious alliance of the merchants and government, then bought land and furnished his people with weapons to keep it.

  "How he angered the Campbells," she said with satisfaction. "We still lived and died by the sword, mind you, for a Campbell cannot bear to see a MacGregor at peace. But we had a sword to fight with."

  But the horror had only begun, Elise realized as Winnie went on. The political tide then turned against all Highlanders.

  "Clearances, they call it. Evictions." Winnie jabbed her needle into the cloth. "Murder. Our chiefs evicted us. Their own kin. All in the name of progress. But the Duchess of Sutherland, she is the devil incarnate. Ninety families, she started with, but the numbers got as high as two thousand families in a single day."

  Elise gasped. "Dear God, how is that possible?"

  "It happened."

  "Who is this duchess?"

  "The most powerful woman in all Scotland—mayhap, the world. She owns tens of thousands of acres of land. When she realized ranching held better profit than farming, she began evictions. Thousands thrown out of their homes no matter their age or infirmity. Many were left by the wayside to die like animals. Not a family lives who hasn't been touched by the clearances. My great uncle Duncan McKay," Winnie's voice grew shaky, "he and his family, caught in the dead of night. Four bairns burned in their beds."

  Elise's throat constricted at the picture of burning beds and children screaming for their parents.

  Soundless tears rolled down Winnie's cheeks. "Duncan lived, poor devil, despite being nearly burned to death. They brought him here."

  "Here?" Elise asked in a choked voice.

  "Aye. My mother was Cameron's father's healer, then his for many years. But she couldna' do a thing for Duncan. He could have lived, or so she said, but the spirit died with his wife and children. There are others, but Duncan I remember best." She looked up "Have you ever seen a man burned?"

  Unreasonable panic rose with the memory of the fire that had so quickly spread across the Amelia's cabin floor. Elise shook her head.

  "Pray you never do." Winnie returned to her embroidering. "The Campbells stood alongside the duchess. They had government and church sanction. We were to be broken, you see. It did not matter that our men fought for the crown while their families died at home. We never bowed to their authority and that pricked them."

  "And the Campbells," Elise said, "they took part in the… the…"

  "Aye." Winnie nodded. "They made it their business to see to the MacGregors."

  Elise's heart swelled when she learned of those few leaders who stood by their own. Of how the MacLeod chiefs improved the lives of their clansmen by ensuring their monies were shared amongst the people. The MacDonalds, too, had not partaken in the atrocities.

  "Then," Winnie said, her voice softening, "we have the MacGregor."

  Warmth emanated from her as she related how Cameron MacGregor, along with his young son, Marcus, defended their people. Only a few scant years ago Marcus picked up the gauntlet passed from father to son and returned to Brahan Seer with over a hundred ragged and defeated Highlanders. They were all he could save from the Sutherlund riots at Gruids.

  "The Campbells were there," Winnie went on. "They gained noble rank—at the expense of the MacGregors. It's our wealth they stole. But we didn't lay down for it—and how they hate us for it." Her fingers convulsed on the embroidery needle. "They hate Cameron even more because he offered asylum to any Highlander. Two years ago, Marcus met them with a fist of iron when he attacked the Bannatyne Campbells."

  "Dear God, why?"

  "Katie MacGregor. If you had seen what they did to the lass—" Winnie forced the needle through the soft linen as if it was leather and gave a sudden cry.

  A small pearl of blood splotched the beige cloth from beneath.

  "Winnie!" Elise jumped to her feet.

  Winnie snatched up the cloth and began sucking the blood from the linen. Elise grabbed the rag hanging over the hearth and w
rapped it around Winnie's finger. Elise gripped it tightly, stanching the flow of blood. Winnie examined the cloth, then began sucking again.

  "Shall I fetch some water?" Elise asked.

  "Nay," Winnie replied, still sucking. "The saliva of the blood's owner is what takes blood from cloth." She looked at the cloth. The blood had disappeared. "This isn't the first MacGregor blood spilled because of Campbells, and it will not be the last."

  A chill snaked through Elise. Would the next dead MacGregor be amongst those who just set out for Campbell land?

  * * * *

  Elise bolted upright in bed, the echo of a scream giving way to the pounding in her ears. She looked wildly about the room but, instead of flames surrounding her as they had an instant before, only the hearth burned with soft, red embers. A faint light radiated from the coals. She gulped a deep breath upon recognizing the shadowed contours of the cottage she shared with Winnie. Which dream had awoken her this time? The one where she hadn't escaped her stateroom before it went up in flames, or the one where the flames of hell surrounded her?

  Dear God, forgive me.

  She choked back tears. He might forgive her, but Amelia and Steven wouldn't.

  "Elise."

  Elise jerked her attention to the far side of the room where Winnie slept.

  "What is amiss?" the housekeeper asked in a sleep-laden voice. "You cried out—" Her gaze swung in the direction of the door. "What in God's name?"

  The insistent knocking at the door penetrated Elise's brain and she realized the noise had yanked her from the dream.

  Winnie threw back the covers and jumped out of bed. She draped a wrap about her shoulders and hurried to the door. "Who is it?" She yanked open the door. "Mary, girl," Winnie growled at the maid, "you had better—"

  "The men have returned," the maid interrupted. "They're demanding supper."

  "Mother of God," Winnie whispered. "Go along, child. I will follow in a minute." She shoved the door shut and scampered on tiptoe across the drafty floor to her bed.

  "I'll come," Elise said as Winnie pulled off her shift and reached for the grey dress draped over her bed's foot board.

  "No need." Winnie slipped the dress over her head.

  Elise got to her feet. "No sense lying here while you work."

  She quickly dressed, then grabbed the plaide from the foot of her bed and draped it over her shoulders as she followed Winnie out the door.

  Minutes later, Elise slowed two paces into the kitchen, startled by the grim silence that pressed in about the room. Winnie hastened to the counter where Mary and another girl were placing mutton and chicken on platters. Elise shook off the morose feeling and tossed the plaide she wore onto the counter, then hurried forward to join in the preparations.

  "Nay, Wilma," Winnie admonished. "Leave the plate of mutton. You and Mary fetch wine from the cellar. The men will sleep better with a little help."

  The girls hurried off. Cold chicken, bread, and peas were quickly placed on platters. Elise took the platter Winnie placed in her hands and headed for the great hall.

  The camaraderie which generally characterized gatherings in the eating hall was absent. When Elise set the peas on the table, her heart stirred at sight of the men's exhausted faces. She cast a furtive glance at Marcus. The hard set of his mouth and hollow eyes startled her. What had happened to the carefree devil who held her in his arms only a few days ago? She returned to the kitchen.

  "Take those." Winnie pointed to the bottles of wine sitting on the table, then turned back to the bread she had unwrapped from its cloth cover.

  Elise hesitated. Four uneventful months at Brahan Seer had dulled her senses. Why hadn't she realized Cameron's son would be with his men tonight? A tremor rocked her belly. Neither had she considered that he could have read the wanted notice for Elisabeth Kingston while in London. He was far more sophisticated than Michael and, surely, far less trusting. Given time, would Marcus MacGregor recognize Elise as the nickname for Elisabeth?

  "Elise."

  She snapped from her thoughts and saw Winnie staring expectantly at her. Elise grabbed the bottles of wine on the table and reentered the hall. Marcus's plate was untouched. She set the wine on the table. His gaze met and held hers for an instant before he shoved back his chair and rose.

  She remained rooted to the spot as he strode to the stairwell. At the stairs, he paused and looked back at her, eyes dark with need. He turned suddenly and headed up the stairs. Her breath caught at sight of his shirt, taut across his shoulders, and her gaze dropped to his calves in the instant before he disappeared from view. Elise broke the stare and realized her pulse had jumped to a gallop. Good Lord, was the greater danger Marcus connecting her to the Elisabeth Kingston wanted for murder, or her reaction to him? Until now, she hadn't worried how long Price persisted in searching for her. She had been sure she could wait him out. Now, could she afford to wait—could she afford to remain even another night near Marcus MacGregor?

  * * * *

  Marcus awoke, his body hard with arousal. He shifted his thoughts from Elise to the Campbells, but the memory of her face the night before persisted. Her eyes changed with her mood. Would those eyes darken with passion when she lay beneath him? He stirred restlessly. How might she cry out as he brought her to her pleasure? He would find out—and soon.

  Ten minutes later, Marcus entered the kitchen to find the women busy with preparations for the meals. "Good morning, Winnie." He seated himself across the table from her.

  She reached for a sprig of herbs from one of the piles before her and began grinding it in a mortar bowl. "Morning."

  He glanced at the rear door.

  "No sense watching the door. She isna' here."

  He leaned forward. "You are a witch, Winnie, my love. Where is she?"

  "Michael's. She set out early this morning."

  "Why?"

  "He broke his leg. She makes sure he is tended to."

  "Indeed?"

  "Indeed." Winnie reached for another sprig of herbs.

  Marcus rose and kissed her cheek. "Making trouble while I've been gone, I wager?"

  She looked up. "No more than usual."

  "So I thought," he said, and left the kitchen.

  * * * *

  Marcus looked from his father to the warrior entering the great hall. The man strode past the men gathered for the evening meal and stopped at the table opposite him.

  "Lady Ross to see you, laird," he said.

  "And you back but a day from fighting with Campbells," Cameron said.

  Marcus sighed. "I suppose she knows I'm here."

  The guard looked uncomfortable.

  "You can escape out the back," his father suggested, but the door opened again and Lady Margaret Ross entered dressed in a tightly fitting riding habit that said she'd been in the saddle the better part of the day. "I told ye not to dally with noblewomen," Cameron added under his breath, and stood as she approached. "Margaret, lass, how are you?" He clasped her hands in his.

  "Your Grace." She dipped into a deep curtsy.

  He shot Marcus a dry look while her head was bowed. "Enough, lassie." He pulled the petite woman to her feet. "We are not in Edinburgh." He released her hands. "You will forgive me, if I dinna' stay. I have a mare that bears attending." He winked. "You won't miss me, I feel sure."

  "It is always good to see you, Your Grace."

  "It is good to see you, as well."

  "You haven't had your supper, Cameron," Marcus remarked.

  "Aye, well, I cannot leave Coreen alone too long. She is due to foal any time."

  "Craig can watch after her."

  Cameron snorted. "The boy doesna' know a gelding from a stallion."

  "The next time you geld a stallion, have him watch. He'll remember after that."

  His father cast a sheepish look at Margaret. "Well, I do not think—"

  "Never mind," Marcus cut in. "As you say, you have a mare to attend to."

  "I do," he agreed, and made a hasty exi
t.

  Lady Ross looked to Marcus. "Lord Ashlund." She started to curtsy again.

  "None of that, Margaret," he said.

  She paused and studied him from beneath her lashes then, with an incline of her head, straightened. She gave him an inquiring look and he stood.

  "Gille," he addressed the man seated to his right, "give your seat up to the lady."

  The man stood and bowed.

  Lady Ross angled her head in thanks, then sat. "You are looking well," she said. "Did you enjoy London?"

  Once again, the postern door opened and Marcus paused in sitting to look see who entered. Recognizing the newcomer as another of his men, he seated himself.

  "Lord Ashlund," came Margaret's insistent voice.

  "My visit went well." He forced his attention to her.

  "I'm sorry I could not accompany you as you wanted."

  "It was you who requested an escort, Margaret, not I who requested your presence."

  "A shame my plans changed," she went on. "Unfortunately, I now must go to London." She smiled. "I would be glad of your company."

  He gave a mirthless laugh. "London twice a year is quite enough. I have no wish to make it three."

  She laid a hand on his arm. "Not long ago you would have done this for me."

  "Made a special trip to London? You're confusing me with another of your admirers."

  The women began serving the food and he glanced at the clock over the mantle. The evening grew late. "Did you come alone?" he demanded.

  "I did."

  Marcus frowned. "Very foolish."

  The postern door creaked open again. Daniel stepped in. He looked in Marcus's direction. Amusement flicked across his face before he turned and exited.

  "Are you expecting someone?" Margaret asked.

  A maid placed a platter of mutton on his side of the table and he reached for it. "I will have one of my men escort you home." He dished a helping of meat onto his plate.

  "It is so late, I thought perhaps…"

  Marcus paused and looked at her. "You knew you would arrive after dark. Why do it?"

  She stiffened. "Sheathe your conceit, Marcus. You were not the only person I visited today." She pursed her lips. "If my staying is too much of an inconvenience…"