Castles, Kilts and Caresses

by Carmen Caine

  Foolish endeavor. All the peevishness in the world wouldn't change the fact she wanted him—more than that—hungered for him. Last night had passed in snatches of erotic dreams with Marcus suckling her breasts, then sliding down along her belly and finally between her legs.

  Even in better days, Robert hadn't moved her as Marcus had by simply holding her close as he had last night. Her pulse quickened. She had nearly blurted Robert's name. How many more days—and nights—could she hazard with Marcus MacGregor?

  * * * *

  Marcus glanced at the hearth as he entered his library. The fire burned low but cast enough light so he could make his way through the shadowy darkness to his desk. He lit the candle sitting there and seated himself before an open ledger. Despite the hour, sleep eluded him.

  He laughed. "It wouldn't be the taste of Elise's lips that has your mind churning?" he mused, but knew good and well his cock and not his mind was doing the churning. He forced his attention to the numbers.

  Sometime later, Marcus glanced at the hearth, abruptly aware of a chill in the room. The fire had all but expired. He rose and went to the fireplace. He threw a log on the dying embers and stoked them. After hooking the poker in the holder, he lowered himself into the armchair beside the hearth. Stretching his legs out before him, he crossed ankle over ankle and relaxed against the cushion. Heat slowly worked its way up his body. He closed his eyes and dozed.

  Marcus jerked awake, aware someone had entered the room. He glanced at the mantel clock. Just after two. Who would invade his library at this hour? The shadow cast by the intruder's taper glided across the wall then came to a halt. He heard the clink of the brass holder being placed on his desk and twisted to peer around the edge of his chair. His body tightened when he saw the prowler was none other than the Caesg responsible for his sleepless night.

  Elise stood, wrapped in a plaide blanket, perusing the books on the shelf behind his desk. His gaze dropped to the shoulder laid bare where blanket and chemise had slipped to her arm.

  She shivered and drew the blanket closer about her shoulders as she glanced in the direction of the hearth. Their eyes met and he grinned. She started.

  Her eyes flashed. "It's extremely impolite to spy on people. Or didn't your mother teach you manners?"

  "Aye, love." He grinned even wider. "But you made such a pretty picture standing there, I couldna' help myself. 'Tis verra' unfortunate you spied me so soon."

  Her eyes narrowed in the instant before she whirled and headed for the door. Marcus jumped up and, in four long strides, stepped in front of her.

  "Now, lass," he drawled in an even thicker brogue, "you wake a man in the middle of the night, then run away so quickly? 'Tis no' verra' bonnie of you, and you are a verra' bonnie lass."

  Elise gave him a dry look. "I warn you, Marcus MacGregor, step aside."

  He grinned. She was in a fit all right and he felt the desire to see her at full sail.

  "Come, love," he said, "what will ye do?"

  She didn't answer and his curiosity piqued at the realization that the wheels in her head were turning at a furious rate.

  "Do you plan to stand there all night?" she finally said.

  He raised a brow and her expression darkened. Marcus gave a hearty laugh. "Do you expect me to capitulate to so easily?" He laughed even harder. "Lass," he shook his head, "you are—" Marcus halted when she started forward.

  He reached to grab her shoulders, thinking she meant to escape after all, then realized her intention even as her foot snaked around his boot and yanked. He fell to his backside with a heavy thud. Stunned, he blinked up at her. He suddenly realized how Declan must have felt. Perhaps she did need a lesson. Her gaze darted to the door.

  "Should have thought of that before you laid me on my arse," he said. "You have no chance of getting past me without my bringing you to the carpet with me." Marcus looked down the length of her. "A prospect which has its appeal."

  She leapt back, but he caught the edge of her blanket and yanked it free.

  He took in the bare arms, the hint of rosy nipples beneath the thin night rail, and the shadow cast by the curls between her thighs. Elise glanced down at her scantily clad body. She flushed and an answering flash of heat coursed through him.

  "This is unkind of you," she said.

  "Unkind?" Marcus cocked a brow. "You dare send me to my backside then lecture me on the etiquette of kindness?"

  "A gentleman does not strip a lady of her clothes."

  Marcus stood and tossed the blanket well out of her reach. "I have not stripped a lady of her clothes—yet."

  Her brow knit and he read genuine indecision in her expression. She took a step back.

  Lesson learned, he thought, and started for the blanket, but the sight of a slow smile on her lips halted him.

  "Why, Marcus, you fraud. Trying to teach me a lesson."

  His heart rate kicked up. Had she no idea what her soft tone did to him? "Love," he scooped her to him, "'tis not the lesson I would teach ye, given the chance."

  To his surprise, she didn't pull away but wrapped her arms around his neck. "What lesson would that be, milord?"

  He slid a hand up her back and wrapped his fingers in her soft, brown hair. He brought his mouth slowly down on hers. She sighed. He deepened the kiss. She pressed closer. He cupped her buttocks and backed her against the door. He tugged at the strap of her nightgown, pulling it down over her arm. Elise moved her fingers in light movements along his arm.

  Marcus groaned. "You keep me on the precipice between heaven and hell."

  He bent and took a taut nipple in his mouth, drawing on the pink bud through the fabric of her nightgown. She gripped his shoulders and arched toward him. Marcus ran a flattened palm up her thigh and across the roundness of her buttocks. He continued down to the underside of her knee, then lifted her leg over his hip. The nightgown rucked up and he rubbed the hard length of him between her legs. She gasped. He trailed moist kisses from neck to ear. She softened against the motion and contours of his body. He became aware of her breasts pressed to his chest, the nipples brushing in tantalizing strokes as he rocked gently against her.

  "Elise—" Marcus froze at hearing footsteps in the hallway.

  She opened her eyes, confusion mingled with the clouded look of desire. He yanked her away from the door and stepped in front of her as it swung open and a warrior entered.

  "Forgive the interruption, laird." The man kept his gaze on Marcus's face. "A rider from Drummond territory is demanding to see you. Says it's important."

  Fear displaced passion. Drummond. At this hour? Had the old chief finally died?

  Marcus gave the man a curt nod. "See him to the hall."

  The door closed and Marcus faced Elise. Her cheeks were flooded with color. She had pulled the nightgown straps back over her shoulders and her arms were crossed over her breasts. He reached for her, but she stiffened.

  "You have a guest waiting," she said.

  He clasped her arm and directed her the few steps to where the discarded plaide lay on the carpet. Marcus released her and bent to pick it up. He settled the blanket around her shoulders, drawing her close once again.

  "One more stolen moment, aye?" he asked.

  Marcus wrapped his arms around her, pinning her arms between them, and kissed her. She breathed through parted lips, and he answered the invitation with a slow thrust of his tongue. He gently drew out her passion until she trembled with the final tracing of his tongue along her lips. He forced himself from her. Her head fell to his shoulder, and relief mixed with the lust still churning in him. He waited, unwilling to part even for his old friend.

  She raised her head. "I should go."

  Marcus walked with her to the stairwell that led to her chambers. He gave her a final kiss on the cheek. "Go, love." He urged her up the first step.

  He watched the sway of the blanket until she disappeared around the bend, then turned on his heel and headed for the great hall.

  * * * *<
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  Distant footsteps sounded in the hallway outside the drawing room where Elise sat. She looked up from the book she was reading. Surely Marcus hadn't returned from the fields so early? She hadn't seen him since last night. If he were to catch her here alone… would they finish what they'd started? The footsteps stopped in front of the door. Her heart thudded. The door swung open and a petite woman, smartly dressed in a burgundy velvet riding habit trimmed in gold, stood in the doorway.

  "Have tea served here," the woman ordered Mary, who stood behind her. The woman concentrated on the gloves she peeled from small, elegant hands. "I am hungry, as well. The ride this morning—" She looked up, her gaze on Elise, and she halted the tug on her glove.

  No warmth shone in the woman's blue eyes and Elise wondered that such porcelain-like beauty should be marred with a statue's coldness. The woman's expression turned appraising.

  "Do Brahan Seer's servants habitually lounge in the drawing room during the day?"

  "Just myself," Elise replied.

  The woman's gaze sharpened. She stared for a moment, then waved a dismissive hand at Mary.

  "Thank ye, Lady Margaret." Mary bobbed a curtsy and backed out of the room, leaving Elise alone with the stranger and an increasing sense of apprehension.

  Elise rose, hugging the book to her breast.

  "You are American." Lady Margaret yanked off the remaining glove.

  Elise halted. "I am."

  "How long do you think you can hold his interest?"

  Elise frowned. "What—" She froze.

  "Let us get to the point," Lady Margaret said in crisp tones. "He is a man, and there are certain things we must accept in men."

  Anger heated Elise's belly, but she replied in a cool tone, "Perhaps we have different standards."

  Surprise flickered across Margaret's face, then disdain settled on her features. "I have seen it before and with women possessing far more charms than you." She raised a brow. "You are… twenty-six, twenty-seven, perhaps?"

  Despite the fact Elise knew it made no difference—tomorrow she would be gone—the barb hit its mark. Marcus never asked her age. He, too, probably thought her younger than her thirty years.

  Margaret raked her eyes over Elise in an unladylike fashion. "Men are intrigued by the new and unusual." She waved her hand in the same dismissive manner she had with Mary. "That will change once we are wed."

  Elise couldn't prevent a gasp.

  Margaret lifted a brow. "He did not tell you? Pity. You can't be surprised he kept the news from you, of all people."

  Elise narrowed her eyes. "Marcus is no liar."

  "He hasn't lied. The news has not yet been announced. We are awaiting permission from King George." Margaret regarded her with a curious intensity. "You don't believe me." She laughed, the sound filled with disdain and, to Elise's surprise, pleasure. "Tell me," Margaret said, "do you like the way he slides his tongue over your lips?"

  A chill pooled in Elise's belly.

  "Or perhaps you find the way he runs his hands along your body more memorable. He is a man who enjoys touching a woman—and let us not forget the way he moves in a deliciously languid motion—"

  "What do you want?" Elise demanded.

  Margaret slapped her gloves against her hand. "You have nothing I want. His fancy will pass soon enough—as it always does." Then, under her breath, "Though it doesn't please me he has so openly taken his pleasure while I have been away."

  While I have been away. A clear explanation for why Marcus had avoided the issue of his wife-to-be.

  "He has not taken his pleasure, madam," Elise shot back, remembering all too well how he had nearly done that very thing just last night. How she was just hoping it was he who came looking for her to take his pleasure.

  Surprise shone on Margaret's face. "Why, there must have been many opportunities…" Her eyes widened. "You mean to marry him."

  Elise jerked. "What?"

  "You think if you make him wait, he will marry you. My girl, Marcus does not marry out of lust. The Marq—"

  "It is quite evident love is not the driving factor in your marriage," Elise snapped.

  Margaret's eyes blazed.

  "My congratulations, madam. I wish you, Marcus, and all his paramours a happy union." Elise hurried past her toward the door.

  "How dare you, you little—"

  Elise yanked the door open and slammed it behind her as she stepped into the hallway, leaving Margaret's final words behind. She stumbled forward. Tears clouded her vision. She reached out a hand to the wall, steadying her progress, and discovered she still held the book. She gripped it tighter and took one wobbly step after another until she reached the stairs. She started down, but the sound of voices echoing up the stairwell stopped her. Cameron. She turned, scanning the hall for some form of escape, then remembered the small alcove around the bend she had just passed. She dashed up the stairs and down the corridor.

  Elise reached the alcove and yanked back the tapestry, nearly falling headlong inside. She straightened, then turned and backed up, stopping only when her shoulders touched cold stone. Sliding to the floor, she dropped the book and hugged her knees to her chest.

  "Nay." Even from the distance of the stairwell, Cameron's voice boomed within the narrow confines of the corridor. "'Tis likely he won't be back for several days."

  "I hadna' realized he meant to stay so long in the fields," came Daniel's voice.

  "He believes the Campbells mean to do mischief during the harvest."

  "The guards around the wall remain on double watch," Daniel said.

  Elise held her breath as they passed the alcove.

  Cameron sighed. "His thirst for revenge is likely never to be quenched. He cannot forgive them for taking Elise."

  She stifled a gasp. Winnie's words unexpectedly rang in her mind. "…it was Marcus who made it clear threats against his own would be met with an iron fist."

  The male voices faded down the hallway and Elise rose to her feet. She tiptoed to the tapestry and drew the fabric back a fraction. She glanced left then right in the empty corridor, then stepped from the alcove and hurried to the stairs.

  Memory of the previous night rose in even more vivid detail than when she'd faced Margaret. If not for the arrival of Marcus's guest, she would have given herself to him. Heat flared in her cheeks. He had held her intimately. So intimately that in her dreams he had caressed her, taken each nipple in his mouth as he slipped a finger between the wet folds of her womanhood. She had never experienced a dream so real… so erotic. Her vision blurred on the stairs and she slowed.

  In her dream, it hadn't been him who took her, but she who had willingly parted her thighs, then pulled him between them. She had wrapped her hand around his swollen rod and teased him—teased herself—by rubbing the tip against her throbbing sex, then between the folds before finally guiding him inside her. Elise halted and collapsed back against the wall, her breath heavy and the throb between her legs as real now as it had been in the dream.

  The cool of the stone penetrated the thin fabric of her servant's dress. She forced her breathing into a more natural rhythm, then started down the stairs again and didn't stop until she reached her room. Elise closed the door with a soft click. Her knees shook and she suddenly doubted her ability to cross the few paces to the bed.

  "Fool," she hissed. She had almost spread her legs for him. A stab of longing startled her. Dear God, the deed would have meant nothing to him.

  The unexpected sound of footsteps racing down the hallway jerked her attention to the door. The light tread belonged to a woman and she approached at a run. Elise darted from the door, headed for the screen in hopes of ducking behind the barrier. The footsteps halted outside her bedchamber and the door burst open before she reached the screen.

  "Thank God!" Mary cried.

  Elise whirled.

  "You must come quickly!" Mary dashed across the room and grabbed her arm, then tugged her toward the door.

  "What in God's nam
e is wrong?" Elise wrenched free.

  "'Tis Lady Margaret," Mary wailed. "She's in an awful fit and is sure to beat Jinny."

  Elise pushed past Mary and rushed from the room, along the corridor, then down the steps into the great hall. She raced across the great hall, coming to a skidding halt in the kitchen.

  Jinny cowered in a corner with Margaret standing over her.

  "What is the meaning of this?" Elise demanded.

  Margaret turned.

  "Cease this nonsense," Elise ordered.

  Margaret stared, slack-jawed.

  "Close your mouth," Elise snapped. "In polite circles, it is considered rude to stare."

  Margaret's mouth twisted into a gruesome frown. "How dare you?"

  "What right have you to terrorize this household?"

  Margaret's eyes gleamed with malicious satisfaction. "I have every right—as you know."

  "Don't count your chickens before they are hatched. I venture Marcus will not take kindly to your actions."

  "Marcus again, is it?"

  Elise recognized the jealousy in the woman's eyes and gave her a calculated look. "Jinny," she addressed the young cook who still cowered, "fetch Cameron."

  "Cameron?" Margaret's brows rose in a mocking manner.

  "Yes. Jinny, I saw him upstairs only a few minutes ago. He was probably on his way to the library."

  "Stay where you are," Margaret threatened.

  Jinny's wary glance darted from Margaret to Elise.

  "It's all right," Elise urged.

  Jinny shot a sidelong look at Margaret, then eased a foot to the side. Lady Margaret took a step toward the girl. Elise slid between them.

  "Don't take your petty jealousy out on her." Elise stepped so close Margaret was forced to look up in order to maintain eye contact. "Are you such a coward you will only fight those who don't have the power to fight back?"

  Margaret raised her hand and swung, palm open, for a hard slap. Her gaze flicked past Elise and her eyes widened as a much larger hand intercepted her palm before it hit its intended mark.