by Scott, Tarah
"Three days?" Marcus exclaimed. "Had you not gone by way of Solway Firth—"
"Yes," Elise agreed in a voice far removed from Scotland—from him. "Yes."
"Why take that route?"
She shrugged. "We encountered bad weather and must have been blown off course. I didn't concern myself with the route." The bitterness in her voice said she now counted that a mistake.
Marcus kept to himself the knowledge that a storm couldn't have taken them to Solway Firth had they not been north of Ireland to begin with.
"You can't know what it is to watch your child die." She looked down into her lap where her hands lay clasped. "We could do nothing. When Steven heard of a specialist in England, we set sail immediately. I thank God she died in peace. Facing what came afterwards would have been far worse."
"And the others on the ship?" Marcus asked.
"We traveled on a barque, three-masted. Not a large ship, with only a crew of eleven. Then there was Steven, R-iley and I."
"Riley?" Marcus repeated.
"My husband."
"Who is Steven?"
"My brother." Elise stared out over the valley. "The commotion woke me in the middle of the night. By the time Steven came for me—"
"Steven, not your husband?"
"No. By the time Steven got to my cabin, smoke filled the corridors. He dragged me up on deck. I was sure we wouldn't make it; the corridor was so thick with smoke."
"No chance the ship could be saved?"
"They tried. Flames lapped up from the galley and the sails were ablaze. The wind blew hard. A storm had kicked up and the sails flapped furiously. Oh, how the wind can howl."
"Storms are common in the sound," Marcus said. "What started the fire?"
She grunted, a low but distinctly disgusted sound. "Likely an unattended lamp." She gave a mirthless laugh. "I knew what Steven meant to do. But, damn him, he knew me just as well. He gave me no chance." She looked at Marcus, her gaze burning into him. "Threw me overboard without so much as a by-your-leave."
"Indeed?"
"Damn you, one and all," she said under her breath.
Marcus cleared his throat. "He managed a boat, I take it?"
"What?" she answered on a distracted note. "Oh, yes." All bitterness had vanished from her voice. "I should have warned him, but I never dreamed—" her voice broke and Marcus realized she was weeping.
"Elise, love."
She shook her head, turning away. He sat up and reached for her. She tried to stand but couldn't manage her skirts quickly enough. He hauled her onto his lap and hugged her close.
"I would like to go home," she said into his shirt between quiet tears.
"Love," he whispered, "you are home."
"Amelia was gone," she said as if not having heard him. "But Steven—"
Some minutes passed. At last, her soft cries subsided and Marcus felt her chest expand with a deep breath. "A piece of him died each day with Amelia. When she—" Elise fumbled in her pocket. Marcus calmed the nervous search by placing his hand over hers. She stilled.
Marcus brushed the tears away with a thumb.
"I should have allowed Amelia to die in her own home," Elise said when he'd finished. "Steven would still be here."
"Steven suggested the doctor? He must have been as anxious as you to see her recover."
"Of course," she answered crossly.
"Could you have stopped him?"
"He couldn't have gone without us. Yes. I could have stopped him."
"Somehow, I doubt that."
"He was a determined fool," she cut in, "but had I told him it was best—"
"He would have carried you onto the ship."
"Damnable men," she muttered.
"What of Amelia's father?"
"He did not survive."
That Marcus knew, but he found it strange that Elise's story didn't include her husband. Too painful, he realized, and said, "I'm sorry, lass."
"Fate is strange," she murmured.
"You can't blame yourself for their deaths," Marcus said.
"You would be amazed at what I can do."
Marcus felt a tremor pass through her. He hugged her closer. "Dinna' say more."
"Seems a bit late for that," she remarked in a dry tone.
He sighed. "Lass, you could remain here quiet all night and I wouldna' complain."
She looked up at him. "It is not… common—for a brother and sister, that is—but Steven was my friend. I shall never find that kind of trust again."
His gaze fell on her left hand and the spot where he knew the scar was on her palm's edge. She hadn't escaped the fire completely unharmed. He took the hand, lifted it to his lips and kissed the scar. He placed the hand around his waist, then slid a hand into her hair and tilted her head upward.
"Are ye sure?" he asked.
Her mouth parted with quiet surprise. He had promised himself he wouldn't touch her. Yet his head lowered and his mouth covered hers of its own volition. Elise offered no resistance when he parted her lips with his tongue. He tightened his hold, the fire in him hot. Still, he kept the kiss soft, his tongue thrusting gently in her mouth. She relaxed. His groin tightened and he ended the kiss. He sighed. His only choice now was to take her home or take her there.
Chapter Seven
"Are you sure?"
The memory of Marcus's warm breath brushing her skin as he whispered the question made Elise shiver. She squinted up at thick morning sunlight streaming down between heavy storm clouds. Daylight brought no more clarity than had the sleepless night. She paused at the rock, which marked the halfway point on the hill between Brahan Seer and the village, and sat down. She worked the boot from her left foot.
"Infernal pebbles." She turned the boot upside down and shook the irksome item free.
The pebble hit the stony ground with a click. Elise strained to see it, then, shaking her head, stuck her foot in the boot and tugged. Her heel caught on the heel grip. She tugged harder but to no avail.
"Good Lord." She jumped to her feet.
She stomped her foot on the ground. The heel jammed even harder on the heel grip and her foot turned, tumbling her to the ground. She sat for a moment, surveying the skirts thrown up around her thighs, and sighed. Drawing her knees to her, Elise tugged the skirts down over her legs. She propped an elbow on one knee and placed her chin on the heel of a palm.
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.
* * * *
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.