Highlanders

by Tarah Scott

  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 seen 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 co
nsoling 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.

  "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.

  ###

  My Highland Lord

  Highland Lords Series

  Tarah Scott

  Broken Arm Publishing

  Copyright © 2013 by Tarah Scott

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Design by Melissa Alvarez at Book Covers Galore

  Acknowledgements

  My deepest thanks to Nikki at Close Encounters with the Night Kind for being my first official beta reader. You rock, girl!

  My undying gratitude goes to Evan Trevane, my good friend and critique partner, who read this book with an eagle eye. My hero wears a kilt, and you made sure no one mistook it for a skirt.

  Thank you to Kimberly Comeau, who brainstormed with me and read the tough sections—many times over!

  No book is complete without a spectacular cover. Thanks to Melissa Alvarez at Book Covers Galore for another beautiful cover.

  Reviews

  Welcome to the Majesty that can only be Tarah Scott. Be prepared to be swept up in the intrigue and wonder of her newest addition to the Highland Lords Series. This books was completely engrossing and enraptured you from start to finish, and what an ending indeed!! A must read for all Historical Romance lovers. This book is sure to capture your heart and leave you in breathless anticipation for the next edition!! Close Encounters with the Night Kind

  My Highland Lord is a hilarious and intriguing adventure in which all kinds of mysteries and romance surround our heroine. I give My Highland Lord five Stars out of five because it was supremely interesting and captivating. The Romance Reviews Top Pick

  CHAPTER ONE

  London, September 1837

  “Please, Frederick,” John Stafford rasped. He lifted his trembling hand from the bed’s coverlet. Light from the candle on the nightstand flickered with the small disturbance. “Bring me that chest.” John pointed at the desk in the corner of the bedchamber before his hand dropped back down beside him. He dragged in a heavy breath.

  Frederick's mouth thinned in concern. “John, you must—”

  “The chest,” John cut in with a small measure of his old vigor.

  His friend sighed, turned, and crossed the room. He lifted the small chest from its two-decade-long resting place. When last the chest had been moved, John was Sheriff of Bow Street and supervisor of the Home Office spies. The chest's contents proved the innocence of one of the conspirators in the most daring assassination attempts of their time.

  Frederick returned to the bed, set the chest on the nightstand, and gave John a questioning look.

  “Remove the documents,” John said.

  John closed his eyes in anticipation of the familiar creak of hinges as Frederick opened the chest. How many times had he raised that lid only to slam it shut again without touching the contents? The rustling of papers ceased and Frederick gave a low cry of surprise.

  John opened his eyes. “Yes,” he said as Frederick laid the st
ack of envelopes on the bed. “That is, indeed, Lord Mallory of the House of Lords.” John pushed aside envelopes until he uncovered the one he wanted. He tapped it and whispered, “Read this aloud.”

  Frederick removed the sheets of paper from their envelope, sat beside John on the edge of the mattress, and began.

  April 26, 1820

  In early February of this year word reached me, John Stafford, chief clerk at Bow Street, and head of the Bow Street officers, that Arthur Thistlewood, leader of the radical Spencean Philanthropists Society, planned on February 15 to assassinate the king's ministers. Thistlewood had been reported as saying he could raise fifteen thousand armed men in half an hour, so we feared riots would break out, which might allow him to carry out his assassinations.

  I sent one of my officers George Ruthven to infiltrate the Spenceans, and then recruited from within their ranks, John Williamson, John Shegoe, James Hanley, Thomas Dywer, and George Edwards. Edwards was such an adept spy that he became Thistlewood's aide-de-camp. Little did I know the terrible part Edwards would play in this operation.

  When I had investigated Arthur Thistlewood and the Spenceans in 1816 at Spa Fields, Home Secretary Lord Sidmouth sent me spies, and he was apprised of the men I now used—in fact, George Edwards reported not only to me, but to Lord Sidmouth. So I was surprised when Lord Mallory dispatched another spy from the Solicitor General's office, Mason Wallington, Viscount Albery.

  Oddly, Thistlewood unexpectedly abandoned the idea of the assassinations planned for February 15. We feared he would make an unexpected move to murder the Privy Council, so we quickly set a trap. Thistlewood snapped up the bait like a starving lion. He believed that Lord Harrowby was to entertain the Cabinet in his home at Grosvenor Square Wednesday, February 23, 1820, and, as we anticipated, decided to assassinate the entire Cabinet while they dined. The Spenceans chose the Horse and Groom, a public house on Cato Street that overlooks the stable, as their meeting place, so we dubbed the operation 'The Cato Street Conspiracy.'