by Tarah Scott
"Madam." Kiernan took her hand and brought it to his lips.
Her face lit with enchantment and Marcus breathed a sigh of relief that her misgivings seemed to have evaporated.
"Why, sir," she said, "I believe you are a heartbreaker."
Kiernan blinked in surprise.
"You didn't tell me he was such a rogue, Marcus. I wager the apple doesn't fall far from the tree."
Marcus smiled. "Kiernan is very much his own man."
Her expression softened. "Perhaps, but that raven's hair and those eyes…"
Memory of similar words spoken to him by her upon their first meeting stole over Marcus.
"They must be your mother's eyes." She smiled at Kiernan.
Marcus snapped back to the present.
Cameron joined them, his raised brow testament that he had overheard the comment. Marcus looked from his son to Elise. It hadn't occurred to him she might speak of Jenna. He had never spoken to her of his wife, and she had no idea of Kiernan's sensitivity concerning his mother.
Kiernan angled his head. "You are correct, madam. I did, indeed, inherit those traits from my mother."
"I see," Elise nodded. "But there's more." A corner of her mouth twitched upwards. "She imparted something of herself to you. A piece of her soul, perhaps." Kiernan looked genuinely shaken and Elise's smile turned gentle. "It is heartening that you carry her with you."
He looked hopelessly at his father but was doomed to find no solace there, for Marcus was as surprised as he.
"Well, now, Kiernan," Cameron's deep voice broke in, "what do you think of your father's future bride?" He gave Kiernan a crack on the back and winked at Elise.
Marcus noted the blush that crept up her cheek and wondered at a woman who could be so bold one moment, then so reticent the next.
* * *
The following day, Father Whyte arrived. Winnie announced the priest's arrival. Had it been Marcus, Elise would have taken the sgian dubh from the wall in the great hall and put it through his heart. That would be a more merciful end than the one he would suffer if his foolishness got them married.
Father Whyte asked if all were well with the wedding arrangements. "A week is a short time to prepare a wedding feast."
"A week?" Elise replied, then remembered Marcus saying the wedding would take place soon. He hadn't said how soon.
What if you did go through with the marriage, a quiet voice asked?
Then Price would go free, and Amelia and Steven wouldn't have recompense. But how many more would suffer as a result of Price? She had lost the two most important people in her life. Now she would lose Marcus. All because of her stepfather. But it wasn't so simple. If Marcus—or worse, someone else—discovered the truth, he would pay dearly.
In the end, Elise had seen to Father Whyte's comfort in the small abbey located on the southeast edge of Brahan Seer. Guilt piled higher at the realization that he was enthusiastic about the marriage. Why couldn't he have been one of those pinched-nose priests who believe rank shouldn't mix?
That night when Elise appeared in the great hall and started toward the kitchen, Marcus intercepted her and seated her beside him at the table.
"Winnie is expecting me." She tried to rise.
Marcus laid a firm hand on her shoulder. "Nay. She is not."
Elise glanced at the kitchen door.
"'Tis the way of things," he said. "You will have duties enough after we wed."
After we wed. Her stomach did a flip. Time was running out and she had found no answer as to how she would safely and successfully slip away unnoticed. There remained only one answer; she had to tell Marcus she wouldn't marry him. When all was said and done, he was a good man. Once she demanded to be allowed to return home, he wouldn't keep her prisoner.
Kiernan seated himself beside her. She was surrounded. Elise listened as he talked of school, friends, and the upcoming season in London. Everything, she thought, except the one thing that must be in the forefront of his mind. How would she respond? What would she say to this keen young man if he questioned her about her past? Kiernan's gaze turned intense. Her heart rate accelerated. Had she missed something in the conversation?
"I do believe," he said, "the ton will be set on its ear by my father's new marchioness."
"Marchioness?" Elise repeated.
Kiernan nodded.
Marchioness… Marchioness—the wife of a marquess. Nobility, Marcus was nobility? Elise's mind raced. What rank was a marquess? Baron, viscount, earl, marquis—marquess—she abruptly felt as though a thick fog had enveloped her brain. If Marcus was a marquess, then Cameron—she nearly choked. Marcus was a high nobleman, and she was an accused murderess—a wanted criminal with a bounty on her head.
"Have I said something?" Kiernan demanded in a low whisper.
Elise's attention jerked back to the young man.
"I meant no offense," he went on. "Your forthright manner will be a breath of fresh air for London's tainted society."
"Of course," she responded in a whisper.
His brow furrowed in concern.
Elise shook her head. "Forgive me. The excitement of the wedding—and London…" she let her voice trail off.
Kiernan hesitated, then smiled in polite acceptance.
Supper ended. Elise waited until Marcus had joined his father and son near the hearth before slipping from the hall.
"Where are ye off to?" Winnie inquired as she hurried through the kitchen.
"I am in need of fresh air."
Winnie gave a grunt of understanding as Elise passed out into the night. She hurried across the compound and down the lane to the abbey. Father Whyte hadn't appeared for the evening meal and she prayed he wasn't already abed.
Elise entered the chapel to find him kneeling before the candlelit altar. She stopped, intending to make a quiet retreat, but he twisted and looked at her over his shoulder. The smile on his face died when their gazes met.
"What's wrong, child?" He rose and started down the aisle toward her.
Elise hurried forward, meeting him halfway. "Father," she said without preamble, "if I ask a question, you are obligated to tell the truth, aren't you?"
"Aye."
"What is Marcus's rank?"
"Rank?"
"Title—rank," she answered impatiently.
"He is the Marquess of Ashlund."
Her heart beat faster. "What is a marquess?"
"In this case, he is the son of a duke."
"A—" Her head reeled. "So Cameron really is a…"
"A duke," Father Whyte confirmed.
Elise collapsed onto a pew.
"Madam!" He caught her hand and fell to his knees before her. "Are you ill?"
"My God," she whispered. "My God." She looked at him. "This is… no mistake?"
He looked confused.
"There's no possibility Marcus will not follow his father's footsteps?"
"Marcus is the only son. He will one day be the Duke of Ashlund."
"My God," she repeated. Then, abruptly looking at the priest, she said, "If I cry off, Marcus couldn't force the wedding?" Would he—could he—actually force her to stay?
"Nay," the priest answered slowly. "He could not force you."
"Father, can you tell me why he hid his identity from me?"
"Hid his identity? I dinna' see, exactly—" He frowned. "You knew nothing of his rank?"
She shook her head.
"But everyone knows. Perhaps he assumed you knew."
"He cannot stop me from changing my mind about the marriage—can he? I left once before and he brought me back."
Father Whyte looked surprised. "He is a powerful man. I hadn't considered such possibilities, but I suppose he could do almost anything." The priest hesitated. "My child…"
Elise's heart pounded. "Good Lord, what?"
"In society's eyes, you and Marcus are married. The wedding vows are a mere formality. You have been through a proper courtship." He didn't acknowledge her unladylike snort. "E
veryone assumes—" He stopped. She frowned and he added, "That you already live as husband and wife."
A jolt of embarrassment warmed her cheeks. She'd been a virgin when Robert married her. The possibility of intimacy outside the marriage bed hadn't occurred to her. But then, she hadn't considered the possibility of intimacy at all after Robert.
"Of course," Father Whyte added, "if they are wrong…"
Elise laughed again, this time with bitterness. "You won't find redemption for me there, Father."
"You needn't worry. You are to be wed. As I said, 'tis a formality."
"A formality which carries the weight of the law."
"True."
"And I am free to go?" she insisted.
"Your reputation would be ruined."
"Bah! I don't care a fig for my reputation."
"It would be a terrible scandal for Marcus, as well."
"Would it?" she said with asperity, but guilt surfaced amongst the anger.
A mental picture flashed of the next big headlines in the London Sunday Times, "The Duke Who Married a Murderess." The fact it was a lie wouldn't matter.
"The announcements have already reached the papers," Father Whyte said.
"Announcements?" Elise echoed, then said, "But of course."
"Come," Father Whyte's expression softened, "there has been some mistake. Marcus is a good man. Surely, you will listen to his explanation."
"What explanation?" asked Marcus from the rear of the church.
Elise surged to her feet. "Lord Ashlund. Good of you to join us."
* * *
So she had discovered the truth. Marcus had no one to blame but himself for not telling her. He strode to them and halted beside Elise. He gave an acknowledging nod to Father Whyte, then said to her, "Aye, love. Lord Ashlund, Marquess of Ashlund."
"You lied to me."
He recognized the fear behind the curt statement and gently answered, "Nay."
Her lips thinned. "You deny it?"
"If I led you to believe I was of noble class but wasn't, you would have reason to be angry. The fact I am of the noble caste is of no consequence. Have you ever heard anyone here address me by my title?"
Her mouth tightened further. "You kept it from me."
"You are saying I instructed all of Brahan Seer to deceive you? How could I possibly accomplish such a thing? The fact that you learned about this before we signed the marriage certificate proves my point."
"The marriage certificate?" Elise repeated, then, as though to herself, said, "Of course, we would sign a marriage certificate."
"It doesn't matter," he insisted. "Especially here."
She canted her head. "And when we leave Brahan Seer? Isn't that the reason we are doing this because you insisted we cannot leave Brahan Seer without being married?"
"Aye," he replied. "We cannot travel the country and live as we do here. Expectations are different outside Brahan Seer."
"Yes, they are," she retorted. "To the extent you are to be a duke!"
"You aren't being honest," he continued, forcing back frustration. "Admit it. Had you known in the beginning, you wouldn't have agreed to marry me because of my station."
"So you did lie."
"I did not."
"Father," she said, keeping her gaze on Marcus, "isn't the sin of omission the same as a direct lie?"
The priest took a deep breath. "It is."
"Are you saying you won't marry me because I will one day be a duke?" Marcus demanded.
"I am saying, I will not marry a man I cannot trust."
"Bloody hell," he cursed. "After all the years the MacGregors have fought for their good fortune, to have it turned against us—"
Her eyes flashed. "Make no mistake, Lord Ashlund, it isn't the MacGregors's good fortune I hold against you."
"It is," he cut in sharply. "If I were Michael's son instead of Cameron's, you would view my suit as proper."
"That is not the point—"
"It is exactly the point. With anyone else I would not have had to say, You do realize I am a marquess? Yet, you say that is exactly what I should have done."
"You knew not telling me was a manipulation."
"How am I to answer?" he snapped. "Had I made a point of telling you, you would have balked. Yet, not telling you is a grievous sin."
Elise eyed him critically. "When did you plan to tell me? Once we arrived in civilization and someone bowed before you?"
"Nay, as I just said, when you signed the wedding certificate you would have known."
"And when would that have been, the moment before we took the wedding vows?"
Marcus looked at Father Whyte. "When, Father?"
"Tomorrow."
Marcus looked back at her. "A far cry from the wedding day."
"But far too long considering the length of our courtship."
"You're being foolish." He grasped her arm.
She shook him off. "How did you expect me to react?"
He wished mightily Father Whyte weren't present. "I had hoped some feeling had developed that would negate these foolish concerns."
"I need to be alone with my foolish concerns." She brushed past him.
Marcus glanced at Father Whyte, who gave him a troubled look, then Marcus shifted his gaze onto Elise as she disappeared out the chapel doors.
* * *
Elise closed her bedchamber door, then walked to the couch and sat down. Placing a hand on her belly, she pressed it in an attempt to quiet the twisting, which had begun as a flutter and was now a wrenching unlike anything she had experienced since the last night on the Amelia.
Elise Merriwether would be the name of the woman to marry the Marquess of Ashlund. It was foolish for her to have given her great-aunt's surname, but when she'd come out of her delirium in Josh and Shannon's home, she'd given the first name that came to mind. Would Price connect that Elise Merriwether to her? Her mind raced. Would he see the notice? The announcement would go into the London Sunday Times, probably The Scotsman in Edinburgh, as well. But would the news reach America? She thought of the Boston papers and recalled the news when King George III died and his son took his place. Occasionally, large business ventures were reported, but she couldn't recall any marriage announcements for the nobility.
Elise released a shaky breath. It was unlikely the announcement would make the American papers. She leaned back against the cushions and closed her eyes. Looking back, it now seemed ridiculous she hadn't realized there was more to the MacGregor men than mere wealth. She had missed all of the warning signs. How had she been so blind?
"Oh, Marcus," she whispered. "What have you done?"
A duke can protect even a murderess, her mind contended. Her insides gave a vicious twist. He could, she agreed. But could his reputation survive the scandal? And could she live with herself for hurting him?
First thing tomorrow morning, she would go to Cameron and demand to leave.
* * *
At the sound of voices in the great hall, Elise paused on the stairs. Who would be roused at this early hour? It wasn't yet dawn.
"I know what ye told me," a young male voice said.
Tavis.
"Aye," came another, deeper voice.
Marcus.
"I'm willing to take my punishment, laird," Tavis said.
Elise didn't breathe.
"I told you not to leave Brahan Seer again," Marcus said. "You are a man—the only man in your household. You're old enough to understand that responsibility."
Elise crept down the remaining four stairs and peeked around the corner. They stood on the far side of the table nearest the postern door, Marcus's hand on Tavis's shoulder, Tavis's gaze downcast. The worry on Marcus's face stirred something deep within her. The day the Campbells attacked, he had been ruthless. But this was a gentleness as kind as his ruthlessness had been cruel.
"The thirst for revenge will eat a man alive," he said. "I swore to deal with your father's murderers, and did. Leave it be." He sighed, the a
ction revealing a great weariness. "If those dogs came for you, even with a warrant from King George, I wouldn't give you up." A tiny smile played at his mouth. "Lad, we aren't as different from the Campbells as we believe. They were as unwilling to hand over their kinsmen as I would be."
Elise couldn't check a surge of hope. He would not give up one of his own—even in the name of justice?
Marcus crossed his arms over his chest. "I have no intention of facing your mother with the news that you have followed your father to the grave. Therefore, you go to London."
Tavis gasped.
"Nay," Marcus said. "You will have no more opportunities to go wandering off by yourself." He raised a brow. "You know your sister follows."
"I made sure she did not," the boy protested.
Marcus laughed. "Never underestimate a female, no matter her age."
"Laird," Tavis begged, "I promise—"
"Nay," Marcus said shortly.
"Not London then, but Edinburgh."
Another laugh from Marcus, this one tinged with fondness. "London it will be, lad. Edinburgh is too close for comfort."
"Laird," Tavis said, desperation in his voice.
The mirth in Marcus's eyes faded. "Erin will accompany you to England."
Elise felt her breath quicken. A decree she would have made had she the power. Realization washed over her in a tidal wave. If she confessed the truth, Marcus would sail across the ocean and kill Price with his bare hands. If she disappeared, he would leave no stone unturned until he found her. If she told him she would not marry a duke, he would follow her to the ends of the earth in order to change her mind.
God help him, he loved her.
And God help her, she wouldn't sacrifice him… not even for Amelia and Steven.
* * *
Marcus entered the great hall the following afternoon to discover the room filled with people and humming with unexpected excitement. He scanned the familiar entourage until his gaze settled on his cousin Sophie and, to his surprise, Elise, who looked as though she hadn't a care in the world. The two women stood, profiles to him, and neither had noticed his entrance. He hung back near the door, watching.
He hadn't spoken with Elise since she left him standing in the abbey the night before. He had gone to her room early this morning and found her bed empty. She had slept there, however, a fact he had verified in the dead of night. His search that morning didn't turn her up in the kitchen or the ladies' drawing room. Even his library, a favorite haunt, had been empty. The kitchen maids informed him she and Winnie had gone to visit Chloe.