Wicked Highland Lords: Over 1100 pages of Scottish Regency Romance

by Tarah Scott

  Elise inhaled sharply.

  “Aye,” he whispered.

  Marcus rocked again, then again. She arched as he kissed his way down her neck. He released her hands and tugged down her bodice.

  “Marcus!” She forgot the remonstration as his weight lifted from her and he bent, his wet mouth closing over a nipple.

  Desire spiked through her. His tongue circled the nipple, then released it. She closed her eyes, shivering as the wind slid across her breast, puckering the bud to a hard peak. Marcus abruptly pulled her away from the tree. She snapped open her eyes. He eased her to the ground. The scent of crushed ivy ground cover enveloped her as he came down beside her.

  “They're expecting me to return with the flour,” she said. “When I don't—”

  “They know I came in search of you.” He slipped a knee between her legs. “They won't come.”

  He covered a breast with his palm and slowly teased the nipple with his thumb, while kissing the other breast. His mouth captured the nipple and a rush of pleasure shot from both breasts to the juncture between her legs. He lifted his head and she forced her eyes into focus. His gaze remained fastened on hers as he ran a hand along her ribs. His palm glided past her waist, then along her thigh. He grabbed a fistful of her skirt and pulled it up. She gasped at the feel of his warm hand flattening against her skin, then caressing her inner thigh.

  “Marcus,” she whispered.

  He said nothing, only continued caressing upward until his fingers tickled the hair between her legs. She tensed. He kissed the swell of her breast, her neck, her ear, then her mouth, lengthening the kiss as he slipped a finger between her folds. His thumb brushed the nub swollen with desire. She clutched his shoulders. His muscles tensed beneath her fingers. She ached to feel those arms around her. He stroked her deliberately while slipping another finger inside. He released her mouth and leaned his forehead against hers. His breathing grew ragged as he thrust gently with his fingers. His thumb stroked in quicker movements. Pleasure swirled in a restless coil deep insider her, spiking up in wide ribbons of intensity that took her breath away.

  Marcus nuzzled her neck. “Come to me.”

  She started at the whispered words.

  “Come to me,” he repeated.

  And she did.

  * * *

  Elise took one of the scones Jinny had baked that evening from the pan on the kitchen counter. They were still warm to the touch. She pulled the tartan covering her shoulders closer as she stuffed half the scone into her mouth and leaned against the counter. Despite a large supper and wine, she had been unable to sleep. Two glasses of wine hadn't been enough. She should have made it three. At least she would have slept, even if fitfully.

  Why had she let Marcus touch her? When he left for London, she had counted on him being away longer than seven days and intended on being gone before he returned. Given enough time, Cameron would have seen her confinement for the prison sentence it was. She had planned on approaching him with care. When he thought she had been wronged by Margaret, he understood her desire to leave. An out-and-out demand for release, however, would be viewed with suspicion. After all, why would a woman with only fifty pounds to her name and no place to go want to leave?

  She finished the second half of the scone. If she had listened to her head and not her heart and had shunned Marcus… Elise gave a mirthless laugh. She hadn't—and now she had to deal with him while searching for the secret passage Winnie had spoken of.

  She reached for another scone, then decided to take some to her room. She found a cloth napkin in the cabinet and wrapped two scones. Male voices sounded in the direction of the great hall as she had folded the napkin's last flap.

  Elise cocked an ear. They approached from the hall leading from the main entrance. Scooping up the scones, she froze at sound of a familiar laugh. Marcus. She tightened her hold on the tartan and darted through the kitchen door toward the stairs but was still half a dozen steps from the concealment offered by the staircase when the men burst into the room. Their laughter ceased.

  Marcus's “Good evening, lass. What mischief brings you to the great hall tonight?” stopped Elise. She gripped the tartan more tightly about her throat and turned, lifting her hand to display the wrapped scones.

  The men looked at the proffered scones and burst into laughter. She began to relax, then caught sight of Marcus's intense gaze.

  * * *

  The colors of the throw Elise wore dissolved in Marcus's mind in a blur of red and blue to the memory of her lying alongside him in the ivy. He felt again her body as she trembled beneath his hand, the moist heat of her—

  “Good night, gentlemen,” she said.

  Marcus jerked his attention back to her as she turned to the staircase and started up. He brushed past his comrades and hurried after her. She paused midway up the staircase and looked over her shoulder. He continued forward and she hurried up the stairs and down the corridor to her bedchamber door where she whirled to face him.

  “Marcus, perhaps—”

  He leaned forward, his shoulder brushing hers as he reached around her and pushed open the door. The door swung wide and he cupped her bottom, lifting her from the floor. She squeaked and threw her arms around his neck, dropping the plaide and the scones. He stepped inside, kicked the door shut, and took the final steps to the bed. He fell atop her on the soft mattress.

  “I need you,” he whispered.

  The spicy scent of clean bed linen met his nostrils as he kissed her. The fire crackled and it seemed the heat in his blood ignited in unison. Elise gripped his shoulders. The power in her hold belied the soft compliance of her lips. Marcus ended the kiss.

  He rose to his knees and pulled her up and off the bed with him. He tugged the straps of her night rail down over her shoulders, forcing her arms down so that the garment skimmed along her body and pooled at her feet. His heart hammered. At last, she willingly stood before him, soft curves his to touch, her charms his to take. He forced back the need to crush her beneath him and pound into her heat with all the force in his body and drew her into his arms. She rested her head on his shoulder. He held her quietly until the pounding in his ears dulled to a low roar, then bent and brushed his lips across hers.

  When Marcus lifted his head, he held her gaze as he rotated his hips against her. Uncertainty played across her face. She dropped her lashes at the second, more ardent grinding of his arousal against her mound. He stepped back and she looked up in surprise. He raked his gaze over her, then brought his attention back to her face. A furious blush crept up her cheeks.

  He unbuttoned his shirt and dropped the garment on the floor. His left boot followed, then the right, leaving him standing in nothing but his kilt. Marcus studied her as he removed his belt and let it, along with the kilt, fall to the floor. The belt buckle clinked on the stone, but Elise's eyes remained fixed on his face. He took the few steps to her and, grasping her wrist, gently brought her hand to his shaft. Her gaze jerked down to where he firmly held her. He wrapped her fingers around him and nearly came to his knees at the cool feel of her fingers against his pounding heat.

  “Do I frighten you, lass?” he asked.

  Her head snapped up. “No.”

  Marcus gave a hoarse laugh. Bloody hell, mayhap she wasn't afraid, but he was. He picked her up and carried her to the bed. Placing her on the mattress, he lay down beside her. He ignored the hammering in his head and ran a shaky finger along her arm.

  “I'll be gentle,” he said.

  She frowned. “I won't break.”

  “Nae, love,” he agreed. “But compared to me, you are naught but a feather.”

  Elise sat upright. “I am no porcelain doll to be kept on a shelf.”

  Marcus opened his mouth to deny the implication but stopped. “Is that how your husband treated you?”

  A long silence drew out.

  “You cannot compare me to him,” Marcus finally said. “I'm no fool.”

  She blinked, then rolled to her si
de and started toward the edge of the bed.

  “Nae.” Marcus grabbed her.

  “You can leave now.” She twisted as he yanked her back.

  “Nae.” He rolled on top of her. “Hush,” he commanded when she opened her mouth.

  He kissed her. She pressed herself into the mattress, but he lengthened the kiss. She wriggled as though to sidle out from beneath him, rocking their bodies together. Pleasure shot through him. Marcus ended the kiss, breathing hard.

  “Elise,” he whispered hoarsely, “you are not discouraging me.”

  She ceased.

  Marcus slipped a knee between her legs. “I am a fool,” he said. “I wanted you the moment I laid eyes on you. You know that.”

  He reached between them and drew apart the folds that protected her sex. He feared, at first, she would resist in earnest and he would be forced to spend yet another night without her, but an instant later, she wrapped her arms about his neck. Marcus touched her in heated strokes. He breathed deep of her scent filling his nostrils, stroking, petting until, at last, she cried out and buried her head in his shoulder. He trailed a long, moist kiss from her ear to a breast, taking the hardened nipple in his mouth.

  “Marcus,” she groaned.

  He continued to tease her while settling himself between her legs. He probed for entrance into her body, aware of the sudden rise and fall of her breast, the subtle tension in her. His body tensed in response, hungry for the resistance. The tip of his shaft slipped into the moist opening.

  “You're ready for me,” he rasped, and in one swift motion, thrust.

  Her nails pierced the flesh of his shoulders. She stiffened. Marcus stilled, waves of pleasure radiating from his groin. He took a shaky breath and focused on her face. His mind instantly cleared at sight of the drawn brow and hard lines around her mouth.

  “Bloody hell,” he cursed. “I hurt you.”

  “No,” she denied so quickly he wouldn't have believed the pope had he said she spoke the truth.

  “You may be no porcelain doll,” he muttered, “but you aren't to be misused.”

  “You don't understand—”

  “I understand well enough.” He began to lift himself off her.

  Elise held fast to his shoulders. “You do not, but it doesn't matter. If you will just continue, it will pass.”

  He frowned. “If you think I could misuse you—”

  “Good Lord.” She rolled her eyes.

  “What in God's name has possessed you this evening?” he demanded, feeling frustration grow and himself soften.

  “You, I thought.”

  Marcus blinked. He stared at her face for a moment, then dropped his gaze to her breasts. The nipples no longer stood erect. He lowered himself so that his chest brushed the soft peaks. They instantly stiffened. He hardened. He shifted slightly, gasping as the tight passage closed in around him in a hold he hadn't recalled since—Marcus froze, jerking his attention back to Elise's taut face—since he'd bedded Jenna on their wedding night. She'd been the only virgin he'd ever had, but the memory remained vivid. However, there had been no maidenhead with Elise. She had been married, had a child. She was no virgin.

  “Elise,” he said in a low voice, “how long since your husband bedded you?”

  Her stricken look and the sudden moisture in her eyes told him all he needed to know.

  “Love,” he said, lowering his mouth to kiss her.

  She turned her head aside. “Please.”

  Marcus kissed her neck instead. Not the kiss of passion he would have given her a moment ago, but a gentle, reassuring kiss.

  “The man was a fool,” he muttered, and moved inside her, slowly this time.

  Her hold remained firm, but she shook her head slightly, refusing to look at him. Marcus lifted his weight from her, withdrawing slowly, then entering again with a quick but shallow thrust. He didn't mistake her tiny intake of breath, then the rise of her body to meet his next thrust. He pulled away, while running his tongue along the edge of her ear. When he thrust again, Elise wrapped her arms around his neck. He kissed her cheek, the corner of her mouth, then coaxed her to him, kissing her full on the mouth. She wound a leg around his calf and he thrust hard and deep before realizing the action.

  He stilled. She opened her eyes. He saw no fear, only the question, Why have you stopped? He was a fool. Marcus moved again and again and again, until her arms tightened around his back and her walls closed around his shaft as she cried out in her pleasure. When the blinding light of climax shot through his body, he poured himself into her and knew he would never let her go.

  * * *

  Elise sat at Marcus's desk in the library and stared at the wanted notice in the Sunday Times dated the weekend he had been in London.

  American-born Elisabeth Kingston wanted for murder is believed to have perished at sea off the coast of Scotland. A ten-thousand-pound reward is offered for information leading to the whereabouts of her body. Anyone with information contact Drew Cummins, Attorney at Law…

  She closed her eyes, willing her pounding heart to slow. If this paper had been meant for Michael, why had it sat folded on Marcus's desk the last four days? The man who had demanded the Campbells deliver Shamus's killer to him wouldn't overlook a wife murdering her husband.

  Marcus's anger at discovering that the woman he wanted to marry was a wanted criminal like Shamus's murderer would be even greater. She had eluded Price these past months. After what happened between her and Marcus last night, could she hide from him?

  * * *

  Marcus strode across the courtyard toward the gate. The drizzling rain, which had fallen since dawn, now turned into the large drops promised by the dark, low clouds. He would be surprised if Elise had ventured into the village on such a dreary summer day. In fact, he had expected her to be shut up in his library. He felt again the acute disappointment at not being able to make love to her before a low fire as he'd planned.

  A moment later, he stood on the battlements, scanning the path leading into the village but saw no one approaching. He shifted his gaze to the dark shadows concealing the secret passage, then turned and surveyed the courtyard. The rain hadn't interfered with the daily goings on. People traveled to and from the castle and among the cottages beyond the bailey.

  He scanned the grounds, his gaze centering on Winnie's cottage in the distance. He started to turn from the deserted-looking building when the door opened and a woman stepped out. Marcus studied the figure as she hurried down the single step onto the ground and started in the direction of the castle. He followed her progress until he discerned Mary's features, then turned from the wall. Perhaps she knew something of Elise's whereabouts. A moment later, he pushed through the postern door and strode through the eating hall to the kitchen. Mary appeared in the kitchen's back door as he entered.

  “Have you seen Elise?” he demanded without preamble.

  The girl paused in the doorway. “N-Nae, laird.”

  Marcus surveyed the women in the room, all of whom had stopped their work and were looking at him. “No one here knows where Winnie is?”

  A general “Nae” went up and he turned from the kitchen. Where the bloody hell was Elise? And as for Winnie…

  A cursory investigation of the castle turned up no sign of Elise. Only three weeks earlier he had been searching for her in much the same manner.

  Her absence then was innocent enough. Yet the number of times she had gone to Michael's against his express command, combined with last month's disappearance, unsettled him.

  Two hours later, after a more thorough search, including the dungeons, Marcus stalked toward Winnie's cottage. The secret passageway had become his nemesis. At every turn, he feared Elise had somehow managed to escape through it, despite the fact he'd had it sealed from the outside.

  He found Winnie's cottage empty. Marcus worked his way through the keep, his temper rising with every step. At last, he reached Lauren's home. Aye, she'd seen Elise, only that had been over an hour ago. He s
trode from her cottage, across the compound, and into the kitchen. Winnie, this time, sat at the table, plucking a chicken, just as she should have been.

  “So, milady,” he said, bringing her attention to him, along with that of the other women in the room, “you have returned to the roost.”

  Winnie looked up from yanking tail feathers from her victim's rump.

  “Have you seen Elise?”

  Comprehension shone on her face.

  “Don't play games with me, Winnie,” he warned. “You have seen Elise. I can see it in your eyes.”

  “No need to get testy.” She turned to her chicken. “Try the women's drawing room.”

  Another five minutes and Marcus shoved open the drawing room door. The women jumped as the door hit the wall with a bang. He swept his gaze across the room before settling dangerously on Elise, who sat on the large couch against the left wall. No one moved as he strode toward her.

  “Good Lord, what in the world is wrong?” she blurted when he halted in front of her.

  With a jerk of his head, Marcus cleared the room. The door closed with a soft click and he demanded, “Where have you been?”

  She blinked. “I-I have just come from Lauren's—”

  “Not just come. You left there over an hour ago.”

  “What have I done now?” she retorted in the same dark tone he'd used.

  “It never occurred to you to inform someone—anyone—where you were going?” Marcus grabbed her shoulders. “Don't do this again.” He hadn't realized until seeing her, just how far his fear had run. He hugged her.

  She wriggled within his grasp. “Marcus.”

  He leaned back and looked into her face. “The next time you leave the castle, tell someone.”

  Her brow furrowed, then her lips pursed. She wrested herself from his arms and tumbled back onto the couch. “Go away,” she snapped, and reached to smooth her skirts, which had bunched beneath her.

  Marcus sat beside her. “Listen to me. There is mischief afoot, and I won't live in fear for your safety, even within the walls of my own home. Do you understand?”