by Tarah Scott
“I told you to inform someone of your whereabouts.”
“Told me?” Elise's brows rose sluggishly. “I seem to remember you as-as-” Her gaze cut to Sophie. “A difficult word—asking me,” she got out in a quick breath, then looked at him again. “But, then, I'm not surprised you remember it differently.”
Laughter emanated from the men.
“And in case you hadn't noticed,” she went on between hiccups, “I haven't left the confines of the castle.” Despite the slight slur in her words, they were said with emphasis.
Another ripple of low laughter came from the men and Marcus shot them a quelling look. Cameron coughed and Kiernan raised a brow while the others' mouths twitched with amusement. Marcus turned his attention to Sophie.
“I see you are introducing my future wife to the niceties of polite society.”
Sophie looked at Elise, who said, “I do believe he is blaming you.” Leaning into Sophie, Elise added in a loud whisper, “Just like a man, wouldn't you say?”
The gales of laughter that swept the room increased when Elise gripped the seat of the chair with one hand, while clutching her glass with the other, and began scrambling to her feet. Marcus reached to assist her. She batted his hand away and rose onto unsteady feet. She swayed, grabbed the back of the chair, and leveled her gaze on him.
“Now see here, Marcus MacGregor, we'll have none of your lectures tonight.” She pushed at his chest with the hand that held the glass. “Lady Whycham and I are enjoying ourselves and we don't need you or anyone else telling us what we should do. Isn't that right, Sophie?”
“Right,” agreed Sophie. “We don't need you or anyone else.”
“If you will excuse us.” Elise reached down and grasped Sophie's hand. She pulled, nearly falling onto Sophie before finally helping her to her feet. Sophie smoothed her skirts as Elise faced Marcus. “Lady Whycham and I are going to see to the preparations for the banquet.”
Shoving her glass into his hand, she headed for the door, Sophie on her heels. A picture of the two women falling down the stairs and breaking their lovely necks flashed in his mind, and Marcus sat the glass on his desk and started after them. The men parted for the ladies, stepping back an extra pace when he charged past. He grabbed the women as they reached the stairs, pushing Sophie toward his son and scooping Elise into his arms.
“Put me down!” she sputtered, but he ignored her, hurrying down the stairs and into the great hall. When he reached the table, he dropped her into a chair.
“He's peeved,” Elise commented to Sophie, who had been set in the chair beside hers.
“Serves him right,” she replied.
Marcus stifled an oath and ordered a kettle of tea. When the strong brew began to clear their senses, he watched with satisfaction as they rubbed their temples.
“Brute,” Elise muttered, casting a dark glance in his direction. She rose and headed for the stairs, adding loud enough for all to hear, “I wager Sophie agrees with me.”
“Damnation, Elise,” Sophie paused in rising, “must you shout?” She, too, started for the steps.
Elise paused at the stairs and glanced over her shoulder. Marcus met her gaze, but she only shook her head and turned to go up the stairs.
“You're to be married in two days,” Sophie said, taking the first step behind her. “Perhaps you should give serious thought to your decision, Elise.”
Marcus jumped from his seat at the table. By God, he would strangle her. He strode across the room. Halting at the bottom of the stairs, he called up to them, “Sophie, you would do well to keep your thoughts to yourself.” His voice echoed up the narrow staircase and both women halted, covering their ears.
“Of all the nerve,” Sophie complained as they started up again. “Marcus, I never knew you to be so perverse. Mayhap you should reconsider, Elise. I wonder if any of us know him at all.”
Marcus took the stairs two at a time and, in a flash, reached Sophie's side. “You will retire to your chambers now, Cousin,” he growled.
Grasping her elbow, he hurried her up the stairs ahead of him until they reached Elise. Marcus grabbed her elbow with his other hand and forced them up the remaining steps ahead of him. He escorted them down the corridor until they reached Elise's chambers. He shoved Sophie in the direction of her room, opened Elise's door, and thrust her inside.
“Don't leave this room the remainder of the evening. I will have dinner sent up.”
Elise mumbled something unintelligible as he clicked the door shut behind him.
When Marcus reentered the hall a moment later, the low laugher of the men cut short. Those sitting at the table seemed absorbed in the odd task of examining the tabletop. Marcus looked closer as he neared them and discerned the collective struggle to keep from bursting into laughter.
“Out with it!” he boomed. “I couldn't live with the guilt of someone bursting a blood vessel.”
No one made a peep, and he threw his hands into the air and headed for the sanctuary of his library. When he was halfway up the stairs, the hall filled with laughter. Marcus paused, torn between cursing the men and joining them, then shook his head and hurried up the stairs.
* * *
At the light tap on his library door, Marcus ceased speaking to Harris. The door opened and Sophie peered inside.
“Oh,” she said, “forgive me. I didn't know you were busy.”
She started to back away and Harris said, “We can finish later, Marcus. I have enough here to begin work.” He lifted his notebook to indicate his notes.
“No,” Sophie began, but Marcus waved her in. Harris rose, bowed to Sophie, then left them alone. She seated herself in the chair Harris had occupied, and said, “You seem to have accomplished a great deal this morning.” She motioned to the open ledger on his desk.
“I rise early,” he replied.
“It is a beautiful morning.”
Marcus gave her an appraising look. “I would think after yesterday evening that this morning would not be so pleasant for you.”
Sophie smiled. “I have a strong constitution, as you well know.” She settled back against the cushion and regarded him. “Do not say you are truly angry with me.”
“Shocked. As Justin would be, I wager.”
“My God!” she exclaimed. “Mayhap Elise was right.”
“Right about what?” he asked sharply.
“She commented on the puritanical characteristic of the MacGregors.”
Marcus tossed aside the quill he'd been holding and lounged in his chair. “I assume this is in reference to me?”
“You were the original topic of conversation. But never mind that. I like Elise.”
“Aye?”
“Yes. She told me the harrowing story of how she came to be here. I am curious, though, what it is she is omitting.”
“What do you mean?”
Sophie's expression softened. “It is plain you care for her.”
“Sophie—”
“Don't become annoyed with me, Marcus. We have known one another too long for such foolishness. I am pleased you have found a woman to care for, and approve of the match.”
Marcus raised a brow.
She gave him a dry look. “You comprehend what I mean. Now, tell me, what is she hiding?”
He took a deep breath. “I have yet to find out.”
Sophie smoothed her dress. “She isn't given to talking about herself, even half in her cups. Which do you think is most likely: that she has committed a crime or has run away from her husband? Either one would allow for her gentle upbringing.”
He prayed to God she hadn't run away from a husband. What would he do if that were the case?
“Those are not the only possibilities,” Marcus said. “It may be her husband was in debt and she has no means to repay the creditors.”
“Quite right,” Sophie said. “I hadn't thought of that.”
Thus far, his investigations had turned up no record of a ship sinking in Solway Firth, nor had any ship
docked in the firth. There had, however, been a terrible storm the day before Shannon and Josh found Elise. The ship may have sunk as Elise said. The report of ships docking in Edinburgh and London gave no clues as to what ship she might have sailed on. The report on ships leaving Boston harbor had yet to reach him.
Marcus focused on his cousin. “I will have no meddling in this affair, Sophie.”
She wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Of course not.”
“I am serious,” he added.
“Marcus, I don't interfere in the affairs of others.”
He gave her a reproachful look.
She screwed one side of her mouth into a wry smile. “Not really, I don't, and you cannot deny that I have never interfered in your life.”
“True.”
“But that doesn't mean I can't see what is happening. What measures have you taken to discover the truth?”
“That is nothing you need concern yourself with.”
Sophie sighed. “I feared you would say that. Marcus. I like the girl. Still, I would ask that you inform me if any… problems arise.”
“I will keep your request in mind,” he said, and wished her a good day.
* * *
Her wedding day brought with it all the promise of a hailstorm in June. Wind blew in clouds so dark, it looked as though God's wrath would rain down upon them. Elise sent up a prayer of thanks for Sophie's experienced hands. She held her breath while Sophie deftly fastened the buttons that went from the neckline of the yellow silk gown to the small of her back.
“There.” Sophie gave a final tug to smooth out the dress. Elise turned as Sophie reached for the matching lace veil. “Look at this beautiful work.”
“Yes,” Elise agreed. “Winnie is a master needlewoman.”
Sophie smiled and positioned the veil's band atop Elise's hair. The lace fell to her waistline. A lace overskirt continued the illusion of fog amid petals to the floor. Sophie stepped back. Elise watched her soon-to-be-cousin, touched by the genuine pleasure on her face.
“Lovely.” Sophie's expression sharpened. “Well, Cousin, you've done it now.”
Elise glanced at the clock on her mantel. “I still have half an hour.”
“A full thirty minutes in which to explain to Marcus why you changed your mind.”
Elise jerked her gaze onto the countess.
“Come now, you know your anxiety is only due to the gravity of the vows you will take.” A gleam appeared in Sophie's eyes. “Unless you fear you cannot keep your vows.”
“You MacGregors,” Elise began, then amended, “Ashlunds,” at the look on Sophie's face. “Born troublemakers.”
“A long line of troublemakers.” Her mouth assumed an impish grin. “Perhaps you are nervous about the wedding night? I have not once seen Marcus making his way to your room.”
“Good Lord! Is nothing sacred?”
“No,” she said, then picked up the bouquet that lay on the bed.
Elise looked again at the clock, then back at Sophie. “I still have twenty-five minutes. Sophie,” she began, but Sophie cut her off.
“I will await you in the drawing room.”
Elise smiled her thanks. As Sophie closed the door behind her, Elise seated herself on the couch. Twenty-five minutes from now, the key that bound her soul to Amelia and Steven would lay at the bottom of the sea with them. She had considered using her position once she married to quietly bring about Price's fall, but had recalled Marcus's words “The thirst for revenge will eat a man alive.” The same was true of a woman.
She was trading Steven and Amelia's rest for Marcus's safety. May they forgive her.
Chapter Sixteen
At sight of Marcus dressed in a new kilt, a crisp, white lawn shirt meticulously tucked into his waistband and buttoned to the neck, and a bonnet cocked to one side, Elise faltered the last few steps from where he stood at the altar. In minutes, this man would be her husband. Her gaze met his and she saw there an intensity that demanded she leap into his arms from across the final precipice that separated them. Her knees weakened. Marcus held out his hand. She flushed and dropped her gaze.
He grasped her hand in a firm grip, turning with her to face Father Whyte. The priest spoke the Latin vows slowly, then patiently waited until she repeated them as he had coached. Marcus repeated his vows and, before Elise realized it, he slipped a large emerald onto her finger. The ring was a size too large, but her heart skipped a beat at the weight of the jewel and the cool of the metal encircling her finger. Father Whyte gave the final blessing and a shout went up when Marcus took her in his arms. Her attention jerked from the emerald to him as he finalized the ritual with their first kiss as husband and wife.
Hand on her back, Marcus guided her around to face the guests who stood cheering. He urged her down the aisle and out the chapel doors. The crowd waiting outside shouted in exultation, and those following joined in more shouts. Waves, squeals, and cries of good wishes followed them to the castle. Marcus opened the postern door and Elise stepped inside.
With a sweep of her gaze, Elise took in the gold and purple swags adorning the walls, the velvet surfaces softening the light cast by sconces burning from holders erected while she slept last night. On the far side of the room, hung on each end of the wall, were two intricately woven tapestries depicting Highland men in battle. The table was laden with food, and serving girls dodged guests who had arrived too late to find space near the chapel. Another cheer went up and several women hurried forward, grasped Elise's arms, and whisked her across the room to a place near the hearth. She was instantly surrounded. Sophie stood among their ranks and she gave Elise a knowing look. Elise turned to see Marcus reach the opposite side of the room, a glass of whiskey already in hand, his friends clapping him on the back.
The men spoke loudly and, despite the din, Elise caught bits and pieces of their bawdy suggestions for the wedding night. Her female companions giggled, all but Sophie, whose mouth twitched, and Elise realized they, too, had heard the advice given her husband. Her cheeks warmed and she wished very much for the quiet of her bedchambers. Her bedchambers. Goose pimples prickled her arms. Their bedchambers. She would occupy the lady's chambers, but she wouldn't sleep there. The look in Marcus's eyes when the priest had pronounced them man and wife had dispelled any doubts about their wedding night. Sophie was right; she'd done it now.
Serving girls emerged from the kitchen, trays piled high with lamb, beef, chicken, delicately stuffed quail and wild pheasant. Salmon, perch, flounder and whitefish followed, all caught from the fresh waters of Loch Katrine and Lock Lommund. On the way to the castle, Elise had glimpsed the wagons loaded with meats, cheeses, fruits and vegetables that would be carted to the village so that all who had crossed MacGregor land for the wedding could partake in the festivities.
She had overheard Marcus give instructions for fine liquors to be included in the bounty. Elise glanced his way. He stood among the warriors and peasants as though among equals. Who, but the wealthy—those who need not worry for tomorrow's bread—stood so casually? And what of those who toil for the bread to feed those they love? something deep inside her whispered.
Her heart pricked. Idiot that she was, not until two days ago had she found the presence of mind to go to Marcus's library and research the Highland clan system. Knowledge is power, her father had said. She had forgotten that precept. Had she followed her head instead of her heart, the moment her traitorous heart had stirred at the sight of Marcus MacGregor she would have made it her business to know his business. A chill stole through her and settled in her gut. What good had that done her with Robert? His family was counted among the elite of Boston, yet he had been a murderer. Elise focused abruptly on the man and woman who stepped before her.
The woman offered a bundle wrapped in simple cloth. “For ye, m'lady,” she said in a thick accent.
Elise reflexively reached for the parcel. “Thank you.”
She untied the twine that bound the bundle. The knot loosed easily and th
e cloth fell away to reveal a finely stitched linen blanket. Elise slipped a finger beneath the material's folds and, grasping it between her fingers, ran them along the edge.
“It's beautiful,” she breathed, and opened the blanket to its full four feet. She placed the cloth covering on the hearth's mantel, then pressed the linen to her cheek. None finer had she found, even in the expensive boutiques of Boston. “How soft.” She looked questioningly at the woman.
The woman blushed. “We grow the flax. I harvest the reeds, then make the linen.”
Elise stared. She knew the arduous task of creating linen. As a young child, she had watched her great grandmother, a woman of seventy-two years, draw bundles of flax (straws pulled, not cut, her great grandmother stressed, for cutting made the stems useless) across boards filled with spikes set far enough apart to allow the flax stalks through but not the seed heads. That was but the beginning of the long process that led to the creation of the yarn used in the weaving.
Elise looked at the woman. “I've never seen finer work.”
The woman blushed deeper and glanced from her husband back to Elise. “'Tis a blanket for the bairn.”
“Bairn?”
The woman smiled. “The one sure to come next spring.”
Emotion shot through Elise. The memory of Amelia as a newborn, wrapped in swaddling cloth, flashed before her only to be replaced by Amelia's lifeless body wrapped in a white burial shroud.
Another child?
She jerked her gaze onto Marcus. As though aware of her alarm, he looked in her direction. His attention focused on the blanket she still pressed against her cheek. His eyes softened and she knew he realized the blanket's significance. Elise dropped the blanket from her cheek and looked back at the man and woman.
“Thank you,” she said in a hoarse voice.
The man looked at his wife, his pride in Elise's reaction taken as proof they had pleased the lord's bride. He gave a small bow and ushered his wife away. Elise turned and came face to face with Sophie.
“Shall I take that?” Sophie placed a hand on the blanket.
“Oh, Sophie,” she cried in a small voice, “what have I done?”