Wicked Highland Lords: Over 1100 pages of Scottish Regency Romance

by Tarah Scott

  So, Sara McPhee hadn't taken the ring. “You did right,” he said.

  Gratitude flickered across her features, then she went on. “When we reached the point where they were gaining on us, more men appeared from within the trees and intercepted us.” Tears streamed down her cheeks. “Your men fought valiantly. Price shot Richard and Taylor.”

  Two of the men he had planned on hunting down and killing. “They were good men.”

  “Price pulled me from the carriage. He left Mary inside. The men…” Elise faltered. “Three—no—four of them, they were beaten half senseless, then the carriage was run off the cliff.”

  Marcus's mind raced. The woman who he thought was Elise must have been put in the carriage after it crashed into the water. What poor soul had Ardsley snatched from her life to take Elise's place?

  “The other man,” Elise rushed on, “I don't remember his name.” She turned an anguished look on him. “I should remember his name.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “I don't know. Price forced laudanum down my throat. I awoke aboard a ship. He made threats. I didn't fear his threats against me, but…”

  “He threatened me?” Marcus asked quietly.

  “Yes. But…” she halted and he saw the agony on her face.

  “Kiernan?” he pressed.

  “Not him…” Her gaze dropped again and she said in a whisper, “Your other child.”

  “My other—” Marcus fell back a pace, feeling as though he had collided headlong with a horse racing toward him at breakneck speed. “What are you saying?”

  Elise was shaking. “I-I couldn't be sure so early on. I had missed my monthly flux by only a week. When Price told me he knew, I was so startled that he instantly knew.”

  Marcus grasped Elise by the shoulders. “You are with child?”

  She slumped in his grasp and began crying so hard that Marcus was shaken to the core.

  “Elise,” he insisted with more gentleness.

  “The laudanum.” She forced back the tears. “They fed me laudanum every day—every hour, it seemed.” She appeared to deflate even more. “I lost the child.”

  Hot rage flashed in a thick lightning bolt of red across his vision. He had sat across from Ardsley, stared into his eyes, and all along the bastard had known he was responsible for the loss of the child—my child. Yet the man had returned his stare and smiled.

  “If I faced Ardsley now—” Marcus cut off the statement at seeing the sudden terror on Elise's face, but her expression said she understood all too well the unfinished words. Nothing could stop me from killing him—nothing will stop me from killing him. The oath never to set foot on American soil again rang in his head—a vow he would break.

  “This is why I didn't tell you the truth before our marriage.” Tears streamed down her cheeks. “I am sorry. I realized too late you would st-stop at nothing to—”

  Marcus crushed her to him. Her body melted against his and he prayed the action was the first in the weakening of the wall between them.

  * * *

  Marcus shifted his gaze from the flames in the hearth of his London study to the Earl of Loudoun. The shocked expression on the earl's face when Marcus had laid the edict signed by King George on the desk was far better revenge than any Marcus could have devised.

  “You drag me here for this rubbish?” Loudoun demanded.

  “By King George's command,” Marcus replied evenly.

  “Ridiculous,” he muttered.

  “Would you have preferred I continue to take matters into my own hands?”

  The look on Loudoun's face said he would have preferred just that.

  “You do not seem to comprehend,” Marcus said. “I tire of the fight. It will end one way or another. I can raze every keep between Brahan Seer and Castle Kalchurn. You cannot doubt I have the power.”

  “You have the power,” Loudoun snarled.

  “Yet you crave the war—a war you would most assuredly lose.”

  “We have not yet lost,” Loudoun snapped.

  “You have not won.”

  “The Campbells are a force to be reckoned with.”

  “How many more of your men must die to prove that?”

  The earl's mouth tightened.

  “You need not love a single MacGregor for us to live in peace, Loudoun.”

  “We cannot live in peace.”

  “King George disagrees.” Marcus motioned to the document. “You may keep this copy. Copies have been sent to every Campbell leader of consequence.”

  Loudoun placed the tips of his fingers on the paper, then slowly slid it inch by inch into his hand until it formed a ball. He abruptly threw the paper at Marcus. Marcus didn't flinch when the paper rebounded from his chest and landed on the floor.

  “A law purchased with Ashlund gold,” Loudoun sneered.

  Marcus held his gaze. It mattered not if Loudoun knew that half the Ashlund fortune had been the final bargaining price that induced King George to sign the law condemning both Campbell and MacGregor to death for murdering any man—or woman—from the opposing clan. A sense of weary finality washed over Marcus. Ashlund gold had bought MacGregor freedom, but it was the wisdom of one MacGregor so long ago that had illuminated this better path.

  “Bought with MacGregor blood,” Marcus murmured, then louder, “and Campbell blood.”

  The earl rose in one graceful motion. “Forgive me, Lord Ashlund, but I find it likely King George will countermand this foolishness with the next turn of wind. He will find fault with you and your clan soon enough.”

  Marcus gave a short laugh. “I wager King George would be just as pleased to find fault with you as he would with me.”

  Loudoun's face reddened. He whirled and headed for the door.

  “Loudoun,” Marcus called.

  The earl halted and faced him.

  “I will make sure King George enforces this edict.”

  Loudoun's lip curled upward. “Even if it takes every last crown in the Ashlund vault.”

  “Even if it takes every last crown.”

  Loudoun turned and left the room.

  Only a moment passed before the library door opened again. Marcus turned from staring at the hearth and smiled as Elise's head appeared around the edge of the door.

  “I saw the earl leave,” she said. “How did the meeting go?”

  “As to be expected.”

  “Your son is waiting to speak with you.”

  Marcus raised a brow. “Why not come himself?”

  She laughed, opening the door another inch but didn't enter. “He tells me you forbade him so many things when he last saw you he fears forgetting one of your rules.”

  “He has done as I instructed and we're in London, after all. He has free reign here.” Marcus grimaced. “Nae, 'tis best you not repeat that.” He regarded her. “Do you intend on standing in the doorway the entire day?”

  Elise blushed and opened the door fully. She wore a simple gown of soft turquoise muslin. This was the most festive dress she had worn since returning from Boston. Perhaps she was truly beginning to forgive herself—and him. The softness in her eyes gave him hope.

  She remained in the doorway. “I'll send Kiernan to you.”

  “Will you return later?” Marcus asked as she started to turn.

  She looked at him. Her expression displayed some of the shy reticence he had seen during those first months at Brahan Seer

  “Perhaps,” she replied with the hint of a smile, and turned to close the door.

  Marcus's gaze fell upon the mail he had received just before Loudoun arrived. A letter from Boston lay at the bottom of the mix.

  “Elise,” he called.

  She paused and looked over her shoulder.

  “Have Kiernan meet me in the stables in fifteen minutes. I have something to attend to and I planned a ride before lunch. He can accompany me.”

  She nodded and left him alone.

  Marcus seated himself at his desk and fished the Boston le
tter from the pile. He tore open the envelope and removed a letter, two folded newspaper clippings, and a sealed envelope addressed to Elise. He laid the two letters aside and unfolded one of the newspaper clippings. The title read:

  November 10, 1826

  The Wellington leaves Boston harbor carrying twenty-five American convicts headed for Australia.

  Marcus scanned the report, which listed the twenty-five men, their crimes, and sentences.

  He picked up the second clipping and unfolded it. The report read:

  November 10, 1826

  BOSTON SHIPPING MOGUL MISSING

  Boston shipping mogul Price Ardsley, recently charged by the board of directors of Landen Shipping with fraud, has been missing since November 9. Landen Shipping contends that Ardsley fled the country to avoid prosecution.

  The night Price Ardsley disappeared, Mister Jacob O'Riley reported witnessing two men outside Ardsley's estate accost a lone rider. A hood was thrown over the victim's head, then he was tied and thrown into the back of a carriage driven by his two assailants.

  William Sheldon of the Boston Police Department interviewed Mister O'Riley but determined the event O'Riley witnessed is not connected with the disappearance of Price Ardsley.

  Anyone having information about Mister Ardsley's whereabouts is directed to report to Captain Sheldon immediately.

  Marcus reread the first clipping. Price Ardsley in Australia. Heated satisfaction shot through him. So, he would not have to return to America after all. He refolded the two clippings, slipped them back in their envelope, then opened the letter and began reading.

  Ashlund,

  Six weeks have passed, and I am fully recovered from the knife wound you inflicted. Had the doctors not insisted on the long convalescence, I would have caught the next ship bound for Scotland and run a dagger through your leg for good measure.

  I imagine you've read the newspaper clippings I sent. Strange things are afoot. I can't say what lies ahead. Though I feel certain Price Ardsley won't be in a position to pay anyone to kill another man—or two men, as the case may be—again in the near future.

  See that Elise gets the letter addressed to her.

  Take care of her.

  Steven

  Marcus refolded the letter and placed it in the envelope with the clippings. He took the letter addressed to Elise and went to her chambers. He sighed upon finding her room empty. Perhaps when he returned she would be here and… He left the letter on her dresser, then headed for the stables.

  Marcus heard the approach of footsteps even as Elise called out his name. He exchanged a glance with Kiernan before turning from the stall where his son was saddling the stallion he had chosen to ride. As she hurried down the stable aisle toward them, Marcus's heart began to hammer out the heavy beat he had been experiencing more and more of late when in her presence. He noticed a letter—Steven's letter—tightly clutched in her hand.

  Elise had nearly reached them when she lifted the letter. “This came today?”

  “Aye,” Marcus replied.

  “Steven says he is fully recovered and out of the hospital.” She stopped beside Marcus. Her expression clouded over. “Marcus, please, don't lie. How bad was the wound? Is it possible he truly is out of danger?”

  “I told you the truth, love,” he said. Except for the fact Steven had turned at just the wrong moment and the knife Marcus had thrown pierced the breastbone above the heart instead of his arm, as intended. Marcus shuddered inwardly as he always did when remembering how close he came to killing his wife's brother—and how close the brother came to killing his own son.

  “The wound wasn't life threatening.” Or so the doctors said two days later, when Steven began to show signs of recovering from the loss of blood. Marcus would have arrived back in Scotland a week earlier had he not tarried in Boston to assure himself the boy would recover.

  Kiernan stuck his head out the stall. Elise jumped, bumping into the small table against the wall. The brush and trimming scissors lying on the table skittered across its surface. She quickly righted the table before they fell to the floor and looked at Kiernan. He flushed and Marcus knew his son was remembering his part in nearly getting killed, and nearly getting Steven killed. Marcus had also feared Elise wouldn't forgive Kiernan's part in her brother's brush with death. But she had, or so her warmth toward the boy seemed to indicate.

  Would her warmth eventually extend to him? Would she forgive him? He wouldn't forget the sight of her pale face when he told her how Kiernan had saved him and Steven from Price's assassins, and how Steven had mistaken Kiernan for those assassins. When Marcus gave her the short letter Steven had written for her, she noted the shaky hand the letter had been written in and wouldn't be completely consoled—until today.

  She blushed in response to Kiernan's embarrassment, and Marcus's body pulsed. He suddenly wished his son far away. Perhaps, if he and Elise were alone, she might allow him to make love to her. Marcus turned to Kiernan.

  “Mayhap you should go on without me.” He looked at Elise. “Will you walk with me?”

  She looked as though he had asked her to puzzle out the secret of the universe, and Marcus repressed a laugh. He extended his hand. She slipped her hand into his. He glimpsed a figure entering the door at the far end of the stables as they turned to leave.

  “Silas,” he called after the new stable hand, “see to Alexis. I won't be taking him out as planned.” Marcus turned back to Elise and urged her toward the door at the far end of the stables. “Did Steven have much to say?” he asked.

  “He will return to duty in the Army.” She hesitated. “He mentioned Price is missing.”

  “He cannot harm us, Elise.”

  Her gaze swung to his face. Her brow furrowed, then she nodded. They exited the door and took a few steps down the path before she exclaimed, “The letter!” and broke free of his hold on her hand. “I must have dropped it.”

  “Elise,” he called, but she had already disappeared back into the stables. Bloody hell, at this rate it would be another six weeks before he got his wife back to the house, much less into his bed. He strode back inside the stables.

  His heart jumped into his throat. In the instant before he broke into a run toward Elise, he took in the sight of Kiernan riding through the stable doors, Silas stepping from the stall next to the door, knife poised for throwing, and Elise grabbing the trimming scissors from the table. She hurled them toward Silas as she had thrown the sgian dubh that day at Brahan Seer.

  The scissors hit their intended victim with deadly accuracy between the shoulder blades. Blood darkened the dirty shirt he wore. Silas faltered and turned, eyes wide with surprise. His expression contorted into rage. He roared and lunged toward her. Kiernan whirled his mount around to face the sudden commotion. His gaze met Marcus's, then Kiernan shouted and dug his heels into his horse's ribs. The beast's nostrils flared as he dipped his head and charged. Marcus forced his legs to pump harder. Silas would still reach Elise before either of them did.

  She pivoted and grabbed the hoof pick hanging on the wall. The hair on Marcus's neck rose when Silas clutched at her. She swung the hoof pick. Kiernan reached them as she slashed Silas's arm. The horse slammed into Silas and he was knocked forward and into Elise. He grabbed her, but Marcus leapt between them, shoving her behind him. The table crashed onto its side and Elise cried out. Marcus seized Silas's collar and pounded his fist into the man's jaw.

  “Father,” Kiernan shouted as he leapt from his horse.

  Marcus swung Silas around and sent him flying through the door of the stall. Silas banged into the wall and crumbled to the ground. Marcus whirled to face Elise. His breath came in quick, deep gasps—much like hers. She met his gaze, eyes blazing. He looked at Silas. The scissors had fallen from his back onto the straw-laden ground beside him. Marcus looked back at Elise.

  “You never told me where you learned to throw a knife like that!” he shouted.

  She blinked as if yanked from a dream. “Steven—�
� her voice caught, but Marcus realized it was the last vestiges of fear—and rage. “Steven learned as a young boy. I-I always feared he would hurt himself, so I attended his practices.”

  Elise yanked her skirt above her ankles and strode to the stall opening. She stared at Silas, her hands clenched on the fistful of skirt she held. She pivoted as Marcus stepped up behind her and collided with him. He grasped her shoulders.

  She grabbed his arms as though to steady herself. “Will we ever be free of him?”

  In her eyes, Marcus saw the fear he had felt when he saw Silas poised to murder his son. Marcus glanced around and spotted the bucket of water he was looking for several stalls down. He fetched it, then pushed past Elise and Kiernan and threw the water on the unconscious man. Silas awoke with a sputter. Marcus seized him by his collar and yanked him to his feet.

  “Who sent you?” Marcus shouted.

  Silas cowed.

  “Tell me or I'll kill you here and now.”

  “That woman.” Silas cringed.

  “Woman?” Marcus gave him a hard shake.

  Silas went silent.

  “Kiernan! Give me your pistol.”

  “No,” Silas cried.

  Marcus lifted his fist for another blow.

  “Ross!” Silas shouted. “Lady Ross.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Elise stilled at the sound of Marcus's bedchamber door opening. She rose and stole through the closet which separated their two rooms, then knocked lightly on his door, and entered. He looked up from where he stood near the nightstand on the far side of the bed. Her heart lurched. She had suspected he kept a mistress, but seeing him now, hair tousled, cravat missing, the top button of his shirt undone, there was no mistaking the fact he had just risen from another woman's bed. The mental picture of Marcus kissing the rise of her breasts, then taking her nipple into his mouth filled her vision.