My Highland Love: Highland Lords Series (12 page)

Some minutes passed. At last, her soft cries
subsided and Marcus felt her chest expand with a deep breath. "A
piece of him died each day with Amelia. When she—" Elise fumbled in
her pocket. Marcus calmed the nervous search by placing his hand
over hers. She stilled.

Marcus brushed the tears away with a
thumb.

"I should have allowed Amelia to die in her
own home," Elise said when he'd finished. "Steven would still be
here."

"Steven suggested the doctor? He must have
been as anxious as you to see her recover."

"Of course," she answered crossly.

"Could you have stopped him?"

"He couldn't have gone without us. Yes. I
could have stopped him."

"Somehow, I doubt that."

"He was a determined fool," she cut in, "but
had I told him it was best—"

"He would have carried you onto the
ship."

"Damnable men," she muttered.

"What of Amelia's father?"

"He did not survive."

That Marcus knew, but he found it strange
that Elise's story didn't include her husband. Too painful, he
realized, and said, "I'm sorry, lass."

"Fate is strange," she murmured.

"You can't blame yourself for their deaths,"
Marcus said.

"You would be amazed at what I can do."

Marcus felt a tremor pass through her. He
hugged her closer. "Dinna' say more."

"Seems a bit late for that," she remarked in
a dry tone.

He sighed. "Lass, you could remain here quiet
all night and I wouldna' complain."

She looked up at him. "It is not… common—for
a brother and sister, that is—but Steven was my friend. I shall
never find that kind of trust again."

His gaze fell on her left hand and the spot
where he knew the scar was on her palm's edge. She hadn't escaped
the fire completely unharmed. He took the hand, lifted it to his
lips and kissed the scar. He placed the hand around his waist, then
slid a hand into her hair and tilted her head upward.

"Are ye sure?" he asked.

Her mouth parted with quiet surprise. He had
promised himself he wouldn't touch her. Yet his head lowered and
his mouth covered hers of its own volition. Elise offered no
resistance when he parted her lips with his tongue. He tightened
his hold, the fire in him hot. Still, he kept the kiss soft, his
tongue thrusting gently in her mouth. She relaxed. His groin
tightened and he ended the kiss. He sighed. His only choice now was
to take her home or
take
her there.

Chapter Seven

"Are you sure?"

The memory of Marcus's warm breath brushing
her skin as he whispered the question made Elise shiver. She
squinted up at thick morning sunlight streaming down between heavy
storm clouds. Daylight brought no more clarity than had the
sleepless night. She paused at the rock, which marked the halfway
point on the hill between Brahan Seer and the village, and sat
down. She worked the boot from her left foot.

"Infernal pebbles." She turned the boot
upside down and shook the irksome item free.

The pebble hit the stony ground with a click.
Elise strained to see it, then, shaking her head, stuck her foot in
the boot and tugged. Her heel caught on the heel grip. She tugged
harder but to no avail.

"Good Lord." She jumped to her feet.

She stomped her foot on the ground. The heel
jammed even harder on the heel grip and her foot turned, tumbling
her to the ground. She sat for a moment, surveying the skirts
thrown up around her thighs, and sighed. Drawing her knees to her,
Elise tugged the skirts down over her legs. She propped an elbow on
one knee and placed her chin on the heel of a palm.

Foolish endeavor. All the peevishness in the
world wouldn't change the fact she wanted him—more than
that—hungered for him. Last night had passed in snatches of erotic
dreams with Marcus suckling her breasts, then sliding down along
her belly and finally between her legs.

Even in better days, Robert hadn't moved her
as Marcus had by simply holding her close as he had last night. Her
pulse quickened. She had nearly blurted Robert's name. How many
more days—and nights—could she hazard with Marcus MacGregor?

* * * *

Marcus glanced at the hearth as he entered
his library. The fire burned low but cast enough light so he could
make his way through the shadowy darkness to his desk. He lit the
candle sitting there and seated himself before an open ledger.
Despite the hour, sleep eluded him.

He laughed. "It wouldn't be the taste of
Elise's lips that has your mind churning?" he mused, but knew good
and well his cock and not his mind was doing the
churning
.
He forced his attention to the numbers.

Sometime later, Marcus glanced at the hearth,
abruptly aware of a chill in the room. The fire had all but
expired. He rose and went to the fireplace. He threw a log on the
dying embers and stoked them. After hooking the poker in the
holder, he lowered himself into the armchair beside the hearth.
Stretching his legs out before him, he crossed ankle over ankle and
relaxed against the cushion. Heat slowly worked its way up his
body. He closed his eyes and dozed.

Marcus jerked awake, aware someone had
entered the room. He glanced at the mantel clock. Just after two.
Who would invade his library at this hour? The shadow cast by the
intruder's taper glided across the wall then came to a halt. He
heard the clink of the brass holder being placed on his desk and
twisted to peer around the edge of his chair. His body tightened
when he saw the prowler was none other than the
Caesg
responsible for his sleepless night.

Elise stood, wrapped in a
plaide
blanket, perusing the books on the shelf behind his desk. His gaze
dropped to the shoulder laid bare where blanket and chemise had
slipped to her arm.

She shivered and drew the blanket closer
about her shoulders as she glanced in the direction of the hearth.
Their eyes met and he grinned. She started.

Her eyes flashed. "It's extremely impolite to
spy on people. Or didn't your mother teach you manners?"

"Aye, love." He grinned even wider. "But you
made such a pretty picture standing there, I couldna' help myself.
'Tis verra' unfortunate you spied me so soon."

Her eyes narrowed in the instant before she
whirled and headed for the door. Marcus jumped up and, in four long
strides, stepped in front of her.

"Now, lass," he drawled in an even thicker
brogue, "you wake a man in the middle of the night, then run away
so quickly? 'Tis no' verra' bonnie of you, and you are a verra'
bonnie lass."

Elise gave him a dry look. "I warn you,
Marcus MacGregor, step aside."

He grinned. She was in a fit all right and he
felt the desire to see her at full sail.

"Come, love," he said, "what will ye do?"

She didn't answer and his curiosity piqued at
the realization that the wheels in her head were turning at a
furious rate.

"Do you plan to stand there all night?" she
finally said.

He raised a brow and her expression darkened.
Marcus gave a hearty laugh. "Do you expect me to capitulate to so
easily?" He laughed even harder. "Lass," he shook his head, "you
are—" Marcus halted when she started forward.

He reached to grab her shoulders, thinking
she meant to escape after all, then realized her intention even as
her foot snaked around his boot and yanked. He fell to his backside
with a heavy thud. Stunned, he blinked up at her. He suddenly
realized how Declan must have felt. Perhaps she did need a lesson.
Her gaze darted to the door.

"Should have thought of that before you laid
me on my arse," he said. "You have no chance of getting past me
without my bringing you to the carpet with me." Marcus looked down
the length of her. "A prospect which has its appeal."

She leapt back, but he caught the edge of her
blanket and yanked it free.

He took in the bare arms, the hint of rosy
nipples beneath the thin night rail, and the shadow cast by the
curls between her thighs. Elise glanced down at her scantily clad
body. She flushed and an answering flash of heat coursed through
him.

"This is unkind of you," she said.

"Unkind?" Marcus cocked a brow. "You dare
send me to my backside then lecture me on the etiquette of
kindness?"

"A gentleman does not strip a lady of her
clothes."

Marcus stood and tossed the blanket well out
of her reach. "I have not stripped a lady of her clothes—yet."

Her brow knit and he read genuine indecision
in her expression. She took a step back.

Lesson learned, he thought, and started for
the blanket, but the sight of a slow smile on her lips halted
him.

"Why, Marcus, you fraud. Trying to teach me a
lesson."

His heart rate kicked up. Had she no idea
what her soft tone did to him? "Love," he scooped her to him, "'tis
not the lesson I would teach ye, given the chance."

To his surprise, she didn't pull away but
wrapped her arms around his neck. "What lesson would that be,
milord?"

He slid a hand up her back and wrapped his
fingers in her soft, brown hair. He brought his mouth slowly down
on hers. She sighed. He deepened the kiss. She pressed closer. He
cupped her buttocks and backed her against the door. He tugged at
the strap of her nightgown, pulling it down over her arm. Elise
moved her fingers in light movements along his arm.

Marcus groaned. "You keep me on the precipice
between heaven and hell."

He bent and took a taut nipple in his mouth,
drawing on the pink bud through the fabric of her nightgown. She
gripped his shoulders and arched toward him. Marcus ran a flattened
palm up her thigh and across the roundness of her buttocks. He
continued down to the underside of her knee, then lifted her leg
over his hip. The nightgown rucked up and he rubbed the hard length
of him between her legs. She gasped. He trailed moist kisses from
neck to ear. She softened against the motion and contours of his
body. He became aware of her breasts pressed to his chest, the
nipples brushing in tantalizing strokes as he rocked gently against
her.

"Elise—" Marcus froze at hearing footsteps in
the hallway.

She opened her eyes, confusion mingled with
the clouded look of desire. He yanked her away from the door and
stepped in front of her as it swung open and a warrior entered.

"Forgive the interruption, laird." The man
kept his gaze on Marcus's face. "A rider from Drummond territory is
demanding to see you. Says it's important."

Fear displaced passion.
Drummond. At this
hour? Had the old chief finally died?

Marcus gave the man a curt nod. "See him to
the hall."

The door closed and Marcus faced Elise. Her
cheeks were flooded with color. She had pulled the nightgown straps
back over her shoulders and her arms were crossed over her breasts.
He reached for her, but she stiffened.

"You have a guest waiting," she said.

He clasped her arm and directed her the few
steps to where the discarded
plaide
lay on the carpet.
Marcus released her and bent to pick it up. He settled the blanket
around her shoulders, drawing her close once again.

"One more stolen moment, aye?" he asked.

Marcus wrapped his arms around her, pinning
her arms between them, and kissed her. She breathed through parted
lips, and he answered the invitation with a slow thrust of his
tongue. He gently drew out her passion until she trembled with the
final tracing of his tongue along her lips. He forced himself from
her. Her head fell to his shoulder, and relief mixed with the lust
still churning in him. He waited, unwilling to part even for his
old friend.

She raised her head. "I should go."

Marcus walked with her to the stairwell that
led to her chambers. He gave her a final kiss on the cheek. "Go,
love." He urged her up the first step.

He watched the sway of the blanket until she
disappeared around the bend, then turned on his heel and headed for
the great hall.

* * * *

Distant footsteps sounded in the hallway
outside the drawing room where Elise sat. She looked up from the
book she was reading. Surely Marcus hadn't returned from the fields
so early? She hadn't seen him since last night. If he were to catch
her here alone… would they finish what they'd started? The
footsteps stopped in front of the door. Her heart thudded. The door
swung open and a petite woman, smartly dressed in a burgundy velvet
riding habit trimmed in gold, stood in the doorway.

"Have tea served here," the woman ordered
Mary, who stood behind her. The woman concentrated on the gloves
she peeled from small, elegant hands. "I am hungry, as well. The
ride this morning—" She looked up, her gaze on Elise, and she
halted the tug on her glove.

No warmth shone in the woman's blue eyes and
Elise wondered that such porcelain-like beauty should be marred
with a statue's coldness. The woman's expression turned
appraising.

"Do Brahan Seer's servants habitually lounge
in the drawing room during the day?"

"Just myself," Elise replied.

The woman's gaze sharpened. She stared for a
moment, then waved a dismissive hand at Mary.

"Thank ye, Lady Margaret." Mary bobbed a
curtsy and backed out of the room, leaving Elise alone with the
stranger and an increasing sense of apprehension.

Elise rose, hugging the book to her
breast.

"You are American." Lady Margaret yanked off
the remaining glove.

Elise halted. "I am."

"How long do you think you can hold his
interest?"

Elise frowned. "What—" She froze.

"Let us get to the point," Lady Margaret said
in crisp tones. "He is a man, and there are certain things we must
accept in men."

Anger heated Elise's belly, but she replied
in a cool tone, "Perhaps we have different standards."