My Highland Love: Highland Lords Series (15 page)

"Margaret?" Marcus echoed.

Elise released an audible groan.

Cameron looked at him. "You should have seen
'em. Had I not arrived when I did—"

"It isn't funny," Elise snapped.

"Aye, lass"—his shoulders began to shake with
laughter—"it is."

"All this over a silly conversation with
Margaret?" Marcus demanded.

"It would seem so," Cameron said between fits
of laughter.

"I will put an end to Margaret's
troublemaking." Marcus muttered. His father had been right; he
should have dallied with the demimonde and left the noblewomen to
their own devices.

Elise grabbed Cameron's arm. "But, Cameron,"
she shook his arm, "it's not true."

"Wha—"

"She's lying," Elise insisted

Marcus's mind snapped to attention.

Cameron gave a final grunt, then sobered. He
focused on Marcus. "Is this true? I had thought—" he broke off with
a slight cough and a sideways glance at Elise.

Marcus swung his gaze onto Elise. "What are
you doing?"

"Marcus," Cameron cut him off.

Marcus looked at his father.

"Is it true?" Cameron repeated.

"Damn close," Marcus replied with force.

"Marcus!" Elise cried.

"Do not act as if it isn't true," he replied
irritably.

She shot to her feet. "You are no gentleman,
sir."

"Elise," his father said, "sit."

She cast a dark glance at Marcus. He raised a
brow, but she did as ordered and reseated herself.

Cameron addressed Marcus. "Is it true,
lad?"

"Aye, she speaks the truth."

"Margaret ought not to have lied." Cameron
gave Marcus a quick glance. "'Course, she had no way of knowing it
was a lie." He rubbed his chin. "If ye don't belong to Marcus—"

"Cameron!" Marcus strode across the room to
his father's side.

Elise leapt from her chair. "Be quiet, Marcus
MacGregor, and let your father speak."

"She may have a point," Cameron said.

Marcus kept his gaze on Cameron. "Father," he
growled, "you know my feelings on this."

"Aye, lad, but if you haven't done anything
about it yet—"

"Cameron—"

"I warn you, Marcus." Elise stalked toward
him. "Remain silent and let your father finish, or I'll…" she
stopped, looking wildly about the room. Her gaze stopped on the
weapons mounted on the wall, and she ran to them.

Marcus cast his father a look and they both
burst out laughing. Elise made a frustrated sound as she began
tugging on a scabbard containing a large sword. The weapon remained
fixed and she moved to another. That one didn't budge, nor the next
or the next.

"Elise, lass," Cameron said between howls of
laughter, "you're tugging on the scabbards." He laughed even
harder. "If you wish to draw a weapon"—he slapped the table with
his hand, "grab the"—he gasped with laughter—"hilt." He doubled
over with laughter. "By God," he wheezed, "are ye sure you're not
Irish, lass?"

"Irish?" She laid a hand on the hilt of a
lady's
sgian dubh
mounted above the swords she had already
tried. "You've never seen an Irish temper like my father's. Except,
perhaps"—she turned back to the wall—"mine."

Elise pulled the dagger free of its scabbard.
She stepped a pace from the wall, drew back, and threw the knife.
The
sgian dubh
whizzed between Marcus and his father,
entering the wooden table with a loud thwang.

Aside from a "Sweet mother of God" from the
kitchen doorway, silence reigned. Both men stared at the knife.

Marcus pulled the dagger free of the wood and
held it up, looking at her. "You missed."

She raised a brow. "I did not."

"Sweet mother of God," Cameron repeated.
"Where did you learn to throw a knife like that?"

She gave him a disgusted look.

"Are you sure you want her, Marcus?"

"Aye," he replied, not taking his eyes off
her.

Cameron slapped the table again. "A Celtish
woman who can throw a knife. I knew I liked you." He patted the
chair. "Come, sit."

Marcus tensed for the moment she studied them
before crossing to the chair and reseating herself.

Cameron leaned back in his chair. "Why didn't
you tell us you are Celt?"

"I didn't know it mattered."

He gave Marcus a satisfied look.

"What?" she demanded. "What has
happened?"

"'Tis as you said," Cameron said, "you fall
under Highland law. You're an Irishwoman. We are family."

"I am free to go, then?"

"Well," he answered slowly, "'tis not so
easy."

"But Winnie said any clansman who didn't
agree with their clan could leave."

Cameron's lips thinned. "I wouldn't speak of
Winnie. That isn't working in your favor."

"But—"

He shook his head. "She would be the first to
admit that she wasn't talking about women traipsing off alone."

"What?"

Cameron gave her a considering look. "Did she
not send Peter with you?"

"Yes, bu—"

"And did she not tell you it was a bad
idea?"

"I wouldn't say—"

Cameron raised a brow.

"I have a right to come and go as I
please."

"You're a woman," he insisted. "You must
submit to your lord."

She stiffened. "I have no lord. I am
unmarried."

"All women have a lord," he explained
gently.

Elise shook her head. "I am free."

"Aye, you are a free woman—not a slave—but I
am your lord."

"You? Ridiculous."

"You are under my roof. You are a part of
us."

"Cameron—"

"It would be wrong of me to let you go," he
interrupted gruffly. "You should never have run off in the first
place."

"But you were going to let me go," she
insisted.

He shrugged. "I was considering it, but I
hadn't made up my mind either."

Elise jumped up and whirled on Marcus. "This
is your fault."

"My fault? This was your idea."

"Now, lass," Cameron interjected, "tomorrow
Marcus will deal with Margaret and she'll never interfere
again."

Elise turned on Cameron. "Cameron,
please—"

He brought his palm down on the table.
"Enough." He looked to Marcus. "Marcus, take her upstairs and put
her to bed—once and for all."

Marcus took hold of her arm. She started to
resist, but Cameron gave a single shake of his head. Marcus prodded
her toward the stairs and her shoulders slumped.

"This is wrong," she said, taking the stairs
with deliberate slowness.

"It's finished," Marcus replied.

"You have nothing to say about it."

"I have been patient," he said, as they
reached the top of the stairs.

"I never asked for your patience."

He placed a hand on her back and urged her
down the hallway at a quicker pace. "Count yourself fortunate
that's what you've gotten. Now go to bed."

They came to a halt before her bedchamber
door.

"I'll go to bed when I am good and ready,"
she retorted.

Marcus leaned in close behind her. "Go to bed
before it's too late."

She shook her head.

"You play a dangerous game." He opened the
bedchamber door and shoved her inside.

"What the devil are you talking about?"

He stepped into the room, shutting the door
behind him. "By God, did your husband teach you nothing of respect?
What of trust"—desire flared to life inside him—"or…desire?"

Elise paled.

Marcus started at her sudden expression of
pain. "Bloody hell." He reached her side in an instant. "Forgive
me, love."

She turned away, but he grasped her
shoulders.

"Please go," she said, her head averted.

"Did you love him deeply?" Marcus asked. She
grasped his wrist and tried to disengage them from her hands, but
he tightened his grip. "Elise?"

She lifted her head and met his gaze.
"No."

Marcus blinked. Her eyes widened and he was
unsure if he read fear or remorse. "What happened?" he asked.

Her expression hardened. "That is none of
your concern."

"Mayhap, but I want the answer."

At first it seemed she wouldn't comply, then
in a tired voice, "Riley shouldn't have married. He didn't want the
ties of a wife, and certainly not the responsibilities of a
child."

"How can a man not love a beautiful wife who
gives him children in his own image?"

She dropped her gaze, but he didn't miss the
scarlet that crept up her cheeks.

"Elise."

"You have your answers. Now go."

With a finger, he forced her chin upwards.
"The man was a fool. How he could not want you—"

She twisted from his grasp. "I never said he
didn't want me. We had a daughter."

"A child need not come of passion."

She shot him a defiant look. "You tread on
dangerous ground."

He slid an arm around her back. "Tell me,
love, did he kiss you like this?"

Marcus pressed his mouth to hers, gently
caressing her lips with his. She squirmed, but he tightened his
hold. Slowly deepening the kiss, he parted her lips with his
tongue, tasting the hot moistness of her mouth and encouraging her
to enjoy him. Her breath quickened, and he slid wet kisses across
the smooth skin of her neck. He grazed a breast with his hand and
felt her sharp intake of breath. He kissed her mouth, harder this
time. At last, he released her.

Elise looked into his eyes, her expression
flat. "That is lust. Any man can feel lust."

"True," Marcus agreed. "And I can find a
woman to satisfy lust. But this is need. A need," he cupped her
bottom, pressing her to him, "born of strong desire, fueled by
something much deeper. This leads to true passion."

Keeping her close, he lifted her from the
floor and carried her to the bed. He settled her upon the bed, then
lay down beside her.

"This is a need so great it drives a man
wild." He stroked her neck. "That's what I felt our first meeting
in the meadow. You have no idea what you do to me." He nuzzled her
neck. "Even the ride home with you in my lap was painful." He
kissed her neck. She shook her head, but he went on. "Just the
thought of you incites me like a raging fire."

Marcus rolled onto her. He stroked her
shoulder, then slid his hand down to cover a breast. He kissed the
base of her neck. She gripped his shoulders and it seemed she would
resist. He slipped a finger inside her bodice and brushed a nipple.
Her hold tightened on his shoulders.

"Sweet," he whispered, "ye are beautiful. I
want you." He tugged her bodice down and grasped the nipple between
thumb and forefinger, rolling it gently. She arched a breath's
movement toward him. "Aye," he coaxed. "You want me." He moved
against her. "Tell me you want me. Come, sweet, surely you can give
me those simple words." He kissed her, moving against her more
ardently.

She abruptly shoved at him. He rocked against
her again. She shoved harder.

"No," she said in a voice hoarse with
effort.

"Wha—?" He tried to focus his eyes.

She arched.

"Elise." He buried his head in her hair.

"Get off me." Her fingernails pressed through
his shirt, biting into his shoulder.

Marcus lifted his head. "What has happened?
What's wrong?"

Elise pushed harder, grunting with the
useless effort. "I will not be your mistress."

He frowned. "I'm not asking you to be my
mistress."

She stopped pushing at him. "Then what is
this all about?"

"What does it look like?"

"Why don't you ask the woman you are going to
marry?"

"I would be glad to, if she would allow
it."

Elise stared. "What kind of man involves his
future wife with his mistress?" She began struggling again. "Let me
go!"

"Not until you explain what this is
about."

"I have told you."

"Nay. You've only spoken in riddles."

"I'm sure Margaret would not think it was
much of a riddle," she retorted.

"Margaret? You're still fretting about her
silly comments? I told you, tomorrow I will—" The horrified look on
Elise's face halted him.

"Marcus," she said in a trembling voice, "if
you have any feeling for me, you will not do this. Margaret made it
perfectly clear how she felt about you flaunting your
mistress—"

"Flaunting my mistress?" Anger flooded him.
"This is none of her bloody affair."

"None of her affair? For God's sake, you are
to marry her. I certainly wouldn't—"

"I what?"

Elise blanched.

"Margaret," he said through gritted teeth, "I
will wring your meddling little neck."

Elise bristled. "You have no right to be
angry just because she spoiled your plans."

"Aye, but I do."

"You think you can use women as pawns."

"Love—"

"Do not address me in that familiar fashion.
I tell you, I will not be your mistress." She struggled beneath
him. "I won't change my mind, no matter what you say."

Marcus caught her face between his hands. "No
matter what I say?"

She tried shaking her head, but he held her
firm.

"I am happy to hear that," he said. "For 'tis
not Margaret I intend to marry, but you."

Chapter Nine

A hard knock sounded on the door of Winnie's
cottage. Elise started from her concentration on the teacup Winnie
stood filling with hot water. They exchanged a questioning look
before Winnie called "Come in" as she turned and replaced the
kettle over the fire.

The door opened and Mary entered. She brushed
back the shawl thrown over her head as cover against the light rain
and addressed Elise. "Ye must come to the castle."

"Why?"

"'Tis the MacGregor's command."

Elise bristled. His imperious commands—her
stomach did a somersault—were those of a husband-to-be. She
summoned a believable amount of female condescension. "What does he
want?"