My Highland Love: Highland Lords Series (24 page)

"You would marry a stranger?" she
murmured.

Marcus froze.

"Take a lowly servant girl to wife."

He jerked his head up. "I wouldn't relegate
anyone to that status, least of all, you."

Her eyes unexpectedly softened. "I know, but
that doesn't change the differences in our classes."

"I care nothing for so-called classes. I care
about living life."

Her expression turned appraising. "Even you
did not flout that responsibility. Didn't you marry out of a sense
of duty?"

"Aye. Which is precisely why I will not do so
again."

Marcus crushed her lips to his. She didn't
protest this time, and he slid her from his lap and onto the couch.
Grasping her hand, he slipped it beneath his kilt and forced her
fingers around his erection.

Elise started.

"Nay," he breathed in her ear. "Do not run
from me. God, you haunt me at every turn." Releasing her fingers,
he yanked her dress up and reached between her legs. "Your body
responds to me without reservation. Let your heart follow. I
promise, I will love you."

He slipped a finger inside her slick heat.
Her grip on his shaft tightened convulsively. Marcus drew in a
sharp breath, gritting his teeth to keep from spending himself. He
removed his hand and slid on top of her, pressing his lips against
her ear.

"Guide me into you, sweet," he whispered.
"Let me show you how much I want you. Let me show you what love
is."

She did as he urged, and he caressed her with
his movements, his body meeting hers, arching away, then gently
thrusting again.

"Is marrying me so terrible?" he asked
against her neck.

She breathed deep. "No, but after the fact
you"—she gasped when he thrust with a quick motion—"you will regret
being chained to me."

Marcus laughed. "It will be the sweetest of
tortures." He drove deep again.

She cried out as her muscles clenched around
him.

"It's not as if you
need
to marry me."
She blurted in a strained voice. "I have not withheld myself from
you."

Marcus halted. Bracing a hand on either side
of her, he looked down at her. "I love you. I want you—need you."
He held her gaze as he moved slowly, nearly filling her, then
thrust quickly and pulled back.

"I haven't left you," she insisted.

"You withhold a part of yourself. If not, you
would be dragging me to the altar."

Elise reddened.

"You don't trust me." He kissed her ear.

She shook her head. "I cannot believe we are
having this discussion in the middle of… that is, I can't believe
we are-are doing this in the middle of a disagreement."

Marcus chuckled. "'Tis a new experience for
me, as well. But, if we must disagree, this is a most pleasant way
to do so." He slid his hands beneath her thighs, coaxing her legs
around his waist. "Aye." He buried his face in her hair at the nape
of her neck and drove into her. "I will protect you." He cupped a
breast—she was breathing hard now, she wanted him—needed him.

He thrust quicker. Her breathless response
told him she neared her pleasure. "You will be my wife, my
marchi—"

"Your servant girl made mistress of the
manor," she said.

Marcus jerked, his thrust going hard and
deep. Elise gasped. He remained inside her, full to the hilt. "Why
did you allow me to touch you?" he demanded. "Don't say it is
because I am lord and you are servant. We both know better. I have
the power to care for you, protect you."

At last, uncertainty shown in her
expression.

"As my wife, your security is assured. No
Campbells, or anyone else, can harm you."

"Nothing is that certain," Elise replied.

"I haven't failed you yet."

Her mouth parted in surprise.

He kissed her mouth and moved in her again.
Kissed her forehead, cheek, then ear. "Admit you want me." He
quickened his thrusts.

Her muscles tightened around him in readiness
for her release.

"Admit it," he pressed. "You want me now and
every day and night hereafter."

Elise hugged him tight. "Yes," she cried as
her climax rolled over her.

"You are mine," Marcus rasped. "You will not
regret the choice."

* * * *

Elise found herself being pulled down the
hall of Brahan Seer. Marcus intended to take her directly to his
father to announce their betrothal. Her head whirled as much from
his lovemaking as his proposal. He picked up speed, nearly dragging
her down the hallway.

She needed more time. "Marcus, wouldn't it be
wise to give this more thought before telling anyone?"

"Nay."

"Slow down. I can barely keep up with you."
She tugged on the hand he grasped.

"I can carry you, if you like," he responded,
still striding in long paces.

"Good Lord, no.
Marcus
." Elise yanked
hard on his hand.

He came to an abrupt halt and she tumbled
into his arms.

"Aye, sweet," he drawled. "You wanted
something."

"Slow down. I'm not a sack of potatoes to be
dragged along behind you."

His gaze dropped to her breasts. "True, and I
could easily forget myself even here in the common walkway."

Surely, he wouldn't have asked her to marry
him if he'd seen the notice in the paper? Could she live with
herself for deceiving him? "You needn't marry me," she said, then
silently added,
This is your chance, Marcus MacGregor. Save
yourself
. "I can't refuse you," she said, "even here."

His eyes jerked up to meet hers, the amorous
light gone. "I believe we were on our way to see my father." Taking
her hand once again, he continued at an even more relentless
pace.

Five minutes later, they entered the stables
where Cameron stood with the young foal born that summer.

"Father," Marcus called.

Cameron looked over his shoulder at Marcus,
then her.

"We have an announcement," Marcus said as
they drew up beside Cameron.

Cameron's expression turned bemused, but
Elise knew better.

"Elise and I are to be married." Marcus's
hold on her hand tightened. "And soon."

Her heart jumped into a gallop. "No one said
anything—"

"Hush," he commanded, and looked at his
father. "Have you anything to say?"

Cameron shrugged. "You are old enough to make
your own decisions."

Marcus grinned, and she muttered, "Bloody
idiotic men."

Both men regarded her.

She looked back at them. How could she
explain that the woman he wished to marry was wanted for murdering
her husband?
'You see, my husband poisoned my daughter with tiny
doses of the deadly nightshade. The symptoms were subtle, which
explains why the doctors couldn't pinpoint the disease. I never
caught Robert in the act, but he knew I knew and tried to kill me.
I shot him in self-defense. Ignore the wanted notice in the London
Sunday Times. It will eventually go away.'

Elise regarded Marcus. "As your wife, I am no
longer prisoner?"

"You are not prisoner now," he replied. "You
are in the castle for your safety."

"Safety," she murmured, then added, "If I
wish to go to the village, you will allow it?"

He nodded. "If it pleases you. I have work I
can take care of while we are there."

She narrowed her eyes. "I am no prisoner
then?"

"Nay," he answered innocently, and she knew
she would get no more.

He would ensure she was watched every second
they were at the village. If she played the future wife, he would
soon relax his hold. Pain stabbed at her heart.

She had to be gone before his priest
arrived.

* * * *

Elise paced her bedchamber. Marcus's son
would arrive any hour. Only two days had passed since she'd agreed
to marry Marcus. Was he hurrying to Brahan Seer to meet the woman
who would marry his father, or to expose her as murderess? How in
God's name was she to escape not two, but three MacGregor men?

The fire blazing in the hearth cracked and
she jumped. She pressed a hand over her racing heart. Something
must be done. She recalled the various decanters of liquor sitting
on the sideboard in Marcus's library and hurried to the
library.

She opened the door and met Marcus's gaze as
he looked up from the work on his desk. "To what do I owe the
pleasure of your company, love?" he asked.

She closed the door and headed for the
sideboard. "I need a drink."

Elise ignored the quizzical lift of his brow
as she stopped before the sideboard and surveyed the decanters. She
spied the small square decanter filled with cognac. She removed the
lid from the decanter, poured a healthy portion into a glass, then
emptied it in two unladylike gulps.

She heaved a sigh, then poured another, and
finished it just as quickly. She glanced at Marcus and saw he
regarded her. "Oh," she said, "how thoughtless. Would you like
one?"

He shook his head.

"Well, I do."

The glass reached her lips when Marcus's hand
covered hers. "Slow down, lass. You're liable to regret this in the
morning."

"Unlikely." She brushed his hand aside, then
strolled to the hearth while sipping the cognac.

"Is something wrong?" Marcus inquired.

"Wrong?" She whirled. A delicious warmth
radiated through her body. "A few months ago, I was shipwrecked,
left penniless and alone, then, naïve little lamb that I am"—she
narrowed her eyes at the mirth that leapt to his eyes—"I was
pursued relentlessly by you."

"Perhaps what you need is a little
comforting," he suggested.

Elise rolled her eyes. "What I need is
another cognac."

"Nay."

She gave her head one single slow shake. "Do
not think you can stop me from doing as I please. Now or after
we're married."

Marcus caught her arm as she approached the
sideboard. "Have you not had enough?"

She disengaged herself from his grasp. "I'm
capable of handling my liquor. Be so kind as to move aside." She
placed a hand on his chest and shoved.

He stepped back as she passed. "You're in a
fine mood tonight. I have never seen you this way before."

Elise paused in filling her glass and looked
at him. "Regretting your proposal?"

His mouth twitched.

Damn him, she mentally cursed.

"I think I will still wed you," he replied.
"I'm looking forward to ravishing your sweet body every chance I
get."

"I believe I pointed out you need not marry
me to do that." She lifted the glass to her lips.

"Perhaps," Marcus said. "But it will be my
obligation, and I will always know where to find you when my sense
of duty calls me into service."

Elise halted mid-sip and narrowed her eyes.
"What is that supposed to mean?"

He shrugged. "A wife is always in her
husband's bed, aye?" His gaze made a possessive sweep over her
body.

She lowered the glass from her lips. "Are you
saying you're marrying me to ensure my… my availability?"

His wince and quick "Nay" confirmed the
assessment. "I am marrying you because I love you and want you at
my side."

A tremor passed through her at the
declaration of love given so naturally, but she gave a feminine
snort and retorted, "A masculine play on words."

"Nay," he denied even more vehemently.

Elise regarding him more closely. "You're
jealous."

"Jealous?" His expression snapped to a stormy
darkness. "Of whom?"

She waved her glass, dodging the liquid that
sloshed over the rim and onto the carpet. "The funny part is"—the
funny part is, she should have created a fictional lover long
ago—"you were afraid I would want someone else."

He looked startled and she couldn't help a
laugh. Elise placed her glass on the sideboard and came to stand in
front of him. A fuzzy sensation in her belly made her feel
reckless. Wrapping one arm around his neck, she caressed his jaw
with her free hand. She ran her gaze in a purposeful, slow motion
from his mouth to his eyes. "Perhaps I should have considered
another application or two for my hand."

His arm shot around her. She squealed with
the hard yank of her body against his.

"I am marrying you because I cannot live
without you," he growled.

But you will, she thought, and pulled away so
he wouldn't see the pain that rose too easily to the surface. Elise
started for the sideboard and her drink. She reached the tumbler
and once again downed the glass.

"Elise," he growled. "Enough."

Despite the sudden fogginess of her vision,
she reached for the decanter again. This time, strong fingers pried
her hand from the stopper.

"You seem to forget," Marcus said, "my
warning about disobeying me."

Elise frowned, the fogginess creeping into
her brain. "Ahh, you mean the threat to
distract me with your
body
." She laughed. "I think that threat is a little old, don't
you?"

Without warning, he swung her into his arms
and, an instant later, she found herself on the couch, pinned
tightly beneath him.

"I always keep my promises, love, even if it
means finding a new twist to an old game."

"I'm not in the mood for your games tonight,
milord. Let me go."

"Nay."

"Marcus." She groaned with the effort of
attempting to shove him off her.

He shifted and, grasping her hands, wedged
them behind her back. His weight lay fully on her and she wriggled,
the increasing cloud across her mind impairing the ability to
think. Even as she realized he'd lowered his head and his hair was
tickling her chin, the sudden flicker of his tongue dangerously
close to her nipple sent a jolt through her. She gave a tiny squeal
and he responded with a noise deep in his throat. Gripping her
wrists with one hand, he freed his other hand to reached down and
yank up her skirt.