My Highland Love: Highland Lords Series (25 page)

"Marcus," she breathed, unexpectedly clear
headed, "we're in the library. You cannot!"

But he continued, his tongue—his tongue, she
forgot in favor of the finger that slid across her pleasure point.
Marcus wound a foot around her ankle and tugged her close until she
felt the thick bulge pressed to her thigh. His grip on her hands
loosened as a slow thrust slid along her thigh.

"I think ye will find your father in here,"
came Cameron's voice just outside the library.

Elise stiffened. Marcus yanked her skirt down
as the door opened. She squeezed her eyes shut just before Marcus's
gaze settled on his father.

"You chose a fine time to visit the library,"
Marcus said evenly.

"Aye," Cameron replied. "So it would seem.
You look well this evening, lass," he added.

She buried her head in Marcus's shoulder, not
quite stifling an oath.

"I think you had better do something about
your lady's speech," Cameron said. "She's beginning to sound like a
sailor."

"Was there something you wanted?" Marcus
asked. "Kiernan," he exclaimed.

His muscles tightened and Elise realized he
was rising. She grasped his shoulders.

He relaxed and said, "I'll be out directly.
Give me a moment." The door closed with a soft click, then he said,
"You can open your eyes now, love. They have gone."

Elise opened her eyes while shoving at him.
"Get up for God's sake."

He obliged. "Only a moment ago, you didn't
want me to rise."

She sat up. "Your son—he saw me."

"Elise—"

She shot to her feet. "Good Lord, you
shouldn't have—"

"Now, love, 'tis not all that bad. You were
fully clothed after all"—she groaned and plopped back down onto the
couch—"and, truly," he went on, "this has been a household of men
for many years. We aren't shocked by a little love-play."

Elise shook her head harder this time.

Marcus gave her a gentle look. "You can't
avoid him our entire marriage."

Her stomach did a flip.

"I'll take full blame for the situation."

She paused. "That is the truth."

"Aye," he agreed.

She kept her gaze fixed on him, but she was
imagining his son's face as he stared down at them, Marcus on top
of her while she arched toward him. If she could only leave the
castle tonight. But even an hour's absence would be noticed. Not
nearly long enough. She remembered how they had tracked her clear
to Glasgow and the damned pawnbroker.

"Leave Kiernan to me." Marcus's voice jerked
her back to the present.

She eyed him doubtfully.

He smiled. "Don't concern yourself over it,
love. 'Tis nothing."

Elise rose. "I'm going upstairs to
change."

"But you look beautiful."

"I can imagine just how I look," she
grumbled.

His gaze traveled the length of her, his
expression taking on a masculine pride, which started a quiver in
her stomach—and reminded her that his son had caught them when that
same look was on Marcus's face.

Chapter Fourteen

When Elise finally stepped from the
stairwell, Marcus had to remember to breathe. Pleasure rippled
through him at seeing she had worn her hair loose. Her creamy skin,
luminous against the soft brown of the modest gown borrowed for
this occasion, radiated a sensuality, which revived the memory of
their earlier lovemaking. Low bodice met high waist, emphasizing
the curve of her breasts. The dress hung loosely around her slim
body, transforming her into an ethereal creature drifting toward
him. She stopped beside him and smiled at his son. Marcus watched
Kiernan's acute scrutiny of her as introductions were made. She
extended a hand as graciously as any duchess.

"Madam." Kiernan took her hand and brought it
to his lips.

Her face lit with enchantment and Marcus
breathed a sigh of relief that her misgivings seemed to have
evaporated.

"Why, sir," she said, "I believe you are a
heartbreaker."

Kiernan blinked in surprise.

"You didn't tell me he was such a rogue,
Marcus. I wager the apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

Marcus smiled. "Kiernan is very much his own
man."

Her expression softened. "Perhaps, but that
raven's hair and those eyes…"

Memory of similar words spoken to him by her
upon their first meeting stole over Marcus.

"They must be your mother's eyes." She smiled
at Kiernan.

Marcus snapped back to the present.

Cameron joined them, his raised brow
testament that he had overheard the comment. Marcus looked from his
son to Elise. It hadn't occurred to him she might speak of Jenna.
He had never spoken to her of his wife, and she had no idea of
Kiernan's sensitivity concerning his mother.

Kiernan angled his head. "You are correct,
madam. I did, indeed, inherit those traits from my mother."

"I see," Elise nodded. "But there's more." A
corner of her mouth twitched upwards. "She imparted something of
herself to you. A piece of her soul, perhaps." Kiernan looked
genuinely shaken and Elise's smile turned gentle. "It is heartening
that you carry her with you."

He looked hopelessly at his father but was
doomed to find no solace there, for Marcus was as surprised as
he.

"Well, now, Kiernan," Cameron's deep voice
broke in, "what do you think of your father's future bride?" He
gave Kiernan a crack on the back and winked at Elise.

Marcus noted the blush that crept up her
cheek and wondered at a woman who could be so bold one moment, then
so reticent the next.

* * * *

The following day, Father Whyte arrived.
Winnie announced the priest's arrival. Had it been Marcus, Elise
would have taken the
sgian dubh
from the wall in the great
hall and put it through his heart. That would be a more merciful
end than the one he would suffer if his foolishness got them
married.

Father Whyte asked if all were well with the
wedding arrangements. "A week is a short time to prepare a wedding
feast."

"A week?" Elise replied, then remembered
Marcus saying the wedding would take place soon. He hadn't said how
soon.

What if you did go through with the
marriage
, a quiet voice asked?

Then Price would go free, and Amelia and
Steven wouldn't have recompense. But how many more would suffer as
a result of Price? She had lost the two most important people in
her life. Now she would lose Marcus. All because of her stepfather.
But it wasn't so simple. If Marcus—or worse, someone
else—discovered the truth, he would pay dearly.

In the end, Elise had seen to Father Whyte's
comfort in the small abbey located on the southeast edge of Brahan
Seer. Guilt piled higher at the realization that he was
enthusiastic about the marriage. Why couldn't he have been one of
those pinched-nose priests who believe rank shouldn't mix?

That night when Elise appeared in the great
hall and started toward the kitchen, Marcus intercepted her and
seated her beside him at the table.

"Winnie is expecting me." She tried to
rise.

Marcus laid a firm hand on her shoulder.
"Nay. She is not."

Elise glanced at the kitchen door.

"'Tis the way of things," he said. "You will
have duties enough after we wed."

After we wed.
Her stomach did a flip.
Time was running out and she had found no answer as to how she
would safely and successfully slip away unnoticed. There remained
only one answer; she had to tell Marcus she wouldn't marry him.
When all was said and done, he was a good man. Once she demanded to
be allowed to return home, he wouldn't keep her prisoner.

Kiernan seated himself beside her. She was
surrounded. Elise listened as he talked of school, friends, and the
upcoming season in London. Everything, she thought, except the one
thing that must be in the forefront of his mind. How would she
respond? What would she say to this keen young man if he questioned
her about her past? Kiernan's gaze turned intense. Her heart rate
accelerated. Had she missed something in the conversation?

"I do believe," he said, "the ton will be set
on its ear by my father's new marchioness."

"Marchioness?" Elise repeated.

Kiernan nodded.

Marchioness… Marchioness—the wife of a
marquess. Nobility, Marcus was nobility? Elise's mind raced. What
rank was a marquess? Baron, viscount, earl, marquis—marquess—she
abruptly felt as though a thick fog had enveloped her brain. If
Marcus was a marquess, then Cameron—she nearly choked. Marcus was a
high nobleman, and she was an accused murderess—a wanted criminal
with a bounty on her head.

"Have I said something?" Kiernan demanded in
a low whisper.

Elise's attention jerked back to the young
man.

"I meant no offense," he went on. "Your
forthright manner will be a breath of fresh air for London's
tainted society."

"Of course," she responded in a whisper.

His brow furrowed in concern.

Elise shook her head. "Forgive me. The
excitement of the wedding—and London…" she let her voice trail
off.

Kiernan hesitated, then smiled in polite
acceptance.

Supper ended. Elise waited until Marcus had
joined his father and son near the hearth before slipping from the
hall.

"Where are ye off to?" Winnie inquired as she
hurried through the kitchen.

"I am in need of fresh air."

Winnie gave a grunt of understanding as Elise
passed out into the night. She hurried across the compound and down
the lane to the abbey. Father Whyte hadn't appeared for the evening
meal and she prayed he wasn't already abed.

Elise entered the chapel to find him kneeling
before the candlelit altar. She stopped, intending to make a quiet
retreat, but he twisted and looked at her over his shoulder. The
smile on his face died when their gazes met.

"What's wrong, child?" He rose and started
down the aisle toward her.

Elise hurried forward, meeting him halfway.
"Father," she said without preamble, "if I ask a question, you are
obligated to tell the truth, aren't you?"

"Aye."

"What is Marcus's rank?"

"Rank?"

"Title—rank," she answered impatiently.

"He is the Marquess of Ashlund."

Her heart beat faster. "What is a
marquess?"

"In this case, he is the son of a duke."

"A—" Her head reeled. "So Cameron really is
a…"

"A duke," Father Whyte confirmed.

Elise collapsed onto a pew.

"Madam!" He caught her hand and fell to his
knees before her. "Are you ill?"

"My God," she whispered. "My God." She looked
at him. "This is… no mistake?"

He looked confused.

"There's no possibility Marcus will not
follow his father's footsteps?"

"Marcus is the only son. He will one day be
the Duke of Ashlund."

"My God," she repeated. Then, abruptly
looking at the priest, she said, "If I cry off, Marcus couldn't
force the wedding?" Would he—could he—actually force her to
stay?

"Nay," the priest answered slowly. "He could
not force you."

"Father, can you tell me why he hid his
identity from me?"

"Hid his identity? I dinna' see, exactly—" He
frowned. "You knew nothing of his rank?"

She shook her head.

"But everyone knows. Perhaps he assumed you
knew."

"He cannot stop me from changing my mind
about the marriage—can he? I left once before and he brought me
back."

Father Whyte looked surprised. "He is a
powerful man. I hadn't considered such possibilities, but I suppose
he could do almost anything." The priest hesitated. "My child…"

Elise's heart pounded. "Good Lord, what?"

"In society's eyes, you and Marcus are
married. The wedding vows are a mere formality. You have been
through a proper courtship." He didn't acknowledge her unladylike
snort. "Everyone assumes—" He stopped. She frowned and he added,
"That you already live as husband and wife."

A jolt of embarrassment warmed her cheeks.
She'd been a virgin when Robert married her. The possibility of
intimacy outside the marriage bed hadn't occurred to her. But then,
she hadn't considered the possibility of intimacy at all after
Robert.

"Of course," Father Whyte added, "if they are
wrong…"

Elise laughed again, this time with
bitterness. "You won't find redemption for me there, Father."

"You needn't worry. You are to be wed. As I
said, 'tis a formality."

"A formality which carries the weight of the
law."

"True."

"And I am free to go?" she insisted.

"Your reputation would be ruined."

"Bah! I don't care a fig for my
reputation."

"It would be a terrible scandal for Marcus,
as well."

"Would it?" she said with asperity, but guilt
surfaced amongst the anger.

A mental picture flashed of the next big
headlines in the London
Sunday Times
, "The Duke Who Married
a Murderess." The fact it was a lie wouldn't matter.

"The announcements have already reached the
papers," Father Whyte said.

"Announcements?" Elise echoed, then said,
"But of course."

"Come," Father Whyte's expression softened,
"there has been some mistake. Marcus is a good man. Surely, you
will listen to his explanation."

"What explanation?" asked Marcus from the
rear of the church.

Elise surged to her feet. "Lord Ashlund. Good
of you to join us."

* * * *

So she had discovered the truth. Marcus had
no one to blame but himself for not telling her. He strode to them
and halted beside Elise. He gave an acknowledging nod to Father
Whyte, then said to her, "Aye, love. Lord Ashlund, Marquess of
Ashlund."

"You lied to me."

He recognized the fear behind the curt
statement and gently answered, "Nay."