Chapter Three #2
“Nae,” Winnie replied, still sucking. “The saliva of the blood's owner is what takes blood from cloth.” She looked at the cloth. The blood had disappeared. “This isn't the first MacGregor blood spilled because of Campbells, and it will not be the last.”
A chill snaked through Elise. Would the next dead MacGregor be amongst those who just set out for Campbell land?
* * *
Elise bolted upright in bed, the echo of a scream giving way to the pounding in her ears.
She looked wildly about the room but, instead of flames surrounding her as they had an instant before, only the hearth burned with soft, red embers.
A faint light radiated from the coals. She gulped a deep breath upon recognizing the shadowed contours of the cottage she shared with Winnie.
Which dream had awoken her this time? The one where she hadn't escaped her stateroom before it went up in flames, or the one where the flames of hell surrounded her?
Dear God, forgive me.
She choked back tears. He might forgive her, but Amelia and Steven wouldn't.
“Elise.”
Elise jerked her attention to the far side of the room where Winnie slept.
“What is amiss?” the housekeeper asked in a sleep-laden voice. “You cried out—” Her gaze swung in the direction of the door. “What in God's name?”
The insistent knocking at the door penetrated Elise's brain and she realized the noise had yanked her from the dream.
Winnie threw back the covers and jumped out of bed. She draped a wrap about her shoulders and hurried to the door. “Who is it?” She yanked open the door. “Mary, girl,” Winnie growled at the maid, “you had better—”
“The men have returned,” the maid interrupted. “They're demanding supper.”
“Mother of God,” Winnie whispered. “Go along, child. I will follow in a minute.” She shoved the door shut and scampered on tiptoe across the drafty floor to her bed.
“I'll come,” Elise said as Winnie pulled off her shift and reached for the grey dress draped over her bed's foot board.
“No need.” Winnie slipped the dress over her head.
Elise got to her feet. “No sense lying here while you work.”
She quickly dressed, then grabbed the plaide from the foot of her bed and draped it over her shoulders as she followed Winnie out the door.
Minutes later, Elise slowed two paces into the kitchen, startled by the grim silence that pressed in about the room.
Winnie hastened to the counter where Mary and another girl were placing mutton and chicken on platters.
Elise shook off the morose feeling and tossed the plaide she wore onto the counter, then hurried forward to join in the preparations.
“Nae, Wilma,” Winnie admonished. “Leave the plate of mutton. You and Mary fetch wine from the cellar. The men will sleep better with a little help.”
The girls hurried off. Cold chicken, bread, and peas were quickly placed on platters. Elise took the platter Winnie placed in her hands and headed for the great hall.
The camaraderie which generally characterized gatherings in the eating hall was absent.
When Elise set the peas on the table, her heart stirred at sight of the men's exhausted faces.
She cast a furtive glance at Marcus. The hard set of his mouth and hollow eyes startled her.
What had happened to the carefree devil who held her in his arms only a few days ago? She returned to the kitchen.
“Take those.” Winnie pointed to the bottles of wine sitting on the table, then turned back to the bread she had unwrapped from its cloth cover.
Elise hesitated. Four uneventful months at Brahan Seer had dulled her senses.
Why hadn't she realized Cameron's son would be with his men tonight?
A tremor rocked her belly. Neither had she considered that he could have read the wanted notice for Elisabeth Kingston while in London.
He was far more sophisticated than Michael and, surely, far less trusting.
Given time, would Marcus MacGregor recognize Elise as the nickname for Elisabeth?
“Elise.”
She snapped from her thoughts and saw Winnie staring expectantly at her. Elise grabbed the bottles of wine on the table and reentered the hall. Marcus's plate was untouched. She set the wine on the table. His gaze met and held hers for an instant before he shoved back his chair and rose.
She remained rooted to the spot as he strode to the stairwell.
At the stairs, he paused and looked back at her, eyes dark with need.
He turned suddenly and headed up the stairs.
Her breath caught at sight of his shirt, taut across his shoulders, and her gaze dropped to his calves in the instant before he disappeared from view.
Elise broke the stare and realized her pulse had jumped to a gallop.
Good Lord, was the greater danger Marcus connecting her to the Elisabeth Kingston wanted for murder, or her reaction to him?
Until now, she hadn't worried how long Price persisted in searching for her.
She had been sure she could wait him out.
Now, could she afford to wait—could she afford to remain even another night near Marcus MacGregor?
* * *
Marcus awoke, his body hard with arousal.
He shifted his thoughts from Elise to the Campbells, but the memory of her face the night before persisted.
Her eyes changed with her mood. Would those eyes darken with passion when she lay beneath him?
He stirred restlessly. How might she cry out as he brought her to her pleasure? He would find out—and soon.
Ten minutes later, Marcus entered the kitchen to find the women busy with preparations for the meals. “Good morning, Winnie.” He seated himself across the table from her.
She reached for a sprig of herbs from one of the piles before her and began grinding it in a mortar bowl. “Morning.”
He glanced at the rear door.
“No sense watching the door. She isna' here.”
He leaned forward. “You are a witch, Winnie, my love. Where is she?”
“Michael's. She set out early this morning.”
“Why?”
“He broke his leg. She makes sure he is tended to.”
“Indeed?”
“Indeed.” Winnie reached for another sprig of herbs.
Marcus rose and kissed her cheek. “Making trouble while I've been gone, I wager?”
She looked up. “No more than usual.”
“So I thought,” he said, and left the kitchen.
* * *
Marcus looked from his father to the warrior entering the great hall. The man strode past the men gathered for the evening meal and stopped at the table opposite him.
“Lady Ross to see you, laird,” he said.
“And you back but a day from fighting with Campbells,” Cameron said.
Marcus sighed. “I suppose she knows I'm here.”
The guard looked uncomfortable.
“You can escape out the back,” his father suggested, but the door opened again and Lady Margaret Ross entered dressed in a tightly fitting riding habit that said she'd been in the saddle the better part of the day.
“I told ye not to dally with noblewomen,” Cameron added under his breath, and stood as she approached.
“Margaret, lass, how are you?” He clasped her hands in his.
“Your Grace.” She dipped into a deep curtsy.
He shot Marcus a dry look while her head was bowed. “Enough, lassie.” He pulled the petite woman to her feet. “We are not in Edinburgh.” He released her hands. “You will forgive me, if I dinna' stay. I have a mare that bears attending.” He winked. “You won't miss me, I feel sure.”
“It is always good to see you, Your Grace.”
“It is good to see you, as well.”
“You haven't had your supper, Cameron,” Marcus remarked.
“Aye, well, I cannot leave Coreen alone too long. She is due to foal any time.”
“Craig can watch after her.”
Cameron snorted. “The boy doesna' know a gelding from a stallion.”
“The next time you geld a stallion, have him watch. He'll remember after that.”
His father cast a sheepish look at Margaret. “Well, I do not think—”
“Never mind,” Marcus cut in. “As you say, you have a mare to attend to.”
“I do,” he agreed, and made a hasty exit.
Lady Ross looked to Marcus. “Lord Ashlund.” She started to curtsy again.
“None of that, Margaret,” he said.
She paused and studied him from beneath her lashes then, with an incline of her head, straightened. She gave him an inquiring look and he stood.
“Gille,” he addressed the man seated to his right, “give your seat up to the lady.”
The man stood and bowed.
Lady Ross angled her head in thanks, then sat. “You are looking well,” she said. “Did you enjoy London?”
Once again, the postern door opened and Marcus paused in sitting to look see who entered. Recognizing the newcomer as another of his men, he seated himself.
“Lord Ashlund,” came Margaret's insistent voice.
“My visit went well.” He forced his attention to her.
“I'm sorry I could not accompany you as you wanted.”
“It was you who requested an escort, Margaret, not I who requested your presence.”
“A shame my plans changed,” she went on. “Unfortunately, I now must go to London.” She smiled. “I would be glad of your company.”
He gave a mirthless laugh. “London twice a year is quite enough. I have no wish to make it three.”
She laid a hand on his arm. “Not long ago you would have done this for me.”
“Made a special trip to London? You're confusing me with another of your admirers.”
The women began serving the food and he glanced at the clock over the mantle. The evening grew late. “Did you come alone?” he demanded.
“I did.”
Marcus frowned. “Very foolish.”
The postern door creaked open again. Daniel stepped in. He looked in Marcus's direction. Amusement flicked across his face before he turned and exited.
“Are you expecting someone?” Margaret asked.
A maid placed a platter of mutton on his side of the table and he reached for it. “I will have one of my men escort you home.” He dished a helping of meat onto his plate.
“It is so late, I thought perhaps…”
Marcus paused and looked at her. “You knew you would arrive after dark. Why do it?”
She stiffened. “Sheathe your conceit, Marcus. You were not the only person I visited today.” She pursed her lips. “If my staying is too much of an inconvenience…”