Chapter Six
Movement to his left caused Marcus to jerk his head in the direction of the woman emerging from the kitchen into the hall.
She was not Elise. The woman's brown hair had fooled him for an instant.
He shoved his chair back, rose from his seat, and strode to the kitchen.
He stepped aside for another serving maid as she hurried past into the hall with a plate of food in hand.
He scanned the kitchen. Elise wasn't among the women serving the evening meal.
By God, she was avoiding him.
Why she was avoiding him, he knew; how she had managed to do so for a day and a half, he suspected could be answered by Winnie, who, oddly enough, was also absent.
He turned and headed for the postern door, wincing at the ache in his knee.
Once in the quiet of the brightly lit courtyard, he veered north toward the cottages.
“Marcus.”
Marcus glanced over his shoulder at the sound of his father's call and stopped at sight of the MacLaren warrior walking alongside Cameron. They halted in front of Marcus.
“Brian here has brought a message from Declan.” Cameron looked at the man. “Go ahead, lad.”
“Declan wanted ye to know there's been Campbells on MacLaren land.”
“When?” Marcus demanded.
“Three days in a row now.”
“You haven't caught any of them?”
Brian snorted. “The bastards are getting better at running.”
“They are,” Marcus agreed, then asked, “You will stay the night?”
“Aye.”
“Good. Be ready at first light. I'll travel back with you. Have some supper.” He motioned toward the great hall, then looked back at his father. “Cameron, I wish to speak with you.” Marcus waited until Brian was out of earshot, then said, “Have Elise moved into the castle while I am gone.”
Cameron showed no surprise at the request. “What reason should I give?”
“Ask if she plans on living with Winnie the rest of her life.”
His father gave an approving look. “I will put her in the west wing's private suite.”
“Nae,” Marcus said. “The east wing, the room nearest mine.
Cameron frowned. “'Tis hard on you, her sharing a cottage with Winnie, but to put her in the lady's quarters next to yours is going a bit far the other direction.”
“The guest room, Cameron,” Marcus said. “Not in the adjoining room—at least, not yet.”
“At least, not yet?” Cameron exclaimed.
Two men passing turned their heads at his raised voice.
He glanced at them, then leaned in closer to Marcus. “That's a bit obvious, don't you think, lad? A man doesna' flaunt his mistress.”
Marcus raised a brow. “Aye.”
His father blinked. “What? Are you saying what I think you're saying?”
“I am.”
Cameron rubbed his chin. “I have never known you to take advantage of a woman under your protection.”
“I have no intention of doing so now,” Marcus replied, though he couldn't help the mental image of how much he would relish taking advantage.
Cameron regarded him. “I thought you would not marry again. 'Tis ten years since Jenna died.”
“I hadn't planned on remarrying.”
“You have a son and, at your age, you need not marry.”
Marcus gave a short laugh. “I needn't do much of anything, Father.”
Cameron gave a single nod. “Your marriage to Jenna wasn't one of love.” His mouth turned down wryly. “You always were the politician. You should have told King George to go to the devil when he insisted you marry the wench.”
“I have no regrets,” Marcus replied. “And I shall have none now.”
“Tiring of the demimonde?”
He gave a slight smile. “'Tis not the same.”
Cameron grinned. “I thought you would want the lass, but I hadn't realized how badly.”
Marcus exhaled. “No one is more surprised than I.”
* * *
Marcus and his men dismounted in the outer bailey of the MacLaren holding. He tossed his horse's reins to a MacLaren guard and waited. A few moments later, Declan entered the bailey.
Marcus stepped forward and caught Declan's hand in a firm grip. “Good of you to allow us entrance.”
Declan's eyes twinkled. “Aye, considering your treatment of me when last I visited Brahan Seer.”
“I recall your night ended well.”
Declan grinned. “Aye, a fine night it was. What brings you here? Have I ruined the MacGregor lasses for you? Josephine cried when I left.”
“I heard she got rather feisty,” Marcus remarked.
Declan laughed. “Aye, she's a sassy one, but nothing like your Ceasg.”
Marcus gave a rueful grimace. “Elise's temper is much like the Highland mermaid's.”
“A resemblance? If the lass were a Highlander, she could grant the mythical three wishes.” He gave Marcus a shrewd look. “Perhaps she has already granted yours, eh?'
Marcus snorted. “I suspect granting any wish I have is the furthest thing from her mind.”
“Ahh,” Declan intoned. “You haven't exactly endeared yourself to her?”
“Not quite.”
“Mayhap, you should have let me teach her a lesson after all.” His brows lifted. “Break her in, so to speak.”
“I would have had no sympathy for you when she broke you.”
Declan grimaced. “Aye, well, 'tis best, then, that I leave you with the taming.”
“God help me,” Marcus said under his breath, then gave him a serious look. “I hear you have had Campbells on your land.”
“Aye.” Declan led Marcus toward the great hall.
“Elise was kidnapped by the Campbells six days ago,” Marcus said.
“Kidnapped?” Declan gave Marcus an appraising look. “You don't look broken up like you were with Katie. Is the lass…?”
“She is well, though only by the grace of God. We need to talk.”
Marcus shook his head at the serving girl who offered to refill his dinner plate, and she moved to the man sitting to his right.
“They never touched her?” Declan asked.
“Nae.”
“Can you be sure?”
“Bruised a bit, but nothing like Katie.”
“Aye, well,” Declan said, “I suppose if she wasn't in the same shape as Katie…”
“She wasn't,” Marcus replied. “Which is damned lucky for the entire Campbell clan.”
Declan leaned back in his chair. “Too close for comfort.”
“They were within half a mile of Brahan Seer.”
“Jesus, they've grown bollocks of late. I am surprised they didn't do the deed right there.” His mouth twitched. “You don't suppose they suddenly got religion?” He laughed, giving the table such a slap it rattled the plates.
“Nae,” Marcus replied, his mouth twisting into a grim frown. “But they did meet their maker.”
“Good. You have been too soft with them in the past. Aye,” he went on when Marcus started to interrupt, “ye made them pay for Katie, but there have been other times.”
Declan reached for his mug and took a long draught. He set the mug on the table while watching the serving woman who approached from the far end of the table. She looked up and Declan winked. His gaze remained on her as she passed. He took another drink of ale, then turned back to Marcus.
“They've been spending an unusual amount of time on MacGregor land of late.”
“So I have noticed.” A pause followed, and Marcus said. “You have something on your mind?”
“'Tis interesting they made off with her. One would expect them to take care of business and be done with it.”
“I'm not one to question good fortune,” Marcus said.
“But you are.” Declan's expression sobered. “What do you know of the lass?”
“She's American, as you know. The ship she and her husband sailed on went down in a fire. Shannon and Joshua found her washed ashore at Solway Firth.”
“She is no serving wench,” Declan commented.
“Nae.”
“Have you any idea why she is acting the part?”
Marcus gave a single shake of his head. “Nae, but I will find out.”
* * *
Hooves pounded on moist ground, the roll of their thunder cutting in heavier strikes as they neared the castle.
Swirls of thick fog whipped upwards and into the night as the gates of Brahan Seer swung open by an unseen hand.
One after another, men forced their way in until the keep overflowed with the blue and green of Campbell plaide.
Fear lodged in Marcus's throat at sight of his enemies' raised swords.
“Buadhaich!” came the battle cry.
A shudder shook Marcus.
The devils' weapons stabbed through the grey of the murky fog. Pleas for mercy resounded. Still, Marcus remained rooted to the spot, watching until the last MacGregor fell.
A Campbell glanced at him, the first to acknowledge his presence.
The man smiled, stepping on the head of a vanquished enemy and grinding the skull with his foot.
As if magically freed from unseen bonds, Marcus lunged at him.
They crashed to the ground, Marcus's grasp closing around nothing.
He leapt to his feet, seizing another Campbell.
He, too, vanished. One by one, they disappeared each time he grabbed their necks.
His mind sought for purchase within the ghostly battle, his senses reeling with the echo of laughter that rose from the curling mist.
Finally, every Campbell gone, Marcus stood, his breath coming in labored gulps. Torn and twisted bodies lay scattered about him—the ruin of his clan. A cry broke the silence. He whirled. Elise lay on the ground, a trembling hand raised to him.
Marcus rushed to her side. He fell to his knees, lifted her head, and cradled it in his lap. Tears streamed down his cheeks, splashing onto her lips. With gentle fingers, she wiped a tear from his cheek.
“Shh,” she murmured. “It's not your fault.” Her hand fell away and her eyes closed.
He tightened his grip but she vanished, causing him to tumble forward. Her garments twisted in his hands. He shoved and kicked, trying to dislodge himself from the fabric. Leaping up, his fingers closed around a post—