Chapter Three #3
He glanced again at the clock. Elise wouldn't journey home in the dark. He sat the platter of meat on the table. If she did, he would clip her lovely wings.
* * *
When Elise didn't return the following afternoon, Marcus went in search of his father and found him in the stables keeping watch on Coreen.
“It isn't unusual for her to be gone a day or two when she goes to Michael's,” Cameron said. “She likes to make sure he is well-cared-for.”
“What the blazes does that mean?” Marcus demanded.
His father stopped mid-stroke as he ran his hand across the mare's distended belly. “Hell, lad, the man is my age. What would he want with a lass Elise's age?”
“Age has not stopped you of late.”
Cameron flushed. “A man cannot resist the charms of a woman forever, you know.”
“That's exactly what I am afraid of,” Marcus muttered.
“Although,” Cameron said, his tone thoughtful, “I didna' see young Erin return with you. Did he go directly to Michael's? He has not seen his father in months.”
“Yes, by God. How long did you say she usually stays with Michael?”
The mare nickered and Cameron began stroking her again. “She does, on occasion, stay a couple days, but, certainly, never longer.”
“And it has been two days.”
“It has,” Cameron said with such emphasis that Marcus looked at him.
“I'll ride out and make sure she is safe.”
“A fine idea. We would not want anything to happen, would we?”
Marcus gave his father a recriminating look, then snapped out an order for his stallion to be saddled.
Marcus stopped in front of Michael's cottage, dismounted, and tossed the reins over the post to the right of the porch. He entered the cottage without knocking.
“Back for more, lass?” came Michael's voice from behind the curtain that enclosed the corner bed.
“More of what?” Marcus demanded.
Michael drew back the curtain with a flourish. He met Marcus's gaze and grinned. “Marcus, this is a surprise.”
“I imagine so,” he said as Michael rose and hobbled toward him.
The old man halted. “Is something wrong?”
“Nae. Where is Elise? She's been gone some time and Cameron is concerned.”
“Concerned?” Michael looked puzzled. “I cannot imagine why—” He stopped, his eyes narrowing shrewdly. “Are you sure 'tis not you who is worried?”
Marcus relaxed. “Where is she?”
“Marcus, you've come all this way, and I haven't seen you in an age. Surely, you can spare a civil word? Sit down.” He motioned toward the table sitting before the hearth. “Have a drink. Dinna' fash over Elise. She'll return soon.”
“Return?” Marcus started. “Where is she?”
Michael sighed and gave him a disgusted look. “Out in the barn with Erin.”
Marcus left the cottage, the words with Erin ringing in his head as he strode across the meadow to the barn.
“I want to thank you for all you've done for my father.” Erin's voice filtered from the barn as Marcus neared.
“It's nothing,” Elise replied.
Marcus paused at the open door. The sound of milk squirting into a pail was followed by a low moo from the heifer.
“Nae,” Erin went on, “you lifted his spirits. It's difficult, him out here alone.”
“Why hasn't he moved into the village?”
“This land has been worked by our family for generations. He refuses to give it up.”
“I can understand—” She cried out in unison with the clang of a hoof against metal.
Marcus shot forward but halted inside the door at seeing Elise on her backside in a puddle of spilt milk, the pail on its side beside her. Erin leaned with his arms over the cow's back, staring down at her.
“Oh, dear.” She looked up at Erin. “I haven't quite got the hang of it.”
The young warrior came around the cow and squatted beside Elise. “Are you all right?” His voice betrayed the mirth he clearly felt.
“Fine,” she replied wryly and extended a hand. “If you please?”
He stood, pulling her to her feet. She twisted in an effort to examine the back of her skirt.
“You have milk in your hair. How did you manage that?”
Elise gave him a dry look and shook out her skirt. “Perhaps I need a dip in the loch.”
“Rather cold.”
“True, but it would be better than this milk. It's getting late and I doubt I'll return to Brahan Seer tonight.”
“Aye,” Marcus said. “You will return to Brahan Seer tonight.”
Her head snapped in his direction as Erin whirled. “Marcus, what is amiss?”
Marcus looked at Elise. “I am here to take Elise home.”
“Take her home?” Erin echoed.
“Aye. It's late, and Cameron was growing concerned.” Marcus wondered at his rapidly increasing ability to lie with such ease.
“Of course.” Erin faced Elise and bowed. “Thank you for coming. I know my father was pleased to see you.”
He stepped back, and Elise turned a calculating eye on Marcus. His body tensed under her scrutiny.
“I am not going anywhere.”
“Nae?” he asked, quelling the tightening of his groin at the cool note of confidence.
“My visit here is not finished.”
“Nae?” he repeated.
She glanced at the pail laying near her feet and Marcus prepared for a quick retreat.
“No,” she answered, and he relaxed upon seeing her turn her attention, albeit reluctantly, from the pail. “It's late and I have no horse,” she said. “The trip home on foot after dark is dangerous.”
“Aye,” Marcus agreed.
Her brow knit in confusion, then her eyes widened. “I will not make another trip with you on your mount.”
The statement was made with such force that Marcus nearly laughed.
“I will lend you a mare,” Erin offered.
Marcus regarded her and lifted a brow in question.
“I promised Michael dinner.”
“Elise,” Erin put in, “my father will understand.”
She kept her gaze on Marcus. “You may leave. I will find my way home.”
His heart beat wildly at the open defiance expressed with such aplomb. He stepped forward and Erin moved to intervene.
“Laird.” The young man's voice hit like ice water and Marcus looked at him. “She doesn't know our ways,” Erin said.
Marcus relaxed and shifted his gaze to her. “If it pleases her to stay, we shall. But only for dinner.”
She gave a snort, then strode past them and out the door.
As the evening wore on, Marcus watched Elise entice them into becoming willing participants in the preparation of the meal.
“You three will not sit idle while I do all the work,” she said.
“Lass,” Michael protested, “what would poor men such as ourselves know of preparing food?”
“Enough, I'm sure.” She thrust the handle of a knife into his hand.
An instant later, she'd replaced the copy of the Sunday Times sitting on the table beside him with an onion. Michael looked at her as if she were mad but, in the end, peeled and sliced the onion, his lip twitching with barely suppressed amusement.
“Erin.” Elise placed a bowl of flour, sugar, and cream of tartar in his hands. “You stir the biscuits. Marcus,” she said, surprising him, “see to the grouse on the fire.”
Marcus obeyed, but turned a moment later when she cried, “Erin!” and saw Erin had spilled flour from the bowl onto the table.
Erin looked to his father.
“Do not look at me, lad. 'Tis not my fault you can't stir flour without dumping it all over yourself.”
Elise grasped Erin's hand, trying to show him how to gentle his touch. Marcus jolted at seeing her slender fingers covering the young man's large hand. Damn it, surely the boy posed no threat? Marcus knew he'd lost his mind. Bloody hell, he was jealous.
“Ohh,” she said in frustration as more flour went over the side of the bowl.
Marcus laughed at the sheepish look on Erin's face. She snatched up the bowl and Michael joined in when she muttered incoherently and strode to the stove to finish the biscuits.
“So, tell me, Marcus,” Michael said through his laughter. “How was London?”
“The same as always.”
“And Kiernan?”
At the mention of his son's name, Marcus recalled his surprise at how much the boy had grown in the last year.
At only eighteen, he towered over most Englishmen.
Referred to as the dark giant, he deserved the nickname.
Still, Marcus never ceased to marvel at the fact that one noticed his mother's raven hair and blue eyes when he entered a room.
Unbidden, his father's words echoed in Marcus's mind, “Do you not wonder if the sacrifice is worth your son?”
“Is it worth it?” he said under his breath.
“What's that you say?” Michael asked.
Marcus focused on him. “The lad is doing as well as can be expected, considering.”
“Considering?” Elise asked.
“Aye,” he said, glad his father wasn't present to hear his response. “Considering he lives among the Sassenach.”
At meal's end, Marcus insisted they go. Elise's expression darkened and she looked as if she might protest, but he caught her glance in the direction of father and son and relaxed when he saw she had chosen discretion over pride.
Anticipation surged through him, despite the knowledge she considered him the lesser of the evils.
They stood at the door. Elise rose on tiptoes and planted a kiss on Michael's cheek. “Stay off your wounded leg.”
“Thank you. You're a good lass.” He gave her a bear hug.
“No toying with me.”
The impish wink she gave Michael made Marcus regret ending the evening. She would be more reserved with her charms once they were alone. She went outside where Erin waited with their horses.
Marcus clasped Michael's hands.
“Do not wait so long to come back,” Michael said.
Marcus started to release his hand, but Michael's grip tightened. “Be careful.” He glanced in Elise's direction. “The dark has been known to bite.”