Chapter Six #3
Marcus reached for a log from the pile beside the hearth.
He bent to one knee, his kilt falling across the calf of the bent leg.
She tried tearing her gaze away. Instead, her attention fixed on the play of muscle in his shoulder as he tossed the log onto the fire.
Here was the reason behind his command to move her into the castle.
If she were nearer him, how long could she resist his advances?
Damn him. He had further hampered her movements.
In the three days he'd been gone, she had yet to leave the castle without someone marking her movements.
Had he enlisted all MacGregors as spies?
Marcus unexpectedly glanced back over the shoulder she was staring at. Her heart pounded wildly in the moment he studied her. How transparent were her thoughts? He rose. She tensed when he leaned the poker against the wall and turned.
“Elise,” he began as he approached, “I handled things badly.” He halted before her.
“Well, you were a bit…” She gave him a rueful look. “I haven't been a saint.” Her heart lurched at the understatement, then fluttered at the thought of confessing the truth. What would he do if she threw herself into his arms and told all?
Marcus smiled. “No matter.” He extended a hand. “Come, love, walk with me.”
She stared at his outstretched hand, held steady for her. The gentleness there belied the strength.
“'Tis all right,” he coaxed. “I promise not to bite.”
Elise looked up at him. “Are you in the habit of making promises you cannot keep?”
He reached for her and she resisted the urge to slap his hand back.
* * *
Marcus stood behind Elise on a hill overlooking the village. Lights dotted the valley, shining in haloed rings from the cottages. A balmy breeze blew, yet Marcus saw her shiver.
Marcus resisted the urge to wrap an arm around her and stepped up beside her, fingers laced behind his back. He turned his attention to the flickering lights below. “What do you think of the Highlands, lass?”
She said nothing for a moment, then, in a quiet voice, “The Highlands are… unusual. Despite all odds, life thrives here.” She laughed softly.
“At least, the Highland notion of life.” She slanted a smile in his direction.
Marcus stilled, afraid the spell would dissolve.
“Highland life is full and lush.” She returned her attention to the valley.
“Yet, some would say, like a woman, it changes at a moment's notice, suddenly wild and furious.”
Did he detect a sensual note in her voice? Marcus tightened the grip on his emotions. Now wasn't the time to test her. Yet a voice from within asked, If not now, when?
“The rugged wilderness here is frightening,” she went on. “Yet, at the same time, it is compelling to the extreme.” Elise motioned with her head at the broad expanse before them. “Those hills lure with a beauty uniquely their own. They call to the soul, drawing it into their mystery like…”
Marcus leaned toward her before catching himself. Inhaling a deep breath, he said in a hushed voice, “Like a lover.”
She looked at him, her expression open. “Yes, you've captured the heart of it.”
Not yet, love, he thought, but soon, very soon. “How did you come to be in Scotland?”
Surprise flickered on her face, but instantly relaxed into the even reply, “Surely you know I was washed ashore when our ship went down in a fire.”
“Aye. I mean, why were you in Solway Firth?” Elise frowned, and he added, “Sailing from America to London, you would pass the south of Ireland. To reach Solway Firth you must pass north of Ireland, then head south between Ireland and Scotland. The route would add a week or more to your journey.”
Surprise flashed across her face. “A week?”
“Aye.”
Her expression clouded and she murmured, “Amelia.”
“What?”
She started. “What?”
“Who is Amelia?”
Elise looked out over the valley. “Amelia was my daughter.”
“Was—Elise.”
She shook her head. “Odd, isn't it? I sail from America for London, am shipwrecked—barely on Scottish soil—and here I am, miles away, in the Highlands.”
“Strange, indeed,” Marcus murmured, sending up silent thanks for the huge difference in that short distance. “And why come here to Brahan Seer?”
She gave a small laugh. “I had nowhere better to be.”
“Are you happy?”
Can you be happy without husband and child?
“Your father has been kind. I liked him the moment I met him.”
“What did you think upon first meeting me?” At the startled look on her face, he cursed his foolish curiosity.
“Why, milord,” the title fell in teasing accents from her lips and her eyes widened with mock gravity, “I thought you were the fiercest warrior I'd ever had the misfortune to meet.”
Marcus blinked, then threw his head back and laughed, for he remembered her assessment of his sword—not to mention his open shirt.
“Sit with me.” He took her hand, settled her on the ground, and lowered himself down beside her. Marcus turned his gaze onto her and gave a soft smile. “Tell me about Amelia.”
Pain flickered across her features and she lowered her gaze.
When, at last, she spoke, her words were flat.
“Amelia was six years old and very ill. We were traveling to England to see a specialist. I should have known she wasn't strong enough for the journey—I did know—but I couldn't bear the thought of never again looking upon her sweet face.
“Selfish,” she muttered. “When Amelia smiled…” Elise's breath quickened and Marcus tensed, recognizing the anxiety in the sudden rise and fall of her breasts.
“The corners of her eyes crinkled and her eyes sparkled as only a child's can.” The moon illuminated Elise's face, revealing the part of memory that couldn't be conquered, and a pain that would never wholly die. “She died three days before the fire.”