Chapter Fourteen #2
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, “Nae.”
Her lips thinned. “You deny it?”
“If I led you to believe I was of noble class but wasn't, you would have reason to be angry. The fact I am of the noble caste is of no consequence. Have you ever heard anyone here address me by my title?”
Her mouth tightened further. “You kept it from me.”
“You are saying I instructed all of Brahan Seer to deceive you? How could I possibly accomplish such a thing? The fact that you learned about this before we signed the marriage certificate proves my point.”
“The marriage certificate?” Elise repeated, then, as though to herself, said, “Of course, we would sign a marriage certificate.”
“It doesn't matter,” he insisted. “Especially here.”
She canted her head. “And when we leave Brahan Seer? Isn't that the reason we are doing this because you insisted we cannot leave Brahan Seer without being married?”
“Aye,” he replied. “We cannot travel the country and live as we do here. Expectations are different outside Brahan Seer.”
“Yes, they are,” she retorted. “To the extent you are to be a duke!”
“You aren't being honest,” he continued, forcing back frustration. “Admit it. Had you known in the beginning, you wouldn't have agreed to marry me because of my station.”
“So you did lie.”
“I did not.”
“Father,” she said, keeping her gaze on Marcus, “isn't the sin of omission the same as a direct lie?”
The priest took a deep breath. “It is.”
“Are you saying you won't marry me because I will one day be a duke?” Marcus demanded.
“I am saying, I will not marry a man I cannot trust.”
“Bloody hell,” he cursed. “After all the years the MacGregors have fought for their good fortune, to have it turned against us—”
Her eyes flashed. “Make no mistake, Lord Ashlund, it isn't the MacGregors's good fortune I hold against you.”
“It is,” he cut in sharply. “If I were Michael's son instead of Cameron's, you would view my suit as proper.”
“That is not the point—”
“It is exactly the point. With anyone else I would not have had to say, You do realize I am a marquess? Yet, you say that is exactly what I should have done.”
“You knew not telling me was a manipulation.”
“How am I to answer?” he snapped. “Had I made a point of telling you, you would have balked. Yet, not telling you is a grievous sin.”
Elise eyed him critically. “When did you plan to tell me? Once we arrived in civilization and someone bowed before you?”
“Nae, as I just said, when you signed the wedding certificate you would have known.”
“And when would that have been, the moment before we took the wedding vows?”
Marcus looked at Father Whyte. “When, Father?”
“Tomorrow.”
Marcus looked back at her. “A far cry from the wedding day.”
“But far too long considering the length of our courtship.”
“You're being foolish.” He grasped her arm.
She shook him off. “How did you expect me to react?”
He wished mightily Father Whyte weren't present. “I had hoped some feeling had developed that would negate these foolish concerns.”
“I need to be alone with my foolish concerns.” She brushed past him.
Marcus glanced at Father Whyte, who gave him a troubled look, then Marcus shifted his gaze onto Elise as she disappeared out the chapel doors.
* * *
Elise closed her bedchamber door, then walked to the couch and sat down. Placing a hand on her belly, she pressed it in an attempt to quiet the twisting, which had begun as a flutter and was now a wrenching unlike anything she had experienced since the last night on the Amelia.
Elise Merriwether would be the name of the woman to marry the Marquess of Ashlund.
It was foolish for her to have given her great-aunt's surname, but when she'd come out of her delirium in Josh and Shannon's home, she'd given the first name that came to mind.
Would Price connect that Elise Merriwether to her?
Her mind raced. Would he see the notice?
The announcement would go into the London Sunday Times, probably The Scotsman in Edinburgh, as well.
But would the news reach America? She thought of the Boston papers and recalled the news when King George III died and his son took his place.
Occasionally, large business ventures were reported, but she couldn't recall any marriage announcements for the nobility.
Elise released a shaky breath. It was unlikely the announcement would make the American papers.
She leaned back against the cushions and closed her eyes.
Looking back, it now seemed ridiculous she hadn't realized there was more to the MacGregor men than mere wealth.
She had missed all of the warning signs. How had she been so blind?
“Oh, Marcus,” she whispered. “What have you done?”
A duke can protect even a murderess, her mind contended. Her insides gave a vicious twist. He could, she agreed. But could his reputation survive the scandal? And could she live with herself for hurting him?
First thing tomorrow morning, she would go to Cameron and demand to leave.
* * *
At the sound of voices in the great hall, Elise paused on the stairs. Who would be roused at this early hour? It wasn't yet dawn.
“I know what ye told me,” a young male voice said.
Tavis.
“Aye,” came another, deeper voice.
Marcus.
“I'm willing to take my punishment, laird,” Tavis said.
Elise didn't breathe.
“I told you not to leave Brahan Seer again,” Marcus said. “You are a man—the only man in your household. You're old enough to understand that responsibility.”
Elise crept down the remaining four stairs and peeked around the corner.
They stood on the far side of the table nearest the postern door, Marcus's hand on Tavis's shoulder, Tavis's gaze downcast. The worry on Marcus's face stirred something deep within her.
The day the Campbells attacked, he had been ruthless.
But this was a gentleness as kind as his ruthlessness had been cruel.
“The thirst for revenge will eat a man alive,” he said.
“I swore to deal with your father's murderers, and did. Leave it be.” He sighed, the action revealing a great weariness.
“If those dogs came for you, even with a warrant from King George, I wouldn't give you up.” A tiny smile played at his mouth.
“Lad, we aren't as different from the Campbells as we believe. They were as unwilling to hand over their kinsmen as I would be.”
Elise couldn't check a surge of hope. He would not give up one of his own—even in the name of justice?
Marcus crossed his arms over his chest. “I have no intention of facing your mother with the news that you have followed your father to the grave. Therefore, you go to London.”
Tavis gasped.
“Nae,” Marcus said. “You will have no more opportunities to go wandering off by yourself.” He raised a brow. “You know your sister follows.”
“I made sure she did not,” the boy protested.
Marcus laughed. “Never underestimate a female, no matter her age.”
“Laird,” Tavis begged, “I promise—”
“Nae,” Marcus said shortly.
“Not London then, but Edinburgh.”
Another laugh from Marcus, this one tinged with fondness. “London it will be, lad. Edinburgh is too close for comfort.”
“Laird,” Tavis said, desperation in his voice.
The mirth in Marcus's eyes faded. “Erin will accompany you to England.”
Elise felt her breath quicken. A decree she would have made had she the power.
Realization washed over her in a tidal wave.
If she confessed the truth, Marcus would sail across the ocean and kill Price with his bare hands.
If she disappeared, he would leave no stone unturned until he found her.
If she told him she would not marry a duke, he would follow her to the ends of the earth in order to change her mind.
God help him, he loved her.
And God help her, she wouldn't sacrifice him… not even for Amelia and Steven.
* * *
Marcus entered the great hall the following afternoon to discover the room filled with people and humming with unexpected excitement.
He scanned the familiar entourage until his gaze settled on his cousin Sophie and, to his surprise, Elise, who looked as though she hadn't a care in the world.
The two women stood, profiles to him, and neither had noticed his entrance. He hung back near the door, watching.
He hadn't spoken with Elise since she left him standing in the abbey the night before.
He had gone to her room early this morning and found her bed empty.
She had slept there, however, a fact he had verified in the dead of night.
His search that morning didn't turn her up in the kitchen or the ladies' drawing room.
Even his library, a favorite haunt, had been empty.
The kitchen maids informed him she and Winnie had gone to visit Chloe.
Marcus studied Elise. What had transpired after she'd sequestered herself in her room?
What other ridiculous considerations surfaced during those waking hours?
She hadn't sought him out to inform him there would be no wedding.
Neither had she confirmed there would be a wedding. No note, no message, nothing.
He shifted his attention to his cousin. Sophie, Lady Whycham, was one of the few Ashlund relatives he liked. Though petite, her flaming red hair and voluptuous body had made her all the rage before she wed Justin Ellington, the Earl of Whycham.
She caught sight of him, ceased speaking, and raised a meticulously plucked brow. Elise turned, and he started toward them.
“Sophie,” he said as he neared. “What brings you here, lass?”