Cowboys and Highlanders (16 page)

"You had better move, lass," one woman called. "He's coming for ye, and if he catches you…" Peals of laughter followed.

Elise's eyes abruptly shifted and she scanned her surroundings before returning to him. Marcus smiled. Her eyes narrowed, then she dove into the water. He halted, waiting for her to resurface. Seconds ticked by and she didn't reappear. He scanned the water. A sudden round of triumphant shouts went up from the women and he whirled to see Elise rising from the water some thirty feet behind him. She started for the shore, her progress labored through the hip-deep water. By God, he would have to put his back into it to catch her before she reached her clothes! She glanced back, throwing him a satisfied smirk.

Oh ho!
She may not have known the game, but she caught on fast. Marcus dove into the water, his strong strokes speeding him through the deeper water until he reached knee deep. He rose, the water no longer a hindrance to his fast pumping legs. His feet pounded onto the shore and, with a burst of energy, he closed the gap between them. In a final sprint, he dove for her, his arms encircling her waist as he brought her to the ground.

Elise sputtered and he realized she had gotten a mouthful of sandy dirt.

"Oh!" she spat. "Let me go!"

Marcus allowed her to thrash in his grasp until she had twisted into a prone position facing him. He settled his weight on her. She beat at his chest. He chuckled and hugged her closer, trapping her arms between them.

"Let me go!" she howled, kicking her heels on the ground like a spoiled child.

Marcus tried looking innocent but knew he failed miserably. "Nay."

"What in God's name are you doing? Why have you attacked me? This is an outrage!" Her voice rose as she twisted in a serious effort to dislodge him.

"Now, why do you say that, love? I am only playing with you."

She looked at him as if he had lost his mind. Her eyes narrowed to slits. "One does not attack a defenseless woman."

"Lass, I think you are anything but defenseless. Although, I am enjoying myself at your expense." Marcus bent his head to whisper in her ear, "The women didn't explain the game."

He went on to explain how, each year, the women came to the loch, and their men later followed. Those with wives sought them out, some in sport, some with the intentions of a child arriving nine months later. Those wanting to make a woman their wife came with the hope that the love play would lead to the consummation of a betrothal. When Marcus finished, a blush had made its way from Elise's cheek to the delicate ear he'd been whispering into.

"
No
," she said, her eyes wide.

Marcus grinned. "Aye."

She looked past him and he glanced over his shoulder to find several women regarding them with interest.

"I would like to get up now," Elise said.

He looked back at her. "Aye." He came to his knees. Before she could rise, he slid his arms beneath her, cupping her to his chest.

She gave him an impatient shove as he rose. "Set me down."

Marcus assumed a thoughtful expression. "Nay. I have won and deserve my reward."

Elise lifted a brow. "Just what reward would that be, sir?"

He grinned. Aye, she had learned the game. He stepped behind the cover of the bushes he had occupied earlier and paused, uncertain what he wanted to do with her. Marcus laughed inwardly. He knew exactly what he wanted to do with her. He simply hadn't decided how to go about it. One thing he did know, however, he was enjoying the feel of her wet chemise against him far too much to release her just yet.

He kissed her. She pushed against his chest and Marcus realized she wasn't about to let him make love to her in plain sight of the other women. He laid her on the ground and came down upon her, gently this time. He tugged her chemise high enough to free her legs and settle between them. Her grip on his shoulders tightened. He kissed her again. Hard. She tensed.

"Shh," he soothed. "Let me please you."

He slid a moist kiss down her cheek, then along her neck. "Just a little love play," he whispered.

He didn't intend on taking her there, tumbling her like a serving wench, but please her, he would. Slowly, he smoothed a hand along her outer thigh. Grasping her chemise, he bunched it until his fingers touched the soft flesh beneath. Elise turned her head, her cheek against his, and placed a kiss on his jaw. Marcus breathed deep.

He slipped his hand beneath her and cupped her buttocks. "I swear to only please you this time."

"We aren't—" She gasped as he lifted her buttocks, meeting her flesh with a gentle rotation of his shaft against her sex.

Her breath came quicker. He caressed her buttocks, her hip. A distant pounding of hooves stabbed through the cloud of desire. He paused, his hand on her pelvis. Again, a distant sound—a roll of thunder? He lifted his head. In a flash, the memory of the dream he'd had while at Declan's washed over him.

Elise's grip on his shoulder tightened. "What is it?"

Shrieks sounded.

The women
.

Marcus shoved to his knees. He peered through the bushes. Riding like hell hounds toward them were seven Campbell warriors.

Seven
, his mind repeated calmly,
not an army like that in his dream. Only seven.

He leapt to his feet.

"Who are they?" Elise called.

His hand shot to his side. Bloody hell, he'd left his sword at the keep.
Foolish mistake
. Marcus swung his gaze to the two warriors sent to guard the women. He made out the red of their
plaide
behind bushes thirty feet down shore. He glanced up the mountainside at Brahan Seer. Why were no warriors charging down the hill?
They must have seen the riders.

Elise scrambled to her feet and Marcus whirled. He shoved her to the ground. "Do not move!" He turned back to watch the Campbells approach.

The women shrieked. Those on the shore raced for the water, joining their comrades who had taken to deeper waters.

"Marcus!" Elise cried.

He looked to see her standing, then glanced at the oncoming men. His heart thumped wildly.
Had they seen her?
Marcus grabbed her wrist, yanking her back to the ground.

"Nell," she said, struggling to rise and pointing to the right of their hiding place.

Marcus looked. There, sleeping soundly on the shore, lay Nell, a young maid who had only last week begun working in the castle. Despite the ruckus, she didn't stir. Marcus recalled that she was deaf in one ear. His heart leapt into his throat.

"Do not move," he ground out, and turned back to peer through the bush.

The other women had swum safely to deeper waters. Someone cried out Nell's name, but the girl didn't wake. Marcus looked at the Campbells. Two of the seven comrades reached the women's clothes and halted. More shrieks came from the women as they swam farther from shore. The two Campbells scanned the frantic women but made no move to pursue them.

One of the Campbells said something indistinguishable. Marcus strained to make out the other's response but without success. They continued to scrutinize the women, their attention moving farther to the right where Nell lay. They would see her in an instant. Marcus stood and stepped around the bush into full sight. He took two paces in the direction of his warriors' hiding place.

"Look!" one of the Campbells shouted, and the other turned in Marcus's direction.

Marcus spied a large piece of driftwood. He hurried the few paces to the wood and snatched it up. He kept his gaze on the Campbell who had called out as he snapped off two small branches and dropped them. Four of the five remaining Campbells joined their companions.

"Ha!" one of the newcomers exclaimed. "The MacGregor thinks to bring us down with a stick of wood."

The man unsheathed his sword and kicked his horse's belly. The beast lunged forward. The man bore down upon Marcus and swung his sword. Marcus deflected the blow with the driftwood as the horse shot past, and pivoted full circle, hitting the man across the back with the wood. A loud crack sounded and the man fell to the ground limp. Two more Campbells spurred their horses toward him.

He sprang forward, headed for the fallen Campbell's sword. He reached the weapon with a dive, barely missing the sweep of an oncoming rider's sword. The Campbell barreled past while his companion wheeled his horse hard right to intercept. The Campbells nearest the shore shouted and two more of them shot toward Marcus.

Marcus sprang to his feet, his steel meeting that of the man who had cut him off. Marcus faltered a step under the power of his opponent's swing. The man parried left, smiling as though already tasting victory. Marcus saw the man's fingers tighten around his mount's reins and, just as the horse turned, Marcus thrust his sword into his midsection. He twisted the weapon, then yanked it free.

The man cried out. He clutched his belly and slumped forward in the saddle. Blood gushed despite the arm he wrapped around himself. Marcus leapt forward and grabbed his shoulder. The Campbell swatted at him, his blood-soaked arm leaving a streak of blood down his arm, but Marcus's fingers found purchase, and he yanked him from the saddle.

Marcus grabbed the pummel and pulled himself into the saddle in time to see his two men close in on the Campbell warrior who had shot past him. The man gave a violent slap of reins against his steed's rump in an effort to elude them. John lunged forward, swinging the blunt side of his sword across the horse's knee. The horse stumbled, then fell to his knees, throwing its rider. Marcus wheeled his mount around to face the two Campbells who were nearly upon him when the thunder of hooves rolled down the mountainside. He cut his gaze to the left and saw a dozen MacGregor warriors speeding downhill.

A woman cried out, then Elise shouted, "Marcus! They have Nell!"

He jerked his attention to the girl. His gut wrenched when one Campbell rounded his attention on Elise and stared. Marcus yanked his horse's reins to the right. The animal whirled and Marcus dug his heels into its flanks. In four great strides, he met his opponent's sword with his own. The Campbell pulled his mount hard left. Marcus gave his horse a fierce kick. The horse charged and he thrust his sword into the Campbell's side even as the man's gaze met his.

The man's eyes bulged. He reached out as if to grab Marcus. Marcus yanked his sword from the man's body. The man's mouth worked. Marcus whirled his horse toward the warrior who had captured Nell. The guards from Brahan Seer flew across the shore in his path, Erin in the lead.

"Erin!" Marcus shouted, then to one of the other men, "You!" Both men broke from their party and spun toward him. "Take her back to the keep." He jabbed his sword in Elise's direction. "Erin, you're with me."

In an instant, the warrior reached Elise. She shook her head.

"Take her!" Marcus ordered, and slapped the reins across his horse's rump.

He drove his mount, staying a nose ahead of Erin. Nell's heels unexpectedly kicked the belly of the Campbell's horse.

Fight, lass, fight!
Marcus urged.

The Campbell's fisted hand rose and he tensed. The fist fell hard and Nell went limp. Marcus's blood froze.

The ground softened as the shores of Loch Katrine changed from rocky sand to marsh. Marcus smiled coldly. One had to know the land well to ride this section of the shore, which the Campbell warrior did not. The man's horse faltered. He glanced over his shoulder, then flung Nell to the ground. Erin cried out. An even darker rage shot through Marcus.

They reached Nell.

"Take her home!" Marcus shouted without stopping.

The Campbell's horse stumbled again, then crashed to the ground, pinning his rider's leg beneath him. The animal struggled to rise, gave a shrill whinny, then heaved his full weight onto the man's leg. The Campbell arched in pain. After an instant's heavy breathing, he craned his head in Marcus's direction. Marcus lifted his sword. In ten seconds, the warrior would be his. The man shoved frantically at the horse's back, his gaze glued on Marcus.

Marcus tightened his grip on the sword. The man's gaze shifted to the raised weapon. He leveraged a foot on the horse's back, pushing with all his might. Marcus discerned strain in his arm muscles as, with one great heave, the man slid his leg from beneath the horse.

The warrior scrambled to his knees, lunging for his sword as Marcus raised his weapon and cried,
"Buadhaich!"
With one mighty swing of the claymore, Marcus sliced across the man's neck.

Marcus wheeled his horse around and, his gaze straight ahead, tread over the body as he raced toward home.

Marcus closed the door of his library with a deceptively soft click and raked his gaze across the men standing in tense silence. "We have a traitor. When I discover who that man is—" His glare halted on his father, who sat in the chair nearest the hearth. Marcus caught the glitter of Cameron's eyes in the firelight before swinging his attention to Daniel. "You have made the changes in security?"

"Aye, laird," Daniel said, his mouth grim.

"Marcus," his father began.

"Aye?" Marcus took two paces and halted abruptly beside his desk.

Cameron sighed.

"The attack took place during the mid-afternoon change of guard." Marcus's words shook with the rage of self-reproach. "I should have realized—bloody hell, my thoughts were on what awaited me at the loch, just like those men who were hurrying from their duty at the wall. 'Tis true," he said, the reproach turned to bitterness, "logic bows to a man's cock."

He had always been prepared. The men who guarded the walls monitored the village to the east, the loch to the west, and the valley that stretched for miles to the south. The weight of guilt bore down in greater measure. His people depended upon him. Yet the enemy found a crack in his defenses. A shudder ran through him. Nell had very nearly been a casualty of his carelessness. Had Katie's life been forfeit because of such negligence? Aye, she still lived, her heart beat, she breathed, but her mind had ceased to work. Her spirit lay hidden in some dark corner of her being. He had failed her, as he had nearly failed—

Marcus slammed his fist down on the desk. "Who informed the Campbells of the routine? They attacked our women before our very eyes. Why such a bold move?"

Cameron answered in a low voice, "It doesn't seem strange to ye, lad, that we've had Campbells on our land three times in as many months?"

Marcus's mouth hardened. "Aye. But why?"

"Mayhap the why and who are the same?"

Marcus stilled. "What do you mean?"

They stared at one another for a moment before Cameron said to the men, "Lads, leave me with my son."

The men filed out, the last closing the door behind him.

Cameron looked at Marcus. "You mean to say you don't know?" Marcus only looked at him and his father went on, "You know well enough the trouble began with Elise."

"Aye, they are using her—"

"You are sure it's them using her?"

Marcus started. A surge of anger rammed through him, the first genuine hostility he'd ever felt for his father. "Bloody hell, Cameron, you're saying Elise is in league with the Campbells. They nearly killed her."

"Nay," Cameron replied. "In fact, the lass returned in remarkably good shape."

"The tracks I saw say otherwise."

"You are a fine tracker, but you are no master. You should have had Johnson—"

"I did take Johnson, if you recall," Marcus interrupted.

"But he did not see the tracks you interpreted as her capture."

"I made no mistake in my interpretation. What has happened? You were in favor of my having her."

"Aye," Cameron said. "And I like her. But that does not change the fact she is the most likely suspect."

Elise's expression when he sent John with her to the loch came to mind. She had been angry. Any woman would be angry. He had nearly imprisoned her—and why?

"She lived here four months before I arrived with no such trouble," Marcus insisted.

"Mayhap the Campbells intended you to want her so they could use her against you."

Marcus laughed harshly. "The woman who escaped the Campbells was no collaborator. Nay, Cameron, you have no grounds for suspicion."

"How long have they hated us?" his father demanded with more vehemence than he'd heard in his voice since before his mother's death.

Blood lust shot through Marcus. "I will kill every last one of them."

"Aye. And condemn more men to die. What of their wives—their children?"

"We have dealt with them for years—centuries," Marcus snapped.

Cameron grunted. "King George is likely to tire completely of the fight and finance the MacGregor's annihilation."

Though King George had remained quiet, Marcus knew the king forbade any Campbell reprisal after Marcus attacked Assipatle in retaliation for Katie MacGregor's rape. His intervention had saved many lives. But the sovereign's mood swung between reality and fantasy, his mind controlled by liquor and the laudanum he kept ready at his bedside. Where his loyalties would lie tomorrow was anyone's guess.

"If he takes that course of action, he'll regret it as long as I draw breath," Marcus bit back.

Cameron slumped against the chair cushion. "I dinna' want to bury my only son." He looked directly into Marcus's eyes. "You have a son. What will be his legacy?"

"By God, Cameron, you would have me believe Elise is a spy and, in the same breath, demand I change the course of the raging river that is the Campbells." He strode to the door. "I will keep you apprised of my progress in discovering our traitor's identity." He yanked open the door. "Rest assured, when I find the guilty party—no matter who they are—there will be no place for them on this earth, save the grave."

Minutes later, Marcus entered the kitchen and scanned the busy room. "Winnie, where's Elise?"

Winnie turned from the counter, tray in hand, and handed it to a girl waiting nearby. "With Nell."

"Nell?" he demanded in a voice which quieted the bustle in the kitchen.

"Aye."

"Elise dared leave the keep after today—and especially at night?"

"So far as I know, she did not step foot outside the walls. I settled Nell in my cottage. With her mother dead and her aunt run off to wed, Elise offered to sit with her." He winced when Winnie added, "I feared leaving her alone." Winnie grasped a pitcher of water sitting on the cabinet. "Back to work," she ordered the women, shoving the pitcher toward a girl who took it and scurried toward the great hall. Winnie focused again on him.

"Elise will not be here for the evening meal then?" he asked.

"I sent their meals to my cottage."

Marcus gave a curt nod, then strode past the women and out the back door.

When he arrived at the cottage, he knocked lightly. Hearing no answer, he pushed the door open to find food sitting on the table untouched and both women missing. Marcus hurried back to the castle. He looked in Elise's room. His heart rate kicked up at finding it empty. He went next to the ladies' drawing room, but even as he opened the door he sensed the silence.

Dread coiled tight in his gut at sight of the empty room. If she wasn't inside the keep and she hadn't attempted to pass through the gates, only one answer remained: she had left through the passageway leading from the dungeons. Why go to such lengths to leave unseen? His father's words earlier returned,
"…she is the most likely suspect."
He remembered her agitation when he sent John with her. She couldn't be the traitor, it simply wasn't possible
.
Why,
his mind asked?
Because you love her?

"Yes," he snarled, and slammed the door.

She could be in his library. But even the warmth that wafted out to meet him as he opened the library door didn't dispel the deadly silence. He looked at the chair his father had occupied earlier—the chair he had discovered Elise curled up in on many occasions.
"Mayhap the why and the who are the same
," his father had said.

Marcus shook himself from the vise which gripped him, then closed the door on the vacant room. He considered employing more men in the search. Nay. If he found evidence of her culpability, he would deal with her before he could change his mind. He strode down the corridor, continuing through the castle until reaching the last sconce burning in that wing of the castle. He disengaged the light from the wall, then took the final steps to the staircase leading into the bowels of Brahan Seer.

Narrow step after narrow step, Marcus wound his way down to what, during his grandfather's rule, had been dungeons where he incarcerated criminals such as the one who betrayed them that afternoon. He paused in the long corridor before one of the cells and gave the door a shove. With a grinding creak, the heavy iron swung open. The sconce's flame jumped as if gasping for breath.

Marcus settled his gaze on the iron shackles hanging on the far wall in open defiance of time's passage. How would a woman survive chained in those irons? If Elise braved these dungeons, had even a tremor passed through her when she hurried by these rooms of torture? What sort of woman entered such a place?

A woman with something to hide.

He hurried past the cell to the next right turn, stopping at the sudden dead end. Squatting, Marcus lowered the sconce and slowly edged the light forward in order to examine the stone floor and discerned a single set of boot prints beneath the thin layer of dust. His heart pounded against his chest. He jerked the sconce up, searching the wall for the hairline crack recognizable only to one who knew it existed. He found the seam and depressed the spot. The panel sprang open with a squeal.

Marcus rose and stepped inside the passageway. Sconce low, he proceeded slowly, inspecting the packed dirt floor until he reached the end of the passageway. He faced left where lay the concealed door which opened to the outside and pushed against the door. The stone slid noiselessly open and he stepped into the night.

Ten minutes later, Marcus entered the kitchen again. "Elise is not to be found." He stopped before Winnie.

"Surely ye aren't worried," she said, but Marcus had caught the flicker of surprise in her expression.

"Who took the meal to them?"

"Bartholomew."

He started for the door.

"By now he's on duty at the wall," she called as he disappeared into the darkness.

Moments later, Marcus mounted the battlement stairs and found Bartholomew standing guard on the west corner of the wall. The guard straightened at his approach.

"You delivered the food to the women in Winnie's cottage?" Marcus demanded.

"Aye, laird."

"Were the women in the cottage when you arrived?"

Bartholomew shook his head.

Marcus narrowed his eyes. "And you thought nothing of it?"

He swallowed. "I didn't know I should."

Marcus hesitated, then turned and hurried along the battlements and down the stairs. He returned to Winnie's cottage but found nothing changed.

This time, when he entered the kitchen, Winnie halted the task of pulling scones from their baking pan and watched his approach.

He stopped beside the table. "They weren't in the cottage when Bartholomew delivered the meal."

Her gaze moved past him.

"What's wrong?" came Elise's voice at his back.

He pivoted to face her. Nell stood alongside her. "Where the blazes have you been?"

Elise's brow snapped into a frown.

"Well?"

"We were on the hill, near the storehouse," she replied.

Marcus looked at Nell.

"Aye, laird, we—" she looked at Elise.

"What is it?" he demanded.

"We were star gazing," Elise said in a reprimand.

He glanced at her, then looked back at Nell. "You two have been together all evening?"

"Aye," she said, obviously confused.

"By God," he muttered, and advanced toward them. Elise blinked and Nell retreated a pace, but he continued forward. When within reach of them, he grabbed Elise's wrist and started toward the great hall. Several men stared from the doorway.

"Be about your business," he ordered.

The men scattered in a hurried scuffle as he pulled Elise through the doorway and into the noisy hall. The din quieted slightly, men parting as he strode to the stairway.

"Marcus, what—"

"Hush," he commanded without looking back at her.

She didn't balk until they reached the door to her bedchamber. There, she yanked her hand free of his grasp.

He whirled on her. "Where were you?"

"I told you."

"I searched all of Brahan Seer."

"Clearly not all, or you would have found us. Ridiculous," she added in a mutter. "You act as if we need worry while inside the keep."

"Worry?" he repeated. "The Campbells meant harm, Elise. Did you think I would let them touch you?"

Her brow furrowed. He discerned the quick lift and fall of her breasts, the surprise—uncertainty perhaps? His body tightened. He realized the desire to take her with quick and hard actions.

"No," she replied.

He jarred from the erotic picture of her against the wall, him pressed between her legs. "Seeing you"—she faltered—"seeing them…" She shook her head, ending with a quiet, "It was strange."

"The Highlands are far more violent than Boston," he shot back.

She hesitated and his blood chilled when he realized it wasn't the violence of the Highlands that had startled her, but the violence in him. He felt anew the cut of his sword through Campbell flesh. He tensed, this time in fury.