Page 100 of My Highland Love

She jerked her gaze onto Marcus. As though aware of her alarm, he looked in her direction. His attention focused on the blanket she still pressed against her cheek. His eyes softened and she knew he realized the blanket's significance. Elise dropped the blanket from her cheek and looked back at the man and woman.

“Thank you,” she said in a hoarse voice.

The man looked at his wife, his pride in Elise's reaction taken as proof they had pleased the lord's bride. He gave a small bow and ushered his wife away. Elise turned and came face to face with Sophie.

“Shall I take that?” Sophie placed a hand on the blanket.

“Oh, Sophie,” she cried in a small voice, “what have I done?”

“One never quite forgets the pain of losing a child,” Sophie said.

The bagpipes struck up, followed immediately by the fiddle, then the remaining instruments blended into one for Elise. She watched as Sophie lifted the blanket and examined the intricate pattern.

“Society would pay a great price for such work,” she commented. “And to think you found it here in the Highlands.” Sophie looked up from the blanket. “Interesting what one finds in the most unlikely places.”

Hours later, the revelry showed no signs of abating, so Elise retired. Sophie saw to her undressing, then the donning of the nightgown she had given Elise as a wedding gift. The gown made of pale-green silk brushed her ankles. She hadn't worn a night dress so fine since leaving Boston. Sophie slipped the sleeves of the matching robe over her arms. Elise examined the small satin rosettes encircling each sleeve hem.

“Lovely,” she murmured.

Sophie stepped back and surveyed her. “You're lovely, and Marcus is sure to agree.”

Elise grimaced, although inwardly she trembled. The heated look in his eyes when she'd turned before going up the stairs made her stomach do somersaults every time she remembered their passion. Why in heaven this should be so, she couldn't fathom. Tonight would not be the first time they'd made love. How much closer to love might tonight bring her?

Sophie assisted her into the large, four-poster bed and pulled the covers up to her chin. She kissed Elise's forehead then left. When the door clicked shut, Elise turned onto her side, facing the low-burning fire. Sophie had said the men would keep Marcus occupied well into the night. It seemed every time she had glanced in his direction, his glass was being filled. Father and son were following his example. She expected the lot of them to pass out on the stone floor of the great hall.

A glint from the corner dresser drew her attention. A gold chain, another gift from Marcus, sat beside a garnet-crowned heart brooch. A gift from Cameron. The brooch had belonged to Marcus's mother. Moisture had glistened in Cameron's eyes when he pinned it on her dress. Tears stung her eyes. What would Marcus's mother have thought of her son marrying a murderess? Elise slipped an arm beneath her pillow and hugged it close as she drifted off to dreams of ships tossed about by high winds, a child lost in the darkness, and a man who called from a place she couldn't distinguish.

* * *

“Quiet, lads.” Marcus slapped Declan's shoulder. He rode atop the shoulders of Declan and Kiernan. “Ye are sure to wake the dead.”

Declan pretended to misstep, jostling him. Marcus grasped Declan's shoulder.

“Don't make me fetch my sword and deal with you,” Marcus laughed.

The procession of men stopped before the new lady's bedchambers. Declan kicked open the door. It hit the wall with a resounding bang and Elise bolted upright with a small cry. She blinked against the soft light of the candle illuminating her nightstand. At the sight of disheveled brown locks cascading down her shoulders and over the creamy rise of her breasts, Marcus's groin tightened. She looked from him to Declan. When her gaze came to Kiernan, her eyes widened and she snatched the sheet up to her chin.

Probably best, Marcus realized. Kiernan was no threat, but a band of drunken Highlanders barred the only exit. He bit back a laugh when her attention shifted to the top of his head where, earlier, had sat the now-missing bonnet. Her gaze traveled downward, her eyes narrowing when they reached the missing shirt buttons—a shirt open to his navel and only half tucked into a kilt, which looked as though it might come unpleated with a brisk sneeze.

Her gaze lifted to his face. “Is there something you want, milord?”

Guffaws followed, along with several straightforward answers to her query. Marcus noted her chagrin in the form of pink cheeks. He patted Kiernan's and Declan's shoulders. They lowered him to the floor while Declan added his compliments upon Marcus's wisdom if he heeded their advice. The request they be allowed to remain followed as Elise's attention settled on Declan. Marcus glanced at Declan, who winked at her, and Marcus knew Declan was extracting a bit of revenge for the cuff with the frying pan.

“We have brought your new lord to you, lass,” Declan said, his deep voice resonating above the general commotion. “He's a wee bit worn, but you need not worry. He'll have no trouble wielding his sword for you tonight.”

The men fairly shook with raucous laughter. Elise gave a ladylike sniff, but Declan gave no evidence of noticing the cool look she sent his way.

She gave Marcus an appraising glance, then addressed Declan. “He looks worse for the wear. I suggest you put him in his own chambers. I have no need of a husband who is useless.”

The men succumbed to more uproarious laughter. All, that is, except Marcus. He stepped forward and, heedless of her sudden cry and valiant attempt to keep the sheet wrapped around herself, pulled her to him.

“I assure you, sweet, I am quite fit for tonight's activities.”

Whoops of approval went up as he kissed her quick and hard. With a jerk of his head, he cleared the room, never breaking eye contact with his wife. Finally, when everyone had gone and the last of the suggestions and general advice had faded from the room, Marcus released her. He stepped back and appraised her. She kneeled half naked on the bed, hair tousled as he remembered it on those occasions she had allowed him into her bed.

He wondered if she thought he wouldn't come to her, then noticed the sleeves of the filmy pale robe and night shift she wore. A gift from Sophie, no doubt. Did the wearing of the gift indicate his new wife anticipated his coming? She had uttered not a word about the discovery of his title, but she had married him. Was that enough? Had she forgiven him?

Marcus hadn't pressed her, fearing he would further tip the scales in his disfavor. She had gone about the business of the wedding as any bride might—any bride who considered marriage a business, that is. She had surprised him, unexpectedly joining him and his men yesterday when they went to the village. She had, when he'd made the mistake of addressing her familiarly, looked as though she would bolt for the castle. The look on her face then, he realized, wasn't so dissimilar from the look she wore now.