Page 138 of My Highland Love

“Elise,” he called, but she had already disappeared back into the stables. Bloody hell, at this rate it would be another six weeks before he got his wife back to the house, much less into his bed. He strode back inside the stables.

His heart jumped into his throat. In the instant before he broke into a run toward Elise, he took in the sight of Kiernan riding through the stable doors, Silas stepping from the stall next to the door, knife poised for throwing, and Elise grabbing the trimming scissors from the table. She hurled them toward Silas as she had thrown the sgian dubh that day at Brahan Seer.

The scissors hit their intended victim with deadly accuracy between the shoulder blades. Blood darkened the dirty shirt he wore. Silas faltered and turned, eyes wide with surprise. His expression contorted into rage. He roared and lunged toward her. Kiernan whirled his mount around to face the sudden commotion. His gaze met Marcus's, then Kiernan shouted and dug his heels into his horse's ribs. The beast's nostrils flared as he dipped his head and charged. Marcus forced his legs to pump harder. Silas would still reach Elise before either of them did.

She pivoted and grabbed the hoof pick hanging on the wall. The hair on Marcus's neck rose when Silas clutched at her. She swung the hoof pick. Kiernan reached them as she slashed Silas's arm. The horse slammed into Silas and he was knocked forward and into Elise. He grabbed her, but Marcus leapt between them, shoving her behind him. The table crashed onto its side and Elise cried out. Marcus seized Silas's collar and pounded his fist into the man's jaw.

“Father,” Kiernan shouted as he leapt from his horse.

Marcus swung Silas around and sent him flying through the door of the stall. Silas banged into the wall and crumbled to the ground. Marcus whirled to face Elise. His breath came in quick, deep gasps—much like hers. She met his gaze, eyes blazing. He looked at Silas. The scissors had fallen from his back onto the straw-laden ground beside him. Marcus looked back at Elise.

“You never told me where you learned to throw a knife like that!” he shouted.

She blinked as if yanked from a dream. “Steven—” her voice caught, but Marcus realized it was the last vestiges of fear—and rage. “Steven learned as a young boy. I-I always feared he would hurt himself, so I attended his practices.”

Elise yanked her skirt above her ankles and strode to the stall opening. She stared at Silas, her hands clenched on the fistful of skirt she held. She pivoted as Marcus stepped up behind her and collided with him. He grasped her shoulders.

She grabbed his arms as though to steady herself. “Will we ever be free of him?”

In her eyes, Marcus saw the fear he had felt when he saw Silas poised to murder his son. Marcus glanced around and spotted the bucket of water he was looking for several stalls down. He fetched it, then pushed past Elise and Kiernan and threw the water on the unconscious man. Silas awoke with a sputter. Marcus seized him by his collar and yanked him to his feet.

“Who sent you?” Marcus shouted.

Silas cowed.

“Tell me or I'll kill you here and now.”

“That woman.” Silas cringed.

“Woman?” Marcus gave him a hard shake.

Silas went silent.

“Kiernan! Give me your pistol.”

“No,” Silas cried.

Marcus lifted his fist for another blow.

“Ross!” Silas shouted. “Lady Ross.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Elise stilled at the sound of Marcus's bedchamber door opening. She rose and stole through the closet which separated their two rooms, then knocked lightly on his door, and entered. He looked up from where he stood near the nightstand on the far side of the bed. Her heart lurched. She had suspected he kept a mistress, but seeing him now, hair tousled, cravat missing, the top button of his shirt undone, there was no mistaking the fact he had just risen from another woman's bed. The mental picture of Marcus kissing the rise of her breasts, then taking her nipple into his mouth filled her vision.

“Elise?”

She snapped back to the present. “I—” Her gaze caught on his hands—hands that had once touched her, had once—the urge to cry sprang up. No, she wouldn't cry. She had made her bed. She would live with the consequences.

“I wondered how things went with Lady Ross's trial,” she said. “Is it over?”

Marcus reached around his back and pulled out the revolver stuffed into his waistband.

Where had the revolver lain when he made love to his mistress?

“It is over,” he replied. “She claims to know nothing of a plot to kill Kiernan.” Marcus glanced at her. “I suspect she wanted you dead. Though she denies that as well. I don't know how, but it is clear she was in league with Ardsley. Margaret had no reason to kill Kiernan.”

Elise started to ask how he could be so sure when he said, “She won't face prison.” He gave a mirthless laugh. “England is not about to put one of her noblewomen in prison, even if she is Scottish. She is to go to America.” Marcus's expression abruptly darkened. “Do you intend on standing in doorways the remainder of our marriage?”