Page 37 of My Highland Love

“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.”

“Three days?” Marcus exclaimed. “Had you not gone by way of Solway Firth—”

“Yes,” Elise agreed in a voice far removed from Scotland—from him. “Yes.”

“Why take that route?”

She shrugged. “We encountered bad weather and must have been blown off course. I didn't concern myself with the route.” The bitterness in her voice said she now counted that a mistake.