Page 51 of My Highland Love

Cameron gave a final grunt, then sobered. He focused on Marcus. “Is this true? I had thought—” he broke off with a slight cough and a sideways glance at Elise.

Marcus swung his gaze onto Elise. “What are you doing?”

“Marcus,” Cameron cut him off.

Marcus looked at his father.

“Is it true?” Cameron repeated.

“Damn close,” Marcus replied with force.

“Marcus!” Elise cried.

“Do not act as if it isn't true,” he replied irritably.

She shot to her feet. “You are no gentleman, sir.”

“Elise,” his father said, “sit.”

She cast a dark glance at Marcus. He raised a brow, but she did as ordered and reseated herself.

Cameron addressed Marcus. “Is it true, lad?”

“Aye, she speaks the truth.”

“Margaret ought not to have lied.” Cameron gave Marcus a quick glance. “'Course, she had no way of knowing it was a lie.” He rubbed his chin. “If ye don't belong to Marcus—”

“Cameron!” Marcus strode across the room to his father's side.

Elise leapt from her chair. “Be quiet, Marcus MacGregor, and let your father speak.”

“She may have a point,” Cameron said.

Marcus kept his gaze on Cameron. “Father,” he growled, “you know my feelings on this.”

“Aye, lad, but if you haven't done anything about it yet—”

“Cameron—”

“I warn you, Marcus.” Elise stalked toward him. “Remain silent and let your father finish, or I'll…” she stopped, looking wildly about the room. Her gaze stopped on the weapons mounted on the wall, and she ran to them.

Marcus cast his father a look and they both burst out laughing. Elise made a frustrated sound as she began tugging on a scabbard containing a large sword. The weapon remained fixed and she moved to another. That one didn't budge, nor the next or the next.

“Elise, lass,” Cameron said between howls of laughter, “you're tugging on the scabbards.” He laughed even harder. “If you wish to draw a weapon”—he slapped the table with his hand, “grab the”—he gasped with laughter—”hilt.” He doubled over with laughter. “By God,” he wheezed, “are ye sure you're not Irish, lass?”

“Irish?” She laid a hand on the hilt of a lady's sgian dubh mounted above the swords she had already tried. “You've never seen an Irish temper like my father's. Except, perhaps”—she turned back to the wall—”mine.”

Elise pulled the dagger free of its scabbard. She stepped a pace from the wall, drew back, and threw the knife. The sgian dubh whizzed between Marcus and his father, entering the wooden table with a loud thwang.

Aside from a “Sweet mother of God” from the kitchen doorway, silence reigned. Both men stared at the knife.

Marcus pulled the dagger free of the wood and held it up, looking at her. “You missed.”

She raised a brow. “I did not.”

“Sweet mother of God,” Cameron repeated. “Where did you learn to throw a knife like that?”

She gave him a disgusted look.