Page 74 of My Highland Love

Marcus indicated the chair in front of his desk. “It has,” he said, noting Loudoun hadn't had the good grace to acknowledge his tardiness. It was impossible to civilize a cur.

The earl seated himself. “I understand you wish to see me on a matter of some importance.” Bored amusement shone in his green eyes.

“Have you seen your Hastings clansmen lately?” Marcus asked without preamble.

Surprise flitted across Loudoun's features, but he replied, the boredom reaching his voice, “Haven't been to Scotland in an age. Why?”

“They attacked a group of women at Brahan Seer.”

Surprise resurfaced. Then… satisfaction in the guise of disbelief. “Come now,” he drawled. “Surely, you are mistaken.”

“I was there.”

“I suppose one cannot question the word of the Marquess of Ashlund. Was your father, the duke, there as well?”

“Nae. You know anything of the attack?”

“Me?” The earl laughed. “I never involve myself in the petty squabbles on that side of the family.” He studied Marcus. “Attacked your women, did they?”

Marcus nodded.

Loudoun shrugged. “Probably just wanted a bit of sport. Why bother yourself? If someone had been hurt or if it had been cattle—”

“Do not try my temper,” Marcus cut in. “You know nothing of it?”

“As I said, I have little to do with those barbarians.”

“In that you may be wise. I assume you still exercise some authority over them?”

“I suppose so. Can't say I've ever cared to try. Their actions are their own, so long as they don't interfere with my life.”

“Spoken like a true Campbell,” Marcus muttered.

Loudoun's eyes flickered, and there was a biting edge in his cultured voice when he said, “Unlike you, Ashlund, I am far removed from those people. I don't live in the wilds of Scotland, yearning for the days of old.”

“It isn't the days of old I yearn for, but, like any civilized man, simple peace. Yet, it is your clansmen who make that impossible.”

“Mayhap you should appeal to our king. He is in a better position than I to help.”

“Mayhap,” Marcus agreed. “Unfortunately, he's not in England. I should warn you, if trouble arises before he returns, you may find your clansmen intruding upon your life. Castle Kalchurn is between Brahan Seer and Assipattle, if I recall.”

The earl's face tightened. “You have no cause to threaten me, MacGregor. I've done nothing. I am not involved in this matter, I tell you.”

“Ah, but you are. Despite your complacent attitude, you would not be saddened to hear of my demise or the demise of any MacGregor, for that matter—man or woman—which makes you as guilty as your kinsmen. Now,” Marcus leaned forward, elbows on his desk, “if there's a possibility you can get to the bottom of this before it turns into something we will all regret, you would find me most appreciative.”

“Just what the devil does that mean?” Loudoun demanded.

“It means, my dear Earl, that I might refrain from running a sword through your black heart.”

* * *

Marcus found Kiernan at his favorite club. Pausing to observe his son as he lounged in one of the plush chairs, pride filled his heart at the man the boy was becoming. Kiernan's brow furrowed in response to something he read in the paper spread across the arm of his chair, and a tenderness stirred in Marcus at recalling where Kiernan had learned that look. It amazed him how much the boy resembled Jenna.

The old sadness revived in Marcus. There had been no great love between him and Jenna. The marriage could have been better. She hadn't been happy. Despite his noble blood, he was a Highlander—a clan leader—and Jenna couldn't comprehend the archaic way of life. Marcus hadn't been able to find it in his heart to blame her. She was of Scottish blood, not Highland. Never the twain shall meet, she had once said.

Still, he grieved when she died. Kiernan, a boy of ten, had been inconsolable. Marcus worried his son had never quite forgiven the world for taking her from him. Even now, he glimpsed flashes of resentment. They were rare, but the emotion ran deep. Kiernan always seemed to ask—to demand—why Marcus had been unable to save her when she'd been thrown from her horse. She hadn't died immediately. It would have been better if she had. Instead, she'd lingered a day, an afternoon, really.

Kiernan had stolen into his mother's room while she lay dying. Jenna hadn't wakened. Whether that was better or not, Marcus had never been sure. But Kiernan had said his good-byes. Marcus recalled seeing the lad on his knees beside his mother's bed. When he entered the room, Kiernan remained motionless. Neither moved for some time. At last, the boy rose and left.