Page 89 of My Highland Love

After we wed. Her stomach did a flip. Time was running out and she had found no answer as to how she would safely and successfully slip away unnoticed. There remained only one answer; she had to tell Marcus she wouldn't marry him. When all was said and done, he was a good man. Once she demanded to be allowed to return home, he wouldn't keep her prisoner.

Kiernan seated himself beside her. She was surrounded. Elise listened as he talked of school, friends, and the upcoming season in London. Everything, she thought, except the one thing that must be in the forefront of his mind. How would she respond? What would she say to this keen young man if he questioned her about her past? Kiernan's gaze turned intense. Her heart rate accelerated. Had she missed something in the conversation?

“I do believe,” he said, “the ton will be set on its ear by my father's new marchioness.”

“Marchioness?” Elise repeated.

Kiernan nodded.

Marchioness… Marchioness—the wife of a marquess. Nobility, Marcus was nobility? Elise's mind raced. What rank was a marquess? Baron, viscount, earl, marquis—marquess—she abruptly felt as though a thick fog had enveloped her brain. If Marcus was a marquess, then Cameron—she nearly choked. Marcus was a high nobleman, and she was an accused murderess—a wanted criminal with a bounty on her head.

“Have I said something?” Kiernan demanded in a low whisper.

Elise's attention jerked back to the young man.

“I meant no offense,” he went on. “Your forthright manner will be a breath of fresh air for London's tainted society.”

“Of course,” she responded in a whisper.

His brow furrowed in concern.

Elise shook her head. “Forgive me. The excitement of the wedding—and London…” she let her voice trail off.

Kiernan hesitated, then smiled in polite acceptance.

Supper ended. Elise waited until Marcus had joined his father and son near the hearth before slipping from the hall.

“Where are ye off to?” Winnie inquired as she hurried through the kitchen.

“I am in need of fresh air.”

Winnie gave a grunt of understanding as Elise passed out into the night. She hurried across the compound and down the lane to the abbey. Father Whyte hadn't appeared for the evening meal and she prayed he wasn't already abed.

Elise entered the chapel to find him kneeling before the candlelit altar. She stopped, intending to make a quiet retreat, but he twisted and looked at her over his shoulder. The smile on his face died when their gazes met.

“What's wrong, child?” He rose and started down the aisle toward her.

Elise hurried forward, meeting him halfway. “Father,” she said without preamble, “if I ask a question, you are obligated to tell the truth, aren't you?”

“Aye.”

“What is Marcus's rank?”

“Rank?”

“Title—rank,” she answered impatiently.

“He is the Marquess of Ashlund.”

Her heart beat faster. “What is a marquess?”

“In this case, he is the son of a duke.”

“A—” Her head reeled. “So Cameron really is a…”

“A duke,” Father Whyte confirmed.

Elise collapsed onto a pew.