My Highland Love (Highland Lords, #1)
Tarah Scott
Dedication
This book is dedicated to my two very good friends and critique partners, Kimberly Comeau and Evan Trevane. You guys read this book above and beyond the call of duty. Thank you.
My Highland Love
How does a woman tell her betrothed she murdered her first husband?
Elise Kingston is a wanted woman. Nothing, not even Highlander Marcus MacGregor, will stop her from returning home to ensure that the man responsible for her daughter's death hangs.
Until she must choose between his life and her revenge.
Chapter One
America
Winter 1825
"The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away." Or so her eulogy would begin.
The heavy gold wedding band clinked loudly in the silence as he grasped the crystal tumbler sitting on the desk before him. He raised the glass in salutation and whispered into the darkness, "To the dead, may they rot in their watery graves." He finished the whiskey in one swallow.
And what of that which had been hers? He smiled. The law would see that her wealth remained where it should—with him. A finality settled about the room.
Soon, life would begin.
Solway Firth, Scottish-English border
Elise jumped at the sound of approaching footsteps and sloshed tea from the cup at her lips. The ship's stateroom door opened and her grip tightened around the delicate cup handle. Her husband ducked to miss the top of the doorway as he entered. He stopped, his gaze fixing on the medical journal that lay open on the secretary beside her. A corner of his mouth curved upward with a derisive twist and his eyes met hers.
With deliberate disinterest, Elise slipped the paper she'd been making notes on between the pages of the journal and took the forestalled sip of afternoon tea. She grimaced. The tea had grown cold in the two hours it had sat untouched. She placed the cup on the saucer, then turned a page in the book. As Robert clicked the door shut behind him, the ship's stern lifted with another wave. She gripped the desk when the stern dropped into the swell's trough. Thunder, the first on the month-long voyage, rumbled. She released the desk. This storm had grown into more than a mere squall.
Robert stepped to her side. "What are you doing?"
"Nothi—" He snatched the paper from the book. "Robert!" She would have leapt to her feet, but her legs were shakier than her hands.
He scanned the paper, then looked at her. "You refuse to let the matter lie."
"You don't care that the doctors couldn't identify what killed your daughter?"
"She is dead. What difference can it possibly make?"
Her pulse jumped. None for you. Because you murdered her.
He tossed the paper aside. "This has gone far enough."
Elise lifted her gaze to his face. She once thought those blue eyes so sensual. "I couldn't agree more."
"Indeed?"
The ship heaved.
"I will give you a divorce," she said.
"Divorce?" A hard gleam entered his eyes. "I mean to be a widower."
She caught sight of the bulge in his waistband. Her pulse quickened. Why hadn't she noticed the pistol when he entered?
Elise shook her head. "You can't possibly hope to succeed. Steven will—"
"Your illustrious brother is in the bowels of the ship, overseeing the handling of the two crewmen accused of theft."
Her blood chilled. When her father was alive, he made sure the men employed by Landen Shipping were of good reputation. Much had changed since his death.
"One of the men is wanted for murder," Robert said.
"Murder?" she blurted. "Why would a stranger murder me?"
Robert lifted a lock of her dark hair. "Not a stranger. A spurned lover." He dropped the hair, then gripped the arms of her chair and leaned forward. "Once the board members of Landen Shipping identify your body as Elisabeth Kingston, the stipulation in your father's will shall be satisfied and your stock is mine."
The roar of blood pounded through her ears. If he killed her now, he would never pay for murdering their daughter. And she intended that he pay.
Elise lunged for the letter opener lying in one of the secretary compartments. The ship pitched as her fingers clamped onto the makeshift weapon. As Robert yanked her to her feet, she swung the letter opener. Bone-deep pain raced up her arm when the hard mass of his forearm blocked her blow. The letter opener clattered to the wooden floor.
She glimpsed his rage-contorted features before he whipped her around and crushed her to his chest, pinning her arms to her sides with one powerful arm. He dragged her two paces and snatched up the woolen scarf lying on the bed. In one swift movement, he wound it around her neck.