"What is amiss?" the housekeeper asked in a sleep-laden voice. "You cried out—" Her gaze swung in the direction of the door. "What in God's name?"
The insistent knocking at the door penetrated Elise's brain and she realized the noise had yanked her from the dream.
Winnie threw back the covers and jumped out of bed. She draped a wrap about her shoulders and hurried to the door. "Who is it?" She yanked open the door. "Mary, girl," Winnie growled at the maid, "you had better—"
"The men have returned," the maid interrupted. "They're demanding supper."
"Mother of God," Winnie whispered. "Go along, child. I will follow in a minute." She shoved the door shut and scampered on tiptoe across the drafty floor to her bed.
"I'll come," Elise said as Winnie pulled off her shift and reached for the grey dress draped over her bed's foot board.
"No need." Winnie slipped the dress over her head.
Elise got to her feet. "No sense lying here while you work."
She quickly dressed, then grabbed the plaide from the foot of her bed and draped it over her shoulders as she followed Winnie out the door.
Minutes later, Elise slowed two paces into the kitchen, startled by the grim silence that pressed in about the room. Winnie hastened to the counter where Mary and another girl were placing mutton and chicken on platters. Elise shook off the morose feeling and tossed the plaide she wore onto the counter, then hurried forward to join in the preparations.
"Nay, Wilma," Winnie admonished. "Leave the plate of mutton. You and Mary fetch wine from the cellar. The men will sleep better with a little help."
The girls hurried off. Cold chicken, bread, and peas were quickly placed on platters. Elise took the platter Winnie placed in her hands and headed for the great hall.
The camaraderie which generally characterized gatherings in the eating hall was absent. When Elise set the peas on the table, her heart stirred at sight of the men's exhausted faces. She cast a furtive glance at Marcus. The hard set of his mouth and hollow eyes startled her. What had happened to the carefree devil who held her in his arms only a few days ago? She returned to the kitchen.
"Take those." Winnie pointed to the bottles of wine sitting on the table, then turned back to the bread she had unwrapped from its cloth cover.
Elise hesitated. Four uneventful months at Brahan Seer had dulled her senses. Why hadn't she realized Cameron's son would be with his men tonight? A tremor rocked her belly. Neither had she considered that he could have read the wanted notice for Elisabeth Kingston while in London. He was far more sophisticated than Michael and, surely, far less trusting. Given time, would Marcus MacGregor recognize Elise as the nickname for Elisabeth?
"Elise."
She snapped from her thoughts and saw Winnie staring expectantly at her. Elise grabbed the bottles of wine on the table and reentered the hall. Marcus's plate was untouched. She set the wine on the table. His gaze met and held hers for an instant before he shoved back his chair and rose.
She remained rooted to the spot as he strode to the stairwell. At the stairs, he paused and looked back at her, eyes dark with need. He turned suddenly and headed up the stairs. Her breath caught at sight of his shirt, taut across his shoulders, and her gaze dropped to his calves in the instant before he disappeared from view. Elise broke the stare and realized her pulse had jumped to a gallop. Good Lord, was the greater danger Marcus connecting her to the Elisabeth Kingston wanted for murder, or her reaction to him? Until now, she hadn't worried how long Price persisted in searching for her. She had been sure she could wait him out. Now, could she afford to wait—could she afford to remain even another night near Marcus MacGregor?
Marcus awoke, his body hard with arousal. He shifted his thoughts from Elise to the Campbells, but the memory of her face the night before persisted. Her eyes changed with her mood. Would those eyes darken with passion when she lay beneath him? He stirred restlessly. How might she cry out as he brought her to her pleasure? He would find out—and soon.
Ten minutes later, Marcus entered the kitchen to find the women busy with preparations for the meals. "Good morning, Winnie." He seated himself across the table from her.
She reached for a sprig of herbs from one of the piles before her and began grinding it in a mortar bowl. "Morning."
He glanced at the rear door.
"No sense watching the door. She isna' here."
He leaned forward. "You are a witch, Winnie, my love. Where is she?"
"Michael's. She set out early this morning."
"Why?"
"He broke his leg. She makes sure he is tended to."
"Indeed?"
"Indeed." Winnie reached for another sprig of herbs.
Marcus rose and kissed her cheek. "Making trouble while I've been gone, I wager?"
She looked up. "No more than usual."
"So I thought," he said, and left the kitchen.
Marcus looked from his father to the warrior entering the great hall. The man strode past the men gathered for the evening meal and stopped at the table opposite him.