"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.
"Are you sure you want her, Marcus?"
"Aye," he replied, not taking his eyes off her.
Cameron slapped the table again. "A Celtish woman who can throw a knife. I knew I liked you." He patted the chair. "Come, sit."
Marcus tensed for the moment she studied them before crossing to the chair and reseating herself.
Cameron leaned back in his chair. "Why didn't you tell us you are Celt?"
"I didn't know it mattered."
He gave Marcus a satisfied look.
"What?" she demanded. "What has happened?"
"'Tis as you said," Cameron said, "you fall under Highland law. You're an Irishwoman. We are family."
"I am free to go, then?"
"Well," he answered slowly, "'tis not so easy."
"But Winnie said any clansman who didn't agree with their clan could leave."
Cameron's lips thinned. "I wouldn't speak of Winnie. That isn't working in your favor."
"But—"
He shook his head. "She would be the first to admit that she wasn't talking about women traipsing off alone."
"What?"
Cameron gave her a considering look. "Did she not send Peter with you?"
"Yes, bu—"
"And did she not tell you it was a bad idea?"
"I wouldn't say—"
Cameron raised a brow.
"I have a right to come and go as I please."
"You're a woman," he insisted. "You must submit to your lord."
She stiffened. "I have no lord. I am unmarried."
"All women have a lord," he explained gently.
Elise shook her head. "I am free."
"Aye, you are a free woman—not a slave—but I am your lord."
"You? Ridiculous."
"You are under my roof. You are a part of us."
"Cameron—"
"It would be wrong of me to let you go," he interrupted gruffly. "You should never have run off in the first place."
"But you were going to let me go," she insisted.
He shrugged. "I was considering it, but I hadn't made up my mind either."
Elise jumped up and whirled on Marcus. "This is your fault."
"My fault? This was your idea."
"Now, lass," Cameron interjected, "tomorrow Marcus will deal with Margaret and she'll never interfere again."
Elise turned on Cameron. "Cameron, please—"
He brought his palm down on the table. "Enough." He looked to Marcus. "Marcus, take her upstairs and put her to bed—once and for all."
Marcus took hold of her arm. She started to resist, but Cameron gave a single shake of his head. Marcus prodded her toward the stairs and her shoulders slumped.
"This is wrong," she said, taking the stairs with deliberate slowness.
"It's finished," Marcus replied.
"You have nothing to say about it."
"I have been patient," he said, as they reached the top of the stairs.