Three days away from Brahan Seer—from Elise—had taken a toll. Marcus looked up from the letter he was reading to the grandfather clock in the far corner of the study in his London home. He curbed a growing irritation. He'd been forced to follow the Earl of Loudoun to London, and now that Marcus awaited his arrival, the fool had the temerity to be late. Marcus finished the drink sitting before him, then returned his attention to the note sent to him by Margaret's father, Lord Ross.
Marcus, the note began, I was unexpectedly called to London and have just learned of your arrival two days ago. He gave a low laugh. "You hate London nearly as much as I do. What story did Margaret concoct to coerce you into accompanying her?" Marcus continued reading the note. Lady Ross is giving a ball tomorrow evening. I trust you will have time to attend. Marcus tossed the invitation aside. "You trust wrong, Ferris. I have no interest in seeing your daughter."
Marcus looked up from reading the Sunday Times when a knock sounded on the door nearly an hour later. The door opened and his butler entered.
"The Earl of Loudoun to see you, Lord Ashlund."
Marcus glanced at the clock. An hour and a half late. "Show him in, Bower." Marcus refolded the paper and laid it on the desk as Loudoun entered.
He bowed. "Lord Ashlund, it has been some time."
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?"
"Nay. 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.