Had two centuries of bloodshed not been enough?
Fifty years ago, King George finally proclaimed the MacGregors no longer outlaws and restored their Highland name. General John Murray, Marcus's great uncle, was named clan chief. Only recently, the MacGregors were given a place of honor in the escort, which carried the "Honors of Scotland" before the sovereign. Marcus had been there, marching alongside his clansmen.
Too many dark years had passed under this cloud. Would the hunted feeling Ryan MacGregor experienced ever fade from the clan? Perhaps it would have been better if Helena hadn't saved Ryan that fateful day so long ago. But Ryan had lived, and his clan thrived, not by the sword, but by the timeless power of gold. Aye, the Ashlund name Helena gave Ryan saved them. Yet, Ryan MacGregor's soul demanded recompense.
How could Ryan rest while his people still perished?
Marcus removed his hand from the sword and faced his father. "It's time the MacGregors brought down the Campbell dogs."
Feminine laughter spilled from the kitchen into the great hall during the evening meal. Marcus sighed with contentment. Light from sconces flickered like a great, filmy curtain across the room. Two serving girls carrying trays of food stepped from the kitchen, and the men, who blocked the doorway, parted. The sense of contentment came as an almost unconscious realization. He had missed sharing the evening meal with his clansmen. Marcus leaned forward, arms crossed in front of him on the table, and returned his attention to the conversation with Cameron and Daniel.
"We will be ready at first light, laird," Daniel said.
"The Campbells will not be expecting trouble," Cameron put in.
"If word has reached them that I've returned, they may be," Marcus said.
Cameron grunted. "Lot of good it will do."
The feminine voice Marcus had been waiting for filtered out from within the kitchen. "Easy now, Andrea," Elise said.
The conversation between his father and Daniel faded as Marcus watched for her amongst the men who crowded between the door and table. The thought of seeing her beautiful body heated his blood. Elise stepped from the kitchen, balancing a plate of salmon. She passed the table's end where he sat and carefully picked her way through the men until reaching the middle of the table. She set the oval platter between the chicken and mutton.
"Beth, place the carrots to the left. Andrea—" She took the plate of potatoes from the girl, then set it to the right and turned toward the kitchen.
"Elise," one of the young warriors called, "come, talk with us, lass."
Her mouth quirked. "If I play with you, who will finish dinner?"
The man's hearty chuckle gave evidence she hadn't fooled him, and he approached with friends in tow.
Cameron stood. "Elise," he called over the men's heads, "come here."
She turned. When her gaze met Cameron's, warmth filled her eyes. She dried her hands on her apron and headed in his direction.
"Go on, lads," Cameron said to the men who teased her. "You have better things to do than dally with the lassies."
When she came within arm's reach, he gripped her shoulders. "Meet my son. He's returned today." He turned her.
Her gaze met Marcus's. Her smile faltered but quickly transformed into polite civility. "We've met."
"Oh?" Cameron replied, all innocence.
"Yes. He came by when Tavis, Bonnie, and I were on our way home this afternoon."
"Ahh," Cameron said, then turned and gave the man beside him an energetic greeting.
Elise looked again at Marcus and motioned toward the kitchen. "I have work to do."
"Aye," he said. The memory of her breasts pressed against his chest caused him to harden.
She backed up a few steps, then turned and ran headlong into the man behind her. He reached to steady her. A flush colored her cheeks and Marcus bit back a laugh when she dodged the warrior. Marcus leaned forward, catching one last look at her backside before she disappeared through the kitchen door.
Chapter Three
At the sound of horses padding past the cottage she shared with Winnie, Elise looked up from the table where sat the teacup she had been refilling. She glanced from the curtained window to Winnie, who remained bent over her needlework. Elise took two steps to the fireplace, hooked the kettle over the fire, and went to the window. She pulled back the lace curtain to see a procession of warriors filing past the cottages.
Marcus MacGregor rode at the head of the company. He sat straight, his body shifting in easy motion with the horse's rhythmic movements. Her father had exuded the same careless confidence. Elise recalled her mother often watching from a window as he rode away. The warmth spreading through Elise now gave her an understanding of what her mother must have felt.
"Ridiculous," she muttered.