Page 101 of My Highland Love

“Have you come to fear me so?” he asked. When she made no reply, he added, “You married me, Elise, knowing who I am.”

She tilted her head as though to read his thoughts. His body pulsed. A wary look entered her eyes and he could have sworn she had read his mind.

“I have spent many nights in your bed,” he said, adding in a husky voice, “Though, not nearly enough. Tonight and every night hereafter, you will be in my bed.”

He waited for no response—needed no response—other than the reaction he would get when her body responded to his—and scooped her into his arms. She gave a surprised cry.

So, she was no mind reader, after all.

Marcus strode through the connecting closet into his room. He stopped before the massive bed. Her gaze shifted to the bed, then moved across her new surroundings. Her attention lingered on the fire burning in the hearth, then flicked upward to the sword which hung over the mantel.

Elise abruptly looked at him, seeming to have forgotten she lay in his arms. He kissed her. She wriggled as if to slip through the miniscule space between his arms and chest. Marcus flicked his tongue into her mouth, mimicking the motion he would soon replicate inside her body. She stilled, and he wondered if she was envisioning the same action.

At last, he broke the kiss. He scrutinized her face until her gaze fell to his chest. Slowly, he lowered her feet to the carpeted floor. He pushed the robe and night rail from her shoulders. His gaze followed the slither of their descent until they struck the floor.

Marcus tipped her head up until she faced him and whispered, “Touch me.”

Elise didn't move, didn't blink, and he held his breath.

She shifted, only minutely at first, then lifted a hand to finger the topmost button still intact on his shirt. She reached with the other hand and unbuttoned the button, then the next, then the last. Her gaze remained focused on his chest. Marcus stifled heavy breaths when she slipped her hands inside his shirt and slid them up and over his shoulders. He dropped his arms to his sides, allowing the shirt to fall to the floor.

Her hands glided down his chest. Ripples of pleasure radiated through him. He hardened more with each inch she descended. She stopped with her fingers clasped around his belt. She slipped the leather from its loop. The clasp clinked in the silence of the room as she unfastened it. The plaid loosened and dropped into a pile at his feet. She didn't move, and he realized her gaze was fixed on the jutting, hard length of him. He didn't move—wasn't about to move. She could stare at him all night and, knowing her eyes were on him, he could maintain his arousal until she tired of the sight. Her gaze did move, though, back to his chest where she placed her palms.

“You're so hard,” she said, as though marveling at something she hadn't the slightest notion could have been.

Marcus choked back a groan. He backed her against the bed and she fell onto the mattress. He scooted her farther up onto the bed, then rose over her, holding his body inches above her. He gently kissed her forehead, then the tip of her nose, her eyelids, cheeks, mouth. Here he lingered, rocking his hips against her in light motions as he drew the kiss out. Elise ran her hands along his back, hesitating at the curve of his buttocks.

“Aye, love,” he whispered, placing small kisses at the corner of her mouth, then along her neck. “Touch me as you like.”

He rocked again and, this time, her hands continued around and over the curve of his buttocks. Marcus groaned as he took a nipple between his lips. He gently parted her legs with a knee, then eased into her. He moved slowly, drawing out her pleasure. He suckled one breast, then the other until, at last, her fingers tightened on the tensed muscles of his buttocks. He quickened his movements. An instant later, she cried out softly and lifted her hips to meet his movements. Another instant, and he emptied into her. He waited until the throb of his body ceased, then hugged her close and slid to her side.

* * *

Elise relaxed against the carriage's cushion. She closed her eyes, allowing the motion of the carriage to lull her. The journey from Brahan Seer to the lowlands had been easier than expected. The stop at the Green Lady Inn earlier that morning had divided a tedious eight-hour ride into two, more comfortable, four-hour portions. Now, less than two hours from Ashlund, they would first stop at Sophie's estate.

She opened her eyes and looked out the window at Marcus, who rode alongside the carriage. He sat, as always, easy in the saddle. There had been little time to think of him today. Sophie had kept her distracted with plans for Ashlund and the visits they would make to the modiste, as well as a number of other merchants, who were sure to provide what Sophie said she needed to fulfill her role as the new Marchioness of Ashlund.

A tremor ran through her. She shifted her attention to him. Without Sophie's monologue filling her head with visions of jewels and bolts of rich fabrics, and without Mary's enthusiastic contributions as to which dresses and jewelry Elise should wear to the parties, she couldn't deny she was, completely and fully, Elise MacGregor, Marchioness of Ashlund.

Her body warmed. There had been no denying that fact last night when Marcus had bedded her for the first time as his wife. She slid her gaze down his body to the muscled calf visible between kilt and boot. The memory of his thighs between her legs last night, then again this morning, dried her throat. She swallowed. Her throat moistened, but her heart beat faster as if in rhythm with his thrusts when he brought her to climax. How many nights such as that lay ahead of her? Was it possible they could live in peace? Could she make him happy?

“He is a fine male specimen,” Sophie said.

Elise jerked her gaze to Sophie, who regarded her from her seat in the far corner. Mary gave a titter of laughter, and Elise scowled. “You must make some people very nervous, Sophie.”

“I do, indeed,” the countess replied without hesitation. “I am pleased Marcus agreed to stop at Whycham House. You need a rest and I so want you to meet Justin.”

“I'm glad as well,” Elise said.

The carriage rounded a bend in the road and a rider became visible in the distance. Marcus kicked his horse and galloped to meet the rider. An instant later, Kiernan's horse passed the carriage at a gallop as he, too, sped to intercept the rider.

“What's happened?” Sophie demanded.

“A rider,” Elise replied, without taking her eyes off Marcus.

Sophie moved from her side of the coach to sit beside her. Sophie leaned close and they watched as the man stopped and Marcus pulled his stallion to a halt beside him. Kiernan joined them a moment later. They spoke, then Marcus and the man whirled their horses in the direction the man had come and Kiernan spurred his horse back toward the carriage. The carriage halted as Kiernan arrived.

“What is it?” Elise demanded.