Page 17 of My Highland Love

“Thank you. You're a good lass.” He gave her a bear hug.

“No toying with me.”

The impish wink she gave Michael made Marcus regret ending the evening. She would be more reserved with her charms once they were alone. She went outside where Erin waited with their horses.

Marcus clasped Michael's hands.

“Do not wait so long to come back,” Michael said.

Marcus started to release his hand, but Michael's grip tightened. “Be careful.” He glanced in Elise's direction. “The dark has been known to bite.”

Chapter Four

To be bitten in the dark.

Marcus glanced at Elise. Moonlight filtered in dim rays through the trees, making it impossible to distinguish her features atop the mare. He slid his gaze over her figure. It was a shame Erin had a mare she could ride.

“Marcus,” she broke into his thoughts.

He checked the surge of eagerness that leapt to life. “Aye?”

“Why does your son live in England?”

“Politics, love.”

“Ah,” she replied. “I see.”

He was sure she didn't but was pleased nonetheless.

“Having your son living amongst a people so different from your own can't be easy.”

“Nae?” They moved out of the trees into pale moonlight and he discerned an indulgent smile on her face.

“I'm not ignorant of the differences between the Highland life and that of London.”

“You have been to London?” he asked.

“No, but where I'm from can't be much different.”

“Where might that be, lass?”

“Boston.”

“Do you miss it?” he asked.

“No.”

He wondered at the quick answer, then his gaze caught on her mouth. What would it be like to kiss those lips? Moonlight glistened on the dark hair that cascaded down her cloaked shoulders. She straightened in the saddle, sharpening the curve of her breasts. He imagined his hand sliding over them and downward to the soft curls nestled below. Marcus shifted in the saddle to accommodate his growing arousal. Elise shook her head and ran a hand through her hair. What would she do if he took her now? Just when he'd convinced himself she wouldn't resist, his mind snapped to attention at hearing an unexpected noise.

“Do you—” she began.

“Hush,” Marcus commanded in a whisper.

He reined in alongside her. Grabbing her mare's bridle, he pulled both horses to a stop. He dismounted, then hauled her down from the saddle and drew her close to whisper in her ear, “There is a hill just ahead. I'm going for a look. Do not move.” He shoved the reins into her hand and slinked into the darkness.

Near the top of the hill, Marcus crouched, then finally went to his knees, crawling the last few feet to the crest. Between the hill where he crouched and the opposite hill, three men on horses picked their way across the rocky ground. Their colors were indistinguishable, but he knew they were Campbells.

When he had demanded Shamus's killer be turned over to him, John Campbell had complied after Marcus and his men threatened to take John in his kinsmen's place. The fact the man was turned over to Peter McKinlay of the Glasgow police for a proper trial made no difference. John Campbell had been furious.