Page 33 of My Highland Love

“Nae.”

“Can you be sure?”

“Bruised a bit, but nothing like Katie.”

“Aye, well,” Declan said, “I suppose if she wasn't in the same shape as Katie…”

“She wasn't,” Marcus replied. “Which is damned lucky for the entire Campbell clan.”

Declan leaned back in his chair. “Too close for comfort.”

“They were within half a mile of Brahan Seer.”

“Jesus, they've grown bollocks of late. I am surprised they didn't do the deed right there.” His mouth twitched. “You don't suppose they suddenly got religion?” He laughed, giving the table such a slap it rattled the plates.

“Nae,” Marcus replied, his mouth twisting into a grim frown. “But they did meet their maker.”

“Good. You have been too soft with them in the past. Aye,” he went on when Marcus started to interrupt, “ye made them pay for Katie, but there have been other times.”

Declan reached for his mug and took a long draught. He set the mug on the table while watching the serving woman who approached from the far end of the table. She looked up and Declan winked. His gaze remained on her as she passed. He took another drink of ale, then turned back to Marcus.

“They've been spending an unusual amount of time on MacGregor land of late.”

“So I have noticed.” A pause followed, and Marcus said. “You have something on your mind?”

“'Tis interesting they made off with her. One would expect them to take care of business and be done with it.”

“I'm not one to question good fortune,” Marcus said.

“But you are.” Declan's expression sobered. “What do you know of the lass?”

“She's American, as you know. The ship she and her husband sailed on went down in a fire. Shannon and Joshua found her washed ashore at Solway Firth.”

“She is no serving wench,” Declan commented.

“Nae.”

“Have you any idea why she is acting the part?”

Marcus gave a single shake of his head. “Nae, but I will find out.”

* * *

Hooves pounded on moist ground, the roll of their thunder cutting in heavier strikes as they neared the castle. Swirls of thick fog whipped upwards and into the night as the gates of Brahan Seer swung open by an unseen hand. One after another, men forced their way in until the keep overflowed with the blue and green of Campbell plaide.

Fear lodged in Marcus's throat at sight of his enemies' raised swords.

“Buadhaich!” came the battle cry.

A shudder shook Marcus.

The devils' weapons stabbed through the grey of the murky fog. Pleas for mercy resounded. Still, Marcus remained rooted to the spot, watching until the last MacGregor fell.

A Campbell glanced at him, the first to acknowledge his presence. The man smiled, stepping on the head of a vanquished enemy and grinding the skull with his foot. As if magically freed from unseen bonds, Marcus lunged at him. They crashed to the ground, Marcus's grasp closing around nothing. He leapt to his feet, seizing another Campbell. He, too, vanished. One by one, they disappeared each time he grabbed their necks. His mind sought for purchase within the ghostly battle, his senses reeling with the echo of laughter that rose from the curling mist.

Finally, every Campbell gone, Marcus stood, his breath coming in labored gulps. Torn and twisted bodies lay scattered about him—the ruin of his clan. A cry broke the silence. He whirled. Elise lay on the ground, a trembling hand raised to him.

Marcus rushed to her side. He fell to his knees, lifted her head, and cradled it in his lap. Tears streamed down his cheeks, splashing onto her lips. With gentle fingers, she wiped a tear from his cheek.