My Highland Love: Highland Lords Series by Tarah Scott Read Free Book Online Page A

mother's raven
hair and blue eyes when he entered a room. Unbidden, his father's
words echoed in Marcus's mind, "Do you not wonder if the
sacrifice is worth your son?"
    "Is it worth it?" he said under his
breath.
    "What's that you say?" Michael asked.
    Marcus focused on him. "The lad is doing as
well as can be expected, considering."
    "Considering?" Elise asked.
    "Aye," he said, glad his father wasn't
present to hear his response. "Considering he lives among the
Sassenach."
     
    At meal's end, Marcus insisted they go.
Elise's expression darkened and she looked as if she might protest,
but he caught her glance in the direction of father and son and
relaxed when he saw she had chosen discretion over pride.
Anticipation surged through him, despite the knowledge she
considered him the lesser of the evils.
    They stood at the door. Elise rose on tiptoes
and planted a kiss on Michael's cheek. "Stay off your wounded
leg."
    "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."
    "Nay?" 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.
    The men