"Enough, I'm sure." She thrust the handle of a knife into his hand.
An instant later, she'd replaced the copy of the Sunday Times sitting on the table beside him with an onion. Michael looked at her as if she were mad but, in the end, peeled and sliced the onion, his lip twitching with barely suppressed amusement.
"Erin." Elise placed a bowl of flour, sugar, and cream of tartar in his hands. "You stir the biscuits. Marcus," she said, surprising him, "see to the grouse on the fire."
Marcus obeyed, but turned a moment later when she cried, "Erin!" and saw Erin had spilled flour from the bowl onto the table.
Erin looked to his father.
"Do not look at me, lad. 'Tis not my fault you can't stir flour without dumping it all over yourself."
Elise grasped Erin's hand, trying to show him how to gentle his touch. Marcus jolted at seeing her slender fingers covering the young man's large hand. Damn it, surely the boy posed no threat? Marcus knew he'd lost his mind. Bloody hell, he was jealous.
"Ohh," she said in frustration as more flour went over the side of the bowl.
Marcus laughed at the sheepish look on Erin's face. She snatched up the bowl and Michael joined in when she muttered incoherently and strode to the stove to finish the biscuits.
"So, tell me, Marcus," Michael said through his laughter. "How was London?"
"The same as always."
"And Kiernan?"
At the mention of his son's name, Marcus recalled his surprise at how much the boy had grown in the last year. At only eighteen, he towered over most Englishmen. Referred to as the dark giant, he deserved the nickname. Still, Marcus never ceased to marvel at the fact that one noticed his 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.