Текст книги "My wild Highlander"

Автор книги: Vonda Sinclair

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Chapter Twelve

"Let Angelique sleep as long as she will. When she wakes, take the bath in for her," Lachlan told the servants. He must keep her occupied, after all. Hopefully, questioning Philippe wouldn't take long and he'd be back in time to share her bath before it was cold.

After taking almost an hour to bid their departing wedding guests farewell, he descended the steps to the dungeon. Rebbie and Dirk followed.

"We're here to see the French lad," Lachlan told the armed guard.

"Aye, m'laird." He led them further along the dank, underground passage and opened a wooden and metal door. Dirk carried a torch into the dark cell, Lachlan entered, unsheathing his sword and Rebbie followed.

Lachlan eyed the small fellow cowering in the corner, squinting at them. He might pity the weasel if he hadn't tried to steal Angelique. "What is your name?"

"Philippe Descartes, my lord." He crawled forward a few inches and remained in a submissive kneeling position.

"And why have you come here to Draughon?"

The boy's eyes were so wide, Lachlan feared they'd pop from their sockets.

"I am but an old friend of Angelique. I wished to congratulate both of you on your marriage." He bowed his head briefly.

"Humph. What a lie," Lachlan muttered, remembering the goblets from Girard. "Did you bring a gift?"

"A…a gift? Pray pardon, my lord, I did not. But I shall send you one if—"

"Nay, I mean, did you deliver a gift from someone else?"

"Non." The boy's gaze remained steady for a few seconds, then dropped to the glinting blade of Lachlan's sword. Perhaps he told the truth, but who could tell? The gutter rat probably knew not how to be honest.

"Who did you travel from London with?" Lachlan asked.

"No one."

"I'll tolerate no more lies, laddie! I want the truth."

Philippe turned jittery, his hands trembling, gaze darting about.

"You traveled with someone or spoke with someone. Now, who was it?" Lachlan demanded.

"Eleanor, countess of Wexbury, my lord."

Rebbie muttered a curse, and Dirk sent him a concerned glance.

"I see," Lachlan said. Now what was that witch up to? "And who else?"

"Her servants and that is all; I swear it." The lad's voice broke, making him sound no more than a dozen years old, but he had to be around twenty.

"What has Eleanor said to you?" Lachlan asked.

"Sir?"

"I know you and Eleanor are plotting against Angelique and me. Planning to destroy our marriage. Tell me of these plans."

"There…there were no plans, my lord."

"You're lying again," Lachlan growled. "Would you like me to show you how dangerous lying is?" He lifted his sword before him, as if examining the sharpness of the blade.

Philippe trembled and gave his head a spasm-like shake. "She wished to…to visit with you. I wished to see Angelique one last time before I return to France."

"And what did she say about Angelique or me?"

"She has a most keen interest in you, my lord."

"Why?"

"I believe she has a great affection for you. Perhaps she loves you, though she did not say."

Rebbie snorted. And Lachlan felt like doing the same.

Eleanor wouldn't know love if it bashed her on the side of the head. Dallying with her had been one of the biggest mistakes of his life. "What did she tell you to do here?"

Philippe cleared his throat, his gaze darting from Dirk, to Rebbie and back again to Lachlan and his sword.

"If you tell me the complete truth, we won't harm you."

His breaths were so harsh as to be audible. "Eleanor wished me to…to lure Angelique away from you."

"I see." Lachlan had suspected the woman could be evil and cunning. "Do you suppose Eleanor went back to London when she left?"

"I know not…but I was to meet her at the Breakstane Inn in the village if we were separated."

"Do you know Baron Kormad?"

"I have seen him, but never talked to him."

"What about a French count named Girard?"

"I have never met him. I only know he asked for Angelique's hand in marriage but she refused to go through with it."

Lachlan kept his malevolent glower on the squirming lad several moments longer, hoping to frighten him one last bit. "I shall release you if you promise never to set foot here at Draughon and never approach Lady Angelique again. She is my wife and will remain so. My advice to you is to return to France and stay there."

"Oui, my lord. I shall. Merci." He bowed again, which put his face close to the floor in his kneeling position.

Lachlan and his two friends strode out. Near the top of the dungeon steps, Lachlan spoke in a low voice to the guard. "Release him but send two men to secretly follow him. See if he meets with a countess named Eleanor Stanhope at the Breakstane Inn. If so, see if they can find out what the two discuss. Have one man report back to me tonight."

***

"Where have you been?" Angelique asked when Lachlan entered her room minutes later.

He paused, observing her in the large wooden tub. Firelight gleamed off her wet, ivory skin. Her scrunched nipples flirted with the surface of the water. The sight arrested him, making him instantly hard.

"The remainder of our guests left." With much haste, Lachlan disrobed and dropped his clothing into a pile on the floor.

"What? I did not get to say good-bye." Angelique might have been talking about guests, but her gaze devoured the more intimate areas of his body.

"I conveyed your good wishes and your gratitude." He knelt by the tub, observing her in closer detail. Her face was rosy, either from the hot water or a blush. Damp ringlets of hair teased at her neck, as he wished to do with his kisses. "How long have you been soaking in there?"

"Not long."

"Do you suppose there's room for me?"

"Perhaps." With a shy grin, she scooted back, lifting her upper body out of the water and drawing her knees up. He was pleased to see she was no longer shy about exposing her breasts.

He stepped into the tub, then sat. "Ahh, nice and hot."

"Oui."

"Come. Sit here between my legs."

Even in the dim firelight her blush was obvious.

"You're in no danger, I vow. We will refrain from coupling for now…if we can." He winked and sent her a wicked grin.

She giggled. If ever there was a sound he loved, that was it—Angelique being happy.

"We shall talk about other matters to distract ourselves."

A knock sounded at the door. "Your food, m'laird," the female servant called.

He took Angelique's smock from a nearby chair and covered her chest with it. "Come," he said.

Angelique sucked in a sharp breath, her blush deepening. "Why did you…?"

"I'm hungry. Are you not?"

The door opened and a middle-aged maid carried in a tray of food and drink.

"Place it here, if you would." He indicated a wooden chair near him, and she deposited it there. "My thanks," he said.

"M'laird. M'lady." The maid curtseyed and left.

"Mère de Dieu, that was mortifying," Angelique whispered.

"Why?" He tore off a bite of bread and threw it into his mouth.

"We are nude…together. And bathing."

"You are covered. The servants help you bathe and dress all the time. And she cannot see beneath the surface of the water with all this soap you've used. Besides, you are beautiful in the nude and should not be ashamed."

She blew out a breath. "You've surely gone daft."

He snickered and offered her a bite of bread. "If you'll come over here, I'll feed you well and proper."

"I thought we were bathing. Now we are eating a meal?"

"Indeed. We accomplish two things at once. It leaves more time for…other activities."

***

A half hour later, the bath water started to cool. Lachlan and Angelique had helped each other bathe and wash their hair, in between sharing bites of food or sips of wine. Angelique found the whole exchange to be shockingly intimate but more fun than she'd had in years. Since Lachlan didn't try to couple with her, perhaps he'd had his fill of carnal pursuits, at least for now…even though he did have an erection half the time. This intimacy with a man was so new to her, she could not decide how she felt about it. She feared she was slipping beneath his seductive spell and enjoying him too much.

"Let us play hazard. What say you?" Lachlan asked when they stepped out of the tub. Droplets of water glistened on the finely wrought muscles of his shoulders and chest. He slowly dragged the piece of linen material over her wet body, sending delicious sensations along her skin.

"I do not know how. My mother would never allow me to play such gambling games." Shivering from the cool air, she picked up the clean smock from the foot of the bed.

He snatched the garment from her and flung it away. "Well then, I shall corrupt you." He winked. "Into bed with you now."

"That was clean!"

"You have no need of it."

She huffed but climbed into bed. Now what was he up to? She did not wish to lounge about naked for hours. Surely that was an activity more suited to a paramour than a wife. Then, she wondered if she could be both to him. What a daft yet exciting notion.

After he dried himself, Lachlan dug something from his sporran and followed her into bed, leaning back against the pillows and allowing the sheet to rest at his waist. His naked presence beside her in bed gave her more intense carnal thoughts and urges. His hard, hair-roughened thigh grazed her own, making her recall the erotic sensations of his legs sliding between hers. The grouping of three glowing candles on the bedside table revealed a few remaining drops of water sparkling on his chest. She entertained the mad idea of licking them off and brushing her lips over his chest, kissing every inch.

He jiggled something in his hand that clacked together. "Never played hazard?"

"No."

"'Tis easy. Whoever loses each toss of the dice must kiss the other person wherever they say. And we'll take turns."

"What do you mean…kiss…on any body part?" Had he read her mind?

"Aye."

"Ma foi! You are wicked."

His gaze turned sensual in the extreme. "And you like that about me."

Indeed she did, but she refused to let him know that. She hoped he didn't see her fiery blush. "You have played this before."

"Not for these stakes. Usually I only gamble for money, or weapons. Now, here are the rules. Choose a main—a number between five and nine, then roll the dice. If the number you chose comes up, you win. If not, different rules apply to each number. Ladies first." He dropped the dice into her hands.

"How will I know you are telling the truth about the rules?"

"You think I would lie? Whether you win or lose, I will enjoy the consequence."

She hid a mischievous smile and jiggled the dice much like he did. "The number I choose is seven." She rolled the dice and the number displayed was eleven. "Parbleu."

"You've won," he said.

"What? You're making that up. You said if I roll the number I chose, I win."

"Why would I cheat to allow you to win? 'Tis part of the rules. Ask Rebbie or Dirk if you don't believe me…later. Not now. Where would you like your kiss?"

Heavens! The man was truly daft, but the idea of a kiss from him did tempt her. "You may kiss my neck."

"Neck? Is that all?"

"Oui. What is wrong with that?"

"Naught. But I thought you would be more unruly…perhaps a bit risqué." He leaned toward her. She tilted her head back and he pressed his lips to her neck. He nibbled, tickling, giving her chills, and she rolled away laughing.

He grinned. "My turn. Eight." He rolled the dice. "Five."

"You lose."

"Nay. I get to roll again."

"You are making this up, I vow!" she said.

"I have played this game since I was nine years of age. I ken the rules." He rolled the dice again and an eight came up. "Blast!"

"You have won. This is the number you first said."

"Aye, but if the main shows up on the chance, 'tis an out. You've won again."

She smiled and pointed to her shoulder. He gave her a seductive look and leisurely kissed her shoulder, stroked his tongue against it, then sucked at her flesh.

Shivering, she drew away lest he seduce her yet again, and so easily. Her nipples ached and yearned for his lips. The moisture between her legs tingled and itched.

His eyes gleaming with devilish seduction, he dropped the dice into her hand.

"Five." She tossed them.

He grinned at the three. "You lose."

"Can I not roll again?"

"Nay. Three is always an out."

"I intend to check with someone about these rules you are creating."

He nodded. "You should. But now I want my kiss." He pointed to his mouth.

She leaned toward him and placed a quick peck on his lips.

"Too fast. That didn't count."

"Oui, it did."

"Each kiss must last at least to the count of five."

"More rules you are making up?"

"Coward," he murmured, a taunting look in his eye.

Relenting, she leaned forward to give him a longer kiss. She must prove her bravery, after all. His firm, smooth lips moved against her own. She drew his heated breath within her and desire flared. Wishing to consume him utterly, she flicked her tongue between his lips.

"Mmm." The little moan came from him but he remained immobile while his darkened, heavy-lidded gaze penetrated her. She forced herself to draw away. Mère de Dieu, she was too susceptible to him.

"Much better," he purred.

She lost the next round by tossing a two. He pointed to his chest and she kissed him there, taking a bit more time and brushing her lips over his hard muscles and sprinkling of hair as she'd imagined earlier. His male nipple was an erotic little sight. When she touched it with her tongue, breath hissed between his teeth.

Next, he chose seven as his main and rolled it. Grinning, he pointed to a spot just below his navel. The sheet still covered his erection.

Heavens, he could not be serious. "You are a beast," she said in French.

"Aye." When he lay back on the pillows, she leaned over him and kissed the muscle-hardened spot he'd indicated. That narrow line of hair on his flat lower belly tickled her lips and mesmerized her. She brushed her lips back and forth, then pressed her nose to him. His clean male scent tempted her, as did the thought of kissing him all night…and all over.

"Mmm." He handed her the dice when she sat back. "You best not lose this one, m'lady, or the penalty will be stiff."

Stiff? Her cheeks burned. "I know what you are thinking."

He lifted a brow. "Do you now?"

"Six." She nodded and rolled the dice.

When an eleven displayed, he hissed, then grinned. "Out."

"Sacrebleu!"

He chuckled and lay back on the pillow again, stacking his hands behind his head. "If you know what I was thinking, kiss me there. If you're right, I'll give you three turns. If you're wrong, I'll bite you on the arse, and it will hurt."

A laugh burst from her mouth before she could stop it. "How ridiculous. You are a lunatic."

"Aye, but you ken I'm good at gaming. I'll even write my answer down if you bring me that quill and paper."

"I'll not walk over there naked." She was covered from collarbone down in the sheet and wished to stay that way.

"I will then." He rose, his erection bobbing, and crossed the room. Goodness, he had not one speck of modesty.

Observing his broad shoulders and bulging muscles everywhere, she sighed before she could stop herself. She had never dreamed she would enjoy staring at a naked man.

At the writing desk, he bent over, bringing her attention to his lean, manly arse, while he scribbled on the paper. What an intriguing sight.

"Make sure it is a word I recognize," she said.

"You ken this word." When he turned and strode back toward her, his erection was even larger. She forced herself not stare at it.

He lay down and covered himself as before but his tarse tented the sheet.

"You love gambling, do you not?" she asked, hoping to distract him.

"Aye. I usually win." He looked very pleased with himself. "And now for that kiss, madame."

She did not fear him anymore, but she was not entirely comfortable with him either. He had obviously written some word that meant his male member—probably tarse—and kissing him there would be scandalous. But…intriguing. She had heard women whispering of this in France and how intensely a man enjoyed it. Much in the same way he had pleasured her with his mouth the night before.

A dare lurked in his eyes and in his smile. He didn't think she would do it, she knew. He thought she was afraid.

She rose over him and pulled down the sheet to reveal his erection. Ma foi! Heat flamed over her when she studied his massive proportion close up. Leaning forward, she detected his scent was clean, musky and hypnotizing. She kissed his shaft once…twice. His skin was hot, silky smooth, and the flesh beneath, hard as stone. She flicked out the tip of her tongue for an experimental taste.

Lachlan stiffened and groaned.

She drew back, her gaze shooting to his darkened eyes, near closed in desire.

"Mmm." He hissed a few Gaelic words. "Very, very nice and I thank you." He blew out two long breaths, as if calming himself. "Any chance you might do that once more?"

"No, I will not!" At least not right now. Though she wanted to, she would not indulge his every carnal whim. He might think he had control over her.

"'Tis too bad." He bolted upright, flipped her face down onto the mattress and pinned her. "Because you lose again."

"What? That is what you were thinking. You wished me to kiss your tarse."

His brief growl and hot breath tickled her ear. "No matter how much I desire that, 'tis not what I wrote on the paper."

"You tricked me! You lout!" She squirmed, trying to free herself from his firm hold.

He gave a wicked chuckle. "I told you, I am good at gaming."

"Go get the paper and let me see."

"Again, you think I would lie?"

"Yes!"

"Very well." He climbed off the bed, retrieved the paper from the desk and held it up for her inspection.

"Elbow?" she demanded. "Why would you desire me to kiss your elbow?"

He grinned. "My elbows like to be kissed."

"You are a cheat!" And how bold and silly she had been, kissing his shaft. She would never live that down.

"I played fairly. Now I get to bite your sweet…little…round arse."

"No, it will hurt."

"You agreed to this bet."

"If it hurts, I get to bite you three times, hard as I want, anywhere I want. Are you agreed?"

"Och! You learn fast. That makes me proud. Aye, you may bite me…anywhere but my tarse. If you bite me there, it must be very gentle."

"Très bien." Heavens, she could not bite him there, could she?

"Agreed, then." He winked.

"Write it on the paper and sign it."

"I don't understand why you refuse to trust me." He proceeded to her writing desk and drew up the contract. The sheet wrapped around her, she followed and read the paper when he'd finished.

"Now, bend over." He grinned like a big, hungry wolf.

She ran to the bed and leapt on it. He landed half on top of her, turned her onto her stomach and shoved the sheet away from her derriere.

"Mmm, 'twill be tasty." He first kissed it, grazed his teeth over it, then gently pressed his teeth against her skin. It was not a real bite and hurt not at all. He then proceeded to do the same to the other cheek. He brushed his beard stubble over it, tickling.

She giggled. "One bite is all you are allowed, monsieur."

"I haven't bitten you yet."

"Yes, you did and it hurt."

"Liar! Does this hurt?" He licked her skin.

"No." Heavens, he had a wicked, delightful tongue. The itching moisture of arousal grew more intense between her legs.

"This?" He placed several kisses over her cheeks.

"No." A little ache speared her center, making her wish he'd put his erection to use.

Behind her, Lachlan spread her legs and crawled between. Angelique was more fun to play with than any woman he had yet encountered. The hellcat had sheathed her claws and become the purring kitten eager for petting.

When he widened her legs, she arched her back. So inviting. Placing a hand beneath her belly, he pulled her upward, parted her feminine lips and licked between. Her sweet arousal intensified his need. He flicked that tiny nub of flesh and she gasped.

She arched her back further, pressing firmly against him as if she wanted more. He gave her a thorough licking, until she was whimpering and crying out.

Kneeling behind her, he stroked the tip of his shaft through her generous moisture and between those delicate folds that reminded him of pink rose petals. He pushed just inside, her heat near scorching him. Keeping in mind she might be sore, he controlled his movements.

"Mmm." Thrusting in and out gently, he gradually went deeper each time.

She cried out. "Lachlan."

"Aye, Angelique. Are you liking that, then?"

"Oui."

Still fully inside her, he wrapped an arm around her below her breasts and lay down on his side, taking her with him. He aligned her back to his chest and breathed into her ear, nibbled on it. She made wee whimpering noises between those breathy French words. Just listening to her made him want to drive in harder. But he must not.

He stroked his hand from her breasts downward to brush over her mound, then lifted her leg.

As he thrust, he sucked at her earlobe and stroked her in a circular motion. Mindless, she cried out and pushed her hips back against him, meeting each thrust. Damnation, she fired his blood, made him want to take her with more forceful movements.

"Lachlan!" she cried out when her climax overcame her. How he had dreamed of that.

"Aye, you're so beautiful, lass." He held her tighter as pleasure exploded through him. He growled, relishing the way her body caressed his, milking him of his seed. Long seconds later, he regained his breath and kissed her neck, realizing each time with her was even better than the last. How was this possible? Usually he grew bored with a woman after a few times, but with Angelique, he grew more intrigued, more drawn under her spell with each bedding.

He turned her about to face him. His lips against her forehead, he drew her close and they rested, relaxing in the firelight, he knew not how long. He only knew he was happy and content, at home.

A knock sounded at the door, awaking him from a light doze.

"What is it?" Angelique asked in French, her voice groggy with sleep.

"I'll go see." He arose and covered her. After putting on his long shirt, he opened the door a crack.

"M'laird, Rebbinglen wishes to speak to you," one of Angelique's personal bodyguards told him.

"I'll be right out," Lachlan said, then closed the door. He returned to the bed, kissed Angelique on the cheek and picked up his plaid. "Rebbie wants to talk to me about something. I shall be back soon."

"It is late."

"Aye."

She remained silent while he dressed.

"You wish me to sleep here tonight?" he asked, observing her for reaction.

"Oui," she whispered in a vulnerable tone.

An aching thrill twisted through his chest. "'Twill be my pleasure." He gave her a lingering kiss on the lips.

Though he did not want to leave the room, he had to. Rebbie wouldn't interrupt them unless it was important.

He found his friend in the great hall with Dirk and one of the guards who had followed Philippe to the inn.

"Come." He escorted them to the solar and closed the door. "What news?"

The guard spoke first. "M'laird, the French lad did indeed go to the inn and meet with a richly dressed lady. We sat close but could hear naught of what they said. They whispered and drank wine. Later, they retired to separate rooms for the night."

"Now, tell him the most interesting part," Rebbie said.

"We stayed in the common room a while to see if either of them left. They didn't, but another man came in. A man with only one arm. This one was also a Frenchman—we figured out by his speech—but a more finely dressed one. Considering the way the proprietor bowed and coddled to him, we figured him of noble blood."

"Did you get a name?" Lachlan asked, almost holding his breath.

"No, we only heard his title mentioned. Comte. Count."

"God's teeth. 'Tis Girard, I'm certain of it," Lachlan said. Angelique's terror sliced through him again. He could only imagine the pain she suffered at the bastard's hand and body when he'd raped her. Lachlan should castrate the whoreson. "Our first priority is to protect Angelique. My concern is he will try to kill her or kidnap her. Why else would he be here?"

Rebbie and Dirk nodded.

"Anything else?" Lachlan asked the guard.

"Nay."

"I thank you. Excellent work. I will see you on the morrow."

When the guard left, Lachlan spoke to Rebbie and Dirk in a low voice. "You must not repeat this, ever, to anyone but you must know why Girard is so dangerous to Angelique. Do you swear?"

"Aye." Both men waited with troubled gazes.

Lachlan hated to even say the damnable words. "Girard raped her."

"Nay. The bastard," Rebbie growled.

Dirk's expression changed to lethal iciness.

"Aye." Lachlan said. "And I hope he gives me a reason to kill him outright." They knew what he meant. He had never killed a man in cold blood, nor would he ever, but his rage over this was intense and he yearned for justice. "If Girard tries to approach Angelique, I take that as leave to kill him. I protect what is mine. Girard will never lay a finger on her again. Before first light, we'll leave for the inn."