Текст книги "My wild Highlander"

Автор книги: Vonda Sinclair

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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

Chapter Thirteen

A soft tap sounded at Angelique's bedchamber door. Her first thought was that Lachlan had returned. But no, he would not knock.

"Who is it?"

"Me." Camille stuck her head in.

"Enter." Angelique sat up in bed, the sheet and counterpane covering her breasts.

Her friend closed the door with a snap. "Well, I see you have been thoroughly bedded. Is he a skilled lover?"

Angelique's face burned. "Do not ask such a question." She could not discuss the profound things she and Lachlan shared. No words existed, in French or English, to adequately describe the astounding sensations and feelings he provoked within her. Too conflicting—wicked, yet divine. What she should find abhorrent was instead amazing and wonderful.

"I knew he would be by the way he moves…and the way he looks at you."

Angelique wanted to ask how Lachlan looked at her, but she already knew—with sensual, dark and lingering interest. His eyes communicated his sexual thoughts clearly. She shivered.

Camille sat by the fireplace, stirred the coals and added more wood. "He also seems very just and fair."

"I suppose." Angelique could not help but remember the silly games they'd played and how Lachlan had manipulated the outcome to suit himself…and her, too, if one considered the pleasure she received.

"Not only just, but almost lenient," Camille went on. "Though I feared he would kill Philippe in the dungeon, he released him instead."

A shock went through her. "Why was Philippe in the dungeon?"

"Oh, you did not know? He had Philippe held for a short while, went to visit him—I suspect to question him—then released him, free as a bird. Not many men would do that after someone tried to lure their wife away with suggestions of divorce."

"Sacrebleu! When did he capture him? I saw Philippe leave and run through the gates."

"After your ruckus, with all the chasing and yelling. What a lovers' spat that was." Camille giggled.

"Please tell me what you know."

"Lachlan had someone bring Philippe back. I suspect you were here being seduced at the time."

"That bastard!" She shoved herself toward the edge of the bed. "He manipulated me."

"As I said, he was lenient with Philippe; he did not harm him."

"He withheld the truth from me!" Angelique yanked her smock over her head, then slid on her wrap. "He promised to keep me informed about everything." And worst of all he had imprisoned her friend.

"If I'd known you would react this way, I would not have told you."

"What? You are my cousin. I thought you my friend."

"I am, but you cannot blame Lachlan for wanting to protect you. He is the best husband for you."

"You are as daft as he is," she muttered, though she could not imagine being married to anyone else.

"It is not my fault you refuse to see the truth. He would protect you with his life. If Girard returns, you will be most fortunate to have Lachlan for a protector."

That was likely true. She did trust him to protect her, as she always had, but…"I shall kill Girard myself."

"Like you did last time?" Camille's tone reeked of sarcasm.

"My aim will be better in the future. I must have you by my side, Camille. We protect each other, remember?" She sat down on the settle by her cousin.

"Oui. I am with you always, my friend."

"But Lachlan…I shall deal with him."

***

Awareness buzzed through Angelique when Lachlan returned an hour later, entering her room and removing his boots. "I thought you would be sleeping," he said.

"No." She sat by the hearth, watching the flames. "I awaited your return."

"Well then, you should've awaited me in bed, naked," he said in a teasing tone.

She refused to look at him, knowing that seductive expression would be on his face. Perhaps even a charming grin or wink. But she must stay focused on her anger. "You were to tell me of all your decisions that affect me and the clan."

"What do you mean?"

"You imprisoned Philippe without telling me." Not that she loved Philippe, but he was harmless. She often felt the need to protect him. He had been her friend back when few others were.

Lachlan sighed and dropped into the chair across from her. "There was no time to consult with you. I had to make a speedy decision. I had to find out what Philippe knew."

"You did not tell me because you wanted me pliable in bed." She sent him a sharp look, which he returned.

"I didn't force you. 'Twas your decision. You said, 'do it' and that you wanted me. I'm not one to refuse such an invitation from my beautiful, desirable wife."

So, he would seek to distract her with barbed compliments. "But if I had known you threw Philippe into the deplorable dungeon, I would not have wished to be in the same room with you."

Lachlan's eyes narrowed. "Do you want to know what your precious Philippe revealed to us?"

"What? Did you torture him for information?"

"Nay, I never torture. He is conspiring with Eleanor to break us apart."

"Eleanor? He would not. He doesn't know her that well."

"Apparently Philippe and Eleanor are fast friends. They traveled from London together."

"In truth?" If that was so, then Philippe was no longer her friend. Anyone who conspired with Eleanor, she would not defend.

"Aye, but that isn't the worst of it. I believe Girard is staying at the inn in the village."

A deathly chill blew over her. She shivered. "Non. Girard?"

"I've been told a French count is there. He is as you described, tall and thin with dark hair. He has only one arm. Does that sound like him?"

"One arm? Mère de Dieu." Her breath rushed in and out too fast. That was it. He would kill her. He desired revenge.

"Angelique? What is it? How did he lose his arm?"

Tears filled her eyes, burning. Her throat closed. And it was almost as if she were there again, on that bridge, a year ago in France.

Lachlan moved and sat beside her on the settle. He pulled her close and laid her head upon his chest. Stroked her hair. But he could not soothe her. No, Girard was plotting her murder.

"Tell me, Angelique. I must know so I can protect you and the clan from him. What will he do?"

"He will kill me…and Camille."

"Why?"

"Revenge."

"But why does he seek revenge? What I know about him is you wished to marry him and you were lovers. He cheated on you and you rejected him. He then raped you. Right?"

"Oui. After that, he stole the only thing of value my mother left me. A large briolette cut diamond pendant known as the Boehm Diamond. She gave it to me on her deathbed. Her lover had given it to her many years before and even stated in his will it was to be her property after he died. And that man was Girard's uncle. Girard said the diamond was part of his inheritance and that my mother had connived to steal it from his uncle. Girard is not so wealthy as he appears, you see. He's deeply in debt. After he raped me, he ripped the pendant from my neck and left. I refused to let him have the only thing my mother possessed, the only thing she left me besides the wedding gown. So Camille and I took the diamond back from him."

"God's bones, you're brave, lass." Lachlan's arm tightened around her, and with the opposite hand he stroked her cheek. The sweet gesture distracted her a bit, as did his dark, concerned gaze.

"We had to act quickly before he sold it. A few nights later, in disguise, we searched Girard's rooms but the diamond was nowhere. We hid and waited outside near his building. Girard and his friend Pierre finally staggered in from a night of drinking. Camille and I were both armed. We each had a loaded pistol and knives."

"You're always armed to the teeth," he said in a proud, serious tone.

"Only because I have to be." Nausea rose within her when she remembered how black the night was, how chill the air. "Girard knocked me down, discovered who I was and prepared to rape me again. We fought and I shot him. I missed his heart and hit his arm. His friend chased Camille with a sword. They struggled and Pierre fell from the bridge. He may have drowned in the river. It was never our intention to kill anyone. I took the diamond from Girard. Camille and I ran away and stayed with a cousin in Paris for a while. We did not hear anything from Girard until that gift arrived—the goblets. And now you tell me he has only one arm. Without doubt, the missing one was amputated because of the gunshot wound."

"I didn't know you were such a fearsome little warrior." Lachlan kissed her forehead, warming her. She felt safer in Lachlan's arms. Still, she feared even he couldn't protect her this time.

"He will want revenge for losing his arm and for Pierre, if he died. And he will want the diamond back," she said.

"Where is this diamond? I've never seen it."

"I keep it hidden at all times."

"Where?" Lachlan asked. "Surely you trust me enough by now to show me."

Despite being held in his protective arms, and enjoying it, something inside her would not let go completely. "I do…trust you, but you must understand…it is difficult after all that has happened to me. For more than a year, I have done nothing but look over my shoulder. And during that time, Camille was the only person I could trust."

"I know." Lachlan kissed her temple, and the affection in that gesture touched her deeply. "You don't have to show it to me now," he went on. "Only when you feel like doing so. Is there anything else about Girard you should tell me?"

"He is elegant but deadly. A viper. He smiles while he does the vilest things. That smile can seem warm, charming and friendly, but it hides a heart of ice. Mayhap he has no soul. And yet, I did not know his true nature for a long while. You will stay away from him, non? You must not confront him directly."

Lachlan's eyes took on a predatory quality, again like a lion. "You confronted him; why would I not?"

"He is angered and perhaps desperate. He will blame me for all he has lost. And he may be even lower on funds than he was last year. He will not give up easily."

"Nor will I."

***

Kormad watched the tall, one-armed man stride toward him across Burnglen's great hall. As a rule, he did not like Frenchmen but this one seemed eager to meet with him, considering the early hour. He doubted the gallant brought any men with him to reinforce Kormad's own small army, which he'd been building over the last few days.

"Comte de Girard, at your service, monsieur." He gave a deep, sweeping bow.

"Baron Kormad," he said by way of introduction. Though he was tempted to smirk at the man's posturing, he stepped forward and shook his hand. At least Girard's handshake was firm. 'Haps he would be a strong ally. "What can we do for each other?"

"I like that you arrive at the point quickly. I understand we have a common enemy, Angelique Drummagan and this MacGrath she has married."

"Who sent you?" Kormad demanded. If this was one of MacGrath's tricks, he would put an end to it quickly.

Girard raised a black brow, looking much like the devil himself. "The countess of Wexbury said you might be willing to help me."

"Eleanor Stanhope?" Hmph. The hoity-toity lady had always turned up her nose at him.

"Oui, apparently MacGrath was her lover and she desires having him back in her bed. I had to promise her we would not harm him."

Kormad would make no such ridiculous promise. MacGrath was naught but a whoremonger. Certainly not worthy to be earl. "You have my interest. Why are MacGrath and his new wife your enemies?"

"Angelique has stolen something that belongs to me. And I understand they have stolen land which is rightfully yours."

"Aye, they have!" A renewed spark of rage and determination lit within him. He would have Draughon.

"Perhaps we will help each other?" Girard stroked his sleek black mustache.

"In what way? Do you have men to add to my fighting force?" Kormad asked.

"Non. I have only one servant with me and he is not a soldier. I am not suggesting a battle, but something infinitely more subtle."

"Such as?"

"Subterfuge. Someone sneaks into this castle of theirs and destroys them from the inside."

"Aye, I like the way you think. But who would do this?" Kormad asked. A clever idea occurred to him. A distant widowed cousin of his lived nearby. Neilina Lockhart was both beautiful and sympathetic to his and Timmy's claim for Draughon because of their shared hatred for the late John Drummagan. Neilina and his sister Lilas had been the best of friends.

Burnglen's entry door burst open, interrupting Kormad's thoughts.

"M'laird!" MacFie trotted toward him.

"What is it?"

"MacGrath and his men rode by, headed toward the village."

"Well, don't just stand there. Prepare the men!"

***

Wearing thick leather armor, Lachlan, Rebbie, Dirk and five more clansmen entered the low-ceilinged common room of the Breakstane Inn. Lachlan's gaze immediately landed on Eleanor, eating at a table by the window. She sent him a beaming smile and waggled her fingers in a flirtatious wave.

"Och. He is here no more than five seconds and he is summonsed to a woman's bed," Rebbie muttered.

"I'm going to question her. Watch for Girard." Lachlan approached her table.

"Oh, Lachlan, 'tis so nice to see you." Eleanor's voice oozed a sugary sweetness that near turned his stomach. Her gaze traveled down his body. "You appear to be dressed for a wild Scots battle. How exciting."

"If it comes to that."

"Won't you please join me? Oh, and congratulations on your marriage and your new title."

"I thank you." He dropped into the chair across from her. "I understand you traveled from London with Philippe Descartes."

Her smile disappeared. "Well…um…not with him precisely. We happened to be traveling to the same place, but for different reasons."

"Or for the same reason—to come between Angelique and me."

"No. Never." Her pout was even worse than the sugariness.

"Do you know a Frenchman named Girard?" he asked in a harsher tone.

She paled. "I wouldn't say I know him. I have met him."

"Here?"

"Yes, actually. He was here yesterday. I've not seen him today."

"Did he say anything about Angelique or me?"

Eleanor hesitated a second too long. "No."

So she was determined to lie to him. "Did he say why he was here?"

"I only spoke to him for less than a minute. We introduced ourselves. We did not state why we are here."

"And why are you here? Why were you at Draughon?"

"I but wished to offer you and Angelique my congratulations. I thought since we are friends, I might spend a bit of time in Scotland, but Angelique was far less welcoming than I expected."

What a load of horse dung. "Can you tell me anything else about Girard? 'Tis very important."

"I know nothing more."

He gave her a hard, threatening glare. "I think you do."

"I swear to you, Lachlan," she said in an intimate tone. "If I had more information, I would gladly give it to you."

He was wasting his time with her and her lies. He was not prepared to force the truth from her at knifepoint. But even her lies gave him information—Girard was here, he discussed Angelique with Eleanor, and he was likely now putting some plot into motion. "Very well, then." Lachlan stood and gave a brief bow. "I bid you good day."

"Wait! Would you perhaps like…" Her voice lowered to a whisper. "…some company today? I have the best room in this place, which isn't saying much but—"

"Nay. Thank you." He strode away from her and joined Rebbie and Dirk at a table on the opposite side of the room.

"I talked to the proprietor," Rebbie said in a low voice. "Girard is staying here, but he headed out somewhere very early this morn. He is expected to return."

Lachlan's stomach felt as if a lead weight landed in it. "He could be headed to Draughon for Angelique."

Dirk guzzled a hefty amount of ale and lowered the mug. "We didn't pass him on the road."

"If he is going there, he would not wish us to see him," Rebbie said. "Perhaps he traveled another way or hid when he saw our party coming."

"We need to head back. I'll leave a man to watch the inn," Lachlan said.

A quarter hour later, while on the road to Draughon, a flock of birds rose from the copse of bushes up ahead. A flash of steel glinted from among the shadows. The fine hairs on the back of Lachlan's neck stood on end. He motioned for the men to stop.

"They're waiting for us there." He pointed.

All his men pulled out weapons and readied themselves.

"Kormad!" Lachlan called. "I ken you're there."

Nothing, no movement.

Lachlan aimed his pistol. "If you're not there, then it won't matter if I shoot into the bushes."

Before he could pull the trigger, a shot exploded from the bushes and the lead ball whizzed over his head.

"Everyone, back!" He didn't want his men nor his horses injured. They retreated out of pistol range. "Anyone hit?"

A chorus of nays and curses went up.

"Come out and fight like men, you cowards!" Lachlan yelled.

A rustling from behind snagged their attention. Lachlan wheeled his horse about and came face to face with five men charging on foot, swords in hand. He fired the pistol, the lead ball catching one in the upper chest, near the shoulder. The man fell. Lachlan shoved the pistol into his belt and drew a basket-hilt broadsword to deflect the first blow aimed at him. The whoreson looked familiar; he'd seen him on the streets of London when they'd tried to steal Angelique's coach.

Clashes of steel, yells and curses filled the air.

Finally, Lachlan's blade sliced the other man's forearm. He screamed and ran away. Another warrior, wearing full leather armor including a helmet, rushed him. He looked familiar as well… the bald bastard who'd tried to throw Angelique from the ship.

***

"Where is he, Camille?" Angelique stared through the distorted glass window in Camille's chamber toward the empty courtyard, praying Lachlan would ride through the gates on his big bay. "He should be back by now. It is almost noon."

"Will you please calm yourself and sit. He is a warrior knight. Not so fragile as you imagine." Camille's needle slid through the cloth over and over, effortlessly.

"He is a man, vulnerable as any of us." She strode to the other side of the room and back. "Girard is vile and devious. You can never tell what he will do."

"I believe you have fallen in love with your husband," Camille sing-songed.

Angelique snorted. "Nonsense. Just because I worry about his health does not mean I love him." She refused to love him. If she did, then she was the fool.

"What does it mean then?" Camille's blue gaze challenged her.

"It means I worry about my husband's health. I need a husband and he seems best suited for that role at the moment."

"Indeed he does. I'm glad you finally realize that."

"If he dies, I'll be saddled with another husband, one that might be far more dreadful."

Camille snickered. "'Far more dreadful.' You always did delude yourself, my cousin, since we were small children. I suspect Lachlan isn't dreadful in the least."

She refused to comment on that, though it was true.

"How was last night?" Camille inquired.

"Do not tease me." Last night. Angelique dared not think of the lovemaking, just as intense and passionate as their previous encounters. The indescribable carnal pleasures Lachlan gifted her with. Then he held her while they slept, snuggled and warm. How agreeable and cozy that aspect of marriage was. But he was gone this morn when she awoke. How dare he not even tell her good-bye before he went on such an important and dangerous mission?

Horses' hooves clattered in the stone-paved bailey outside. She darted to the window but couldn't recognize Lachlan's form through the wavy glass. "They are returned." She raced from the room.

Angelique ran across the great hall and outside. Rebbie dismounted, his arm and hand covered in blood. Other men were injured and bleeding. Her heart stopped.

"Where is Lachlan?" Her throat was so dry, the words came out a near whisper. Her gaze searched the men. "Lachlan?" Please, Mère de Dieu, do not let him be dead.

She spotted him emerging from the stables. She ran forward, scanning his body for blood and injuries, but found none.

"Lachlan, are you hurt? Are you bleeding?"

"Nay." He still wore that intense warrior expression.

Angelique launched herself at him. "Thank the Bonne Mère."

He lifted her, holding her close while she kissed face, covered in stubble, sweat and dust—a most welcome feeling against her lips.

"I'm doing very well at the moment, thank you." Lachlan grinned, wondering what the devil had gotten into his wee wife. Whatever it was, he liked it. Her actions sparked instant, thrilling arousal in him. And happiness.

"Grâce à Dieu." She continued to plant little kisses over his face. How unusual, but sweet, her actions were. He turned his head aside and smiled at the teasing comments coming from the men. Best to take this to a private place, he decided, carrying her toward the entry steps. The men's calls, whistles and yells grew louder. Pride swelled through him that she would display her affection for him so publicly.

"I'm so glad you returned," she whispered.

"You're trembling, lass." He carried her across the great hall and toward the solar. No time for more steps to reach the bedchamber.

"I was afraid. I did not want you to be hurt."

His heart kicked about like a lunatic jester. "Why not?" Savoring her slight weight in his arms, as well as her admission, he closed the door behind them.

"You are my husband," she said in a breathy tone. Her darkened green gaze held his, communicating so many things…fear and desire. More—things he had never thought to see in her eyes. Trust and love? Was he imagining them?

"Aye, I am your husband. And glad for it." He set her on her feet.

She slid a hand around his neck and pulled his head down. He devoured her luscious mouth and grew hard as a pike. Her hand grazed him through the kilt.

He remembered the skirmish. "I should clean up before—"

She shook her head.

"Nay?"

"I want you now," she whispered against his lips. "I want you to make love to me."

Desire rushed through him, carrying something sharp and sweet to his heart, making it thump like a war drum. "With pleasure." At the moment, it seemed she accepted him completely, flaws and all.

He lifted her onto the table in the center of the room, removed the weapons from his belt, and shoved the skirts up her shapely thighs to the top. Her auburn curls covered the most feminine and arousing of sights he'd ever set eyes upon. "Lie back," he said, pushing her thighs wider. When she did, he dove in and tasted her. Oh, saints, she was wet and sweet, her lips swollen and dark pink. She gasped and cried out while he feasted upon her, slid his tongue deep. She arched, squirming, her hands clutching his hair.

He could wait no longer. Standing, he lifted his kilt, took his shaft in hand and trailed it through her moisture. "Mmm."

He tried to enter her gently, but that only lasted a trice. She was so very ready. Her body caressed his in a most bewitching way, wringing profound pleasure from him…no, something more than pleasure. Something strong he had not felt before. Something that made him tremble and his blood race. He growled, pushing deeper, thrusting harder while he watched her face strained in passion, her eyes dark beneath the fringe of her thick lashes. So beautiful.

She gasped, crying out.

"Aye, lass."

Sitting up, she clung to his neck. Murmuring and whimpering. "Oui, s'il vous plait, mon chéri."

My dear one? She never called him that. Her words alone made him want to give in to his release, and with the added sensations of their bodies joining, gliding, he almost lost control.

"Ah, saints, Angelique!" He loved being inside her more than anything on earth.

Her cries of pleasure grew louder the closer she slid toward climax. He did not attempt to muffle those wonderful sounds, even though it was possible those in the nearby great hall could hear her. He wanted all the clan to know how much she wanted him. She displayed a cool façade before them. But his wife was a fiery angel when he touched her. He hoped that showed the clan her devotion to him and would help strengthen their loyalty as well.

He made love to her slowly but intensely, sliding deep; he wanted to draw every ounce of pleasure from her. At her climax, she screamed. He feared even those out in the courtyard could hear her now.

Lachlan's own release thundered through him. He was lost in the mad pleasure long seconds. When he became aware again, two guards burst through the door.

Angelique shrieked. Lachlan tried to shield her, though they were both clothed. "What the hell do you want?"

"Pray pardon, m'laird. We thought you were murdering her. Such bloodcurdling screams, we have never heard before."

He was too dumbfounded to laugh. "Does she look murdered to you?"

She hid her blush and mortified expression against his chest.

"Le petit mort." Lachlan grinned broadly at the men. They chuckled and left the room.

Angelique smacked his arm. "Why did you tell them that? And I don't see why they came in here."

"You screamed, very loudly, during the height of your pleasure."

"I did not."

"Mais oui, you did, and I loved it," he said, more proud than he'd ever been of his lovemaking abilities, and his wife's desire for him.

Her blush darkened. "Why did you not make me be quiet?"

"I think that should be obvious."

She scowled. "You wanted them to hear me."

"I'm wanting them to ken how much my wee wifey likes me." He held back a chuckle, which he was sure she would not appreciate.

"I do not like you."

"Nay, I ken how much you dislike me, ma chérie." She could keep lying to herself if that was what she needed. He kissed the upper part of her chest. Her corset was so loose, he pushed it down a bit, yanked her smock out of the way and lapped at her nipples, just visible at the top. "Mmm, these are like sweet berries." His shaft still inside her, he felt her muscles flex, squeezing him. He grew tighter, hardening fully again.

Her breathing increased between whimpers. "Lachlan." She tugged him closer.

He withdrew and slid in deep again.

"Oui," she whispered. "More."

He held beneath her hips with one hand and pounded her harder and faster this time. Trapping her gaze, breathing her breath, he clenched his jaw against an intensity which seared him, body and soul.

Moments later, her keening cry near deafened him as she clutched at him tightly.

"Aye," he growled, and again lost his seed within her. Never had anything felt so astounding to him, as if the stars in the sky had tumbled into his body.

He gasped for breath, as did she. Thankfully, no one burst into the room this time.

An hour later, they were again immersed in a hot bath in her bedchamber, when someone knocked on the door.

"Can we see no peace?" Lachlan levered himself from the tub, held his shirt before him and opened the door. "Aye?" he asked the bodyguard.

"M'laird, a woman just arrived, Lady Angelique's cousin. She was attacked on the way here, near Burnglen, and one of her servants killed."

"God's teeth! Kormad."