Текст книги "My wild Highlander"

Автор книги: Vonda Sinclair

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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

Chapter Seventeen

"I never suspected Kormad and Girard would find us," Lachlan said to Alasdair as they donned studded leather armor in the armory. Rebbie, Dirk and the MacGrath clansmen prepared themselves in a like fashion, choosing weapons.

"'Tis better this way," Alasdair said. "We shall defeat them here. On our home sod we shall have the advantage."

"How many men with them?" Lachlan asked.

"About two dozen."

"I hate to see any of the Drummagans killed. I'm supposed to be their chief."

"Aye, but if they ride with Kormad, they're traitors. You don't want a man in your clan who isn't loyal."

Lachlan knew it was true. Still, he'd failed them. Why hadn't the Drummagans trusted him? Why had they turned against him so easily?

Once they had their weapons and targes, they headed outside into the snow and icy wind. Evening descended, casting the barmkin in gloom.

"Hand him over!" Kormad demanded when Alasdair and Lachlan were some twenty yards from the closed iron gates. "He is a fugitive wanted in Perth for murder and rape."

"Trumped up by you," Lachlan said.

One of Kormad's men fired a pistol through the bars.

Alasdair and Lachlan dove for cover behind a wall. The MacGrath archers on the battlements rained down arrows onto Kormad's men. Amid shouts, more pistol shots exploded from both sides. Another volley of arrows flew from above, all landing outside the gates.

"You bastard, Lachlan MacGrath," Girard yelled in French.

The mere sound of his voice lit a fuse of rage within Lachlan. "I shall kill that craven whoreson if 'tis the last thing I do!" He had already told his brother in confidence what Girard had done to Angelique.

"Is he the man with one arm?"

"Aye, she got a bit of revenge. Shot the bastard's arm off."

Alasdair sent him an unholy grin. "Both our wives have a bloodthirsty streak."

"We are fortunate." Lachlan peered from behind the wall and a shot whizzed over his head. He ducked. "God's teeth!"

He lay on the ground and aimed at the whoreson—one of Kormad's hired mercenaries—and fired. The man jerked and howled. Lachlan slid behind the wall again. His comrades fired in retaliation.

Kormad's men shot flaming arrows toward the windows and roof of Kintalon. Good thing Alasdair had ordered all the shutters closed. Moments later, some of the flaming arrows flew downward again from the roof to strike at the men who'd lit them.

"Retreat!" Kormad ordered. The men disappeared from the gates.

Alasdair rallied his men and moments later, they all rode out on horseback, making sure the gates closed behind them. Several guards remained to defend the castle.

"Capture them if you can," Alasdair yelled.

***

Through a crack in one of the shutters, Angelique watched the MacGrath men give chase to Kormad's and even members of her own clan—those who'd turned traitor. In the evening light, she picked out Lachlan's figure; he rode at the head of the men beside his brother. Her stomach aching, she crossed herself. Mère de Dieu, protect him.

She glanced aside to find Gwyneth with her eyes closed, her face white. Then with watery blue eyes, she met Angelique's gaze. "Every time Alasdair rides out on that black warhorse…" Swallowing hard, she shook her head.

Angelique knew. Life was incredibly fragile, even that of a trained, armored warrior. "I am so sorry to have brought this trouble to your clan."

"'Twas not your fault. And I can see you're worried about Lachlan."

"Oui. He takes too many risks. Thinks he is immortal."

"All men do."

Angelique nodded, remembering how Lachlan was a free bleeder and prayed he would suffer no injuries.

A while later, moonlight reflected off the snow and the riders returning, shouting. Hooves clattered on cobblestones in the barmkin. Angelique's pulse spiked. Where was Lachlan? Through the window she could not tell who was who in the darkness, despite the few torches. She and Gwyneth ran down the steps to the entrance.

When Gwyneth opened the thick door, icy cold pierced Angelique's clothing. She had not thought of a wrap or cloak. They peered through the cracked door. The MacGraths unloaded bound men from the horses and shepherded their prisoners toward the far corner of the castle.

"They're taking them to the dungeon," Gwyneth said. "Listen." She let out a breath. "That's Alasdair talking, giving orders. Thanks be to God. There he is with Lachlan." She pointed.

A man with light hair separated himself from the mass of teaming men and horses. She recognized his stride. Angelique whispered a prayer of thanks. In her heart, she now believed he had not betrayed her. She was afraid she had fallen foolishly in love with him. If only he would feel the same.

***

A half hour later, Lachlan followed the other men into the great hall, the heat from the two hearths welcome on his cold skin. With Kormad and Girard captured, they were halfway to his goal of reclaiming Draughon. His eyes scanned the large room for his wife.

Someone tugged on his arm and pulled him into an embrace. Red curls filled his vision. Angelique pressed herself to his chest and her lavender-rose scent filled his senses. Unexpected excitement buzzed through him. Not just sexual excitement either, which surprised him. He could only describe it as happiness.

"Angelique?"

Taking his hand, she pulled him into the less crowded stairwell, slid a hand around his neck and reached up for a kiss. What had he done to deserve this? He tried to tease her and hold back. But her breath upon his lips was sweet torment. He moved closer and she pressed her lips firmly against his. A thrill shot through him. She was hot, alluring and delightful.

He kissed her as he'd yearned to for days, deep and lusty, the sweet taste of her going to his head, bewitching him. She must have forgiven him. When she tried to climb higher, get closer to him, he picked her up, pressing her into the corner of the stone wall, giving her another thorough kiss.

Two MacGrath clansmen passed on the steps, whistling and making sounds of bawdy encouragement.

Everyone did love to tease him. Grinning, Lachlan set her down and shielded her from their view. After making sure they were gone, he observed his wife, her eyes dark, her lips parted and red. He had an erection that wasn't likely to leave soon.

"What was that for?" he asked.

"I worried for you. I am glad you are well." Her voice was breathy and feminine, her accent more pronounced. Just like the other time he'd returned from a skirmish with Kormad, she was extremely affectionate…and likely aroused. Saints! The things he wanted to do to her, if only he could get her alone. But now was not the time.

"Indeed, I'm well. I have to go back into the dungeon to question the men we captured. We must get to the bottom of these false papers and charges against us. 'Twill likely take several hours."

***

Later that night, a sound woke Angelique. Water splashing. The fire burned low but revealed Lachlan's naked form across the bedchamber where he washed himself at the basin. His body glowed like sculpted bronze in the firelight.

"What did you learn?" she asked.

He turned. "I thought you were asleep."

"I was." She'd tried to stay awake and wait for him but must have slept a short time.

He finished bathing and dried his face, arms and the rest of his body with a cloth. Without even trying, he seduced her with his raw sensuality, his confident movements and those delicious muscles. His shaft was relaxed but starting to grow larger as he approached the bed and sat on the edge. "I'm glad I woke you, then."

"Why?" Though she wanted to ask him about the prisoners, she wanted to touch him more.

"Because." He lifted her hand and kissed the back of her fingers. "You're more fun awake."

Without thought, she turned her hand, her fingertips brushing the prickly stubble of his cheek, her thumb stroking his full lips. He had a mouth designed for sinful kisses and she trembled in some deep part of herself with the need to taste his lips and drink in his breath. His gaze burned into her with dark gold flame. His brows lowered; his jaw clenched. He kissed the sensitive pads of her fingers, her palm. Oh, such tingly heat…it raced from her hand, up her arm, to her breasts, then spread down her body. His tongue touched her palm, producing a sharp ache within her.

She sat up and quickly pressed her lips to his. Her heart leapt. You are mine, Lachlan. "You are mine." A noise escaped her, halfway between a cry and a gasp. She had not meant to say the words aloud.

"Aye, lass, I'm yours. And you're mine," he breathed against her lips.

"I did not mean—"

"Shh." He took possession of her lips again and urged her to lie back on the pillow.

Her mind would not function while his mouth seduced with hot licks and possessive thrusts of his tongue.

She took great handfuls of his hair, twining the silken strands around her fingers to better hold his head while she feasted upon his mouth. No matter his sins, no matter if he shattered her heart again tomorrow, she could not deny herself this moment of bliss.

Between kisses, he murmured and whispered to her in a language she knew not. What…what are you saying? But no words would emerge from her. She craved air, and his breath. All over, her skin tingled, needing his touch. He untied the belt of her wrap, pushed up her silk smock, stroking his rough palm over her thigh and hip. Hot shivers coursed through her. She arched her back and allowed him to remove her garments.

"Och, Angelique, you are so lovely." He fastened his lips onto her nipple, both his hands supporting her back. He devoured her, licked and sucked, his beard stubble rasping her breasts during the overwhelming pleasure.

Lying down beside her, he returned to her mouth with the consuming kisses, his big hand now cradling her derriere, sliding down to lift her thigh. He aligned her to his body, his muscles unyielding to her soft flesh, his stone-hard shaft pressing against her lower belly. Insistent, demanding. Just inside, she yearned for him, aching for him to impale her with that male weapon.

He was everywhere at once, his heat, his hardness, his sensual mouth. She released a gasping cry of frustration, of wanting what he would never give her. Not just his body but his heart. "Lachlan, damn you." She seized his shaft in her hand, firmly, his skin fever-hot and silky, the flesh beneath like steel. She wished to possess him, body and soul, so he would never look at another woman. Never know another woman existed. No one but her. She stroked him up and down. He growled more of those foreign words, his hips flexing, jaw clenching.

He twisted abruptly, escaping her hold and pinning her beneath him. Between her thighs, his hand explored her hidden places. His fingers slicked over her, and she knew she was very wet for him, craving that he drive himself as deep as he could into her, without mercy.

"Mmm." He bit his lip. His eyes, staring into hers, reflected dark lust, his lids lowered. She imagined those terse Gaelic words rolling off his tongue had sinful and sexual meanings. Or was their meaning more emotional?

She thrust her hips toward him. Surely her need was clear.

He trembled—she thought—as he pushed her thighs wider and rose to his knees. He took his shaft in hand and stroked it against her burning, tingling flesh. She gasped and thrust her hips again. Yes, do it.

She held her breath when he pushed inside her, that invasion she obsessed about. At first shallow, making her yearn for more, but with each stroke, he slid deeper. More and more, he challenged her limits with his size. It was not pain she felt, but an erotic stretching sensation that soon gave way to pure blissful pleasure. His broad, muscled shoulders above her fueled her need for him. So delicious was he, she savored everything about him. His gaze, locked on hers, communicated things no words of any language could express. Connection, emotion, intensity.

He dropped over her, an elbow beside her head, and brushed his lips against hers. Losing control, she cried out with each sensation he propelled through her body.

Then his breath burned against her ear. She stroked her palms over his beard stubble, his sweaty face and into his hair, pushing it back. His finger teased her magical spot just above where his body joined with hers. The tingles became a maelstrom too intense to bear. Something propelled her off the edge of the world, shattering her with that euphoria only Lachlan knew how to draw forth from her.

He ground into her hard, shuddering with deep growling sounds and foreign words. Seconds passed as time seemed suspended.

His breaths came in great gasps as he withdrew and dropped to the bed beside her. "Saints! Angelique," he rasped. "You'll be the death of me with that kind of bedsport."

While he held her, she lay with her forehead against his upper chest. Oh, the things she wished for…that he be hers alone, forever. That they share this intimacy every night and every day. That he might grow to love her. That she could love him without fear he would shatter her heart on a whim.

***

"He's acting all 'happy' again," Rebbie muttered to Dirk as they strode across the snow-covered barmkin the next morn. "So, all is forgiven?"

"What do you speak of?" Lachlan asked, taking a moment to enjoy the clean icy air and heated memories of last night.

"Don't pretend to be daft. You're smiling like a lunatic."

"Am I?" Lachlan wanted to laugh but held it in. "Well…indeed, she believes me now—that I wasn't with Neilina."

"Why?"

"Came to her senses?" Lachlan opened the door to the dungeon, unsure exactly how or why Angelique had warmed to him. All that mattered was that she had. "And she accepted Orin and Kean." When she had held wee Kean on her lap, showing his motherless son affection, Lachlan's chest had tightened. Angelique had the softest of hearts, which she kept hidden behind thick steel armor.

Rebbie snorted. "You're the luckiest bastard I've ever seen."

"Nay, just canny."

"Pah!"

They entered the low-ceilinged underground room where his brother and a few other men waited, including his cousins, Fergus and Angus. Several candles and a torch lit the room.

Alasdair motioned for Lachlan to join him at the table in the center of the room. "Bring them in," he told one of his guards.

Moments later, the guard returned, leading a bound man, one of the Drummagans Lachlan had never grown close to. A quiet man with steely, suspicious eyes.

"What can you tell us about the false documents Kormad had drawn up?" Lachlan asked.

"I ken naught of it." He set his determined jaw. This was likely a man who would not even crack under torture.

"Do you know where the papers are now?"

The man shook his head. This was a waste of time.

After they'd questioned two more men, both with lips sealed tight, Lachlan said, "Bring in Bryson."

The guard nodded and shoved the uncooperative man out the door.

That his sword bearer had turned against him surprised Lachlan most and sickened him. He had truly thought Bryson loyal above all others, except maybe Heckie. And he had no inkling where Heckie was at the moment. Safe, he hoped.

Moments later, the guard pushed Bryson into the room. He stood before them, his hands tied behind his back.

"Bryson, I am most disappointed to find you riding with Kormad," Lachlan said.

The stocky, dark-haired man glanced at the closed door. "I'm not with him," Bryson whispered. "I'm still loyal to you, chief."

Lachlan studied the man's dark eyes, unable to read the sincerity. He didn't know the man well enough. Damnation, he was an idiot for trusting so easily. And now, what if this was a lie? "You sure as the devil fought hard against us last night. Why should I believe you?"

"I've come to help you defeat Kormad and that Frenchman, but I don't want them to know. They'll kill my family if they find out."

"They have threatened your family?"

"Aye!"

"Do you know where the false papers are? We searched Kormad and they were not on his person. Nor were they on his horse."

"They're back at Burnglen, hidden. But I don't know where exactly."

"How many men did he leave there to guard?"

"Three that I know of. He left more to guard Draughon."

The bastard. "How many Drummagans turned traitor?"

"About twenty men. They locked the others up in the dungeon."

Lachlan was glad to know Kormad hadn't killed the rest. Still, they might be injured. He needed to see them released and safe as soon as possible. "I thank you, Bryson. Are you willing to travel back to Kormad's estate with us and help find the papers?"

"Aye." Bryson knelt on one knee much as he had done when he pledged his loyalty the first time. His gaze was dark but respectful.

A bit of the pressure lifted from Lachlan's chest when another Drummagan vowed his loyalty, agreed to help and was released. Alasdair set guards on the two men and didn't allow them any weapons. Lachlan's plan was that three dozen of them, mostly MacGraths, would leave early the next morning for Kormad's estate. Lachlan would lead them while Alasdair would remain behind to guard Angelique and the others. Once Lachlan had the false papers, they would reclaim Draughon. Now, he but had to tell Angelique his plans and hope she didn't fight him on it.

***

Kormad ground his teeth and cursed. He hated this despicable, dark and cold dungeon. Pike and several of his men waited in this cell with him. What was taking Bryson so damned long? Kormad had told him what to do two nights ago, pretend loyalty to Lachlan MacGrath and get them out of this hellhole. He had chosen Bryson for this task for three reasons. One, since he was MacGrath's sword bearer, MacGrath would be more likely to trust him. Two, Bryson was highly skilled. And, three, he had a family. If Bryson didn't obey orders, the man's wife and son would die. Kormad would make sure of it. He had them detained in the dungeon back at Draughon with orders to one of his guards, if he didn't return by a specified date, to kill them.

Kormad had always heard Highlanders were ruthless, but he was starting to doubt it. This MacGrath chief hadn't even tortured any of them for information. He was so soft and lenient, Kormad was sure he posed no threat if only they could get these cells unlocked.

A door in the distance opened and closed, then running footsteps sounded.

"I think he's coming," Kormad said.

His men stood, breaths held. A lantern appeared.

The cell lock clicked and the door opened. "Hurry, 'tis almost dawn." Bryson waved them forward.

"Ah, Bryson!" Kormad said. "I kenned you could do it. Release the rest of my men." He motioned to the other cells.

One of the other Drummagans, a friend of Bryson's, helped him, no doubt for the same cause, to save Bryson's family. Kormad might even let them live.

"Where shall we find weapons?" Girard asked, exiting one of the other cells. "I need at least two loaded pistols and a knife."

"Wait in line," Kormad growled. This Frenchman was trying his patience, and if he wasn't careful he would find himself downed by a stray lead ball.

"I have five of the guards' weapons hidden. They were heavily armed," Bryson said.

"How did you kill them?" Kormad loved stories of triumph, as well as pushing a man to do desperate things.

"During the night, when most were asleep and no one was looking, we silently took out our personal guards and hid the bodies, then we removed the dungeon guards, one by one, by jumping them when they least expected it and slitting their throats."

"You impress me with your skills of war, Bryson. You'll have a high position once we return to Draughon. Now, I have just one more job for you. I need you to go in and fetch that little Angelique witch. Don't kill her, but feel free to kill anyone who gets in your way."

"I can hardly wait to have her in my grasp again," Girard said, grinning like a maniac.

***

A knock sounded at Angelique's bedchamber door. Lachlan had insisted she bar it when he arose before dawn.

"Who is it?" she asked near the door.

"'Tis me, Lachlan," he said in a low tone.

Good, she must see him before his departure to Draughon. She could hardly bear that he was going to fight a battle, and with her so far away. She prayed he would not be injured.

She opened the door but Lachlan did not wait outside. Girard and Bryson stared back at her. Sharp chills paralyzed her a moment. She shoved the door to close it, but the two men forced their way inside.

"No!" She screamed. "Help!"

Girard shut the door. "Hold her. Cover her mouth," he told Bryson and the man obeyed. "You will not escape me this time, whore."

She screamed behind Bryson's dirty, bloody hand. How could the man who'd been her own father's sword bearer turn traitor? She kicked and twisted, dislodging his hand, then screamed again.

Girard slapped her hard across the cheek. Everything went black and numb for a few seconds, then she found herself face down on the floor beneath one of them. Pains shot from her elbow and knees where she had fallen on them. The side of her face burned and ached.

"Bastard!" If only she could reach her dagger, strapped to her calf, but Bryson was too strong. Despite twisting and kicking, she could not escape his iron-like grasp.

"Gag her with this," Girard commanded.

Bryson shoved a thick piece of material into her mouth and tied it behind her head.

"No, damn you!" she tried to shout, but it sounded like a moan.

"Bind her hands."

"You said you wouldn't hurt her," Bryson said.

"I said I wouldn't kill her. At least not now. But Kormad will kill your wife and son if you do not obey me. Besides that, you have just murdered five MacGrath guards. What do you think the rest of the MacGraths will do to you if we turn you over to them?"

Angelique emitted muffled shouts as Bryson tied her hands so tightly the thin rope bit into her wrists. Why had she not thought to take out her knife before opening the door?

Lachlan, where are you?

One of the men yanked her to her feet and threw a cloak around her shoulders. Dizziness overwhelmed her and she swayed. Sacrebleu! She had no chance of reaching her knife now. What would they do to her?

Girard poked his head into the corridor, then motioned them forward. Bryson guided Angelique out and along the passage to what must have been the back servants' stairwell. Very narrow. Glancing around, she saw no one about. She tried to scream or yell for help, but the sound only sounded like a loud moan.

"Quiet," Girard growled and shoved her toward the stairwell. Her feet tangling in her skirts, Angelique fell into Bryson, in front of her. He turned, catching her, and hauled her to her feet again, wrenching her shoulder. Mère de Dieu! She was going to die. Girard was finally going to get his revenge.

Stop crying, damn you. Think! But she could hardly see for the tears burning her eyes. She only stayed on her feet in the stairwell because of Bryson holding her up. How would she get out of this? She'd been in worse fixes. Or maybe not.

When they reached the kitchen, Girard waved a pistol before him. The women servants screamed and backed away. Bryson dragged Angelique, stumbling, outside into the snow of the kitchen garden, then around the side of the castle toward the barmkin and stables. The shock of an icy wind buffeting her snatched her breath. A shiver convulsed her body and stiffened her muscles. Bryson shoved her forward, keeping hold of her upper arm.

Where was everyone? She glanced wildly about for a familiar face, for someone who might help her.

They approached Kormad and the rest of the traitorous Drummagans, waiting in a protected corner, their clothes blood-spattered. No! It appeared they'd fought a battle already. How had they escaped? Two MacGrath guards lay on the ground nearby, their blood melting the snow. Nausea arose and icy tears burned her eyes. Mère de Dieu, where is Lachlan?

Kormad's gaze lit on her and he laughed.

Bastard. I will kill you.

"Now we go," Girard said.

Her legs were so stiff she could scarce walk. She stumbled and slipped on the icy cobblestones but Bryson kept her upright. The wind flung her cloak back, chilling her despite the wool dress. Through the blur of tears, she watched a few older MacGrath clansmen and lads scurry back wide-eyed as the force of Drummagans moved toward them.

"MacGrath!" Kormad yelled from behind her.

She twisted, tried to jerk away. A strong hand tightened on her arm, securing her in place as a shield in front of them. The cowards.

Lachlan and his brother appeared in the castle's portal.

No! Go back, away from danger, she wanted to shout. Then she wished Lachlan would kill both Kormad and Girard.

Kormad chuckled. "He looks very surprised."

"You damned bastards, release her now!" Lachlan demanded and drew his sword.

"Why would we be doing that?" Kormad's tone was unnaturally cheerful.

"If you hurt one hair on her head…." Lachlan spoke through clenched teeth. His face was dark and his gaze as sharp as the blade he gripped in his fist. He eased forward.

"Stop there," Girard said. With his only hand, he pressed a cold pistol barrel against her ear.

Shivers shot through her, making her teeth chatter. She clenched them together so hard her jaw ached. Mother Mary, I pray you….

"What do you want?" Lachlan growled.

"I think you ken," Kormad said.

"Release her and take me instead," Lachlan said.

Angelique shook her head. No, no! They would kill Lachlan sooner than they would her.

"I like that plan." Kormad snickered. "All of you MacGraths, lay down your weapons."

Lachlan murmured something to his brother, just behind him, then lay down his sword.

"Any daggers, dirks and pistols, too," Kormad commanded. "Tell your brother to back away and call off the men."

Non, Lachlan, imbecile!

She would rather die than lose him now.

Lachlan held up his hands in surrender and eased a few steps forward. "Release her." A blast of harsh wind carried his sharp words away and flung his hair back from his face.

"Not until you're over here."

When Lachlan drew closer, one of Kormad's men rushed out and grabbed Lachlan. He didn't fight, his eyes riveted on Angelique. "Release her!"

Something in Lachlan's face turned wild, the untamed warrior, and he broke away from the man holding his arms. He launched himself toward Angelique. A blade materialized in his hand, aimed at Girard. The quick movement knocked Girard's pistol aside. It fired in a deafening explosion by her ear. Lachlan landed on top of her on the ground. His hand cushioned her head, and his weight covered her so completely she gasped for breath.

More pistol shots exploded, swords clanged around them, shouts echoed. A battle. Her hearing was distorted, muffled. She tried to see what was happening, but Lachlan's hair curtained her face.

Mère de Dieu, please let him be well.

She screamed through the gag, but the sound emerged as a pathetic groan. Lachlan's body was a dead weight upon her. She prayed with all her might, since that was all she could do.

A moment later, Lachlan rolled off her and she inhaled great gulps of cold air into her burning lungs. But no, someone had rolled him and now dragged her by an ankle. Girard! The bastard. She tilted her head to look at Lachlan again. He simply lay on the ground, eyes closed, the warriors slashing with swords over him. Blood soaked his light hair. Was he shot in the head?

Mère de Dieu. Please, no!

She had to help Lachlan. Her bound hands lay beneath her hips and back, being raked over the cobblestones. The rope loosened. She yanked hard and tried to make her small hands even narrower so she might pull one through the ropes. Girard dragged her into the stables and closed the door against the chaotic noise outside.

Her fingers ached and burned, scraped horribly and near frozen but she didn't care. One hand slid free.

Girard attempted to yank her to her feet, not so easy one-armed, and he was no longer a strong man.

"Get up!" he demanded in French.

Pretending to pass out, she collapsed forward into a crouch. She slipped a hand beneath her skirts and drew the dagger from her calf.

When he pulled at her arm again, she rose and stabbed the blade upwards into his gut with far more force than the last time she'd attempted this move on him. Though her aching hands shook, she shoved the blade deeper.

"Aaahhch!" He staggered away from her, yanked his doublet open, and stared down at his belly where blood bloomed over his white shirt. "You bitch!" He surged toward her.

She scrambled to her feet and backed into the corner of a stall, straw beneath her feet.

The big portal to the stables opened. "Angelique!"

Lachlan? Through the crack, she saw him, his hair bloody, but could only emit a moaning sound behind the gag. Watch for Girard!

She yanked at the tightly tied trip of material, unable to slip it from her mouth.

"You bastard. Where is Angelique?"

A shot exploded, deafening. Lachlan's arm jerked and a red stain appeared. He rushed Girard, sword in hand. Blades clashed. She eased forward, trembling hands clutching her dagger grip, slick with Girard's blood. Lachlan made two strikes, one against Girard's sword, flinging it aside, and the next to Girard's throat. Blood spurted from the wound and he fell, clutching his neck. His eyes, full of hatred, sought out Angelique. He had looked at her thus before, in France. But this time he would never open his eyes again.

Lachlan turned, his wild gaze finding her. "Are you well?" He rushed to her, took the dagger from her stiff hands and cut off the gag.

She locked her arms around him. "Oui. But you are badly hurt." She pulled back and observed his bloody hair and shirt. "You were shot in the head?"

"Just a graze I think."

Blood soaked his torn shirtsleeve and dripped from his fingers like wine.

"Girard shot you in the arm. Mère de Dieu, you are losing a lot of blood!"

"Aye, but I shall live." His face looked far too pale.

"We must get you to a physician."

"Gwyneth is a healer." His voice sounded raw and breathy. He blinked his eyes hard and, with his good arm, caught at the stall door. "God's bones." He sank toward the floor and closed his eyes.

Panic clutched at her throat. "Lachlan!" She dropped beside him and ripped his sleeve. Heavens, such a hole blown in his upper arm and him a free bleeder. She found the discarded gag and tied it above the wound. She had heard this would slow bleeding.