Heavens, could he take nothing seriously? He could've died out there.
"My brother was not trying to kill him." The woman's tone was grumpy and defensive.
"Bernice!" her husband warned. "Shut your mouth."
She glared a hole through him. "She better hope he lives," Bernice muttered.
"Go!" Fingall pointed toward the stairs that led down to the kitchens. "I will deal with you later."
Once she stalked away, Fingall again apologized several times for his wife's poor manners and traitorous talk. "You don't have to worry about her, m'laird. I have her well in hand."
"I'm glad," Lachlan said.
Angelique hoped the man she'd shot would live, in truth. But she did what she felt right at the time, acted on impulse to protect Lachlan. But she feared Bernice would cause trouble. She might even try to poison their food. If the two lived in the castle she would have to see about securing them a cottage in the nearby village. And Bernice would be relieved of her duties here.
Moments later, a fiddler struck up a tune. Perfect time to make good her escape. Angelique excused herself. Lachlan's perceptive gaze trailed after her toward the stairs and she prayed he would not follow.
***
Sleep eluded Angelique for the next hour, no matter that exhaustion weighed her limbs and scratched at her eyes. She pounded her fluffy pillow covered in a clean, lavender scented linen case. The raucous music filtering up from the great hall—mostly bawdy Scottish jigs—ground on her frayed nerves.
She had too much on her mind, but at least part of her clan made her feel welcome. Mistress Mayme had assigned a trained lady's maid, Inga, to Angelique as well as a chambermaid. Inga had helped her undress and take down her hair while the chambermaid had built a cozy fire, then they'd left. Angelique stared into the flames, trying to sort through the mayhem her life had become.
A soft knock sounded at the door. Angelique jerked upright. What if Bernice had come to exact revenge for her brother? No, maybe Camille, finally tired of the celebration, stopped by to wish her a bonne nuit.
Angelique rose, pulled on a dressing gown over her smock and approached the door. "Who is it?" she called, trying to adopt the habit of speaking the Scots variant of English instead of French in hopes her clan would accept her more quickly.
"'Tis me, Angelique," Lachlan said.
His baritone voice pronouncing her name in that Highland accent spread a pleasant shiver through her. But he could be here for the "wedding night" bedding. She froze. Sacrebleu. Why hadn't she barred the door?
Too late; it opened. Her pulse-rate spiked and she backed up a step. Lachlan entered with a basket and closed the door. "I missed you at the céilidh."
"I was too tired to stay for the music and dancing." She clenched her hands, trying to hide her unease. "What is in the basket?"
"I couldn't help but notice you ate hardly anything at supper. And who could blame you what with the way Bernice went on? So I brought you some bread, cheese and wine."
"I am not hungry," she blurted before his generous concern could breach her defenses.
"You must be. You ate only two or three bites. I wouldn't be accused of starving my wife." He broke a small, soft chunk of bread and held it before her lips. It smelled heavenly and she noticed her appetite had returned. She opened her mouth and he pushed the bread inside.
"Good, hmm?" He took a bite for himself, sauntered toward the fireplace and dropped onto the settle. "Come. Sit."
What was he scheming? She did not wish to become cozy with her husband. But he did not seem threatening at the moment. When she sank into the plush cushion beside him, he broke a bit of the hard yellow cheese and offered it to her in the same way. The fire warmed her legs in the inviting dimness. While they chewed, the silence stretched but it was not an unpleasant moment.
"Bernice won't be working in the castle anymore," he said.
"Did you speak with Fingall about it?" Perhaps she should have done that, but she had only wanted to escape the animosity and everyone's scrutiny. She had to show more strength tomorrow.
"Aye. They don't reside at the castle anyway. They have their own home on the outskirts of the village. His good income is enough to provide them what they need."
"Grâce à Dieu. Bernice is a menace. And her brother did try to kill you. C'est qu'il est goujat! Did Fingall take offense at me?"
"Nay. He continued to apologize and wished to make it up to us."
"I pray she is the only disloyal one left."
"As do I. All the Drummagan clansmen I've met have sworn their allegiance," Lachlan said. "Tomorrow, Dirk, Rebbie and I will begin training them more rigorously. In the event Kormad attacks, we shall be ready."
The thought of an attack or battle produced an icy sensation in the pit of her stomach. "Do you think he will?"
"I cannot rightly say. But he won't give up easily." Lachlan offered her another piece of bread. When she tried to take it into her hand, he shook his head and pressed it to her lips. She ate, watching him carefully. His tiger's eye gaze gleamed in the firelight as did the trace of dull gold stubble on his jaw.
"When would you like to have the second wedding and the feast?" he asked.
She swallowed, surprised at this change in subject. "After my wedding gown arrives from London."
"A week and a half, then? If your gown doesn't arrive within a week, I shall send someone to London to fetch it." He gave her a bite of cheese, his finger carelessly grazing her lip, then popped a bite into his own mouth. "The women of this clan make good cheese, aye?"
She nodded; indeed it was better than most of the French cheeses. But she feared what made this cheese so tasty was that he was feeding it to her. Never had a man done this before.
He uncorked the half bottle of wine and offered it to her. "'Tis Brabant."
She was not accustomed to drinking from a bottle but it seemed like a fun thing to do. She turned it up. After two sips of the wine sweetened with honey and spiced with cloves, she passed it back to him. He drank a long swallow, then licked his lips.
The primal side of her craved another sip so she could place her lips where his had been. What an insane thought. She recalled the way, at their wedding, he had kissed her possessively, his tongue darting into her mouth in a startling and disturbing manner. The memory sent heat searing through her.
"Would you like to work with the other women on planning the wedding and feast?" he asked.
She swallowed hard, shoving the memory away and suppressing her reaction. "Oui."
"Arrange it as you desire."
Desire? She scrutinized his neutral expression, then nodded.
He stood, stretched and yawned. "'Tis late." He headed toward the door. "I'll leave this in case you get thirsty." He set the corked bottle of wine on a table.
"Merci."
He bowed. "Good night."
"Bonsoir. Where are you going?" she blurted, then hated herself for it.
Pausing, he hid a grin, unsuccessfully. Wickedness entered his eyes. "I could stay, if you wish."
"No. I was just…never mind."
His heated gaze lingered upon her for a moment longer, then shifted. "I might have a wee dram of whisky, if that meets with your approval."
"Oui. Enjoy."
"Sleep well." He bowed again.
The door snapped closed. She could not believe he'd truly walked out without trying to kiss her.
Whisky? He had evaded her question nimbly by not telling her where he would drink the whisky. Was it an excuse? Had he already found a paramour here at Draughon?
Hmph!
She had not saved his miserable life only to have him embarrass her the first night here. After putting on her slippers, she crept to her sitting room and listened at the door that joined his. No sound. She strode through his sitting room and paused at his bedchamber door.
No giggles or moans. He'd had no time to bring a woman back here.
She tapped softly, then harder. Silence. Holding the candl
e aloft, she eased the door open and entered the empty room. Sidestepping his trunk in the middle of the floor, she moved toward the bed. A servant had turned down the covers, neat and tidy. She plucked his whisky flask from the bedside table and shook, the liquid inside sloshing. If he had only wanted a nightcap, why would he not drink it here? Where had he gone?
To a woman's bed elsewhere in the castle?
What was he up to? Maybe she could find him without his knowledge. At the cold fireplace, she removed the rock at the bottom, where the hearth connected to the wall. She pressed the metal lever with her foot. A screeching clang sounded behind the tapestry. Cringing at the noise, she glanced back at the door, then picked up the fire poker.
Careful to keep the candle flame away from the fabric, she burrowed behind the tapestry and pushed open the hidden door to reveal a narrow spiral stair. Spider webs crisscrossed before her. She used the poker to clear them away, then descended into the musty darkness. Debris and rubble crunched underfoot, poking up into the bottom of her leather slippers. Likely no human had ventured here in over a decade.
As a child, she had played in these hidden passageways and learned the dangerous but fascinating art of eavesdropping. No one would ever tell her what was going on, but she always learned the secrets anyway.
She certainly remembered the vicious arguments between her parents about her father's infidelity and mistresses. Her mother had loved him and that's why it had hurt her so much. And now, what if Angelique slid into the same predicament? No, she would never love Lachlan. She couldn't. To do so would be self-destruction of the worst sort.
At the bottom of the stairwell, the stone floor leveled out and the narrow corridor stretched behind two rooms, a guest bedchamber and the library. Further along, it ran behind the upper portion of the high-ceilinged great hall where small apertures allowed full views of the occupants, unnoticeable from floor level. If Lachlan was down there, she would see him. In the old days, the slits had allowed guards to keep an eye on guests and even to shoot arrows if necessary.
No sound came from the guest chamber, and through the crack, she saw that the room was dark. Male voices carried from the library. Pausing behind that room, she set the candle on the floor and peered through the crack.
Lachlan, Dirk, Rebbie and Miles sat at a table, playing cards and drinking amber-colored whisky from small crystal glasses. So, he hadn't lied. Thank the heavens. For a time, she relaxed and simply listened to the rich sound of his voice. How pleasant and persuasive it could be, and that Scottish burr made it even more so. They discussed the clan and things that had happened during the day. A short time later, Dirk and Miles left, headed to their guest quarters.
Rebbie shuffled the cards while Lachlan stirred at coals in the hearth.
"Why are you not with your wee wifey? Surely, you would like to show your gratitude to her for saving your life today." Rebbie snickered.
"I don't find that funny. 'Tis a wonder I'm not a laughingstock after what she pulled."
"Better than being dead."
"I would've put a stop to him soon enough."
She couldn't believe he was so ungrateful for her help; his arrogant pride spoke for him.
"From what I can tell, the men of the clan respect you," Rebbie said.
"They don't trust me."
"'Tis your first day here. Once they get to know you, I'm sure they will be so loyal as to give their lives in your stead."
"I hope they will allow me to lead them. I intend to protect them as well. I only hope Angelique doesn't undermine my authority. 'Tis her clan by birth, I ken, but I am chief."
"I'm sure you know well how to keep her reined in."
"'Tis easier said than done. But indeed, I have her under control for now. I'm starting to understand her a bit more. She loves to pick a fight more than anything. But I don't yet ken whether this fight is with me or herself."
Angelique clenched her teeth so tightly she feared they would break. That lout! Balourd! Goujat!
"Hmm," Rebbie mused. "Why would she fight herself?"
"Though she doesn't want to, she likes me more than she will admit." Lachlan's voice held an amused tone. "And I've made sure she'll be busy planning the second wedding ceremony and the feast for the next week and a half, while I attend to important clan business."
The bastard! Her hands fisted, her nails biting into her palms. Angelique wished she could crawl through the crack so she could throttle him now. She could scarce concentrate on the rest of the damnable conversation for the blood roaring in her ears.
"Your wedding is not important?" Rebbie asked.
"Aye, but we're already married. This wedding will be a formality, for Angelique and the clan."
"She doesn't ken what an indulgent husband she has," Rebbie said in a dry tone.
"Aye." Lachlan turned from the hearth. "'Tis late and I'm off to find my bed."
"Not your wife's bed?" Rebbie opened the door.
Lachlan picked up the candelabra and followed. "The doors of our sitting rooms connect so…" Lachlan's voice trailed off into a mumble as they left the room.
Damn him! The beast. He thought he was controlling her? Angelique picked up the candle and rushed up the narrow stairwell. She stubbed her toe on one of the stone steps. The pain near blinded her. "Mère de Dieu," she gasped. Was it broken? The thin leather slipper offered no protection. The poker fell from her hand with a loud clang among the debris on the steps. Holding tight to the candle, she continued up the stairs, limping.
At the top, the door was still ajar. She passed through and closed it. Fighting her way from beneath the heavy tapestry, she rushed forward to replace the rock over the latch at the base of the hearth. She set the candle down and it toppled to the floor, extinguishing the light.
"Parbleu," she whispered and ran for the door through the pitch blackness. Her leg slammed into something large and solid. She fell, cursing and rubbing her shin. Lachlan's damned trunk.
A distant door opened, Lachlan's sitting room door. Merde! I must hide.
Chapter Six
Angelique crawled across the floorboards and a carpet but could see nothing. She found the bed and slid beneath, praying no spiders lived there.
The bedchamber door opened and candlelight flowed into the room. Lachlan hummed a bawdy Scottish song, then whistled part of it. She watched his booted feet as he crossed to the hearth. A clunk sounded as he set his lit candle on the mantel. He stopped whistling, bent down and picked up the extinguished candle she'd dropped. Sacrebleu.
Silence followed. His feet turned slowly. Metal hissed against leather. She could scarce breathe. She didn't want to reveal herself, nor did she want him to take his sword or dagger to her, thinking she was a thief.
The light from his candle descended as he set it on the floor. He knelt, then peered beneath the bed. He squinted. "Angelique? Is that you?"
"Merde," she muttered and scooted from her hiding place.
"What the devil are you doing beneath my bed? I'd much rather find you in it."
Face burning, she rose and hobbled toward the exit, her shin and toe throbbing. He was faster, running to stand before the door. "Are you limping?"
"I slammed my shin against your damnable trunk." She tried to reach the door latch, but he blocked it. "I am tired and I wish to go to bed," she snapped. Control her, would he? A string of foul names formed in her mind.
"Let me see." He sheathed his sword, then swept a hand toward the chair near his bed. "Have a seat over there so I can see to your injury."
"Non. It is nothing, I assure you." Balourd! How dare he think to "keep her busy" with their wedding while he did "important" things?
He tilted his head and observed her with a charming, seductive expression. It only made her want to throttle him.
"You're angry with me," he said.
"Non. Why should I be?" Nullard!
"Why, indeed?" His grin lingered, as did his perceptive gaze. "So…you were paying me a wee visit."
&
nbsp; "I only wished to look around this room to see if anything of my father's remained." Good lie, she congratulated herself.
"Aye, lots of his things are here. What would you like to see?"
"Très bien. I will look at them tomorrow. Excusez moi, s'il vous plaît. I must bid you good night."
"Angelique, tell me true. Why were you in here? I won't be angry."
No, but she was angry as Hades. She yearned to confront him about the arrogant and callous things he'd said to Rebbie without him knowing she'd eavesdropped, but that was impossible. She didn't want him to suspect the presence of hidden passages so she could further spy on him in the future. She must get to the bottom of his deception and manipulation.
Besides that, one of the reasons she'd married him was because she thought he would be easy to control. And he thought he was controlling her? Merde! She would show him!
"Angelique?" His voice this time came out low and intimate, stirring. And though she was ready to clout him, her thoughts scattered.
She tried to think of a lie quickly, but her mind went blank. "I but wondered where you were."
"You wanted to see me?"
"I wondered if…" She closed her eyes, wishing she had said anything else.
"What?"
"If you had a…companion with you."
"Companion? You mean a woman?" He spread his arms toward the room. "As you can see, nay, I don't." His voice dropped an octave to deep and seductive. "You have me all to yourself."
A pleasant, thirsty heat spread over her face and body. She hated him because he easily broke past her defenses despite her best efforts to remain cold and unaffected. "I wish to go to my room now."
"If you want to pass through this door, you must pay the penalty."
"How much?" she blurted, then realized he couldn't have meant coin.
"Hmm. Let me see." He lifted a brow. "Three."
"Three what?"
"Three kisses, madame," he murmured.
She backed up a step, then two, desperate to escape his magnetism.
"'Twill be painless, I vow."
She wasn't worried about the kiss being painful, but anything that might follow, the coupling, the control he would gain over her. Which she could not allow. Besides that, she still wanted to strangle him.
My Wild Highlander Page 9