"For you, I'm sure it is."
"And for you. I would ignore my own needs and fulfill yours first."
"I do not have those kinds of needs." Her gaze was cutting.
"Aye, you do. You just don't ken it yet. Either that or you're lying about it."
"Non, believe what I say."
"I'm thinking you protest too much. I've seen the way you look at me. You enjoyed the kisses." And so had he. In fact, he craved another now. He would cover her sweet, delectable body in kisses if but given the chance.
Her face reddened but her mouth appeared sealed tight.
"I'm also thinking no man has ever pleasured you." Deep down, he was glad for that because he wanted to be the only one to teach her about pleasure. And he wanted her addicted to the carnal delights he would dole out.
"I told you, I am not a virgin."
"That makes no difference. 'Haps you have been with a man but you didn't enjoy it. A woman deserves as much pleasure as a man." And for her, he'd endeavor to give her twice as much.
"I am not interested," she said in a small voice. But, like a light caress, her curious gaze slid down his chest, over the thin material draping his hips and becoming tented at his groin.
Not interested? What a terrible liar she was. "One kiss," he said.
"What?" The ambivalence—fear and desire—in her eyes made him ache to the depths of his soul. How could she think he'd hurt her?
"One kiss is all I ask of you this night."
"I do not wish it."
"You enjoyed the one last night. I didn't think you feared anything."
"I do not fear you." Her tone was almost like a wee wildcat's growl. So fragile, yet so fierce.
"Aye, I'm thinking that's why you chose me over those other two men." He needed to remind her it was her decision to marry him. And remind her of the bastards she could be married to at this very moment instead. Neither man would be so lenient as Lachlan.
"I did not wish to marry a man old enough to be my grandfather."
"Understandable. And Kormad?"
"Him I detest beyond anything."
Lachlan nodded. "What of Philippe? Did he give you pleasure?"
She remained silent, staring into the fire.
"I didn't think he had."
"He did."
Och! Another lie. "Indeed? Then I deserve a chance to wipe him from your memory."
"You cannot. I shall never forget Philippe."
What the hell did she see in the cowardly laddie? Likely, that was another lie to keep Lachlan at bay. "A kiss, Angelique. 'Tis all I'm asking. If you'd married Chatsworth or Kormad, either of them would've already forced you into bed. But I wouldn't do that. I ask you to come of your own free will."
The fire crackled in the long silence.
Stomach aching, Angelique clenched her sweaty hands, unable to forget the pain and humiliation she'd suffered at Girard's hands... and body. The way he forced his erect member inside her, like a battering ram, making her flesh bleed, even as he slapped her and hit her. Tears stung her eyes. She turned away from Lachlan, hoping he would not see.
Lachlan was not Girard, not a rapist, nor was he angry. Everything about him was different from Girard, but he was still a man who wished to take her body, control her life. Sex was a dangerous instrument, whether done violently or gently, it was meant to bring her under his command. Bend her to his will. And clearly, he intended to be in charge, marching into her chamber whenever he pleased.
For one brief moment, she allowed herself the truth. Lachlan appealed to her in a most frightening way. His charm drew her in, against her will. It wasn't only his masculine physical appeal and the raw male beauty of his defined muscles, but the heated look in his eyes, the spellbinding sound of his deep, rich voice. She could not control the rhythm of her own breathing when he was near, observing her closely.
What if she coupled with Lachlan and all the pain and terror of Girard came rushing back to her, in her mind. As if it were happening again now. What would she do? The memory might be too real, too much to endure.
"One wee peck on the cheek," Lachlan said, his tone light, such a contrast to her inner turmoil.
"Very well." Get it over with and go! She could abide this pressure no longer.
Slowly, he approached her, each step closer quickening her heart rate.
She glanced into his dark gold eyes and turned her cheek to him. Please, let him be quick.
Drawing near, he pressed his nose to her hair and inhaled. The release of his warm breath caressed her temple and her ear. She shivered at the tickle and waited.
His breath, softer this time, touched her cheek. She had never felt anything so bewitching. And he smelled appealingly male. What fragrance of soap did he use?
He brushed smooth lips over her cheek, but his rough masculine stubble called to everything in her that was feminine. Immobilizing tingles spread down her neck, across her chest, peaking her nipples. He exhaled against her—hot, sensual, subtle—without touching her.
Disturbing carnal sensations raced over her and her eyes drifted closed. "Go away," she whispered.
"That is what you desire, in truth?" he murmured against her ear, but continued with the seduction. He drew her earlobe into his mouth. The erotic overload drove a shaft of terror through her and she shoved at his chest.
He grasped her wrists and pushed them above her head. Trapped.
Panic seized her. "Arrêtez! Bâtard!" She tried to yank herself from his firm grip.
He paused, restraining her against the wall and staring into her eyes at short distance. "Oui. Je suis un bête. Non? Goujat?" he asked. "A stupid beast, a lout, a bastard?"
Iciness drifted down through her. "Vous ne parlez pas la Francaise."
"Oui, madame, I do speak French. I was in France for more than a year."
"You lied."
"Non." The anger in his expression gave her chills.
"You pretended ignorance."
"I have been called a canny lad. I ken what you have called me when you thought I couldn't understand. How would you like it if I said things about you in Gaelic?"
He did talk about her to his friends, but in English and behind her back. Damn him.
"I wouldn't call you degrading names in Gaelic, neither to your face nor behind your back. I am not as much a bastard as you think."
"Pardonnez-moi." She lowered her gaze, submitting, praying he would release her and not force her. She might go insane and try to kill him if he did.
"I forgive you." His lips quirked and a long moment later, he brushed them against the corner of her mouth—persuasive, determined, fervent. He nipped at her lips, flicked his tongue against the seam. Unwanted arousal shot through her like a bolt of lightning. Such power and control he wielded with his practiced seduction. He used his magic on her as he had many other women.
Her throat closed off. Gasping, she turned her head away and tried to twist from his hold. "Release me!"
"Not until you kiss me properly as a wife should kiss her husband."
"Bastard!"
"I was born well within wedlock. As our bairns will be."
She shook her head. "Do not touch me. You have been with hundreds of women. I do not want a disease." There, good reason. And Mère de Dieu, what if it were true? She had not considered it until this moment.
Eyes narrowed, he stepped back, releasing her at last. "I have no disease, madame," he said firmly.
"How do you know?" She inched away from him.
"I have no symptoms of any sort. I am always most careful. I have never bedded whores or barmaids."
"Ladies have been known to carry diseases."
"Aye, but word gets around."
"Or maybe debauching virgins is your specialty."
He shrugged. "If they asked nicely. But that is all in the past. My body is yours alone now."
Ha. Did he honestly think she believed that? "Prove you do not have a disease. Have a physician come."
He glowered.
"You jest."
"Non. I mean it. I wish a physician to inspect your... member and see that it is healthy."
Chapter Seven
Lachlan laughed, but this shifted to a perplexed scowl. "I assure you, m'lady, my 'member' is healthy."
"I do not know that," Angelique said. A libertine such as him had been with too many women to count. She was glad she had thought of this before it was too late.
"If I am examined and found healthy, I am welcome in your bed, aye? Every night."
Parbleu. She had not considered what would happen afterward. "I shall think about it."
"No thinking. I want your word." His eyes had become those of a hardened warrior again. "A signed contract."
"Have you lost your mind?"
"Nay. 'Tis only fair. I meet your demands; you meet mine. And to sweeten the deal, I will allow you to accompany me as I meet with some of the clan chiefs we have alliances with in the surrounding area, and their wives, within the next few days."
She stiffened. How dare he? "I will go whether you 'allow' it or not. I am the countess."
"Nay. Our marriage vows said you must obey me. I always must do what is best for the clan. And for your safety."
What a ridiculous excuse. "I think your seduction skills are slipping, monsieur. You are having a problem seducing your own wife and have to resort to contracts, deals and blackmail."
"I haven't yet begun to try seducing you. But if that's what you wish..." He shrugged. "I thought you valued honesty above all. Seduction doesn't always involve honesty and forthrightness. Seduction is a game, manipulation, pleasure for both players. Is that what you desire?"
"Non."
"What do you want then?" In the firelight, his golden gaze was too perceptive, prying into her very soul. "What are your deepest desires, Angelique?"
She would never tell him her deepest desires. If she had any, they were hidden, buried beneath the rubble of her heart where Girard had shattered it. She had not the will nor strength to go a second round, to entrust her dreams to another seducer. No, in truth, her dreams were dead.
"I want nothing of you." Though she tried, her voice would not raise above a whisper.
"Forgive me if I don't believe you. You want something or you never would've picked me."
"I had no choice."
"Aye, you did. If you'd chosen Chatsworth, you probably would've been a widow soon."
She shook her head. "I could not abide him, even one night."
"Can you abide me one night?"
"I do not know. Mayhap."
"One night then." At her desk he took out a piece of paper, dipped a quill into the inkpot and started writing.
"What are you doing?"
"Drawing up a contract. If I get my 'member' approved as healthy by a physician, then you must give me a whole night in your bed. Or you can come to mine. And not for sleeping. Is my meaning clear, or do I need to spell it out?"
"If this is part of your seduction, it is sorely lacking."
"Do you want seduction or honesty?"
"Both," she blurted. Merde! She covered her mouth.
"Ah." His eyes sparkled with mischief. "Well then, the lady has made her desires known. Duly noted."
"I spoke in haste. I did not mean it."
"No need to explain." He continued writing and the realization struck her that he must indeed be well-educated if he could scribe with such speed. "I only need your signature here." He presented her with the paper and pointed to the bottom.
She read his scratchy script. I, Angelique, wife of Lachlan, agree to one full night, from nine in the evening until nine in the morning in the same bed with Lachlan for purposes of sexual pleasure, under any name, coupling, swiving, procreation, if he brings documentation of his sexual health and absence of any diseases, signed by a physician. And if I spend the night with him as described above, I may accompany him to visit neighboring clan chiefs and their wives. He had signed as a witness.
"Damn you," she muttered, strode to the desk and signed. "Là. C'est fini." She shoved the paper toward him and threw the quill onto the desk.
He smiled like a fox with a hen in its jaws. "Merci, belle ange." Blowing the paper to dry the ink, he approached the door.
"I want a signed and sealed testimony from the physician, the one in the nearby village."
Lachlan bowed. "Anything else, my queen?"
"Hmph."
***
"What the hell is going on at Draughon?" Kormad stood before the fireplace in the drafty, dark great hall of Burnglen.
MacFie, who'd just returned from scouting, strode across the worn out rushes. "I didn't see the men you left there, m'laird."
"Damnation!" Those had been some of his bravest, most canny men. He had few left. Pike was out of his head with fever. Several of the others were witless, good for no more than mucking out stalls. What he needed were the Drummagan men as his own. And if he were their chief it would be so. "Did my men flee the castle like rabbits? Are they dead? In Draughon's dungeon?"
"I don't ken, sir."
"Send out Murray and Rusty to look for them. Keep three men posted to watch Draughon at all times. If they get a chance to kill MacGrath or the wench tell them to do it!"
"Aye, m'laird."
Something thumped off to the side. Kormad turned to find his wee, fair-haired nephew partially hidden behind a chair, wide curious eyes locked on him.
"Timmy." Kormad crossed the room, sat down in the chair and held out his hand. The lad rose and crept to him. He looked so much like Kormad's sister, each glimpse of those innocent blue eyes was like a kick in the gut. "Don't fret, Timmy. I'll put everything to rights. You will inherit the title and lands your father denied you. You will one day be earl of Draughon and chief of Clan Drummagan." But I will be first, so that I can secure it for you.
And the Drummagan wench would pay for her father's sins.
***
Early the next morn, Lachlan passed Dirk, Rebbie and several clansmen breaking their fast in the great hall. Too late, he realized he should've made good his escape through the servants' back entrance so as to not rouse curiosity.
"A good morn to you," Lachlan called when they spotted him, then headed toward the exit.
"Where are you off to with such haste?" Rebbie called, his voice echoing off the high ceiling.
Lachlan paused. They awaited his response, all their eyes upon him.
He refused to let them know he was going to the physician or what rubbish Angelique demanded of him, blast her hide. He was a supreme, shining example of an indulgent husband, and she should be thankful for him and his leniency.
He gave a tight grin. "I shall be back in a trice."
Rebbie rose and followed him to the door, curious eyes locked upon him.
"'Tis naught but an errand for my lady wife," Lachlan said in a low voice. Hell, if Rebbie got wind of this, Lachlan would never live it down.
"What sort of errand?"
"Naught to worry about. Continue with your meal."
Rebbie shrugged and returned to the table. Lachlan hurried to the stables and saddled a horse, while the stable lads scurried about bringing him what he required. He hoisted himself into the saddle, kicked the horse into a gallop and rode away from the castle.
Twenty minutes later, after cursing Angelique the whole way, he dismounted before the physician's cottage in the nearby village. 'Twould be easier to get this over with here than have Doctor Ellis come to the castle where everyone would want to know the purpose of his visit. A light rain misted his hair and he glanced up at the low-hanging gray clouds. Aye, 'twas good to be in Scotland again.
Fast hoof-beats approached on the castle road and he curled a hand around his sword hilt.
Dirk and Rebbie raced around the curve toward him.
Damnation!
They drew up even with him, their mounts snorting and kicking up clumps of black mud. "What the devil are you doing riding out alone?" Dirk asked. "Kormad would like naught better th
an to ambush you."
"I am always on guard against such. And I don't fear him." Lachlan had two pistols and a sword on his belt.
"What are you doing here, at the physician? Are you ill?" Rebbie asked.
"Nay. Never mind. Just don't tell anyone I came here."
"Only if you tell us the truth."
"Damn you," Lachlan muttered, turning away.
Rebbie laughed. "Come on then, out with it. Are you needing a potion to enhance your virility?"
Dirk snickered.
"After the thorough bedding you gave her in London, I would've never guessed." Rebbie was determined to grind salt into his wound.
"Nay, I have no need of a potion," Lachlan growled. He released a long breath. "Angelique kens of my reputation with the ladies so she wishes assurance I don't have... a disease."
Dirk and Rebbie guffawed and almost toppled to the ground. Their horses stamped and danced about.
"'Tis not funny. Now, don't be telling anyone or I'll no longer associate with the two of you bastards." Lachlan knocked on the door.
***
A half hour later, Lachlan closed the same door behind him on the way out, feeling more violated than he had in his life. He cringed. Doctor Ellis had examined his member beneath a magnifier. And checked every other part of his body while he was at it. The man had inspected the hair on Lachlan's head for thickness and sniffed his breath. With some of the prodding and squeezing he did, if the man hadn't been a professional, Lachlan would've cut off his fingers.
Lachlan stuffed the damnable signed and sealed document into his doublet, glad to see the rain had stopped.
"And are you carrying the French pox, then?" Rebbie asked, standing by his horse.
"Nay. Officially healthy." As he knew he was. Angelique would have to pay the piper now and spend the night in Lachlan's bed. He couldn't wait.
Rebbie hoisted himself into the saddle. "How much did you have to bribe him with?"
"To hell with you!"
Rebbie laughed.
"You haven't had a wedding night yet, have you?" Dirk's tone was understated but his question pointed.
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