My Wild Highlander

by Vonda Sinclair

  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.

  "La petite 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."

  Chapter Fourteen

  Angelique rushed across the great hall to greet her second cousin and childhood friend, Neilina Lockhart. "Thanks be to God you were not killed in Kormad's attack!"

  Neilina's clothing was ripped, dirty and askew, her auburn hair falling and tangled about her shoulders. "Angelique." Her breathing harsh, Neilina pulled her into an embrace. "I was lucky, but poor Jerome was not. They killed him and rode away with his lifeless body. No doubt they threw him in the river." She pulled back, her face scrunched, and sobbed into a handkerchief.

  "Mère de Dieu, you poor thing. You must rest. The men will deal with Kormad." An arm around Neilina's waist, Angelique ushered her up the stairs and toward a guest chamber, then directed the servants to bring in her trunks.

  Neilina's two maids straightened her drooping hair and poured water in a basin. "You must change m'lady. Your clothing is torn."

  Despite the dirt smudging her cheek, Neilina was a woman of great beauty. Angelique remembered she had been pretty as a child, when they had played together during clan gatherings.

  "Nay, I will be fine." Neilina waved them away. "I wish to give Cousin Angelique her gift."

  "You are too kind to think of me in a time like this."

  "Nonsense." Once the servants set down Neilina's trunk, she opened it and lifted out a carved box. "I'm so glad they didn't steal the wedding gift I brought you and your new husband. Congratulations on your marriage." Neilina handed her the box and curtseyed.

  "I thank you, but you should not have." Angelique didn't see how Neilina could maintain such self-possession, considering the violence she'd witnessed. She could've been raped or killed, for heaven's sake. But the women of her family were often considered strong.

  Angelique opened the box lid to reveal a beautiful set of silver spoons displayed on red velvet. "Oh what an extravagant and lovely gift. I thank you." It truly was one of the finest things they had received.

  "I'm so glad it pleases you."

  "Indeed. Lachlan will love it, too." She closed the box. "I'm sure you would like to rest for a while and change. I shall see you at evening meal. And I do hope you will be staying with us for a while." Angelique said the words partly out of politeness, trying to be the perfect hostess, and partly because she truly would like to get to know her cousin again.

  "Thank you. I would like that very much."

  Angelique was certain she must have imagined the sly twinkle in her cousin's eye, for when she looked back it was gone.

  ***

  At evening meal two days later, Lachlan glanced at those around high table in the great hall. Angelique's cousin's bold gaze met his and lingered. He had received such glances from enough women to know what it meant. He didn't want any woman interested in him except his wife who sat beside him. He lifted her hand and kissed it, hoping that said to Lady Neilina he was taken and interested in no one but his wife.

  Angelique smiled at him.

  He leaned closer and whispered in her ear. "I cannot wait to get you into bed again." He kissed her ear. Their last few nights together had been amazing.

  Her cheeks flushed and she gently pinched the inside of his bare knee beneath the tablecloth.

  Och! It took no more than that to make him hard? He wished she'd run her hand up his leg, beneath the plaid and find out exactly how she affected him. The quick rush of arousal near made him dizzy.

  He placed her palm flat against his thigh. Saints! He was stiff as a ram's horn. Why couldn't he get enough of her? At this rate, he'd lift her from her chair and cart her off to the bedchamber before the meal was over.

  "M'laird," one of the servants said behind his left shoulder.

  "Aye?" He turned.

  "A missive arrived for you."

  Lachlan took the small folded parchment and broke the red wax seal. The message was from Chief Robertson. He invited Lachlan to his holdings to inspect the white mares and, if they met with his approval, choose one for his wife. Another buyer was interested in them as well, so Lachlan was to relay his decision forthwith.

  Lachlan quickly refolded the paper, before Angelique could read it, and stuffed it into his sporran. The white mare was to be a surprise wedding gift for her. He was certain she would love it, especially after she'd mentioned having to leave her white horse behind in France. The Robertson's holdings were no more than two or three hours' ride one way. He could be there and back in one day, before Angelique even knew he'd left.

  "Is something amiss?" she asked.

  "Nay. All is well." He hid a smile, wondering if he might buy two horses. Indeed, two would surely make her twice as happy.

  Angelique eyed him, suspicion written in her expression. But he could not spoil this surprise. He kissed her cheek, then whispered, "Come upstairs with me, now."

  Her face turned bright red and she glanced about. But he did not care what the others thought.

  "We must beg your pardon," he said to the table at large as he arose, her hand in his, and tugged her from her chair. Snickers and ribald comments ensued as they rushed from the great hall. Clearly, she knew if she didn't follow peacefully, he'd toss her over his shoulder. Or maybe her carnal hunger matched his own. Aye, he hoped that was the case.

  "Lachlan," Angelique chastised him in a loud whisper once they were on the steps. "You are most uncouth!"

  "Indeed I am." He chuckled.

  ***

  The next morn, as they were breaking their fast, Angelique noticed Cousin Neilina staring openly at Lachlan. At first, Angelique thought Neilina must want to say something, but
quickly realized the woman's gaze held sensual interest. Had Lachlan noticed? He concentrated on eating, but did flick a heated look at Angelique and winked. Last night they had again shared an unforgettable and enthusiastic session of lovemaking. She was well and truly addicted to him now. Somehow, he had charmed his way into her heart and soul. He and his playful, seductive affection were the richest of ambrosia to her starved body and spirit. He filled her with expansive feelings of bliss such as she never knew existed.

  Which was why Neilina's interested, furtive looks filled Angelique with a rage of concern so great she felt as if a battering ram slammed against her rib cage. There it was again—her cousin was devouring Lachlan with her eyes. Angelique hadn't expected such treachery from her own kin.

  Mère de Dieu, Neilina was beautiful, more so even than Eleanor. What if Lachlan found Neilina attractive, irresistible? A cold fear arose within her.

  Angelique tried to act normal as the meal ended and the people disbursed. But Neilina continued to peek briefly at Lachlan as he talked quietly with Rebbie.

  The bitch. Angelique would strangle her.

  Lachlan appeared not to notice her regard, but he had done that before. When he headed down a corridor, Neilina trailed behind. Angelique stiffened, then forced herself to follow silently and hid in the shadows.

  "M'laird," Neilina said quietly.

  After a few more steps, Lachlan paused and turned back halfway. "Aye?"

  "'Haps I could meet you later in your chamber."

  Poisonous hatred dripped into Angelique's blood, hatred for her vile cousin. Hatred that focused her attention and her vision. Her hands clenched in her skirts, craving a weapon.

  Lachlan observed Neilina in silence for a long moment, but Angelique was so far away she could not see his expression. "The south tower room, just after sunset," he finally said.

  Angelique froze, the blood pounding through her ears blocking out any other sounds. Her legs lost all strength. She slumped against the cold stone wall at her back, then slid down into a tiny ball. Nausea clutched at her. And a lance of despair smashed against her heart. The bastard! She'd known he would do this, yet she'd trusted him. Why had she let him through her barriers?