It was a long way back to Draughon. Lachlan and several more men planned to leave two days hence. Imagining Lachlan being injured in a battle so far away from her wrenched her inside. What if he were to be killed and she never saw him again? She may as well die, too.
In the snow-whitened barmkin far below her, Lachlan stood talking to his brother. Secretly, she savored the sight of him. She had awakened this morn to find Lachlan sleeping in a chair by the hearth. He hadn't forced himself into bed with her—his bed, in truth. She was the outsider here. She felt vulnerable with a hundred questions hovering. How did he truly feel about her? She prayed he could learn to love her.
A woman, her belly large with child, ambled though the gates below. The lad of about five or six years broke away from her and ran to Lachlan. He picked him up, hugged him, and threw him over his shoulder like a sack of grain. The child's laughter was sharp in the crisp air. His older son, surely.
Alasdair walked away and the pregnant woman approached Lachlan. Angelique tensed, waiting for an emotional blow. But Lachlan didn't touch her, even after he set the lad to his feet. He merely talked to her in a low tone for several minutes. He dug into his sporran, took something out and gave it to her. Coins. Dear Lord, that woman was carrying his child. Again.
Nausea rolling in her stomach, Angelique closed the window and pulled the thick curtain over it, making the room dark again. Who had she married? A man who wanted a harem? Angelique had done the most idiotic thing on earth and fallen in love with her rogue husband.
Several minutes later, she sat before the fire when Lachlan opened the door and entered the chamber.
"Are you well?" he asked.
She could not look at him; it was too painful. "Oui. Why would I not be?"
"Gwyneth said you were resting. I thought you'd be asleep."
"I do not take naps," she snapped, then realized she sounded like an irritable child.
"What's the matter?"
Her stomach knotted and a bit of her pain and rage crept out. "So, you are to be a father yet again?"
"What?"
"I saw you talking to her." She motioned toward the window.
"Och. Nay, the bairn she carries is not mine. I haven't been with her in years."
"Did you give her money?"
"Aye. For my son, and her. For clothing, food."
"And, of course, you have plenty of money now." She felt bitter and hateful even as she said the words. But it was true; he'd married Angelique for her money and estate.
He remained silent for a long moment. "Would you have them starve or wear rags?" His tone was not angry as she'd expected, but resigned.
She did feel sorry for them, other victims of Lachlan's irresponsible escapades. "Of course not." But did that mean her money should provide for them?
"I am bringing my sons home with us soon, once we have Draughon back."
"What?" She felt as if he'd struck her. Her gaze flew to him and his determined expression.
"Aye. I miss them. Kean's mother was killed. He has been living here at the castle. Alasdair and Gwyneth provide excellent care for him, but I want to care for him. Both of them. I've never had the opportunity before. You wish me to be responsible, so I will be. I want to be."
She admired him for that. Still, for her to instantly be a mother of two children—her husband's bastards—what would people think of her, accepting them so easily? "You decide without even asking my opinion."
He moved to the mantel, stared at something upon it for several moments. "They will love you. And you will love them if you give them a chance. They are but innocent children. They have done naught wrong."
Tears burned her eyes and she stared at her lap. She knew that; she would never blame them for Lachlan's misdeeds.
"Kean asked me if you are a princess."
"Heavens. I do not know how to take care of children."
"We shall hire a nanny. 'Haps we will need one soon, anyway."
When she forced herself to look at him, he winked. Everything was a jest to him, was it not?
"Will your older son's mother not mind if you take him away?"
"Nay, 'twas what she was talking to me about. She fears she cannot watch after him once her new bairn arrives. Orin's a wee rambunctious, and gets into scrapes, as I oft did as a lad. But you don't have to worry; he listens to me."
"He looks so much like you." Indeed both his sons did.
"Aye, 'tis true." He smiled with affection. With love. He could love his children, but not her. She felt beyond ridiculous being jealous of her husband's sons.
"Angelique." He stepped in behind her and grasped her shoulders in his big strong hands, caressing deeply into her tense muscles. "I'm hoping you can understand. I'm sorry for my past, because of you. Because I ken it bothers you. But I'm not sorry I have children. Can't you see? They are like treasures to me."
She bent forward, trying to escape his hypnotic touch, trying to hide the emotion in her eyes.
He came around in front of her and knelt, took her forearms into his hands. "Angelique. What's wrong? Tell me."
She shook her head.
"When we have children, I will love them as much."
He could love her children, but not her. How foolish she was to care how he felt about anything. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her hair, her temple. She loved the way he smelled, like soap and musky male, loved the feel of his strong body. He had not touched her in a while; she hadn't let him. But now he felt so wondrous, like she remembered. She wished to wrap herself about him tightly, skin to skin.
"We must have a son to be the next earl of Draughon," he murmured. "Then, we must have a daughter, a wee lass who looks exactly like you."
How could he say such things? As if he might care. As if he wanted a true family with her. Tears pricked her eyes and she pressed her face against his chest.
"Shh." He rocked her and stroked her hair. "We shall get Draughon back. Never fear."
"I hope you are right." Yes, let him believe she worried she would never possess Draughon again, when in truth she feared she'd never possess him.
***
After evening meal, Angelique sat by the fire in the great hall. Lachlan had convinced her earlier to meet his sons. He now brought them forward and knelt between them.
"Kean, this is my wife, Lady Angelique." Lachlan whispered something else in his younger son's ear.
"M'lady." His wide-eyed gaze locked on her, then the tiny lad bowed.
Angelique's throat tightened. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Kean."
The lad beamed at her, his light brown eyes and endearing smile so like Lachlan's it near broke her heart. What an adorable little cherub he was.
"And this is Orin." Lachlan stood and placed his hand upon his older son's shoulder.
"M'lady." Though only five, he gave a dramatic bow as if he'd been practicing a while.
She couldn't help but smile. "Orin. It is so nice to meet you."
Orin did indeed have Lachlan's light hair and facial shape, but his eyes were clear blue.
Kean inched closer to where she sat, staring at her intently. "You're pwetty," he said.
"Merci. I thank you. What a little charmer you are." Smiling, she touched his baby-fine blond hair. He took that as leave to climb onto her lap and snuggle.
With no idea what to talk to such a small child about, she looked to Lachlan for help. The grinning scoundrel only winked. She placed her arms around Kean to hold him, and some emotion struck her she had never felt before—a warm, maternal feeling. She and Lachlan might one day have a son much like Kean, yes, some part of her wanted that intensely.
Outside, in the barmkin, men shouted, giving her a start.
"Stay here," Lachlan said and moved toward the entrance along with his brother and several more men.
Two guards entered and talked quietly with Lachlan and Alasdair.
Lachlan returned to her side. "Kormad, Girard and their men are outside the gates."
; 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 dr
ink 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.
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