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.
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.
My Wild Highlander Page 28