My Wild Highlander

by Vonda Sinclair

  "Aaahhch!" He staggered away from her, yanked his doublet open, and stared down at his belly where blood bloomed over his white shirt. "You bitch!" He surged toward her.

  She scrambled to her feet and backed into the corner of a stall, straw beneath her feet.

  The big portal to the stables opened. "Angelique!"

  Lachlan? Through the crack, she saw him, his hair bloody, but could only emit a moaning sound behind the gag. Watch for Girard!

  She yanked at the tightly tied strip of material, unable to slip it from her mouth.

  "You bastard. Where is Angelique?"

  A shot exploded, deafening. Lachlan's arm jerked and a red stain appeared. He rushed Girard, sword in hand. Blades clashed. She eased forward, trembling hands clutching her dagger grip, slick with Girard's blood. Lachlan made two strikes, one against Girard's sword, flinging it aside, and the next to Girard's throat. Blood spurted from the wound and he fell, clutching his neck. His eyes, full of hatred, sought out Angelique. He had looked at her thus before, in France. But this time he would never open his eyes again.

  Lachlan turned, his wild gaze finding her. "Are you well?" He rushed to her, took the dagger from her stiff hands and cut off the gag.

  She locked her arms around him. "Oui. But you are badly hurt." She pulled back and observed his bloody hair and shirt. "You were shot in the head?"

  "Just a graze I think."

  Blood soaked his torn shirtsleeve and dripped from his fingers like wine.

  "Girard shot you in the arm. Mère de Dieu, you are losing a lot of blood!"

  "Aye, but I shall live." His face looked far too pale.

  "We must get you to a physician."

  "Gwyneth is a healer." His voice sounded raw and breathy. He blinked his eyes hard and, with his good arm, caught at the stall door. "God's bones." He sank toward the floor and closed his eyes.

  Panic clutched at her throat. "Lachlan!" She dropped beside him and ripped his sleeve. Heavens, such a hole blown in his upper arm and him a free bleeder. She found the discarded gag and tied it above the wound. She had heard this would slow bleeding.

  The outside door thumped. Kormad, bloody and evil-eyed rushed toward her.

  Her dagger lay by Lachlan's limp hand. She seized the weapon and drew back.

  "Aha," Kormad howled. "I shall kill you if 'tis the last thing—"

  She flung the dagger. It stabbed into the target—Kormad's throat. He went down, clawing at the knife, pulling it out, but blood poured from the wound.

  He growled, crawling toward her a few feet, then he sank into the straw.

  Shaking, she snatched Lachlan's sword, intent on protecting her husband with her life. Kormad didn't move. She examined Lachlan again. His breath was warm against her hand, and the bleeding less. "Mère de Dieu, help me."

  Men rushed into the stables. Her heart slammed into her throat. Not more Drummagans.

  "Where's Lachlan?" Alasdair asked, bloody sword in hand, his clothing spattered red from the skirmish.

  "Grâce à Dieu. Here! He needs help. He has lost a lot of blood."

  "See to them," he told the MacGraths following him and motioned to the two dead men on the floor. He knelt by Angelique and held his hand before Lachlan's nose.

  "Fergus, help me with him." The two large, dark-haired men lifted Lachlan and carried him across the windy barmkin littered with bodies and into the great hall. She followed, in a fog, not trusting her trembling legs but she remained upright.

  "Gwyneth!" Alasdair called.

  "Oh, dear heavens." She rushed forward, glancing at Angelique. "You are well?"

  "Oui."

  The men lay Lachlan before the fireplace on the floor. Gwyneth ordered the servants about like a small army of her own. They already had boiling water, herbs and whisky nearby.

  All Angelique could do was pray and wipe at her own tears, her hands and clothing covered in blood.

  "I'll need to remove the lead ball, then we'll have to cauterize the wound," Gwyneth said.

  "Aye, let's do it," Alasdair said.

  "Are you hurt, Ange?" Camille suddenly stood before her, touching her face.

  She shook her head, her whole body starting to tremble.

  "Come, I will help you clean up," Camille urged.

  She shook her head again. She could not take her eyes off her husband. His pale, still face. Wake up, Lachlan!

  Unable to hold herself upright any longer, she sank to her knees. Kneeling by her, Camille clutched her in a fierce embrace and murmured comforting words in French.

  When Gwyneth removed the lead ball, blood again ran from Lachlan's wound.

  "No, he cannot lose more blood! He is a free-bleeder," Angelique cried.

  "Help her upstairs," Alasdair murmured to someone.

  "No! I must be with him."

  "Shh. We shall clean you up." Camille and two other women forced her toward the stairs. When she resisted, someone lifted her, a dark MacGrath warrior, and carried her up the steps to her bedchamber—no, Lachlan's bedchamber. The man lowered her into a chair before the hearth and left. Camille talked fast to everyone. The servants brought a basin of water.

  Camille knelt beside her. "Heavens! Look at your hands, Angelique."

  They were scraped, raw and bloody. "It matters not." No, nothing mattered if Lachlan did not open his eyes.

  Camille washed her hands in warm water and soap that scalded like lye against her skin. She ground her teeth but said nothing. It was but a small punishment for the stupidity of letting herself be captured and used to draw Lachlan out.

  While another woman wrapped bandages around Angelique's hands, Camille stroked a wet cloth over Angelique's face. Her hot tears streaked down the cool, damp skin of her cheeks.

  "Shh. He will be well, Angelique. They know what they are doing."

  "He must live," she whispered. "Pray, Camille."

  "Yes, we shall pray."

  "I cannot lose him."

  I love him and I did not tell him yet.

  ***

  The next day Angelique sat alone by Lachlan's bedside. She stared at his ashen face, her eyes scratchy from lack of sleep and the salty tears. The bleeding had stopped yesterday once they'd cauterized the wound. He had not even awakened during that horrible pain. Gwyneth had redressed his wounds this morn and done all she could for him.

  Angelique moved to the side of the bed and sat by his hip. She touched his face, willing him to open his eyes. Their golden whisky color and his teasing expression she yearned to see above all else. His beard stubble had grown scratchy during the night. She relished even this small sign that he lived. His breath puffed softly against her hand.

  "Stay with me," she whispered in French. "I am sorry for not believing in you. I was wrong about you. You are the best of men, honorable, faithful and noble."

  He remained unmoving.

  "Je t'aime. I love you."

  Still no response.

  "Do you hear me? Wake up." She jiggled his good hand as she squeezed it. Mère de Dieu, how could she fall in love with him, only to lose him in the next instant? How could fate be so cruel? She pressed his hand against her face and burst into tears. Great wracking sobs. What was wrong with her? She never cried like this. All the pain in her life had gathered behind her eyes and in her throat, almost choking her.

  "Dear heavens, what's happened?" Gwyneth bent over Lachlan to examine him.

  Though Angelique wanted to stop crying, she couldn't. She dropped to her knees by the bed and tried to pray silently despite her tears.

  Sweet Mother Mary, I love him. Do not take him from me, I beg of you. I have done much to be sorry for in my life. But I pray you, let him live.

  The talking around her became louder, but she did not want to face them.

  "Ange." Camille hugged her and helped her to her feet. "Did you see? Lachlan grimaced."

  Angelique swiped the tears from her eyes. In the blur, it seemed his lips moved.

  "He's trying to say something," Gwyneth
said.

  Alasdair moved forward. "Aye, brother?"

  "Angel," Lachlan whispered in a raspy dry voice.

  She could not breathe for fear she imagined it.

  "Angelique," he murmured, this word clear. His head moved, and his eyes opened a crack.

  "Je suis ici." Her throat closed as she took his hand and pressed it to her lips. She feared he would say something to her and die. "You must get well."

  "Aye."

  "We must get him to drink some herbal tea," Gwyneth said.

  Alasdair lifted him into a sitting position.

  Lachlan groaned.

  Gwyneth pressed a cup to his lips. "Drink."

  Lachlan took a sip, then grimaced. "You trying…kill me?"

  Gwyneth smiled with tears in her eyes. "'Tis an herb to help rebuild your blood. You lost so much."

  After a few sips he turned his head aside. "Enough," he rasped. They let him lie back.

  "Are you in much pain?" Alasdair asked.

  "Could use…whisky." He inhaled a deep breath and opened his eyes, his gaze traveling over those around his bed. "Don't look so worried. I'm not that easy to kill."

  His gaze stopped on Angelique and he reached for her hand again. She savored the warmth of his skin on hers.

  He is alive. He will live. A sparkling rush of relief and gratitude filled her, fresh tears pricking her eyes. Tears of happiness.

  "Why don't we let him rest a while?" Gwyneth suggested. "I'll be back in a short time with broth."

  Rebbie, Dirk and several MacGrath men filed out of the room, leaving Angelique alone with Lachlan. She leaned forward and kissed his cool forehead.

  "What was that for?" he whispered.

  "Because I love you and you must live and stay with me."

  "Och. Angelique." He observed her a long moment, strong emotion and a smile in his eyes. "I love you, too, lass."

  His image blurred and her eyes burned. "Do you mean it, truly?" she whispered. "Or is this just…?" She could not force the rest of the words beyond her constricted throat.

  "Aye, I mean it. I've never said those words to another woman. I didn't ken what they meant until I tangled with you, my wee hellcat. Besides, I told you I would never lie to you." He observed her in a serious manner. "I haven't been a good husband to you because I didn't protect you and your inheritance, but I promise to from now on."

  "How can you say this?" She frowned. "You almost died because of me, to save my life. I can never repay you for your heroic deeds."

  "You blather on too much. I told you I would kill Girard, and I did. He hurt you. Anyone who hurts you shall suffer, I vow. What of Kormad?"

  "Dead." She could not quite bring herself to admit she'd done the deed. "Along with several traitors of our clan. Bryson and a few others live. The constable is going over the evidence and testimonies." Rebbie had found her diamond pendant on Girard's body and returned it to her, but Lachlan was her only treasure now.

  "I'm sorry I questioned your honor and fidelity. I know you have been true to me," she whispered.

  A grin quirked his lips. "Indeed, I have."

  "I believe you."

  "You are the only woman I can see now. I am blind to all others, and it has been this way since I met you. I don't understand it, but there 'tis. Come, lie here with me." He gently tugged her closer to him.

  "No, you are not well. We cannot…"

  "Shh." Though it seemed to take a great deal of effort, he lifted his good arm and stroked his fingertips over her face and into her hair. "Did you say you love me?" His eyes fierce and golden, he observed her closely.

  "Yes, I love you."

  "How much?"

  "More than I've ever loved anyone. More than the amount of water in all the oceans. More than the number of stars in the sky."

  He swallowed hard. "'Tis a lot. But, I vow, I love you more." He drew her closer and pressed his lips to hers in a warm, gentle kiss of pure emotion.

  Epilogue

  A week later, when Lachlan was well enough, they had a feast in honor of the two brothers and their new brides. Lachlan sent Rebbie, his cousin Fergus MacGrath, and several others to straighten out the problems at Draughon, find the false papers at Burnglen and meet with the Perth officials and the constable.

  Two weeks after that, when Lachlan was strong enough to sit a horse for several hours, he, Angelique, Camille and Dirk prepared for departure. A dozen MacGrath guards and cousins would escort them.

  "I wish you'd stay until spring," Alasdair said, his breath fogging in the crisp morning air.

  "Much as I'd love that, I must see to Draughon," Lachlan said, observing his brother's dark frown. "I'm fine, mother hen."

  "Take care of him," he told Dirk.

  "As if he needs it," Dirk muttered, then sent a smirk to Lachlan.

  "I've sent messengers ahead to some chiefs and friends along the way who will give all of you a night's lodging."

  "I thank you, brother. And we'll see you again soon. In the spring, aye? We'll return for Orin and Kean, and I'll get to meet your new son. Or daughter."

  "Indeed." Alasdair shook his hand, hugged him and slapped his back as if trying to knock something from his windpipe.

  "Och." Lachlan would show no weakness or he'd be stuck here another fortnight. He turned to his mount. Aye, he could sit in a saddle, but mounting was the problem with a sore arm. Alasdair and Dirk grabbed him and hoisted him onto the horse's back.

  "Damnation. Warn me when you're going to do that."

  "He appreciates naught," Dirk grumbled. Lachlan knew he was teasing but maybe it was true and he didn't show his appreciation enough.

  "I thank you, friend."

  Dirk tried to hide a grin as he mounted.

  Lachlan turned his attention to Angelique on a bay mare not far from him. He winked, drawing a secret smile from her. Indeed, he had much to be thankful for, especially his adorable wife. The past three weeks she had cared for him like a bairn and near spoiled him. A few days after he'd awakened—once he'd convinced her he would not die—they had indulged in lovemaking such as he'd never imagined. He had not known such depth of feeling was supposed to accompany the bedding. Now he understood why Alasdair had been willing to move heaven and earth for Gwyneth. He would do the same for Angelique.

  They traveled slowly south but the late autumn weather did not cooperate. They waited out a snowstorm at another castle, midway, before they could continue. It took over a week to reach Draughon.

  At last, they rode through the gates of their home. Rebbie descended the steps to meet them in the courtyard.

  "'Tis about time, you slackards. I was tempted to send out a search party."

  "What news?" Lachlan dismounted, then helped Angelique, glad to feel his arm growing stronger.

  "All is well. Naught to worry over," Rebbie assured him. "We found the false papers at Burnglen and were able to prove to the constable the signatures were forged. Some of the lying witnesses were arrested and others ran away. We found your loyal Drummagan clansmen locked in the dungeon and they testified against Kormad."

  "Heckie?"

  Rebbie grinned. "Aye. He is well and ornery as ever."

  Lachlan slid his arm around Angelique's shoulders and they entered Draughon's great hall, the rest of the party following.

  "M'laird. M'lady." The servants and clansmen bowed respectfully, then a cheer went up.

  Lachlan thanked them, shaking hands all around, a bit sad that only half the clan remained. But he was fairly certain these were the people he could trust.

  "Who is this?" Angelique asked.

  A wee lad stood near high table. Something about him looked familiar, not just his green eyes and red hair but his facial shape and expression.

  "This is Timmy," Rebbie said. "We found him at Burnglen with his nanny. Lady Angelique, he is apparently your…natural half-brother."

  "Mère de Dieu. In truth? My father's son?" She crept forward.

  "That's the rumor. Even I can see the family r
esemblance."

  Angelique knelt. "Good day, Timmy."

  He ran and hid behind a woman's skirts. His nanny.

  Lachlan watched while Angelique gently coaxed him out and even convinced him to talk in a whisper. He was so young, no more than four summers. Soon, he would no longer remember much about his uncle Kormad. Timmy would grow up here at Draughon with Orin and Kean, Lachlan decided. A good start to their family.

  Rebbie joined Lachlan and Dirk. "I need to talk to both of you," he said quietly.

  They proceeded into the library.

  "What is it? Has something else happened?" Lachlan asked.

  "Nay. I but wanted to tell you, when I arrived here a few weeks ago, Eleanor had taken up residence."

  "You jest! She had that much gall?"

  Rebbie chuckled. "Aye, but I sent her packing back to England soon enough. Hopefully, she will leave you and Angelique in peace."

  "I thank you for taking care of that debacle."

  "About the two white mares you purchased for Angelique's wedding gift, they are in the stables whenever you wish to present them to her."

  "Och. I wondered where they went." Lachlan looked forward to seeing the happiness on Angelique's face when he gave them to her.

  "When the horses were released the night of your attack, they returned to the Robertson's. The chief then sent some of his men to return them to you."

  "I'm relieved."

  Rebbie opened a drawer on the desk and took out what appeared to be a missive bearing a red wax seal. He handed it to Dirk. "This arrived for you."

  "For me?" He frowned.

  "Aye, it bears your name."

  Dirk broke the seal and unfolded the paper. Standing by the window, he read in silence for a few moments.

  Lowering the paper, he muttered, "Damnation."

  "What is it?"

  "I'll tell you later." Taking the letter, he strode out the door.

  "Hmph," Lachlan grunted. "I wish he wouldn't do that."

  "He's the most secretive person I know. 'Tis vexing."

  "Well, given your prying skills, I'm sure you'll find out soon enough," Lachlan said, opening the door.