Claimed by the Highlander (13 page)

He straightened and tipped his head back, closed his eyes as if to drink in the sun’s warmth. A drop of perspiration trickled down the side of his sun-bronzed face, and he wiped it away with the heel of his hand.

Gwendolen stood transfixed, holding a tankard of ale, waiting for him to notice her. At last their eyes met, and she held out the drink.

Striding toward her, he accepted the ale and tipped it back. His throat, shiny with sweat, pulsed as he guzzled. The liquid cascaded over the sides of his mouth and down his damp, muscular chest, disappearing under his shirt. Gwendolen followed the path of the ale with rapt eyes, as he wiped an arm across his mouth and handed the tankard back.

She grew flustered by the intensity of his stare as he waited for her to take the empty container. When she reached out, their fingers brushed lightly together, and the brief contact created a lingering havoc in her brain.

“Thank you,” he said.

“My pleasure. How is the new gate coming?”

“It’s coming.” He gazed at her briefly with those ice blue eyes, then turned to resume his work.

She set about collecting the empty drinking vessels from the other clansmen, realizing with some unease that she was beginning to look forward to her wedding night, and was thinking about it far more than she should.

But what did that say about her loyalties to the MacEwen clan? she wondered uncomfortably, then quickly swept the question from her mind.

*   *   *

For three days, and three excruciatingly long nights, Angus refrained from visiting Gwendolen’s bedchamber, for he did not think he could manage another session of foreplay that didn’t end in full-scale, outright, bed-smashing intercourse.

Instead, he spent those days exhausting himself on the construction of the castle gate, deliberately choosing tasks that tested his body, in order to distract himself from thinking about Gwendolen. Currently, he was at the top of a ladder, pounding on a wooden peg.

He also took steps to get their wedding celebrations under way as quickly as possible. Naturally, if he could drag her to the chapel that afternoon and be done with it, he would. He would marry her and bed her without delay, and rid himself of this hunger for which there was only one cure. But the two clans needed something to celebrate, and he wasn’t marrying Gwendolen to satisfy his lust. He was doing it for Kinloch—so it had to be a first-rate spectacle with a bounty of food, dancing, drinking, and applauding.

And then, by God, there would be sex. Lots and lots of sex.

He pounded harder and faster on the wooden peg, and accidentally smashed his thumb with the hammer.

*   *   *

The following day, Angus entered his bedchamber in the middle of the afternoon, locked the door behind him, and sank into an upholstered chair by the window. He was drenched in sweat after testing the gate, which was now complete, but required a few minor adjustments. He was tired of working on it, however. His thumb was still swollen and throbbing, so he came here to rest a while.

He lounged back, closed his eyes, and stretched his long legs out in front of him. He rubbed his stinging eyes with the heels of his hands. It felt like the insides of his eyelids were coated in dust. He hadn’t enjoyed a good night’s sleep in days.

He pushed himself out of the chair and practically crawled to the bed, where he flopped onto his stomach and thought of his forthcoming wedding night. An unwelcome rush of lust stirred his blood.

He was not accustomed to satisfying his own needs. Raonaid, over the past two years, had always been eager, but it had been two months since he left her, and Gwendolen was still, as of yet, unavailable to him. He might do better if he just took the edge off a bit. At least one fist still worked, and that’s all he needed.

He rolled onto his back and stared up at the canopy above, feeling riled and annoyed that he had been reduced to this.

A knock sounded at his door just then, and he sat up abruptly.
“Fook off!”

“Fook off, yerself,” Lachlan replied from the corridor. “Open the door.”

“I’m busy.”

There was a pause. “Too busy to receive Colonel Worthington, the governor of Fort William? I thought you might like to know that he’s outside, pounding at the gate. He seems agitated.”

“Dammit, Lachlan,” Angus said in a low voice, as he vaulted off the bed. “I’ll show you agitated.”

He’d always known that passion for a woman made a man weak, and here was the proof. He had been caught off guard, distracted by the persistent merrymaking that was going on under his kilt.

He flung the door open. “If you tell me he’s here with the full force of the English army, I’ll be throwing you over the castle walls.”

Lachlan stood in the corridor with feet braced apart, loading a musket. “Nay. It’s just the colonel himself and ten redcoats. But he’s getting impatient. I think you ought to let him in.” Lachlan poured powder into the pan, charged the weapon, and rammed down the cartridge.

Angus pushed past him, heading for the staircase. “Tell the guards to open the gate,” he ordered. “Bring the colonel to the solar. I’ll wait for him there. And offer drinks to his men.”

He quickly descended the curved staircase, aware of how quickly the threat of an attack could douse certain fires in a man’s blood, and light others that were equally hot.

His passion for Kinloch was immense.

He swept all thoughts of Gwendolen from his mind.

*   *   *

Gwendolen leaned over the battlements and looked down at the small company of mounted soldiers on the bridge, led by the great Colonel Worthington himself.

It was hardly an army of liberators with archers and cannons, appearing over the horizon for a surprise attack. To the contrary, the soldiers, in bright red uniforms, looked lethargic and bored. While they waited on the bridge for the gates to open, the horses nickered and tossed their heads. One soldier sneezed three times into his hand and complained about the dust, and another suggested that he sniff strong vinegar into his nose each morning to take care of the problem.

Clearly there would be no heroic battle today.

Colonel Worthington removed a folded linen handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at the perspiration on his forehead, while insects buzzed incessantly in the meadow beyond.

At last the enormous new gates swung open, and they all trotted into the bailey. Gwendolen moved to the other side of the roof to watch.

The redcoats were greeted cordially by Lachlan MacDonald and a few other MacDonald clansmen, who took charge of the horses and led them to the stables. The soldiers were taken into the hall, while Lachlan escorted Colonel Worthington to the North Tower.

Gwendolen’s heart began to pound. What would happen when the colonel spoke to Angus? Would he take her side, and command Angus, under order of the King, to restore Kinloch to the MacEwens? Or would he recognize Angus’s right to rule Kinloch and inform him that he had learned of the invasion from someone inside the castle walls? Worst of all, would Angus discover who had sent the dispatch?

Chapter Ten

Gwendolen sat in her private chamber, feeling as if she were waiting to be escorted to the executioner’s block. Every sound outside her door caused her to jump, as if it were the ominous approach of the hooded axe man. By the time someone actually climbed the stairs and knocked, she had worked herself into such a state of anxiety that she kicked over a stool in her haste to answer the door.

Standing outside in the corridor, it was—as she had expected—the conqueror of her clan, looking grim.

He had not visited her chamber since the night he carried a candle into the room, woke her from her dream, and joined her on the bed. She experienced a flash memory suddenly—of his body pressed tightly to hers, his mouth on her neck, her legs wrapped around his kilted hips—and shivered with a mixture of sexual arousal and fear.

How strange that she would think of such things now, when there were far more pressing matters to worry about—like the fact that in his hands, he held the letter she had written to the English colonel at Fort William.

Angus’s eyes were cool and mistrustful. Not knowing what to expect, and feeling guilty and convicted before he even spoke a single word, Gwendolen invited him inside, while her stomach turned over with dread.

He entered and glanced around the room, as if looking for more evidence of treachery, then glared at her directly. God help her. He knew she had sent the letter. She had broken her vow to him, and may have cost him his ultimate triumph.

“You have something you wish to say to me,” she said, deciding it would be best to confront the issue head-on.

She glanced down at the small rolled parchment in his battle-scarred hands, which was tied with a black ribbon that had come from her own dressing table, and felt transfixed by the sight of those long fingers. He ran a bruised thumb along the length of the dispatch.

“Did you write this?” he asked.

She knew she had to say something, but couldn’t seem to find her voice.

His eyes lifted, and a muscle flicked at his jaw. “
Did
you?” he repeated, causing her to jump.

Gwendolen strove to remain calm. She looked him in the eye and nodded, for she certainly couldn’t let Mary take the blame for it. The poor girl couldn’t even read. This was her own doing, and she would claim full responsibility.

Bracing herself for the oncoming storm of the Lion’s wrath, she wondered if he would beat her. Or drag her to the prison.

He looked down at the dispatch again, and she was forced to stand and wait, while he decided what to do with her.

Slowly, he moved to the window and stood with his back to her, saying nothing for the longest time. Gwendolen grew more desperate to explain herself. She wanted to apologize, because she had indeed broken her word, while he had kept his side of the bargain. He had not harmed or mistreated her, nor had he robbed her of her virginity before marriage. He’d treated her mother with respect as well, and had permitted her to keep the jewels that once belonged to his own mother, years ago.

As much as it shocked and pained Gwendolen to admit it, Angus the Lion, savage warrior and sworn enemy of the MacEwens, had been merciful.

“You lied to me,” he said at last, in a low voice that made her wonder if those days of mercy and kindness were over.

“Aye. But if you will let me explain—”

“Do you think you deserve that opportunity?”

“Please, Angus—”

He faced her and took a very long time to consider her appeal. “All right,” he said at last. “I’m listening.”

Somehow, she managed to speak in a steady voice. “I sent it the morning after you invaded Kinloch and claimed me as your wife.”

His eyebrows pulled together in a frown, but she forced herself to continue.

“Please understand that I was afraid of you and I felt a responsibility to my clan. Kinloch belonged to the MacEwens. My father had been dead only a month, and already we had lost it. I didn’t know what to expect from you. All I knew was that you were a ruthless warrior and you claimed me for your own political gain, and I am still unhappy with your tyrannical methods and the life you have forced upon me, without ever asking.”

He eyed her with his usual menace, and she spoke even more passionately while stepping forward.

“Angus, you are a warrior. Surely you cannot blame me for fighting for my freedom and what belonged to my family. It was my father’s greatest achievement, and now that he is gone—
because
he is gone—Kinloch means everything to me. I was only trying to save the people of my clan from your cruelty.”

She stopped herself, realizing she had just insulted him. But there was no other way to put it. It was the truth.

“You think I came here to be cruel?”

“That is how you are perceived,” she told him. “You took our home by force. You crushed us, swiftly and brutally. You left me no choice but to rebel.”

His eyes had a burning, impassioned look in them. “Is this explanation supposed to make me overlook your treachery?”

She considered the question carefully, then lifted her chin. “Aye, it is. I admit that I violated our agreement, but I was frightened, and you can hardly blame me. You are an intimidating man. It seemed my only option at the time.”

He strode forward with narrowed eyes. “At the time…”

“Aye.”

“You were frightened…”

“Aye.”

“Are you frightened now?” His eyes were forbidding, his voice husky, as he ran a rough knuckle across her cheek.

Gwendolen backed away and bumped into the bed. “Very much so.”

“So you’d do it again if you had the chance? You’d call on some other army to come and remove me by force? Or kill me?”

Her body trembled as she strove to get air into her lungs. “That depends.”

“On what?”

“On what army it was. I wouldn’t call in the French. They’d probably take your side over mine.”

Angus held the tiny rolled dispatch in front of her face. “I should beat you senseless for this betrayal, and teach you a lesson you would not soon forget.”