Claimed by the Highlander (18 page)

Naked and unarmed, Angus backed away on agile feet to draw the man away from the bed. The enemy clansman was already spinning on a heel to swing his blade.

“Angus! Take this!”

Gwendolen tossed a dagger at him—the same one she had used to defend herself against him when he first came to her bed.

He caught it by the grip and tossed it into the air, then caught it again in an overhanded hold. Dropping to the floor, he rolled to avoid another swing of the intruder’s sword. A pulse beat later, he was plunging the dirk into the Highlander’s side.

The man crumpled forward with a raspy groan and fell to the floor, dead at Angus’s feet.

He immediately disarmed the intruder, while Gwendolen scrambled across the bed and dashed into his arms.

“Are you all right, lass?” he asked. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine. Is he dead?”

“Aye.” He crouched down to turn the Highlander over. “Go light a candle. I need to see this man’s face.”

Gwendolen moved to the table, fumbled with the flint, then struck a flame. She brought the candle closer and held it over the dead man’s body.

“It’s the MacEwen tartan,” she said.

“Do you know him?”

“No, I’ve never seen him before. What was he doing here? How did he get in? The door was locked.”

Angus searched the man’s sporran, belts, and scabbards, then stood up and donned his own shirt and kilt. “He doesn’t have a key on him now. Someone must have let him in.” He belted his sword around his waist, then went to the door, which was slightly ajar, and looked up and down the corridor. “How many keys are there to this room, and who has access to them?”

“Besides the one you carry, there is only one other key, and my mother keeps it.”

He looked at her fiercely. “Would she want me dead?”

“Of course not! She encouraged our alliance from the beginning.”

He came back inside, and Gwendolen regarded him in the strangely sinister light from the candle. She felt as if she were falling headfirst into a nightmare. He had that look about him again—the ice-cold fury she had seen in his eyes on the day he invaded Kinloch. It was a callous bloodlust, and it sent a chill down her spine.

Nothing of the lover she had known since their wedding night existed in the man before her. Here stood a dangerous warrior, filled with fury, and she was frightened by his intensity.

“You cannot stay here tonight,” he said. “You’ll come to my bedchamber. I’ll put a man at the door to watch over you.”

“Where will you be?”

“I’ll be looking into how this enemy got into my castle in the first place.” He glared at her with steely wrath and held out his hand. “Come.”

She put her hand in his and let him lead her out of the room, but first she had to step over the dead man on the floor.

His eyes were still open. Her stomach rolled with nausea.

*   *   *

Angus banged repeatedly on Lachlan’s door until it opened. Gathering a loose gray blanket about his shoulders, Lachlan squinted through the flickering torchlight and stepped into the corridor.

“Get dressed,” Angus said.

“Why? What’s happened?”

“I woke up to the blade of an assassin.”

Lachlan’s eyes narrowed with concern. “Bluidy hell, Angus. Are you all right? Where’s Gwendolen?”

“She’s fine, but I must speak with Onora.”

A few minutes later, he pushed his way through his mother-in-law’s bedchamber door, and Lachlan followed him in. Onora sat up in bed and pulled a sheet up to cover her breasts.

“Have you been in here all night?” Angus asked.

“Of course,” she replied. “Why? What is going on?”

Angus paced around the room like a tiger. “A MacEwen warrior just entered your daughter’s bedchamber and tried to murder me in my sleep.”

“Good Lord!” She tossed the covers aside and rose to her feet, where she stood naked before them. “Is Gwendolen all right?”

He regarded her shrewdly, looking for signs of deceit or treachery. “She’s safe. The assassin got into the room by way of a key. Gwendolen said you are the only other person at Kinloch, besides me, who keeps one.”

“Aye.” She hurried across the room to a cabinet with heavy doors, which contained a small chest. She carried the chest back to the table where a candle was burning, then opened the lid and sorted through a number of trinkets, mostly jewels and hair ornaments.

“It’s not here,” she said. “Someone must have taken it.”

Angus strode around the bed and seized her by the wrist. “If you are lying to me…”

“I’m not!” she shouted.

He had half a mind to drag her to the dungeon and employ more ruthless tactics to draw the truth out of her, because something told him she was keeping secrets.

He glared at her in the dim candlelight, while she wet her lips and took in a shaky breath.

Lachlan laid a hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently. “Let’s take a minute to think about this,” he said in a relaxed tone. “Anyone could have stolen the key.”

Angus let go of Onora’s wrist, backed away and crossed to the other side of the room. Resting his hands on his hips, he bowed his head.

His temper was getting the better of him. He knew it. Lachlan was right. Neither the cabinet nor the chest was locked. Anyone could have come in and taken it. And he was sure to have many enemies bent on revenge. He’d killed a number of MacEwens during the invasion. Frankly, it was astonishing to him that there had not been an attempt on his life before now.

He turned and faced them both. Lachlan was standing with his arm out, handing a robe to Onora.

Angus realized suddenly that for the first time in his life, he had let his passion for a woman take precedence over his desire to fight and defend. When he was with Gwendolen, the whole world seemed to disappear into quiet waves of sensation, and nothing existed for him outside the pleasure they experienced together.

What astounded him most of all, however, was the fact that he had no desire to reverse it. All he wanted to do at this moment was use every skill and talent he possessed to discover who was behind this murderous attempt and ensure it never happened again—because nothing mattered to him more than Gwendolen’s safety, especially now that she could be carrying his child. The drive to protect her was consuming him like a fever, and perhaps that was the most dangerous threat of all.

*   *   *

Late the next morning, Onora knocked on Gwendolen’s door. Gwendolen invited her in and sent her maid down to the kitchen to bring back a light lunch.

“What is the latest news?” Gwendolen asked.

Onora sat down. “Angus and Lachlan both believe that Gordon MacEwen is the most likely suspect behind the assassination attempt, and I must say I concur.”

Gwendolen sat down as well, and digested this news with concern. “Did you confess that you and Gordon were lovers?”

“Aye.” Her mother began to chew on a thumbnail. “But they already knew it.”

“How?”

She shifted uncomfortably and waved a dismissive hand through the air. “Oh, I might have said one or two things about it to Lachlan. I can’t remember. We’ve been flirting for the past few weeks, and I seem to consume a lot of wine when I am in the same room with him. At least I think it’s the wine that makes me so giddy.” She shook her head. “But that is another matter. Your husband questioned me relentlessly this morning. He is positively ruthless. I must look a fright.” She stood up, moved to the looking glass, and pinched her cheeks.

“You look fine, Mother. And yes, my husband is ruthless. That should come as no surprise to you. It’s why everyone fears him, and why they do exactly what he tells them to do, the very second he commands it.”

“Even
you
?” Onora swung around and regarded her with accusation.

For some strange reason, Gwendolen was overcome by a ridiculous urge to laugh. “I
want
to do what he asks,” she replied. “Not out of fear, but out of loyalty. I know you wanted me to find a way to wield power over him, but it is the complete opposite between us. He has power over
me,
but not because I fear him. I want more from him, and I am beginning to believe that I would do anything to please him and win his affections. Anything.”

Her mother gazed toward the window and resumed chewing on her thumbnail. “You don’t need to explain it, Gwendolen. I understand.” She cleared her throat. “Do you have anything to drink in here? Whisky perhaps?”

Gwendolen noticed that her mother’s hands were shaking. She went to pour a dram from the decanter on the table, then returned and handed it to her. “Did he hurt you?”

“No, it’s not that. It’s just…” She took a deep swig from the glass. “Suddenly I feel as if my world is spinning out of control. Nothing is the same as it was before the MacDonalds invaded. I have lost the powers I once had, and I feel confused and absentminded half the time.” She looked away. “I am afraid I may be going a little mad.”

“It’s because of Lachlan,” Gwendolen bluntly said. “You’re falling in love with him.”

Onora stared at her dubiously, then turned away. “No, I am not. He is far too young for me, and I am no fool. But this whole situation…” She poured herself another drink and swallowed it in a single gulp. “Your husband is a very frightening man, Gwendolen. There is something cold in his eyes. I half expected him to slit my throat this morning, without the slightest warning.”

Gwendolen sat down. “I am sure he wouldn’t do that.”

But was she really sure? She had seen that look herself—that brutal, murderous contempt in his eyes. They could go from hot to cold in an instant.

When her mother finally seemed to regain her composure, she sat down also, and leaned back in the chair. “Gordon was implicated by the fact that he was the only person besides my personal maid who knew of the key’s location. He denied any involvement of course, but he’s being held nonetheless. They’ve locked up my maid, as well. Poor, sweet Madge. She’s frightened out of her wits, and I cannot blame her. Something needs to be done, Gwendolen, but I was in such a hurry to escape the interrogation…”

“I will speak to Angus about it,” she promised, “and ask if he will consider releasing her.” Gwendolen paused. “Unless you think that she—”

“Oh, good gracious, no. Madge? She would never go behind my back to steal a key, or anything else for that matter. She is as loyal as they come.”

“Not even if Gordon forced her, or bribed her?”

Onora considered it for a moment, then chewed on her thumbnail again. “I suppose one never truly knows who can be trusted. These are desperate times.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes.

“Has anyone been able to identify the assassin?” Gwendolen asked.

“No. There was not a single MacEwen, or MacDonald for that matter, who recognized him. It was as if he flew into Scotland from some foreign land, like a migrating bird of prey.” She took another sip of whisky. “Speaking of birds, I believe that tiny swallow in the Great Hall has departed for good. She flew out the door on your wedding day, and no one has seen her since.”

“Is that right?” Gwendolen asked, hiding the fact that she already knew. She was extremely mindful of the little bird’s whereabouts, for she had dreamed of her death in the jaws of a raven on the eve of their nuptials. Gwendolen had told no one about the dream, not even Angus, for it seemed like a bad omen, and now she was beginning to think that’s exactly what it was.

She decided she would pay closer attention to her dreams in the future. And perhaps she would tell Angus about them.

But for now, she would focus on getting Madge released from the prison.

Chapter Fifteen

Gwendolen lay in bed in the darkness, waiting for Angus. For a fortnight, she had seen very little of him. Not only did he continue to investigate the failed attempt on his life—and sometimes left the castle for hours on end to scout the surrounding forests and glens—he also worked with his army in the bailey to improve their fighting skills.

By the time he climbed into bed each night, he was exhausted and had no interest in the playful, extended lovemaking sessions she had grown accustomed to in the early weeks of their marriage. The man she had come to know on those rainy afternoons had disappeared and been replaced by the dark, brooding conqueror who had invaded her home and killed so many of her clansmen. He had retreated into that shadow of violence and cynicism, and had taken with him any hope she might have entertained that there could eventually be more intimacy or affection between them. She knew now that he was a warrior, first and foremost. That came before anything.

She did not complain, however, nor would she ever do so—for his leadership of Kinloch and the safety of its people was a primary concern. Deep down, however, she was lonely. Each time she remembered how it felt to be held in his arms at night, she felt a terrible sense of loss.

A key slipped into the lock, and the bedchamber door swung open. Light from the corridor spilled across the floor, and Gwendolen sat up on her elbows, squinting at her husband as he entered and shut the door behind him.