My Wild Highlander (12 page)

Moments later, a fiddler struck up a tune.
Perfect time to make good her escape. Angelique excused herself.
Lachlan's perceptive gaze trailed after her toward the stairs and
she prayed he would not follow.

***

Sleep eluded Angelique for the next hour, no
matter that exhaustion weighed her limbs and scratched at her eyes.
She pounded her fluffy pillow covered in a clean, lavender scented
linen case. The raucous music filtering up from the great
hall—mostly bawdy Scottish jigs—ground on her frayed nerves.

She had too much on her mind, but at least
part of her clan made her feel welcome. Mistress Mayme had assigned
a trained lady's maid, Inga, to Angelique as well as a chambermaid.
Inga had helped her undress and take down her hair while the
chambermaid had built a cozy fire, then they'd left. Angelique
stared into the flames, trying to sort through the mayhem her life
had become.

A soft knock sounded at the door. Angelique
jerked upright. What if Bernice had come to exact revenge for her
brother? No, maybe Camille, finally tired of the celebration,
stopped by to wish her a
bonne nuit
.

Angelique rose, pulled on a dressing gown
over her smock and approached the door. "Who is it?" she called,
trying to adopt the habit of speaking the Scots variant of English
instead of French in hopes her clan would accept her more
quickly.

"'Tis me, Angelique," Lachlan said.

His baritone voice pronouncing her name in
that Highland accent spread a pleasant shiver through her. But he
could be here for the "wedding night" bedding. She froze.
Sacrebleu
. Why hadn't she barred the door?

Too late; it opened. Her pulse-rate spiked
and she backed up a step. Lachlan entered with a basket and closed
the door. "I missed you at the
céilidh
."

"I was too tired to stay for the music and
dancing." She clenched her hands, trying to hide her unease. "What
is in the basket?"

"I couldn't help but notice you ate hardly
anything at supper. And who could blame you what with the way
Bernice went on? So I brought you some bread, cheese and wine."

"I am not hungry," she blurted before his
generous concern could breach her defenses.

"You must be. You ate only two or three
bites. I wouldn't be accused of starving my wife." He broke a
small, soft chunk of bread and held it before her lips. It smelled
heavenly and she noticed her appetite had returned. She opened her
mouth and he pushed the bread inside.

"Good, hmm?" He took a bite for himself,
sauntered toward the fireplace and dropped onto the settle. "Come.
Sit."

What was he scheming? She did not wish to
become cozy with her husband. But he did not seem threatening at
the moment. When she sank into the plush cushion beside him, he
broke a bit of the hard yellow cheese and offered it to her in the
same way. The fire warmed her legs in the inviting dimness. While
they chewed, the silence stretched but it was not an unpleasant
moment.

"Bernice won't be working in the castle
anymore," he said.

"Did you speak with Fingall about it?"
Perhaps she should have done that, but she had only wanted to
escape the animosity and everyone's scrutiny. She had to show more
strength tomorrow.

"Aye. They don't reside at the castle anyway.
They have their own home on the outskirts of the village. His good
income is enough to provide them what they need."

"
Grâce à Dieu
. Bernice is a menace.
And her brother did try to kill you.
C'est qu'il est goujat!
Did Fingall take offense at me?"

"Nay. He continued to apologize and wished to
make it up to us."

"I pray she is the only disloyal one
left."

"As do I. All the Drummagan clansmen I've met
have sworn their allegiance," Lachlan said. "Tomorrow, Dirk, Rebbie
and I will begin training them more rigorously. In the event Kormad
attacks, we shall be ready."

The thought of an attack or battle produced
an icy sensation in the pit of her stomach. "Do you think he
will?"

"I cannot rightly say. But he won't give up
easily." Lachlan offered her another piece of bread. When she tried
to take it into her hand, he shook his head and pressed it to her
lips. She ate, watching him carefully. His tiger's eye gaze gleamed
in the firelight as did the trace of dull gold stubble on his
jaw.

"When would you like to have the second
wedding and the feast?" he asked.

She swallowed, surprised at this change in
subject. "After my wedding gown arrives from London."

"A week and a half, then? If your gown
doesn't arrive within a week, I shall send someone to London to
fetch it." He gave her a bite of cheese, his finger carelessly
grazing her lip, then popped a bite into his own mouth. "The women
of this clan make good cheese, aye?"

She nodded; indeed it was better than most of
the French cheeses. But she feared what made this cheese so tasty
was that he was feeding it to her. Never had a man done this
before.

He uncorked the half bottle of wine and
offered it to her. "'Tis Brabant."

She was not accustomed to drinking from a
bottle but it seemed like a fun thing to do. She turned it up.
After two sips of the wine sweetened with honey and spiced with
cloves, she passed it back to him. He drank a long swallow, then
licked his lips.

The primal side of her craved another sip so
she could place her lips where his had been. What an insane
thought. She recalled the way, at their wedding, he had kissed her
possessively, his tongue darting into her mouth in a startling and
disturbing manner. The memory sent heat searing through her.

"Would you like to work with the other women
on planning the wedding and feast?" he asked.

She swallowed hard, shoving the memory away
and suppressing her reaction. "
Oui
."

"Arrange it as you desire."

Desire
? She scrutinized his neutral
expression, then nodded.

He stood, stretched and yawned. "'Tis late."
He headed toward the door. "I'll leave this in case you get
thirsty." He sat the corked bottle of wine on a table.

"
Merci
."

He bowed. "Good night."

"
Bonsoir
. Where are you going?" she
blurted, then hated herself for it.

Pausing, he hid a grin, unsuccessfully.
Wickedness entered his eyes. "I could stay, if you wish?"

"No. I was just…never mind."

His heated gaze lingered upon her for a
moment longer, then shifted. "I might have a wee dram of whisky, if
that meets with your approval."

"
Oui.
Enjoy."

"Sleep well." He bowed again.

The door snapped closed. She could not
believe he'd truly walked out without trying to kiss her.

Whisky? He had evaded her question nimbly by
not telling her where he would drink the whisky. Was it an excuse?
Had he already found a paramour here at Draughon?

Hmph!

She had not saved his miserable life only to
have him embarrass her the first night here. After putting on her
slippers, she crept to her sitting room and listened at the door
that joined his. No sound. She strode through his sitting room and
paused at his bedchamber door.

No giggles or moans. He'd had no time to
bring a woman back here.

She tapped softly, then harder.
Silence.
Holding the candle aloft, she eased the door open
and entered the empty room. Sidestepping his trunk in the middle of
the floor, she moved toward the bed. A servant had turned down the
covers, neat and tidy. She plucked his whisky flask from the
bedside table and shook, the liquid inside sloshing. If he had only
wanted a nightcap, why would he not drink it here? Where had he
gone?

To a woman's bed elsewhere in the castle?

What was he up to? Maybe she could find him
without his knowledge. At the cold fireplace, she removed the rock
at the bottom, where the hearth connected to the wall. She pressed
the metal lever with her foot. A screeching clang sounded behind
the tapestry. Cringing at the noise, she glanced back at the door,
then picked up the fire poker.

Careful to keep the candle flame away from
the fabric, she burrowed behind the tapestry and pushed open the
hidden door to reveal a narrow spiral stair. Spider webs
crisscrossed before her. She used the poker to clear them away,
then descended into the musty darkness. Debris and rubble crunched
underfoot, poking up into the bottom of her leather slippers.
Likely no human had ventured here in over a decade.

As a child, she had played in these hidden
passageways and learned the dangerous but fascinating art of
eavesdropping. No one would ever tell her what was going on, but
she always learned the secrets anyway.

She certainly remembered the vicious
arguments between her parents about her father's infidelity and
mistresses. Her mother had loved him and that's why it had hurt her
so much. And now, what if Angelique slid into the same predicament?
No, she would never love Lachlan. She couldn't. To do so would be
self-destruction of the worst sort.

At the bottom of the stairwell, the stone
floor leveled out and the narrow corridor stretched behind two
rooms, a guest bedchamber and the library. Further along, it ran
behind the upper portion of the high-ceilinged great hall where
small apertures allowed full views of the occupants, unnoticeable
from floor level. If Lachlan was down there, she would see him. In
the old days, the slits had allowed guards to keep an eye on guests
and even to shoot arrows if necessary.

No sound came from the guest chamber, and
through the crack, she saw that the room was dark. Male voices
carried from the library. Pausing behind that room, she set the
candle on the floor and peered through the crack.

Lachlan, Dirk, Rebbie and Miles sat at a
table, playing cards and drinking amber-colored whisky from small
crystal glasses. So, he hadn't lied. Thank the heavens. For a time,
she relaxed and simply listened to the rich sound of his voice. How
pleasant and persuasive it could be, and that Scottish burr made it
even more so. They discussed the clan and things that had happened
during the day. A short time later, Dirk and Miles left, headed to
their guest quarters.

Rebbie shuffled the cards while Lachlan
stirred at coals in the hearth.

"Why are you not with your wee wifey? Surely,
you would like to show your gratitude to her for saving your life
today." Rebbie snickered.

"I don't find that funny. 'Tis a wonder I'm
not a laughingstock after what she pulled."

"Better than being dead."

"I would've put a stop to him soon
enough."

She couldn't believe he was so ungrateful for
her help; his arrogant pride spoke for him.

"From what I can tell, the men of the clan
respect you," Rebbie said.

"They don't trust me."

"'Tis your first day here. Once they get to
know you, I'm sure they will be so loyal as to give their lives in
your stead."

"I hope they will allow me to lead them. I
intend to protect them as well. I only hope Angelique doesn't
undermine my authority. 'Tis her clan by birth, I ken, but I am
chief."

"I'm sure you know well how to keep her
reined in."

"'Tis easier said than done. But indeed, I
have her under control for now. I'm starting to understand her a
bit more. She loves to pick a fight more than anything. But I don't
yet ken whether this fight is with me or herself."

Angelique clenched her teeth so tightly she
feared they would break.
That lout! Balourd! Goujat!

"Hmm," Rebbie mused. "Why would she fight
herself?"

"Though she doesn't want to, she likes me
more than she will admit." Lachlan's voice held an amused tone.
"And I've made sure she'll be busy planning the second wedding
ceremony and the feast for the next week and a half, while I attend
to important clan business."

The bastard! Her hands fisted, her nails
biting into her palms. Angelique wished she could crawl through the
crack so she could throttle him now. She could scarce concentrate
on the rest of the damnable conversation for the blood roaring in
her ears.

"Your wedding is not important?" Rebbie
asked.

"Aye, but we're already married. This wedding
will be a formality, for Angelique and the clan."

"She doesn't ken what an indulgent husband
she has," Rebbie said in a dry tone.

"Aye." Lachlan turned from the hearth. "'Tis
late and I'm off to find my bed."

"Not your wife's bed?" Rebbie opened the
door.

Lachlan picked up the candelabra and
followed. "The doors of our sitting rooms connect so…" Lachlan's
voice trailed off into mumble as they left the room.

Damn him!
The beast
. He thought he was
controlling her? Angelique picked up the candle and rushed up the
narrow stairwell. She stubbed her toe on one of the stone steps.
The pain near blinded her. "
Mère de Dieu
," she gasped. Was
it broken? The thin leather slipper offered no protection. The
poker fell from her hand with a loud clang among the debris on the
steps. Holding tight to the candle, she continued up the stairs,
limping.

At the top, the door was still ajar. She
passed through and closed it. Fighting her way from beneath the
heavy tapestry, she rushed forward to replace the rock over the
latch at the base of the hearth. She set the candle down and it
toppled to the floor, extinguishing the light.

"
Parbleu
," she whispered and ran for
the door through the pitch blackness. Her leg slammed into
something large and solid. She fell, cursing and rubbing her shin.
Lachlan's damned trunk.

A distant door opened, Lachlan's sitting room
door.
Merde! I must hide.

Chapter Six