My Wild Highlander (18 page)

"Nay." 'Haps his clan was too trusting.

"Go a few yards more and you will be behind
the library."

Lachlan moved forward. "Aha. Look at that."
He had intentionally left a candle burning on the library mantel,
and indeed near the whole room was visible through the horizontal
opening.

"Further along and up more steps are the spy
holes to the great hall. Hear the faint music?"

"Aye. But where are the other entrances to
this passage?" he asked.

"As I mentioned, one is in the armory—an exit
doorway concealed behind a weapons display. Another entry is in the
treasury room, hidden behind a tapestry. This passage also leads to
tunnels that run beneath the estate."

"Where do they come out?"

"I do not know. When I was a child, they had
locked iron gates across them, and beyond was dark. Perhaps the
exit is concealed from the outside and would only be used in dire
circumstances for the chief and his family's escape. Almost no one
had access to this passage back then, or even knew about it."

"Well, someone does now. We need to find out
which entrance this person uses and try to catch him entering or
leaving. If he listened to our earlier conversation, he knows I
suspect someone of tampering with the books."

"Oui."

"Let's go back now. I'll investigate more on
my own or with a man I know I can trust. I don't wish to endanger
you further."

"I am not endangered." She sounded insulted.
"I explored these often as a child."

"You're a brave lass. But there's a traitor
about now." The passage was too narrow for him to maneuver around
her. "You must lead on the way back. Take the candle." She moved
along quickly and climbed the stairs. He took two steps up and
accidentally bumped into her derriere. She gasped and dropped the
candle. The flame sputtered out and cast them in absolute
blackness.

"Merde!"

He laid a hand on her shoulder and caressed
her neck. "Shh. Don't fash yourself. Stay calm."

"It is dark as a dungeon," she said in
French, her breathing escalating.

"I can see that. Now, slowly take one step up
at a time and we shall make it out."

"Très bien."
She did just that, as did
he, his palm flat against the rough stone wall for support.

A sound of metal against stone clanged behind
them. They froze. He turned sideways, staring back, but saw naught,
not even a glimmer of light. Silence followed. If he'd been alone,
he would've crept through the darkness to see who was there, but he
wouldn't jeopardize Angelique.

"What was that?" she said in a near inaudible
whisper.

He faced forward again, his mouth and nose
bumping into what felt like her cheek. She released a breath but
did not draw away. That soft, smooth skin and the sweet woman scent
of her made him forget where he was. He brushed his lips over her
again, inhaling.

Her lashes fluttered, tickling his nose.
"Oh." The sound was no more than a breath from her.

His next contact was lips against lips; she'd
turned to face him more. Arousal blasted through him like a
trumpet. In an attempt to draw her closer, he almost dropped his
sword but managed to hold onto it and slide his other hand around
her lower back. And, saints, when her arms encircled his neck, he
thought he would die with happiness and lust. She wanted him.

Without a protest from her, he ate at her
mouth, nibbled her lips and slipped his tongue between. Her unique
flavor drove him mad and he wanted to drown in her. She shyly
touched her tongue to his, giving him a pleasurable rise beneath
his plaid.
Iosa is Muire Mhàthair
! He could take her right
here.

Footsteps registered in the back of his mind.
A shock of alarm smothering his desire, he turned his head
abruptly, breaking the kiss. "Listen," he whispered. Faint
footsteps receded into the distance, then a door closed.

More silence.

Who the hell was that?

Angelique continued up the steps and he
followed, one thing on his mind... nay, three. Another kiss.
Undressing her. Dragging her into his bed.

Once they passed through the door, he closed
it and pushed from beneath the tapestry. He squinted against the
brightness of the candle remaining on his mantel. Angelique
replaced the stone in the hearth, and he sheathed his sword.

Despite the danger, his first instinct was to
seduce Angelique; she was in his bedchamber, after all. But on
second thought, 'haps this was not the best course of action. Every
time he'd tried that, she'd become angry and launched into an
argument. A slower approach might lead to success. She would let
down her guard. Aye, he had to convince her to like him first—and
not fear him—then she would want him in her bed every night. He
would teach her to love sensuality and sex, at her own pace. She
had said she wanted honesty and seduction. He could give her
that.

"How will we discover who was down there?"
she asked.

"I don't know yet. Leave it to me." Damned if
his need for her wasn't overriding his common sense. He could
scarcely think at the moment. Celibacy did that to him.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Her
gaze communicated warning. His lust must be showing. After a kiss
like that, how could she blame him?

He inhaled deeply and tried to change his
expression. "Like what?"

After a suspicious glance, she removed the
bar from the door.
"Bonsoir, monsieur."

"Lachlan," he corrected.

"Lachlan." Her accent caressed his name in a
most arousing way. He considered changing his mind about delaying
the seduction, but then she was gone, flitting out the door and
closing it behind her.

He cursed.

Though frustrated, he thought his new plan
might be ingenious. For once he was using his head instead of
his... He stared down at his erection, straining to tent the plaid
behind his sporran. "Just be patient, lad. Not much longer."

Besides, he should be focused on discovering
the identity of the traitor in the passage.

***

The next day, Lachlan again trained with the
men all morning but he could think of naught but meeting Angelique
in the remodeled solar to go over the books. He had gone daft in
truth, calf-eyed, like his brother had been over an Englishwoman
the last time he'd seen him. Even the arrival of the Clan Buchanan
chief, his family, and entourage could not sway Lachlan's thoughts.
He caught himself staring at his beautiful... nay, irritating wife
during midday meal, and missed part of the conversation going on
around him.

Once the Buchanans were settled into guest
quarters for a bit of rest after their travels, Lachlan headed to
the solar.

Angelique stood at the edge of the large
window, staring out and waiting for him. He wanted to smile but
didn't for fear she would become annoyed again. For some reason,
she seemed to smile more when he was in a dark mood. Clearly she
didn't wish him happy.

"Here you are, Angelique."

She turned. "The sky is lovely today. So
blue, and the clouds look like great piles of clean, white
wool."

"Aye." He carried two straight chairs and
placed them before the desk at the window. Afternoon light flowed
in. "But you are lovelier."

Pink colored her cheeks and her gaze skipped
away.
"Merci."
She took her seat and he sat down close
beside her.

"You're certain no one can spy on us here?"
He drew in a breath of her subtle rose scent, wishing he could bury
his nose in her hair.

"No. Before the wing containing our suites
was constructed, this was the chief's bedchamber. He had no reason
to spy on himself."

"Ah. That makes perfect sense." Of course, he
knew what early solars were used for because Kintalon, his clan's
castle deep in the Highlands, had a similar structure.

"But my father did have this large window
added so he could look down on the grounds and enjoy this
view."

"'Tis very nice." Within the bailey walls,
several of the servants went about their daily chores below them.
Above the green trees, brownish, heather-covered mountains rose in
the distance, to the north. That way lay MacGrath holdings and his
home, which he had not seen in several months. But… nay, now his
home was here, with Angelique. Each day he was growing to love this
place more. The landscape here was lusher and the weather warmer
than in the more northerly Highlands. The Drummagans had accepted
him as their chief, and Angelique was slowly warming to him. Very
slowly. Still, he was making progress.

His bare leg below his kilt nudged hers
through the material of her skirts. Sparks of sexual awareness
ignited within him. He yearned to feel her smooth bare leg sliding
against his. Nay, wrapped around his waist… while he stood, pinning
her against the wall. Saints! What an image. He had only to be in
the same room with her to get hard, but with fantasies like that,
his frustration mounted. His tarse thought he had lost all
seduction ability.

Angelique drew her leg away. Hmm, maybe she'd
felt that spark, too. He opened the account books and turned to the
appropriate page.

"Oh, what a beautiful horse!"

Lachlan followed Angelique's gaze out the
window to the far left, over a wall. One of the groomsmen led a
saddled white horse across the courtyard to the stables.

"You have a fondness for white horses?"

"
Oui,
I had one in France—Blanche—but
had to leave her behind. She was very affectionate and fleet of
foot."

As she focused on the horse, Angelique's
tender, longing expression arrested Lachlan, for he had never seen
that look in her eyes before. In that moment, he knew he would
strive to give her anything she wanted.

"I have never ridden a white horse. Too
visible at night," he murmured so she wouldn't suspect his
intentions. He would find the owner and see if he could buy the
horse, or one like it, for Angelique. Though she'd laughed at his
expense last night, when he'd had ink on his face, seeing her smile
and giggle had been worth it. Her face alight with amusement and
happiness did bizarre things to him inside... things he did not
understand or want to examine. A horse would be the perfect wedding
gift for her; it would make her happy.

"As to the books," he said. "I tried to
repair this where I smudged it. You see?"

The horse now disappeared from sight within
the stables, she lowered her gaze to the ledger. "It is clear
enough."

He explained what each row represented in the
way of estate income and expenses.

"That is a lot of expensive Italian Vernage."
She pointed to the figure.

"Aye, bought only three months ago and I have
yet to see drop of it."

"Perhaps that wine has not yet arrived."

"It has been checked off on the inventory."
He flipped through his stack of papers for the correct one. "Here."
He showed her the document.

"Maybe the servants, clansmen or even
Kormad's men drank it before we arrived."

"Aye. Or 'haps no one drank it because it
never existed."

They analyzed the books for more than an hour
and she took notes of problems they ran into. Not only were things
listed as paid for which he had not found on the estate, but many
of the additions were wrong.

"Surely Fingall cannot be worse at numbers
and calculations than I am," Lachlan said. "Should be his
specialty."

"Indeed."

He sighed. "I hate to release him from his
duties. 'Tis a hereditary position. He told me the males of his
line have held
Am Fear Sporain
for over two hundred years
within the Drummagan clan."

"But he is robbing us blind," she said. "And
I do not think it is simply that he is unskilled at
calculations."

Lachlan nodded. "We shall question him."

"Both of us?"

"Aye."

Angelique's gaze warmed and softened upon
him, as if she might actually like him for this one moment in time.
The look he'd so yearned to see on her face. Arousal flowed through
him like warm honey. But any move he made might drive her away or
make her revert back to her old animosity. Though she hadn't last
night on the dark stair.

Watching him, she lifted a hand and tucked a
lock of his hair behind his ear. The simple gesture riveted him and
became more sensual than it should've been. He caught her hand and
briefly kissed her wrist as her hand slipped through his.

Her eyes grew round for a few seconds before
she averted her gaze. He made no other movements. God, he loved her
touch. His skin still tingled from the stroke of her silken
fingertips. And the fragrance from her wrist—roses and
woman—remained in his senses, intoxicating him.

He imagined her crawling onto his lap,
kissing him deeply and yanking their clothing aside. Near attacking
him. Aye, right here in the solar, he wanted to take her, gently
pushing into her, inch by torturous inch. She would be small and
tight. Drenched, whimpering and moaning for him. But he would go
slow and make her wait. Make her beg for more, faster, deeper.

She faced him again. He did not know what she
saw in his eyes, but her breath hitched and her eyes darkened.
Do not look away
, he wanted to tell her.

He leaned forward and pressed his lips to
hers. It was almost a chaste kiss, so simple and innocent. So
different from the desire rampaging through him. She closed her
eyes. Hesitantly, her lips moved beneath his. He cradled her face
in his hand, stroked her brow.

The tip of her tongue briefly touched his
upper lip. A renewed surge of arousal shot through him. Wanting to
devour her, he quelled his instinctive response which might have
frightened her away. He was rewarded with another brush of her
tongue. Damn, did this Frenchie know how to kiss. Her tentative
movements were the most arousing he had ever experienced.