My Wild Highlander (2 page)

"Very well." The king glared at Dryden. "He
did not touch her."

Lachlan accepted a crystal glass of the
king's prized Greek wine.

Marriage? God's teeth! 'Twill be a
disaster.

"So, what say you, lad?"

Damnation, he should say naught. He should
keep his tongue trapped firmly betwixt his teeth, but given the
dozens of aristocratic gazes burning into him, including the
king's, he could not play a mute this late in the day. Marriage? He
could not entirely grasp the concept, except that it might be
torture. But he could not offend the king by refusing. Besides, he
had mentioned an earldom, had he not?

"I…I don't rightly ken what to say, Your
Majesty, except I thank you. I'm overcome by your generosity."
Lachlan bowed.
Saints! What did I utter?
He was afraid he'd
just agreed to get married.

"I'm glad you are pleased." King James raised
his glass and the other men followed suit. "To the next earl of
Draughon and chief of Clan Drummagan."

Lachlan took a sip of wine, though in truth
he did not want it. He must think clearly.

"Lady Angelique is much in need of a
husband," the king said. "Her father, a good friend of mine, died
without having a son, therefore Angelique is his heir. He wished
that she marry a good Scotsman to guide her and help her run the
estate. She will agree of course and, after the marriage, give you
Draughon Castle, the earldom and all the lands she possesses. I
will confirm it by charter. The men of the clan are headstrong and
need an even stronger man to lead them. You, lad, are strong in
mind and in body."

"I thank you, Majesty." Something twisted in
Lachlan's gut. Though he recalled no past dealings or feuds between
his own clan and the Drummagans—what if they refused to accept
him?

"A distant male cousin of the fifth degree
could be next in line but her father, John Drummagan, did not wish
him to be chief, nor does the clan. Besides, there is some question
as to his lineage. The only way I would approve of him is if
Angelique wishes to marry him. Doubtful, I daresay." The king drank
from his glass and a bit of the wine dribbled from the corner of
his mouth. A courtier quickly blotted the liquid.

Lachlan remained silent.
Me, married?
He tried to visualize that without success.

"She is a spirited lass, but I'm sure you
will tame her in no time," the king continued. "The estate is near
Perth. I think you will find it most pleasant."

Lachlan's older brother was an earl and a
chief, but he had never thought to rise to such a level himself.
"I'm at a loss for words, Majesty. I'm sure I'm undeserving of such
a grand reward."

One of the courtiers coughed and another
cleared his throat—titled aristocrats, all, with more wealth and
power than they knew what to do with. Everything in Lachlan
rebelled at the disdain he witnessed in their eyes.

"Ah, but you do," King James proclaimed.
"Does he not, Steenie?"

The extravagantly dressed man beside the king
nodded. "Indeed. The brave Scot saved my life." Buckingham's gaze
held sincerity.

"By the by," James went on. "I ken you have a
smidgen of Stuart blood in your veins, laddie, from a hundred or so
years ago. Anyone who's a descendant of kings is surely good enough
to be earl of Draughon."

Buckingham nodded again.

God's bones! Could he become more than he'd
ever imagined? More than anyone had expected of him?

You will amount to naught,
his father
had yelled at him more than once.
You cannot make a living
swiving every wench from here to Paris and back. Not to mention the
drinking and gaming. Why can you not be more like Alasdair?

Nay, he would never be as good as his
brother.

"Ah, I know what worries you, lad," the king
said. "The estate is not in debt and comes with a generous income.
The lands thereabout are rich and produce an abundance of crops.
The sheep and cattle are too numerous to count."

"What of the Drummagan clan? Will they accept
me as their chief?"

"They must. Angelique is the legal heir, and
her husband, by right of the marriage contract, stands beside her
and leads the clan with her. I command them to accept you. Any who
do not will be dealt with as traitors to the crown."

But he would have to marry the flame-haired
lass who had glared at him and fled. Had there ever been a woman,
whether wench or lady, he couldn't seduce into his good graces?
Well, maybe one or two, but they were few and far between.

"This is such an honor, Your Highness. My
most sincere thanks to you." Lachlan gave his deepest bow.

"Are you in agreement, then?"

"Aye," he said before he could talk himself
out of it. "But I would like to speak with the lady first."

The king nodded. "Be prepared for her
resistance. She wishes to marry Philippe Descartes but he is
unacceptable—some French nobleman's bastard, and a weak lad to
boot. I will never allow it."

***

Angelique raced to her chamber, slammed and
barred the door.

Camille shot from her chair, still holding
her needlework. "What is happening?" she asked in French.

Breathing hard, Angelique turned to face her
companion. "King James has found me a vile husband."

Camille's blue eyes grew round. "In truth?
Who?"

"A wild Scot, a Highlander who does nothing
but seduce women. A debaucher worse than Girard."

"No one is worse than Girard."

"Of course. But I cannot marry this MacGrath.
You must take a message to Philippe." Angelique hurried to the desk
and withdrew a piece of paper, her hands shaking. She almost
overset the inkhorn as she dipped in the quill.

"Take a deep breath,
mademoiselle
. You
will do nothing but waste paper in your haste."

"You are right." She paused a moment, sucked
in two deep breaths, then continued at a more controlled pace.

"Would this be the Highlander who wears a
belted plaid about, sinfully long hair, tall strapping man?"

"
Oui
. How can you know of him
already?"

Camille gave a dramatic shiver. "The ladies
and servants talk. Are you sure you do not want to marry that
one?"

"No! Do not tell me he has bedded you as
well."

"No. Heavens, no. I wish." She smiled. "If
you do not want him…"

"You can have him, believe me. Traitor!"

"It was only a jest."

Angelique put pen to paper. She almost wrote
Philippe's name. No, what if someone intercepted the message and
took it to the king?

My Love
, she wrote.
We must run
away together. Make arrangements tonight, then come to my room
before dawn and I will be ready.

Camille read over her shoulder. "Must you lie
and expect the impossible?"

Angelique frowned up at her. "What?"

"You do not love him, and he is not cunning
enough to sneak you out of Whitehall. If you elope, you may
jeopardize your inheritance. Anger the king, and he is likely to
give the estate and title to Kormad."

Angelique thought for a moment. "Yes, you are
right." She wadded the paper and took out a clean sheet. "Philippe
must beg the king for my hand. That's the only way."

"Why do you want to marry the milksop
anyway?"

"Because—"

"The truth." Only because her companion was
also her illegitimate French cousin and best friend did she get
away with such impertinence.

"Because he is a milksop," Angelique said.
"He will not order me around. He will not force me to couple with
him if I do not wish it. He will be the earl, but I will run my
estate myself without an overbearing, demeaning swine of a man
controlling every aspect of my life. I cannot abide it, Camille. I
will smother and die." Her throat constricted and tears burned her
eyes.

"Shh, it's all right, Ange." Camille rubbed
her arm. "Do not overset yourself. Damn Girard for ruining your
life."

Angelique shoved the emotion away and wrote
the second note, telling Philippe to meet with the king and ask for
her hand immediately if he wished to be an earl. She folded the
note, dropped red melted wax on it and stamped it with an obscure
seal only Philippe knew she used. One she had pilfered from her
mother's last benefactor.

"Take it to him." She placed the missive in
Camille's hands. "Quickly, please."

"Oui, mademoiselle."

***

A curvaceous, flaxen-haired woman scurried
past Lachlan in the passage, moving at such a brisk pace he but
caught a glimpse of her. What was amiss? No one chased her.
"Mmph."

Lachlan continued his search for Lady
Angelique's suite along the dim, wood-paneled corridor. Though
visiting her chamber was inappropriate, he had to speak with her
immediately. Besides, when had he ever cared what was
inappropriate? His gut clenched, making him wonder if he'd made a
mistake accepting the king's offer.

Damnation. Nothing was easy to find in the
confusion of Whitehall Palace, and the directions he'd gotten from
a servant were unclear. Believing he'd found the correct door, he
knocked.

"
Qui est-ce?
Who is it?" a woman
called. Her sensual French accent and husky voice awoke his carnal
urges. He held a keen fondness for the French ladies.

He knocked again.

She muttered a French curse and he
smiled.

Angelique yanked open the door and her gaze
cut into him. "Why are you here?"

"I wish to talk to you, m'lady." He
bowed.

"I have naught to say to you, Highlander. I
have already agreed to marry someone else."

"Indeed? Are you speaking of Philippe
Descartes?"

"How do you know of him?"

"His Majesty told me he found the man
unacceptable as a husband for you."

Her green eyes widened. While she was
distracted by his comment, he pushed his way inside her door and
closed it behind him.

"Que vous êtes bête!"
She backed away.
"Leave at once,
monsieur.
We have nothing to say to each
other."

Having never before been called a beast, he
almost laughed. But he didn't want her to know he spoke fluent
French, as well as Italian, Spanish and German. In the past,
pretending ignorance had sometimes given him the advantage.

"I would ask you kindly to please speak
English or Gaelic."

"I will never lower myself to speak your
barbaric Erse."

Though her disdain of his native tongue
pricked at him like thorns, her closed-mouth, purring accent
stirred arousal within him.

"Because you don't ken the language? I shall
teach you, if you wish."

She drew her lips into a firm line. Clearly,
she had never known the pleasure of a good kiss, something he would
enjoy tutoring her in. 'Haps she'd never experienced a kiss at all,
good or bad.

Her rich voice and wise, guarded eyes were
those of a woman, but her girlish face and slender, waif-like body
made her appear she had not enough to eat. In contrast, her
clothing of finest gold silk told him she could not be
starving.

"How many years have you?" he asked.

"Twenty."

He nodded, pleased she was not as young as
she appeared…if she was telling the truth. He would ask one of the
courtiers on the morrow. Nevertheless, the king wanted him to marry
her and he was not one to forgo grand royal gifts, even if he
didn't know what the devil to do with them yet.

"
Et vous
?" she asked.

"Pray pardon?"

"And you? You must be very old."

He chuckled. "You don't see any gray hairs,
do you? I am twenty-six."

Her brows lifted, intensifying her haughty
look, but this only increased her allure. He couldn't resist a
challenge.

"We have much to discuss before we are
wed."

"I will not marry you. King James cannot
force me."

"'Tis dangerous to defy your king."

Her militant expression and rigid stance,
hands on hips, told him she might be one of the few women in the
world he couldn't sweet talk into liking him. A sinking feeling
settled into the pit of his stomach.

"God's bones, I don't ken how you are a
reward," Lachlan muttered. "'Haps His Majesty is wanting to punish
me for saving the life of Buckingham."

Angelique murmured something in French that
sounded like insolent lecher, though he couldn't be sure.

"I thank you for that compliment, m'lady." He
winked.

The pink from her face spread down her neck
toward her bodice and small breasts. How he loved a woman's creamy
curves flushed with the glow of passion.

If she could've made dirks of ice shoot from
her eyes, she would've slain him on the spot. She turned away.
"Leave me at once."

Her prickliness didn't fool him. 'Twas all a
front. Her blush told him she found him appealing, whether she
wanted to admit it or not. But maybe she was a virgin and didn't
know the pleasures that awaited her in his bed. He would attempt a
kiss now, but she might bite off his tongue.

"As you wish, m'lady." He bowed. "I shall see
you on the morrow."

"Bonne nuit, monsieur,"
she said in a
condescending tone before he closed the door on his way out.

As he strode down the passage, his heart
raced. She excited him more than any woman in a long while. Surely
he did not enjoy her sharp tongue or chilly glares. Nay, but he
loved a chase. Most women were too easy to catch—he winked, he
smiled, and they came.

With determination, Lachlan continued toward
the king's private chambers. He sent a message by one of the ushers
and five minutes later, Buckingham emerged.

"I wish to inform His Majesty that I would be
honored to marry Lady Angelique," Lachlan said.

Buckingham grinned. "I shall tell His
Majesty. He will be most pleased."