My Wild Highlander (35 page)

That was the most Dirk had ever spoken to
her. She didn't know whether to believe him or not. Lachlan
smitten? How was such a thing possible?

Dirk joined Lachlan where he was setting up a
tent, and spoke a few words to him. Lachlan then moved toward her,
a solemn expression on his face. What were they scheming?

"I need to tell you something, Angelique." He
pulled the plaid more tightly about his shoulders. "This is a hell
of a time and place to do it, but I have little choice."

Panic rose within her. Was he going to
confess his infidelity only minutes after Dirk tried to convince
her otherwise? "What is it?"

He inhaled deeply, hesitated, then looked her
in the eye. "I have two sons."

"What? Sons?" Surely she'd misheard.

"Aye, two wee lads. Orin and Kean. They live
with the MacGrath clan at Kintalon."

"Mère de Dieu."
The soggy Scottish
soil had surely dropped from beneath her. "Are you sure that is
all? Such a man as yourself probably has twenty children in every
country you have visited."

He lifted a brow. "Are you trying to be
amusing?"

Amusing?
She wished to strangle him.
She was the fool, the woman who did not know of her husband's
sons.

"Why did you not tell me long before now?"
Who was this man? Did she know anything about him at all? A
stranger.

"I didn't tell you because I knew you'd be
angry. And you are, aye?"

She was unsure how she felt at the moment.
Like a woman being spun about in a whirlwind, everything beyond her
control, out of her grasp. She didn't have her husband nor her
estate—both in the possession of someone else.

"Were you married before?" she asked.

"Nay."

Just as she'd suspected, they were by-blows
of his endless string of sexual liaisons. "What of their mothers?"
Women he had given those same intimate and sensual delights to that
he'd given her. Despite being his wife, she was not special; she
was but one among hundreds. Well, she'd seen that back at
Draughon.

"Kean's mother died tragically a few months
ago in a fire. Orin's mother still lives in the village. I'm no
longer involved with her, of course."

"Of course," she muttered. Whether or not he
was involved with a woman hinged on a split second decision and how
lecherous he was feeling at that moment. "You could have told
me…about your sons." She felt defeated somehow. Lost. "I know you
are only telling me now because we are going to Kintalon, where I'm
likely to run into them. What if we hadn't? Would you have ever
told me?"

Chapter Sixteen

The next evening, snow flew through the gray
gloaming as the sweet sight of Kintalon Castle and its ancient
towers appeared in the distance, the loch beside it like dark
glass.

"Thanks be to God," Lachlan murmured, warmth
spreading through his chest. He hadn't realized how badly he missed
home.

He'd let Angelique down in a big way, but he
intended to take possession of Draughon again. He would not be
defeated in this. His stomach knotting, he glanced back at her,
shivering in the blankets. Damnation, he had to be a much better
husband to her.

"We're almost there," he called out, the icy
wind carrying his words away.

A half hour later, they rode through the
village and approached the gates. Upon recognizing him, one guard
unlocked the gates while another ran for the castle—to notify his
brother, no doubt. Their party passed through into the empty
barmkin where a lone torch flamed, lighting the snow-strewn
cobblestones.

His dark-haired, smiling brother emerged from
the tower and advanced toward them. "Lachlan! You barely made it by
first snowfall."

"Aye." After swinging down from his horse, he
shook Alasdair's hand, but then pulled him into a brotherly
hug.

Dirk and Rebbie dismounted and greeted
Alasdair, whom they had met years before. Lachlan lifted Angelique
down from the horse and wrapped an arm around her, sharing some of
his warmth. She felt perfect next to him and he'd sorely missed her
touch. "I'd like you to meet my wife, Angelique, countess of
Draughon. Angelique, my brother, Alasdair, earl of MacGrath."

"
Enchantée, monsieur
. Lachlan has told
me much about you." She curtsied.

Alasdair bowed and kissed her hand. "A
pleasure, m'lady, and congratulations on your marriage."

Dirk helped Camille dismount and Lachlan
introduced her as well.

"Come inside. The snow grows heavy. A lad
will see to your horses." Alasdair urged them toward the castle
entrance. "Lachlan?" He hung back at the door.

Lachlan allowed Angelique to slip from
beneath his arm and continue inside with the others. "Aye?"

Snowflakes lit on Alasdair's black hair,
while his dark eyes gleamed with both curiosity and happiness.
"When you wrote to me of your marriage I could hardly believe
it."

"'Twas unexpected, to say the least. I must
talk to you in private as soon as possible. I'm afraid this isn't a
social call."

Alasdair nodded, clapped a hand onto his
shoulder and ushered him up the steps.

"Did you wed Gwyneth?" Lachlan asked.

"Indeed." Alasdair gave him a broad smile.
"I'm not letting her escape me again."

"I'm glad. Congratulations to you as
well."

In the great hall, the smiling faces, warmth
and light from the hearths, and the scent of fresh baked bread and
mutton stew held a homey, welcoming appeal.

Gwyneth rushed forward, her middle a bit
thicker than it used to be and Lachlan wondered if the next earl of
MacGrath had already been conceived. Lachlan smiled and kissed her
cheek. "Gwyneth, good to see you. Please meet my lovely new bride,
Angelique. Angelique, my sister-in-law, Gwyneth."

"'Tis a pleasure,
madame
." Gwyneth
curtsied as did Angelique. "I'm sure you're all frozen to the bone.
Come, warm by the fire. The servants will bring food out in a few
minutes. And rooms are being prepared. I'm so glad you've
come."

Angelique watched in amazement as Lachlan
continued to greet his grinning clansmen, all of whom shook his
hand heartily or slapped him on the shoulder. Some of them teased
him mercilessly. His arm around her, he proudly introduced her to
all of them.

"I'm going to talk to Alasdair for a few
minutes about the Draughon situation." He kissed her forehead and
disappeared down a corridor. That brief affectionate action
disoriented her for a moment, taking her back to those times she
missed, of sharing his bed.

"You must be exhausted. Let's sit." Gwyneth
escorted her and Camille toward high table, not far from the
blissful heat of the fireplace. Servants bustled about, setting out
food and drink. Gwyneth fussed over her and Camille as if they were
a couple of children, serving their stew and pouring ale. "Whilst
the men talk about…manly things, we shall eat." Gwyneth's
aristocratic English accent stood out as unusual among all these
Scots, and Angelique wondered how she'd met Lachlan's brother.

A lad of about six approached Gwyneth. She
pulled him close and introduced him as her son, Rory. After a shy
greeting, he scampered away to play with a group of children.

Gwyneth smiled. "We were so surprised and
pleased to receive the missive about your and Lachlan's
marriage."

Angelique wished she could be as pleased, but
at the moment she didn't know what to think or feel. "Our marriage
was as much a surprise to me. Arranged by King James, you
know."

"I never thought Lachlan would marry,"
Gwyneth said.

"He probably should not have."
Sacrebleu,
why had she said that? Now everyone would know
they were unhappy.

Flushing, Gwyneth frowned slightly and picked
at her berry tart.

"Pray pardon. I did not mean to say that."
The tears which had threatened for days now flooded Angelique's
eyes. The exhaustion, fear and confusion finally overcame her.

"I must beg your pardon. I did not mean to
upset you," Gwyneth said.

"Do not worry over it, my lady," Camille
insisted, patting Angelique's arm. "It is only that Angelique and
Lachlan have had a dispute."

"Forgive me. I didn't mean to pry." Gwyneth's
worried gaze shot to the opposite end of the great hall. Angelique
turned.

A young lad of about three or four sat atop
one of Lachlan's broad shoulders. The child had the same smile as
Lachlan. Blond hair. It was eerily like seeing a tiny version of
Lachlan.

"One of his sons," Angelique whispered.
Though she knew about them, seeing one in the flesh was like a blow
to her vitals. Forcing herself to breathe normally, Angelique found
her gaze would not leave her husband and the lad, engaged in
boisterous horseplay.

Lachlan held him upside down, the child
laughing so hard he could scarce breathe. And Lachlan looking
happier than he'd been in a while. Games. That was all he knew. He
was more child than man, himself. And then she recalled the games
she'd played with him in the bedchamber, the risqué version of
hazard. Yes, he was a man full grown then. She had so enjoyed the
play, but that was a thing of the past.

"I'm very tired. Would you mind if I lie
down?" Angelique asked.

"Of course not. I'll be right back." Gwyneth
hastened across the room and said something to Lachlan. He nodded,
his gaze flying to her as he set the lad to his feet.

Gwyneth returned. "Please, follow me, both of
you, and I will show you to your rooms."

Lachlan trailed behind at a distance, up the
stairs to a dimly lit corridor. Gwyneth opened a door. "Lady
Angelique, this is Lachlan's room and yours. Camille, your room is
further along." The two women continued on.

Angelique paused, refusing to look at her
husband when he drew near. "I wish a separate chamber," she said,
needing to rest and release some of her emotions. She could not do
that in Lachlan's presence.

"I must protect you, so we need to sleep in
the same bedchamber," he said in a low, rough voice.

"It is but an excuse."

"Call it what you will. I'm your husband and
we share a room, even if I do sleep on the floor."

"The floor. I agree with that." One part of
her wanted to hurt him viciously as he had done her, while another
part rebelled at the thought of him lying on the floor. No, that
large poster bed with blue hangings of fine velvet was his.

He urged her inside the chamber and closed
the door behind them. A thick white candle sat lit on the mantel
and a cozy fire flickered in the hearth.

"That was one of your sons," she said.

His sharp, dark gaze shot to hers. "Aye."

"He appears to be a small replica of
you."

Lachlan's lips lifted a bit. "Indeed. I hope
you'll want to meet them."

Her mind felt overcrowded, too many thoughts
and feelings squeezed into it. "Perhaps. But right now I'm
exhausted. Would you mind if I rest alone for a while."

"'Tis exactly what you need." Lachlan turned
down the covers and fluffed the pillow. "Would you like me to bring
you anything else? Food, drink?"

"Non. Merci."

"Well then, I'll return in a short while.
I'll be in the library with Alasdair should you need me."

A knock sounded at the door. He opened it to
Camille, bowed and showed himself out.

Lachlan strode away from his own bedchamber,
the one he'd slept in most of his life, feeling as if it was no
longer his. He had let Angelique down in so many ways. Mayhap those
people who believed he would amount to naught were right. Maybe he
was not capable of handling the responsibility given to him; maybe
he had no potential at all.

"God's blood," he muttered. He would not be
defeated in this. He would get Draughon back if 'twas the last
thing he accomplished.

Upon entering the library, he found Alasdair
by the fireplace, pitcher in hand. "Clarey?"

"Aye, thanks."

His brother poured wine into a pewter mug and
handed it to him. "So, you—Seducer of the Highlands—are married?"
Alasdair held his own mug aloft.

"Aye." Lachlan clanked his mug against his
brother's in toast. "To our lovely wives." He drank a long swallow
of the spiced wine.

"I never thought I'd see it." Alasdair
smiled.

"Nor I. But I couldn't pass up the king's
generous offer. And I had to protect Angelique."

"You like being married?"

"Aye." Lachlan couldn't prevent the grin that
escaped when he remembered the few days of bliss he'd shared with
Angelique. Making love during the day, or at night. The games. The
way they'd laughed together. Would they ever be that close and
harmonious again?

"I can see you care for her."

Lachlan nodded, staring down into his mug.
His brother didn't know the half of it. But Lachlan wasn't going to
enlighten him.

"I've heard a rumor that…you two have had a
disagreement."

"Damnation. What did you—?"

The library door opened. Rebbie and Dirk
strode in and closed the door back.

"Are we interrupting?" Rebbie halted. "Should
we come back later?"

"Nay," Lachlan said. "We're done with that
subject."

"I'm not so sure about that, brother."
Alasdair grinned.

***

Angelique crept down the dim, deserted
stairway and toward the library where Lachlan was to meet with his
brother. A chambermaid had been kind enough to tell her the
location. Thankfully, Angelique encountered no one along her trek,
though a murmur of conversation echoed from the great hall. She'd
wished to sleep, but the restlessness would not leave her.

The library door was thick carved oak, but a
slice of light escaped a narrow crack around the frame. If she held
her head just right, she understood every word from within. The men
did not keep their voices down. For a while they talked of the
Drummagan clan and the problems at Draughon, then Rebbie mentioned
Neilina.