My Wild Highlander (4 page)

"You two shall be married four days hence,"
King James said. "The Archbishop of Canterbury is granting a
special license."

All bowed and curtsied before the monarch as
his courtiers escorted him from the room.

The baron of Kormad approached, his eyes
blacker than jet and his face flushed above his beard. "Sir
Lachlan, Lady Angelique, I'm wishing you both well. We'll be
neighbors and I'm sure we'll oft be seeing each other in Scotland."
He bowed.

Angelique's stomach knotted at the
malevolence emanating from him.

"Kormad." Lachlan extended his hand.

Staring down at Lachlan's hand, Kormad
stilled for a moment, then turned and stalked away with a stiff
posture.

"I'm thinking we shall see trouble from him,"
Lachlan whispered. "He appears to be coveting his neighbor's future
wife."

"You mean his neighbor's future estate and
title. He cares naught for me."
And neither will you.

"Come, let's talk." Lachlan offered his
elbow.

"If you insist."

Her fingers surveyed the well-developed
muscles beneath his sleeve. She could not recall touching such a
large, solid arm before—like iron.
Ma foi!
I do not find him
nor his arm appealing! She loosened her grip.

Though she had to marry the goat, she did not
have to like him.

They strolled through two lavish rooms and
out into one of the gardens. The odor of the nearby Thames kept the
air from being pleasant. Now mayhap she could leave London for the
clean country air. Though she hadn't been to Scotland since she was
a child, she remembered the air had always been fresh at Draughon
Castle.

She brushed by the mint sprawling onto the
cobblestone path, releasing its fragrance. Warm sunlight beamed
down upon them, gilding strands of Lachlan's tawny hair.

His arm tensing, he glanced about in all
directions.

"Is something amiss?" She released him.

He stopped. "I thought I heard something."
After a moment, he turned to her. "You're in danger,
mademoiselle.
From Kormad. You must not say anything about
it. And you must never be alone for a moment. He is planning
something."

A chill coursed through her. "How did you
learn of this? Did he say this to you?"

"I heard him talking with his men. Have you a
guard you trust?"

Feeling completely alone and exposed, she
shook her head. She and Camille had been protecting each other
since the year before. This was no different.

"I shall speak to Buckingham about it. Once
we're married, I'll guard you myself."

She appreciated the solemn look in his eyes.
She would never trust him to be faithful, but perhaps she could
trust him to fend off Kormad.

"
Merci
."

"Have you any inkling why your father didn't
wish Kormad to succeed him?"

She felt shamed in how little she knew of her
father and his wishes, but she could not be at fault since her
mother was the one who'd taken her away. "I only know they did not
get on well."

Lachlan nodded, scrutinizing her until a wave
of discomfort warmed her face. "I wish you to know, Lady Angelique,
I only have the best of intentions concerning you, the estate and
the title. And I thank you again for choosing me."

Her heart sprang up with his gallant words.
But, in truth, he was trying to steal his way into her affections.
The intimate murmur of his voice, the way he lowered his lashes
against the sunlight, his mere presence, all contrived to charm
her, seduce her into believing he was the noblest of men. But she
knew differently.

"King James already made his decision. I had
no choice in the matter because I am a woman. You have pleased the
king and so he gives me to you, along with everything that is mine.
I am but an object to be owned."

Lachlan frowned. "I don't see you that way at
all. You are a lovely lady who deserves only the best."

"We are to be married. There is no need to
pay courtship to me with your silver-tongued compliments."

"I am not—" Irritation glinting in his eyes,
he glanced away. "Never mind."

She immediately regretted her harsh words.
After all, the man had offered to protect her from danger, but he
was being paid handsomely for his services—a title, an estate.
Still, he could be a lot worse. He could be Kormad or Chatsworth or
Girard. All bastards.

"I'll never lie to you," Lachlan said. "You
cannot trust me now and that is fine, but in time you'll see."

"You are a man who cannot control his baser
urges. I do not want a husband who will make me a
laughingstock."

He sent her a brittle stare. "What are you
speaking of?"

"Lady Eleanor." The name turned her
stomach.

"Aye, you caught me with her, but I was not
betrothed to you then."

"And you were with Lady Catherine the night
before."

He appeared a bit sheepish for a moment,
glancing away. But then his dark gold gaze found her again,
challenged her. "Indeed, but I hadn't met you yet, in either case.
How can you hold that against me?"

"Now that we are betrothed, do you suppose
you are instantly a different person?"

You will always want many women, a
different one for each night perhaps. I will never be enough for
you.
Her eyes burned and she stared at the lacey handkerchief
in her hand. What did she care? She did not want him touching her
anyway.

He remained silent and stiff beside her.

"But that is the way of men,
non
? I
must accept it. Accept my place and do my duty." Her throat ached.
Not for the first time, she wished she'd been born male so she
would have control of her own destiny.

"No matter what I say now, 'twill not make a
difference," he muttered. "You won't believe me. All we can do in
this situation, m'lady, is our best. We don't yet ken what tomorrow
holds. There are many possibilities."

Oui,
the possibilities of new lovers
for him. And loneliness and embarrassment for her.

A year ago, her girlhood dream of finding
true love and happiness died. Never would she dare resurrect such a
dream with this deceptive man.

"In any case, I intend to protect you. You
may believe that, if naught else." Lachlan switched his gaze to the
doorway. She turned to see if Kormad had followed them. Instead,
Philippe Descartes waited there.

"Philippe!" She rushed to him and clutched
his hands in hers, instantly feeling the calming sensation he
always inspired. He was her only genuine friend here, besides
Camille.

Philippe was short enough that looking up
into his face did not hurt her neck. His pale skin was flushed.

"
Mademoiselle
Angelique." Bowing over
her hands, he kissed her gloved fingers. "I'm sorry I could not
request an audience with the king again this morn," he said in
French. "I feared he would have me hanged. He does not like
me."

Angelique nodded, her heart softening with
understanding. Philippe was her own age, still a youth really,
rather than a man.

"Do not worry over it. I will have to marry
the Highlander, but he is better than the other two. At least, I
think he is."

Philippe glanced toward Lachlan and his eyes
widened. He immediately dropped her hands and stepped back.

"What is it?"

Philippe shook his head. "I must be going. I
wish you good luck.
Au revoir
." He turned and fled into the
palace.

Lachlan approached and indeed he did look
fearsome, a bit like one of the young male lions King James kept in
the Tower for fighting mastiffs and bears.

"What did you do?" she demanded. "Draw your
sword? Show him your dagger?"

"Nay. I did naught but look at him. He is a
cowardly lad, that one. He couldn't protect you from Kormad even if
he tried. You should be thankful the king won't let you marry
him."

"Forgive me if I disagree. And I shall always
remain very fond of Philippe no matter what."

***

Hours later, after the evening meal at the
palace, Lachlan requested three armed royal guards placed before
Angelique's bedchamber door, and made sure they were on the job.
Whether Angelique appreciated his protection or not, she was
getting it. Her comment about how fond she was of the whey-faced
Frenchie lad still irked him. But what did he care? Philippe was
not the problem. Kormad was.

After dark, Lachlan left Whitehall Palace in
search of friends he trusted and strode down King Street. As he
approached Charing Cross, footsteps echoed behind him. Hand on the
hilt of his sheathed sword, he halted and turned, his gaze
searching along the shadowed buildings and the mist off the
Thames.

Silence.
Nothing moved. Damnation, he
hated having no one to watch his back on these dark and deadly
streets.

With more purpose, he continued on his
way.

A form leapt from the shadows beside him.

"'Slud!" He dodged aside and drew his
sword.

Two more men rushed in behind him, grabbed
his arms and pulled him off balance. Determined not to lose his
grip on the sword, Lachlan lowered his body and yanked at his
captors. They clung to him like tenacious wolfhounds, rendering his
arms useless.

"
A mhic an uilc!
" Lachlan yelled.

The first attacker punched him hard in the
stomach. His breath whooshed out, leaving suffocating pain.

He kicked the man and tried to twist away
from the other two, but the bastards were strong. He stomped the
toes of the man on his right, freed his sword arm and lashed
out.

The man recovered and both of them tackled
him to the street. One struck his arm, causing him to lose his
grip. The sword clattered away.

"Damnation!" He struggled against them, tried
to throw them off.

"Come now, grab his arms and drag him! This
is the quickest way to the river," their leader ordered in a
Lowland Scots dialect.

"We need to knock him in the head first, else
he'll just swim out."

"Then do it!"

"And what are you doing but playing
boss?"

Still lying on the ground, Lachlan shoved a
knee toward the whoreson's bent head, but he dodged aside.

"You mewling jolthead. Hold him still."

One of the men grabbed for Lachlan's
hair.

Evading him, Lachlan kicked the man in the
stomach and he back-flipped into the ditch. He then jammed his
elbow against the other man's stomach and punched him in the
face.

"Omph!"

Their leader advanced, carrying a massive
stick. Lachlan sprang from the ground, snatched the stick and
landed a quick blow to the man's face with his fist. His nose made
a satisfying crunching sound before he staggered backwards and fell
on his arse.

Ha! Now he was getting somewhere. Lachlan
hauled him up by his doublet. "Who sent you? Who do you work
for?"

"To hell with you!" The ruffian tried to kick
Lachlan in the groin.

He stepped aside and shoved the man to the
ground.

The blackguard leapt up and fled. His cohorts
scrambled from the ditch, sewage and foul water dripping from their
clothing, and ran after.

"Bastards!" Lachlan retrieved his sword,
gleaming from the shadows, followed a short distance but lost them
to the fog.

Kormad's men—he would place silver on it.

"
Iosa is Muire Mhàthair
," he muttered
and proceeded to The Golden Cross Inn.

Upon entering the sizable main room lit by
lanterns, Lachlan sheathed his sword and scanned the patrons eating
and drinking at the many tables. His stomach ached where the
ruffian had landed two punches. He straightened his hair and
clothing as he made his way toward the table where Robert "Rebbie"
McInnis, earl of Rebbinglen, future marquess of Kilverntay, sat
swilling ale.

Lachlan dropped into a chair, glanced down at
his burning, bloody knuckles and cursed.

"What happened to you, then?" Rebbie asked,
black brows lowered.

Lachlan wrapped a handkerchief around his
hand. "I was in a fight outside. Three bastards jumped me from the
darkness, then attempted to drag me to the river and drown me. I
sent them scurrying like wee mice."

"What was their dispute with you?"

Suddenly thirsty from the exertion, Lachlan
held up two fingers at the tippler. The barrel-chested man
nodded.

"Well, I'm waiting," Rebbie said.

"I'm thinking they object to my future
bride."

Rebbie coughed, almost choking on his ale.
"What the devil are you speaking of?"

"You may congratulate me, my friend. You're
looking at the next earl of Draughon. I'm getting married." Though
he still wasn't sure how he felt about marriage, other than
confused, Lachlan knew he had to protect Angelique. This was
serious business, but he had to laugh at his friend's mouth hanging
agape.

"Another royal reward?" Rebbie asked.

"Aye. Seems Buckingham's life is worth more
than a knighting."

"Never thought I'd see the day." Rebbie
appeared as if he had a bellyache.

"What's wrong, man? 'Tis me that's getting
married, not you."

"Aye, but who will I go about wenching with
now? You always find the best ones."

Lachlan grinned. He did have a talent for
finding beautiful, willing ladies. "You could get married,
too."

"Och! Not for a long while yet. Not while my
dear da still draws breath. And he's in fine health."

The tippler delivered the fresh ales and
Lachlan raised his glass in toast. "'Tis time to think of settling
down. We've had more than our share of fun these ten years
past."

"Aye, and they're over now."

A week ago, if someone had suggested that
Lachlan settle down and get married, he would've had the same
reaction as Rebbie. But now, he was excited about the prospect—a
new adventure of sorts, in a whole different direction. Something
he had never attempted. And he felt, for the first time in ages, a
sense of purpose. A need to accomplish much and succeed in this new
venture.