My Wild Highlander (5 page)

"You must join me when I go to Perth,"
Lachlan said. "I need your help. And Dirk's as well."

"Dirk, aye. He isn't married yet." A ray of
hope gleamed in Rebbie's dark eyes. "I cannot see you married. Are
you thinking you'll be happy?"

Lachlan shrugged and stared into his ale.
Would he? He wished to be, but his future bride was more wasp than
butterfly. "Probably not, but I'll be somebody."

"What are you blathering on about? 'Tis not
as if you're a nobody. Your da was an earl."

"Aye, but I'm the second son, with no lands
or titles. Until I marry."

"I never kenned you were greedy and would
exchange your freedom for a marriage noose and some coin."

"I'm not greedy! You ken me better than that.
But I'm not a wee lad anymore either. I'm thinking I need a purpose
in life. Some respect."

Rebbie sputtered. "Respect?"

"Aye, my brother has much respect, a noble
chief and earl, the leader of our clan. I have naught. I am a
jest." Though he had never uttered those words before, they always
hovered in the back of his mind.

"Who have you been listening to?"

"Everyone. I ken well what people think of
me."

"So you like the wenches. 'Tis not a
crime…unless you get caught by an enraged father or husband."
Rebbie grinned. "Well, then…what is your future bride like?"

"A wee lass of a score years, flaming,
curling, ginger colored hair. Eyes, green as the hills of Scotland
in summer." She did have lovely eyes. And an adorable but too stern
mouth that desperately needed his attention to soften it up a bit.
He had a fantasy about kissing her, parting those lush lips and
sliding his tongue between to sample her, without being bitten.
Well, he'd always loved danger, so 'twas fitting.

"Och, God's bones, would you listen to
yourself?" Rebbie scoffed. "You'll tire of her in a fortnight."

"'Haps." Indeed, what if he did? He would
make the best of it.

"Is she smitten with you, then, like all the
other lasses?"

"Nay, she's a prickly wench who thinks she's
naught but French silk. She detests me. Would rather stab me than
kiss me." Imagining his fire-breathing nymph wielding a weapon,
Lachlan smiled. She was different, and that held his interest.

"'Tis clear. You're a bedlamite."

"She fancies herself in love with a wee
French laddie named Philippe."

"You're not wantin' a happy marriage then?"
Rebbie asked in a dry tone.

Lachlan sipped his ale. "I am a man in need
of a challenge."

"You're bored so you get hitched?"

"Not bored, exactly. Just tired of wandering.
Tired of being shiftless with no plan or purpose. I want something
for my lads. I'm thinking she could be a good mother to them."

"Pray pardon, but a lady such as herself will
not take to raising your bastards. She'll be wanting bairns of her
own."

"Aye, and I'm all for it—the bairns, that is.
She'll learn to accept Kean and Orin as well." Lachlan imagined his
two endearing, fair-haired sons, wee versions of himself. Och, how
he missed them. He was thankful to his brother for acting as
guardian of them in his absence.

Rebbie shook his head. "You've gone daft as a
sheep."

Lachlan leaned forward and spoke in a low
voice. "The lass isn't the problem. Sorlie MacGrotie is."

"Who?"

"Baron Kormad. Her distant cousin, next in
line to inherit. He is covetous of the title and lands. He sent his
ruffians after me tonight, and he has plans to hurt Lady Angelique.
Dirk and I heard him talking."

A maniacal glow lit Rebbie's eyes. "You need
help?"

"Aye. I'd like it if you would join me at
court and watch my back. Dirk has already agreed. I'm to meet him
at the Black Spur shortly."

"Count me in."

After glancing about to make certain no one
was watching, Lachlan drew his jewel-hilted dagger—the one his
father had given him—from its scabbard within his doublet and
placed it on the table. "How much will you give me for this?"

"What, you're wanting to sell it now? I'm not
believing it." His friend scrutinized him.

God's blood! How he wished he had enough coin
not to worry about things like this. "I would like to buy her a
gift."

"How much? I shall loan you the money."

"Nay. You ken I don't borrow money," Lachlan
snapped.

"You can pay it back after you're
married."

"I won't buy her a ring with her money, but
mine own. So, do you want to buy the dagger or not? I wager Dirk
will. Or 'haps Miles."

"I'll be damned if the Sassenach will get
such a valuable Scottish weapon. I'll give you ten pounds for it."
Rebbie opened his sporran and covertly withdrew some coins. "A
ring, eh? Must be a fancy one."

Lachlan shrugged. Earlier that day, he'd
spoken with a goldsmith at a booth in Britain's Burse who would
custom-make the ring, and it should be ready on the morrow. Though
'twould be a small token, he hoped it would say to Angelique that
he was trustworthy and honorable.

Watching Rebbie take possession of the dagger
felt like someone ripping out his spleen. His father had given him
the weapon on his deathbed, and Lachlan had sworn never to part
with it. But at the moment he had little choice. He couldn't risk
gambling, nor could he part with his sword.

"Don't worry, man. 'Haps I'll let you buy it
back someday…if I don't get too attached to it." Rebbie sent him an
evil grin. "And if you can afford my price."

"To hell with you. I will not want it
back."

"Bah! You're a terrible liar."

Lachlan drained his ale tankard. "Time to
meet Dirk."

***

The next day, Angelique sat in the richly
appointed drawing room with the other ladies who had accompanied
her from the queen's court, but she was in no mood for
conversation. She would rather be in bed with her head covered.
Camille was the only person who understood her, but she was not
entirely welcomed into these social gatherings.

How Angelique wished she could have married
Philippe or another biddable man before her mother had passed away.
Maman
would not have approved of the Highlander as a
husband. She would say Angelique was headed for a repeat of her
parents' marriage. And she knew this to be true. Scotsmen knew not
how to remain faithful—her mother had said it many times.

"'Twas in this very room where you intruded
upon Sir Lachlan and me…" Eleanor whispered and took a seat beside
her on the burgundy velvet settle.

Disgust rising within, Angelique glared at
the other woman.

"In the throes of passion."

"I understand your meaning, Eleanor." The
putain
was worse than a cat in heat. "And where was it you
crawled away to hide that night?"

Eleanor's smugness disappeared. "At least you
have bagged yourself a man who is proficient in the bedchamber. My
late husband was not."

"A pity."

"You may not care now, but you shall one
day."

Angelique ignored that. 'Twas true, she
didn't care now. She had experienced naught in the coupling she was
fond of. It was a painful and loathsome activity.

"Was your lover in France very gifted?"
Eleanor asked.

"I had no lover. Merely a faithless fiancé."
Few people knew of her compromised virtue. Some believed it only a
rumor and she didn't wish King James to know the truth of it.
Though Girard had asked for her hand in marriage, and she had
thought to marry him before his fit of violence, they were not
formally betrothed because her father would not permit it. She and
her mother had written to him in Scotland to ask. His answer was a
resounding
nay
and a demand that she return to Scotland.
She, of course, had not gone. Besides, Girard had turned out to be
a bumbling, cruel oaf who'd forced himself on her in the end, and
she was relieved she hadn't married him. But now she must marry the
Highlander.

Eleanor chuckled. "And soon you shall have a
faithless husband."

Indeed
. Nausea took Angelique's
appetite and she put down her puff pastry.

"Lachlan told me two nights ago in his
bedchamber he knew his faithfulness was not required. You may have
to share him, but believe me, he's worth it." Eleanor sighed.

The ruttish varlet. "I am fortunate, no?"
Angelique wanted to toss her wine onto Eleanor's head and watch it
ruin her perfect dark curls.

"Indeed, you are most fortunate. His
broadsword is long and stiff and—"

"Enough." Angelique knew exactly what the
other woman spoke of.

Eleanor giggled.

"We all know you have sampled most every male
member at court," Angelique said.

Eleanor smirked, dropping her gaze to
Angelique's chest. "Well, Sir Lachlan is rather fond of large
breasts, so I don't imagine he will be overjoyed with you."

Angelique stiffened and forced herself not to
draw her wrap closer about her body and hide. "I do not care what
sort of breasts he fancies."
He will not be touching mine.
She wondered if she could lure the bitch into an alcove and squash
her nose like a Scottish bannock. Instead, she sipped her wine in a
very collected manner.

"Perhaps I shall pay him a visit one day to
alleviate his frustrations," Eleanor said.

"You will stay away from my home," Angelique
said with smooth calmness. "If you do not, you shall regret
it."

"Is that a threat?" Eleanor glanced toward
the doorway. "Speak of the virile and handsome devil."

Angelique almost dropped her Venetian glass
before she turned to face Lachlan, striding across the Turkish
carpets, three large, fearsome men trailing behind him.

Eleanor rose and gave a deep curtsey. "Sir
Lachlan," she purred.

Angelique wished to send her sprawling across
the floor.

"Lady Eleanor." He bowed, proceeded to
Angelique's side and lifted her hand to kiss the back. "M'lady," he
murmured in an intimate tone. She avoided his gaze for she was
suddenly most irritated at him and Eleanor. Lachlan turned to his
friends. "This is my lovely future bride, Lady Angelique Drummagan,
the countess of Draughon. M'lady, I would like you to meet my
friends. Robert MacInnis, earl of Rebbinglen."

The attractive dark-haired man stepped
forward, took her hand and kissed it. "A pleasure most sweet,
countess."

"Dirk MacLerie," Lachlan said.

"M'lady." The auburn-haired man, tall as
Lachlan, bowed briefly but remained in place, his steady blue eyes
assessing her.

"Miles Seabourne, the only Sassenach
unconventional enough for me to trust."

The man laughed and bowed. "My lady, 'tis an
honor."

Angelique rose and curtsied. "
Enchantée,
messieurs
."

"Did I not tell you she is beautiful?"
Lachlan asked. His smile and the pride in his eyes made her heart
flutter. She could almost believe he liked her. How she wished…

"Aye, lovely." The men bowed and expressed
further delight upon meeting her.

"
Merci.
" Angelique's face flushed
hotter than it had in a long while. She was unaccustomed to having
so many handsome men's regard at one time. The bit of happiness
welling within her chased away her doldrums.

To the side, Eleanor cleared her throat,
drawing everyone's attention.

"And this is Lady Eleanor." Lachlan was not
often embarrassed by his past trysts, but in this case, Eleanor
made him highly uncomfortable. He wished she would leave off her
blatant pursuit of him.

While the other men greeted her, Lachlan
turned to Angelique. "Could we step into the gardens again?"

"
Oui.
"

He escorted her out, trying to decipher the
expression in her eyes.
Damnable Frenchie
. If she'd been an
untutored Highland lass he could've read her easily, but Angelique
was a mystery he yearned to uncover. With her first glance at him
when he'd stepped into the room, her expression had been pleased
and surprised, then she'd schooled her brows into that disdainful
arch that told him he was lower than a worm. At least she didn't
mean it. She was still jealous of Eleanor—that had to be the
problem.

Dirk followed at a distance, hanging back and
surveying the surroundings. He was the best guard in the kingdom,
and Lachlan was fortunate to call him a friend.

"How pleasant you have brought your Highland
friends with you today." A bit of her sarcasm bled through but he
chose to ignore it.

"Aye. Friends are important."

"I would not know," she said in a bitter
tone, then pressed her lips together and turned away.

"You have no friends?"

She shrugged.

"None?"

"My companion, Camille. Philippe. I had
several friends in France, but not so many here."

She had to bring up the French lad again,
didn't she? He would ignore that as well. "'Tis a shame. I wager
you will find many friends in Scotland."

"It matters not."

He took in her sour expression and what lay
beneath it. "You're not a happy woman, Angelique."

She directed a cutting glare at him.

"Why not?" he asked.

"I do not wish to discuss it."

"I ken marrying me is a chore, but surely you
prefer me to Chatsworth or Kormad. If you didn't, why did you
choose me?"

"The lesser of three evils."

"Ah. You think me evil, then?"

"
Non
, merely wicked."

Lachlan grinned, imagining all the wicked
things he'd love to do to her, starting with slow exploring kisses.
He'd then unlace her and strip every piece of clothing from her
sweet little body. He'd make her ache and moan and whisper his
name. Finally, he would give her what she sought, sliding into her
wet, hot passage over and over until they both found paradise. His
wickedness was to her benefit; he had only to make her see
that.