My Wild Highlander (6 page)

"And are you without fault, then?" he
asked.

"
Naturellement
, I have faults but none
so noticeable as yours."

"Of course not." Her main fault may not have
been obvious to her but it was clear to him—something had made her
bitter. How in the devil was he going to sweeten her up?

"This will be a marriage in name only," she
said.

"Is that so?"

"
Oui.
"

Like hell.
When she allowed him to
seduce her, he would make sure she enjoyed the bedding more than
anything she had thus far experienced.

Lachlan shrugged. "Whatever you desire."

"I do not desire anything beyond saying I
have a 'husband.'"

"I'm not arguing, my angel." He prided
himself on his diplomacy skills.

She clenched her jaw. "I wish to leave
immediately after the ceremony for my estate."

"As do I. I've had enough of London. 'Tis a
foul stink-pot. And I'm missing Scotland."

She remained silent. How could he convince
her to talk civilly? He wanted to know her better, wanted her to
trust him a wee bit.

"When were you last in Scotland?" he
asked.

"Eleven years ago."

"Do you miss it?"

"
Non.
I miss France. And my mother."
She strode toward the shade of an arbor covered with climbing
roses.

He followed. "Your mother?"

"She passed away last year."

"I'm sorry to hear it, truly."

Inside the arbor, she sat on a bench and he
joined her.

"My mother died when I was a wee lad,"
Lachlan said. "I hardly remember her at all. And my father died
five years past. 'Twas hard to get through. I still miss him
sorely."

Angelique gave him an assessing look. He
preferred it to her glares.

"I had not seen my father since my mother
left him and took me to France," she said.

"When did he pass?"

"Two months ago."

He nodded. "Do you wish you had seen him one
last time?"

She lifted a slim shoulder and stared at her
entwined fingers. "I did not know him, really. He sent for me
several times, but I did not want to return to Scotland."

"Why not?"

"He wished to find me a Scottish husband."
She flicked a glare at him.

"Ah. So, you don't have any brothers or
sisters?"

"
Non.
You?"

"I have one brother who is chief of the
MacGrath clan in the Highlands. He's an earl as well. We're very
close. You would like Alasdair. He is the most honorable of
men."

She shot him a challenging look. "How can he
be so different from you?"

"Och, Angelique." Lachlan harbored the small
hope she was teasing him in her own waspish way. "You are too much
like this lovely rose." He fingered the petals of a late season
pink blossom, sniffed the lush scent. "Beautiful, fragile, but your
thorns drive deep."

This time he caught a glimpse of
vulnerability lurking in the depths of her green-gray eyes. She
needed someone to protect her, someone to teach her how to laugh
again. Someone she could whisper her hopes and dreams to. Aye, he
wished to hear her whispers in his ear at night, and feel her hot
breaths upon his skin.

"Do not try to seduce me," she muttered. "You
will only be disappointed."

"I'm not trying to seduce you." Though this
arbor would be a pleasant, secluded place for a tryst, the
seduction would come later.

"
Très bien
. Save it for your
paramours."

God's teeth. He had never known a woman such
as her. Jealousy was eating her up. That had to mean something.
Mayhap she wanted him all to herself. He grinned and glanced
away.

"What is it?"

"Naught."

She stood. "I wish to return to my room."

"Before you go… I want to give you
something." A fit of nerves seized him, a feeling such as he'd
never before experienced with a woman.

"
Oui
. What?"

What the devil was wrong with him?
Just
give it to her.
He knelt on one knee and extended his empty
hand.

Her eyes widened and he thought she might
bolt. After a moment, she placed her hand in his.

"I ken I didn't propose to you and likely
'twould seem silly to do so now." He pulled the golden ring from
inside his doublet. "But I wish to give you this betrothal ring. I
had it specially made for you with this emerald because it reminds
me of your eyes." He slid it into place on her finger, and he was
happy to see it fit perfectly.

She lifted her hand, examining the ring. "It
is lovely," she whispered. Her gaze softened a wee bit.
"
Merci.
I thank you, sir." She curtsied.

"You're welcome." Smiling, he rose and
extended his elbow. "'Twill be my pleasure to escort you to your
room now."

"I wish to go alone," Angelique said firmly
to combat the sensual way Lachlan had said
pleasure.

The ring was a sweet token, but he could not
win her heart with one piece of jewelry. The gold near burned her
finger, warmed as it was from his body heat. And the feeling behind
the gift clutched at her heart—or rather, the feeling she wished
was behind it.

"Of course." His full lips still held a hint
of smugness.

He knew he would get her into bed as his
wife. At least, he thought he would. No one said she had to go
willingly to the lion. She would lie like a dead fish in his bed
and he would soon leave her alone.

She smiled.

"Glad I am to see you smiling."

Not for long.

***

"Damn that MacGrath!" Sorley MacGrotie, Baron
of Kormad, paced the small room at the Red Bull Inn.

"Damn the king," Arnie said in the same
tone.

"Damn Angelique," Rufus said.

"Shut up, you fools! I won't let him steal
the estate and title away from little Timmy." Kormad wanted to get
this mess cleared up so he could return to his nephew in Scotland.
His sister's son would inherit what was rightfully his, despite
what Timmy's bastard of a father, John Drummagan, had wanted, and
Kormad would make certain of it. Drummagan would pay, from beyond
the grave, for shunning sweet Lilas.

Angelique was not the rightful heir, and
MacGrath sure as the devil should not be earl.

"We tried to throw him in the river," Arnie
whined. "He's big."

"And strong. A highly trained warrior," Rufus
said. "He has three men with him now, two Highlanders."

"I don't give a damn where they hail from,"
Kormad said. "Highlanders, Lowlanders, Sassenachs, I will destroy
any man who follows MacGrath. Tell Pike to come in here as the two
of you leave."

The dolts hung their heads and shuffled out.
He didn't know how he suffered their stupidity.

Pike was his most resourceful man, not to
mention ruthless.

Minutes later, he entered, his bald head
gleaming in the candlelight. "Aye, my lord."

"Desperate measures are called for with this
MacGrath."

Pike gave an evil half smile; his gray eyes
glinted like dirty ice. "What did you have in mind? Let me torture
him."

"As much as that would please me…I just need
Lachlan MacGrath dead. In an 'accident.' Angelique, too."

"Indeed?" Pike looked ravenous of a sudden.
"The lady, too?"

"Aye, the bitch will never marry me. Don't
bungle this. The king mustn't suspect foul play."

"Of course not, my lord. 'Tis my
specialty."

"I will pay you well if you succeed."

"I ken not how to fail." Pike grinned.

"Accident, I tell you. 'Haps they could fall
from a high window, a rooftop, a bridge."

Pike nodded with enthusiasm. "Can I have the
woman first?"

"I don't care. Just leave no evidence of foul
play, no marks upon her save the ones from her fall."

Pike's head bobbled up and down again before
he left. The man belonged in Bedlam.

Chapter Three

Angelique awoke in the night, thinking she'd
heard a thump. Her eyes searched the darkness of the bedchamber.
She snatched her dagger from beneath her pillow and slid to the
floor behind the bed. The faint moonlight glimmering through the
window did little to illuminate the room. Only embers glowed in the
hearth. She caught the whiff of a masculine scent.
An
intruder!

A floorboard squeaked and a large dark
silhouette moved forward.
Parblue!
Immobile, she waited for
the moment when she could best strike.

When the intruder bent over her bed, she
lunged toward him, stabbing her blade at his neck. Before she met
her mark, he jerked back, grabbed her forearms and dragged her
against him. She lost the grip on her dagger.
Heaven help
me.

"M'lady?"

She screamed, trying to wake Camille,
sleeping on a cot in the corner. A hand clamped over her mouth.

"Release me!" Her demand came out
muffled.

"Shh. 'Tis me, Lachlan. You must come with
me." He uncovered her mouth.

She went limp with a bit of relief. The heat
of his strong hands and solid body burned through her. Now she
recognized the pleasant but disturbing male scent of him.
"Why?"

"Someone is trying to kill us. We must go
into hiding," he said, low and fierce in her ear, his breath
fanning her hair and tickling her skin.

"You have lost your senses. No one is trying
to kill me." Were they?

"Indeed, Kormad is making plans."

Kormad. Mon Dieu.
"I must have my
clothes, my trunks."

"We have no time. Bring one change of
clothes. I'll have the others shipped to Draughon."

"Camille must come with me. I go nowhere
without her." Angelique wrested away from Lachlan, hurried to the
corner and shook her cousin out of a deep sleep. "
Parbleu!
Camille, wake up."

"Whaa?" She stirred a bit.

"She is a heavy sleeper."

Lachlan went to the door. "Dirk, we need your
help. Can you carry Lady Angelique's companion?"

The fearsome man appeared at the threshold,
the lantern in his hand illuminating his long red hair and
exaggerating his frown. "Can she not walk?"

Unable to wait for Camille to wake, and with
no maids about, Angelique quickly threw smocks, stays and a change
of clothes into a sack for herself and the same for Camille.

"I must dress," Angelique said.

"No time."

She yanked a blanket off the bed to wrap
around herself seconds before Lachlan dragged her from the
room.

After meeting Dirk cradling the sleeping
Camille, and Rebbinglen carrying a lantern and a sword, they
slipped through a narrow doorway she'd never seen before, and
entered a tight dark passage. The dank air and close space made her
feel she would suffocate. Apparently this was one of the secret
passages she'd heard about that riddled Whitehall.

They reached an exterior door—near the
stables if the stench was any indication. Wind twisted the trees
and bushes. The faint glow of the lantern revealed the muddy
ground. Angelique hung back on the threshold. "I am barefoot."

"Come." Lachlan scooped Angelique into his
arms abruptly, making her head spin, and rushed her outside.
Ma
foi
! She did not want to notice the warmth of his breath
against her hair or the hardness and strength of his body. Before
she had time to decide whether or not she liked his touch, he
pushed her inside a coach with her cousin and slammed the door. The
team and coach took off and raced through the gate, then along King
Street. Horses' hooves clomped all around them—guards, she
hoped.

"Camille, wake up, damn you." Angelique shook
her on the opposite seat. "You are one worthless companion."

She roused a bit. "Huh? Are we moving? Where
are we?" she asked in a groggy voice.

"In a coach, heading for God knows where.
Lachlan says our lives are in danger."

"Is it Kormad?" Camille sat up.

"Lachlan says yes."

"You do not think it is Girard?"

"No, I hope he is dead of a fever." Angelique
slid back on the leather seat. The coach careened around a corner,
and she grabbed for a handhold.

"But we cannot be certain."

"We must not speak of it." Angelique's
stomach knotted with the very thought.

"Did you get…the item?"

"Of course. You know I would not leave
it."

After taking another corner too quickly, the
coach drew to an abrupt halt and the door opened. Lachlan now held
a torch aloft. "Come, both of you. Hold this." He handed the torch
to Rebbinglen.

"Where are we going?" Angelique asked.

"No time for questions now." He motioned her
forward.

Again, he lifted Angelique into his arms and
carried her across an alley as if she weighed no more than an
infant. Amid the chaos, he seemed an island of strength and
protection. She was finding, of a sudden, that she liked this
feeling. She had not experienced true safety for a long time. And
besides, he smelled appealing, like clean male blended with
leather. In the torchlight, their gazes mingled for a moment. He
was not the seductive charmer now. No twinkle of humor danced in
his eyes, no smirk upon his lips. He'd transformed into a
formidable warrior with a firm mouth and dark, indomitable eyes—a
side of him she'd never fully seen.

They slipped through a narrow doorway, Dirk
carrying Camille behind them.

"What is this place?" The scents of tallow
and musty books irritated her nose.

The passage opened up and they moved through
a large dim church filled with empty pews. Only a couple of candles
lit the plain interior. Five of King James's retainers wearing
royal livery waited near the pulpit along with a dour Protestant
minister.

"What is happening?" Angelique asked.

"We are to be married, as you ken." Lachlan
set her on her feet at the front of the church.