My Wild Highlander (10 page)

"I still feel terrible that you fell,"
Angelique said.

"We did what we had to do, as always. Do not
regret it. I thank you for saving my life."

"But I put your life in danger to begin with
by having you leave the coach."

"Do not worry, Ange. I saved your life one
time, and now you have saved mine."

Angelique pressed her eyes closed, hating
that memory. Hating to even think of Girard. She would've prayed he
was dead if such a prayer did not seem like sacrilege.

She shoved the thought from her mind. "We are
a pair, no?"

Camille smiled. "And now we go on our
grandest adventure yet, with several handsome Scotsmen."

Angelique snorted. Indeed her husband was
handsome, but she was not certain that was a good thing. Women
everywhere, from all classes, either stared at him outright or
slipped him covert glances and smiles. To his credit, he pretended
not to notice.

A huge boulder beside the narrow lane caught
her eye. She remembered her father lifting her onto it when she was
a small girl.

"We are near Draughon." Her pulse rate
increasing, she gazed out. Through the trees, the wide River Tay
glistened, reflecting afternoon sunlight. All seemed familiar to
her, but like something from another life.

The coach drew to a halt, and she craned her
neck out the window. The tall black iron gates stood before them,
and beyond, the great stone medieval castle, Draughon. A large
group of unfamiliar armed men swarmed in front of the gates. A
shiver passed through her.

***

"Halt!" yelled a short, armored guard.

This one wee man didn't concern Lachlan, but
the additional men did. They carried all manner of swords, axes,
pikes, and pistols forming a line before the gates.

"Who are you?" the guard demanded.

"Lachlan MacGrath…Drummagan, the new chief of
Clan Drummagan and earl of Draughon."

"Ba ha ha," the guard bellowed in a mock
laugh. "'Tis a funny jest."

Lachlan tensed at the derision. A sickening
feeling tightened his stomach. In truth, he felt like a fraud. Him
an earl? A chief? But no one had to know of his doubt. He could
bluff until dawn.

One of the king's retainers strode forward
and unrolled a legal document containing the king's seal. "The
countess of Draughon, Lady Angelique Drummagan, is in the coach and
we are sent by His Majesty, King James. This man tells you true. He
is the new earl of Draughon and your chief."

The force of armed, leather-clad men
increased to two or three dozen behind the main guard.

"No one such as yourself will be entering
this gate afore Laird Kormad returns," the guard growled.

Did Scots always have to be such a rebellious
lot? At times like this he wished to throttle his own countrymen.
"Kormad?" Lachlan asked. Damn the whoreson.

"Sorley MacGrotie, Baron of Kormad, rightful
heir to the earldom."

"I ken who he is, but about the earldom, you
are wrong. I am earl of Draughon. 'Tis official."

"In the name of King James, lay down your
weapons, open this gate and stand aside!" ordered the king's
retainer.

"I think…" The guard pretended to consider.
"Nay! I'm a Drummagan and I won't be havin' a damned MacGrath
Highlander as my chief. King James detests you lawless wild Scots
so he wouldn't send one to lead us."

"We are on the edge of the Highlands here.
'Tis not as if we live in different countries. We're both
Scotsman," Lachlan said, acting his most calm and civil.

"You're naught but a barbarian. I can tell by
the look of you." The guard eyed Lachlan's plaid, thrown over his
shoulder. At least he wore trews instead of a kilt this day. Better
for riding a horse.

"I was educated in Edinburgh, just as your
former chief, John Drummagan, was. My brother is a Scottish earl
and a chief as well. I have noble blood flowing through my
veins."

"But you don't have Drummagan blood."

"My wife is Drummagan through and
through."

"Pah!" The man spat on the ground. "She's a
Frenchie."

"We shall have a contest, you and me. Whoever
is the victor will claim the castle, aye?" Lachlan said.

The retainers eyed him as if he were a
lunatic. Rebbie grinned and Dirk frowned.

Lachlan dismounted and strode forward. "What
say you?" He towered over the guard and glared down at him.

"Um, what sort of contest?"

"One on one, man to man sword fight." Lachlan
drew his basket-hilted sword, stepped back and held it at the
ready.

The guard hesitated.

"Come, wee man. I wish to get this over with.
We have been traveling a long while and we wish a bite to eat. My
wife is ill and requires a bed to rest upon."

"What is causing the delay?" demanded a
female voice with a French accent behind him. He glanced back to
find Angelique striding forward, her eyes blazing wrath and her
blue silk skirts swishing.

She held a small pistol in her hand.

"God's blood," Lachlan muttered.

"My lady! You must not." Two of the king's
men chased her.

"Watch my back," Lachlan told Dirk and Rebbie
as he started toward her. What a wee angel of vengeance she was. He
sheathed his sword, plucked the pistol from her hand and escorted
her back to the coach. They halted by the door.

"Listen to me, Angelique," he whispered in
her ear. "You will stay within the safety of the coach until I
settle this." Her floral female scent startled his senses and
stirred his body with lust at a very bad moment.

"But—"

"I am the laird here and I will protect you,
the lady. Not the other way around." He kept his tone firm but
gentle.

"But this is my home. I grew up here and they
cannot keep me out!"

"Nor can they keep me out. I alone must show
them who is leader. You must trust me on this. I will send a
message to Kormad he cannot ignore."

She grasped his sleeve and appeared as if she
might argue further, but her mouth became a firm line. "Have a
care," she said and released him.

"Always." He winked, leaned quickly forward
and gave her a peck on the lips. Her jaw dropped.

Smiling, he opened the door and motioned her
inside. She obeyed but held out her hand for the pistol, giving him
a stern look.

"Put it away before you kill yourself with
it," he whispered, relinquishing the wee weapon. "Don't allow her
out," he told the royal guard. Lachlan wanted to continue smiling
because she worried about his safety but he forced it away. That
kiss had been too brief and he was in need of more.

He again faced the "leader" of this ragtag
group of rebels, praying the whole of the Drummagan clan did not
side with them and Kormad.

***

Angelique peered out the coach window,
Camille beside her, watching Lachlan and his swaggering, confident
stride. He had kissed her, damn him, and distracted her, seized
control. Now what if he got hurt in this ridiculous sword
fight?

"We could've settled this peacefully if he'd
listened to me."

"You were brandishing a weapon just as he
is," Camille said.

"
Oui.
But I was not going to use it."
Well, only if she had to.

"A man always prefers to show force alone.
And look how well he does it."

Angelique snorted. But yes, he did do it
well. She admired the commanding way he brandished a sword. "Are
you observing my husband?"

"No more than anyone else." Her friend gave
her an innocent look. "Are you jealous?"

"
Non
. But make sure you do not become
his mistress or I will have to disown you and find a new
companion."

"Do not worry, Ange. I much prefer his
friend."

"Which one?"

"Look." Camille pointed.

Lachlan moved with skill and grace as he
engaged the shorter man in swordplay. They parried and thrust. A
hint of a wicked grin played upon Lachlan's mouth. To him this was
but a game. Did he not realize his life was in danger?

What do I care?

But she did care, for whatever reason. He had
protected her and helped her escape Kormad and his men. As well,
she had grown used to his smiling eyes and tall, muscular
body…which she had seen every bare inch of. And taken note of every
scar and bulge of muscle.

Metal clanged and flashed in the bright
sunlight while Angelique held her breath. Swordplay was much like a
violent dance of death, beautiful and dark. She had not hated it so
much until this moment.

The men of both sides shouted
encouragements.

A sword flew up into the air and tumbled to
the ground. "
Sacrebleu,
" she whispered before Lachlan turned
and she saw he still held his sword. "
Grâce à Dieu
. He has
done it."

"Did you have any doubt?" Camille asked.

Angelique shrugged and kept her eyes on the
action.

Kormad's man, now unarmed, backed away,
tripped over a rock and sprawled to his back. Standing over him,
Lachlan pressed the tip of the sword against the man's throat.
"What are you called?"

"Edward."

"Well, Edward, I shall spare your life if you
deliver a message for me."

"A m…mes…message, m'laird?"

In Angelique's estimation, Lachlan looked a
bit too pleased with himself.

"Aye. Tell Kormad if he wants this castle, to
come get it himself, if he is brave enough. It belongs to Lady
Angelique and me." He nicked the man's cheek. Blood trickled from
the small wound.

He included me first.
Pride swelled
within Angelique, and a warm spot inside her chest softened for
Lachlan.

Stepping back, he sheathed his sword. "Get
up. Gather your men and go."

The prone man lurched to his feet and
stumbled away. Four men rushed past, following him.

"Does anyone else wish to challenge me or
leave with your friends?" Lachlan asked.

No one moved.

"Anyone else loyal to Kormad?"

Angelique noticed a tall, skinny man off to
the side, clothed in dark brown leather, holding a sword behind his
back. His face was hard as he watched Lachlan, like a terrier
intent upon his prey.

"Who is the steward here?" Lachlan paced
before the remaining clansmen, looking into the face of each one.
When he turned his back, the thin, suspicious man charged forward,
his sword aimed directly at Lachlan's back.

Chapter Five

Murder in his eyes and his mouth pulled into
a grimace, the stranger charged Lachlan's back with the
broadsword.

"
Mère de Dieu
." Angelique lifted her
pistol. Holding it steady with both hands, she aimed at her target
and fired. The pistol popped and the recoil jarred her teeth.

Crying out, the traitor flipped to the ground
and slid a few inches. His sword clattered away.

Lachlan ducked, his gaze darting to the
groaning man she'd downed, then to her. "What the devil?"

Where did I get such reflexes?
She
coughed against the thick smoke, stared at the pistol and lowered
it with shaking hands spotted with black powder.

"You have done it again, Ange!" Camille said.
"Maybe someone would hire you as a mercenary."

"Do not jest with me so."

Now was the time to assert her power, before
Lachlan and the clan. He would not lead alone. Carrying the pistol,
she climbed down from the coach and strode forward, trying to
conceal how her knees shook.

Lachlan stood over the traitor. "Lock him
up," he told two of the Drummagan men. "Have someone see to his
injury." Blood soaked the man's right sleeve. Lachlan turned to one
of the king's retainers. "If you would, see they do what they're
supposed to."

Two brawny Drummagans carried the man away
and two retainers followed. Lachlan shifted his attention to
Angelique, his expression showing mild amazement—or was it
amusement?
Oui.
Again, he had the smiling eyes which taunted
and teased, but now she glimpsed a bit of pride there as well.
Perhaps he had underestimated her before, but now he saw what she
was capable of.

Get accustomed to it,
she wanted to
say to him but faced her clan instead. "Do you know who I am? Lady
Angelique Drummagan, countess of Draughon in my own right. The
rightful heir and daughter of John Drummagan. Lachlan is my
husband, the earl and chief. We are laird and lady here. This is
our home. You will put away your weapons and let us pass."

Lachlan sidled in close beside her, his sword
again drawn, and put his arm around her shoulders. She savored the
way he always wanted to protect her, but she'd shown him she was
strong enough to protect him as well. And she wished he'd remove
his arm before he felt her tremble.

The worried gazes of the male clan members
shifted from her to Lachlan and back again. She looked into the
eyes of each one, some of them vaguely familiar, from her
childhood, and others foreign to her. They must trust and respect
her and Lachlan. For this to happen, they must see no sign of
weakness or fear.

"You have the look of your father, lass," the
man directly in front of her murmured, then dropped his gaze and
went down on one knee. "M'lady. Pray pardon."

His was one of the familiar faces. What was
his name? Byron? Bryce. No, Bryson. "Are you Bryson?" she
asked.

"Aye, m'lady." He grinned, a light of awe
entering his brown eyes. "I was sword-bearer for your father."

"I remember you." She glared at the armed men
behind him, meeting the wild, pale eyes of another man she
recalled. His thick beard had gone white. "Heckie," she said. "You
were Father's bard."

He winked. "Indeed, m'lady. And I can recite
the clan's history back to the time of Noah."

His ridiculous comment caught her off guard
and she smiled.

"You've grown into a lovely young lady, lass.
Glad I am you've returned to us so another chapter of the Drummagan
story can unfold." He laid down his sword and knelt.