My Wild Highlander (14 page)

His friends and the Drummagan clansmen hadn't
fared much better. They didn't have to know he was working out a
monumental sexual frustration, something he had never before
experienced. He feared the Drummagan men might hate him for the
demands he made on them, but the contrary appeared to be true;
their expressions showed more respect, trust and admiration after
the hours of bruising exercises.

His muscles relaxed in the heat and his mind
drifted to Angelique. He hadn't seen the wee hellion all day. She
hadn't joined him for breakfast, nor midday meal, sending a servant
with some excuse about being too busy with planning the wedding and
feast.

He was glad she occupied herself with
household duties, but he missed seeing her. Thinking how Angelique
had sought him out in this room the night before, suspecting him of
seducing another woman, he smiled. She was a possessive little
hedgehog. Which meant, she liked him and wanted him on some level.
Perhaps a level she couldn't face yet, but it was a start.

Why couldn't she have crawled into bed with
him last night? 'Twas but a fantasy. Never had he experienced such
a hard time seducing a woman.

A knock sounded at the door.

He lifted his head. "Who is it?"

"Bryson, m'laird."

"Come." Since Bryson had been the former
chief's sword bearer, Lachlan had given him the same position. It
was hereditary, after all, and the man seemed skilled.

"Sorry to disturb you, chief." Bryson,
dark-haired and stocky with muscle, stopped before the door and
executed a brief bow.

"I asked you to. What of Kormad?"

"He is home. Arrived by coach this eve. You
mentioned a tall, bald man."

"Aye?"

"They carried a man like that on a litter
into Burnglen Castle. He appeared to be awake but in pain."

So the bastard had survived jumping into the
Channel. Astonishing, given that few people knew how to swim.
Someone that tough and hardened, he'd have to watch out for. "What
did Kormad and his men do after that?"

"He sent two men to spy on us from a hilltop,
but they didn't set foot on Drummagan land. Everything else was as
normal. Same amount of guards at their usual posts."

"Good. I thank you, Bryson. You're a good
man."

"M'laird." He bowed and left.

Lachlan laid his head back against the tub
again, thinking how proud and happy he was to be given the
privilege of leading these Drummagan men. They were sturdy, strong
and intelligent. Proficient fighters already. Their skills but
needed a bit of honing.

He was grateful to his father and his older
brother, Alasdair, for showing him how to lead men and train them.
What would Alasdair think of him now that he was an earl and chief?
He would send him a missive and relay the news.

The door burst open without warning.
Lachlan's hand shot down to his sword behind the tub. Angelique
stepped into the room.

Releasing a breath, he relaxed back with a
grin. "What a pleasing surprise, my angel."

Her expression stern, she strode forward,
then halted abruptly in the center of the room, her gaze darting
down his chest and back up. "My maid said you were cut today during
practice. Why must I hear about your injuries through gossip? Why
do you not tell me when you are hurt?" she demanded. "You are a
free-bleeder!"

He almost chuckled. "Naught to fash your
bonny head over. 'Twas but a scratch. I am well."

"Let me see."

"You must come closer, then." Why did he feel
a bit wicked saying those words to his own wife?

She inched forward.

"Right here." He pointed at his forearm,
resting on the tub's edge.

She rushed to him and knelt. Surprising him,
she lightly stroked a finger over his forearm alongside the injury.
"Scratch?
Mère de Dieu.
You call that a scratch?"

"Aye. 'Tis not bleeding now, and did not
require stitching."

"What were you doing?" Angelique's vibrant
green eyes sparkled in the firelight, bewitching. Her intense
concern for him made his heart ache and yearn... for what, he
didn't know. He only knew she cared about his health, and deep down
that meant she cared about him. Why wouldn't she let him touch her?
Kiss her? Make love to her?

"Training the men, as I mentioned last
night," he said.

"Sword fighting?"

"Aye. Practice."

She pushed to her feet and her gaze drifted
down his body beneath the water. She slammed her eyes closed,
turned her back and paced to the other side of the room. He
couldn't help that he got an erection every time she was near. How
he would love to drag her into this tub and get her all wet. But
likely that would turn her into a clawing hellcat again. He must be
far more subtle.

"I thank you for your concern. What did you
do today?" he asked.

"Met with Mistress Mayme and planned a menu
for the wedding feast. Made a long list of supplies we need."

"I can hardly wait to see what delights you
have in store."

She flicked a glare at him. He bit his lip to
keep from grinning. What fun to tease her!

Again her gaze lingered a bit too long on his
chest. That was definitely a spark of interest. He pretended to
ignore her, took the soap and stroked it over his chest and neck.
Lifted an arm and washed underneath.

She appeared spellbound by his actions for
several moments before she snapped to attention. "I bid you a good
night,
monsieur
."

"I wish you wouldn't call me
monsieur
." Too cold and distant.

"
Très bien
. My laird."

"Lachlan," he corrected.

A moment of silence stretched out in which
she stared at the floor. "Lachlan," she murmured.

Had she ever said his name before? The sound
of it in her husky voice and beguiling accent made his blood heat
like mad. His shaft hardened more fully, tingling, and he wished
she'd take another peek at it. Stroke it. He hungered for her soft,
smooth hands on him.

"Would you care to join me?" he asked.

She stiffened and took a step toward the
door. "
Non
. I have already bathed. I must go."

"Would you like to sleep in here? I'd like it
if you would."
Nay, I would love it.
Saints, what he would
do to her. Kissing, licking, caressing. The slowest, most
tantalizing seduction he had ever indulged in... if he could keep
himself under control. Aye, he could. For her, he would go to great
lengths to ensure her enjoyment. Great lengths. He almost
smiled.

"
Non.
I am not ready," she said in a
quiet voice.

"'Tis understandable to be nervous," he said
mildly. Hell, he was growing a smidgen nervous himself. And eager.
He rubbed the soap down his abdomen as if they were discussing
naught more significant than what to have for supper.

"I do not care for... the coupling," she
said.

"What happened?" he asked.
And who was the
whoreson who turned you against the most pleasurable experience on
earth? Some bumbling, selfish imbecile, no doubt.
Over the
years he'd changed more than one woman's opinion of sex, usually
after their much older or unskilled husbands had died. 'Twas a
crime they'd never satisfied their wives nor given them a jot of
pleasure.

Angelique exhibited that trapped hart look
again. "Nothing. I simply detest it."

"I shall remedy that as well, for never have
I been with a woman who didn't enjoy it."

Her glare speared him with pure hatred. She
turned and strode from the chamber, slamming the door.

"God's blood! I'm daft," he muttered to the
quietness of the room. Could he never learn to guard his
tongue?

He quickly finished his bath and dried off.
He wrapped the damp piece of linen around his hips, stalked across
the sitting rooms to her chamber door and knocked.

Silence.

"Angelique?" He knocked again.

"
Va-t-en!"

"I'm sorry for what I said, and I won't be
leaving." He lifted the latch and opened the door. Why had she not
barred it if she truly wanted him to stay out?

She stood by the fireplace, glaring icicles
at him. "You may not enter my bedchamber unless I give you
permission."

"I am your husband and I will enter whenever
I wish." He closed the door behind him.

"C'est que tu es goujat!"

She thought him a lout, huh? "I take it that
was not a compliment. We are wed. Get used to it, Angelique."

"Need I remind you it is a marriage in name
only? You agreed to this."

"Nay, I did not."

"You did! Does your word mean naught?"

"Don't question my honor. What I said was,
'whatever you desire.' And what you 'desire' has not been
established yet."

Her eyes narrowed further, her expression
militant. "I have made my desires quiet clear,
monsieur
. We
will not share a bed."

"And how do you propose to have an heir for
this illustrious estate? Immaculate conception?"

"Do not mock me."

"'Tis an honest question."

With big eyes, she watched him. "Do you
intend to force me?"

He drew back, feeling as if he'd been
slapped. "Nay! How can you ask such a thing? I would never force
you, or anyone."

She turned away, facing the small fire in the
hearth.

"Angelique. I wish you wouldn't fear me so
much. I would never hurt you, or make you do aught against your
will. I but wish to show you how it can be between a man and a
woman. Believe it or not, the bedding can be quite fun, pleasurable
and astonishing."

"For you, I'm sure it is."

"And for you. I would ignore my own needs and
fulfill yours first."

"I do not have those kinds of
needs
."
Her gaze was cutting.

"Aye, you do. You just don't ken it yet.
Either that or you're lying about it."

"
Non,
believe what I say."

"I'm thinking you protest too much. I've seen
the way you look at me. You enjoyed the kisses." And so had he. In
fact, he craved another now. He would cover her sweet, delectable
body in kisses if but given the chance.

Her face reddened but her mouth appeared
sealed tight.

"I'm also thinking no man has ever pleasured
you." Deep down, he was glad for that because he wanted to be the
only one to teach her about pleasure. And he wanted her addicted to
the carnal delights he would dole out.

"I told you, I am not a virgin."

"That makes no difference. 'Haps you have
been with a man but you didn't enjoy it. A woman deserves as much
pleasure as a man." And for her, he'd endeavor to give her twice as
much.

"I am not interested," she said in a small
voice. But, like a light caress, her curious gaze slid down his
chest, over the thin material draping his hips and becoming tented
at his groin.

Not interested? What a terrible liar she was.
"One kiss," he said.

"What?" The ambivalence—fear and desire—in
her eyes made him ache to the depths of his soul. How could she
think he'd hurt her?

"One kiss is all I ask of you this
night."

"I do not wish it."

"You enjoyed the one last night. I didn't
think you feared anything."

"I do not fear you." Her tone was almost like
a wee wildcat's growl. So fragile, yet so fierce.

"Aye, I'm thinking that's why you chose me
over those other two men." He needed to remind her it was her
decision to marry him. And remind her of the bastards she could be
married to at this very moment instead. Neither man would be so
lenient as Lachlan.

"I did not wish to marry a man old enough to
be my grandfather."

"Understandable. And Kormad?"

"Him I detest beyond anything."

Lachlan nodded. "What of Philippe? Did he
give you pleasure?"

She remained silent, staring into the
fire.

"I didn't think he had."

"He did."

Och! Another lie. "Indeed? Then I deserve a
chance to wipe him from your memory."

"You cannot. I shall never forget
Philippe."

What the hell did she see in the cowardly
laddie? Likely, that was another lie to keep Lachlan at bay. "A
kiss, Angelique. 'Tis all I'm asking. If you'd married Chatsworth
or Kormad, either of them would've already forced you into bed. But
I wouldn't do that. I ask you to come of your own free will."

The fire crackled in the long silence.

Stomach aching, Angelique clenched her sweaty
hands, unable to forget the pain and humiliation she'd suffered at
Girard's hands... and body. The way he forced his erect member
inside her, like a battering ram, making her flesh bleed, even as
he slapped her and hit her. Tears stung her eyes. She turned away
from Lachlan, hoping he would not see.

Lachlan was not Girard, not a rapist, nor was
he angry. Everything about him was different from Girard, but he
was still a man who wished to take her body, control her life. Sex
was a dangerous instrument, whether done violently or gently, it
was meant to bring her under his command. Bend her to his will. And
clearly, he intended to be in charge, marching into her chamber
whenever he pleased.

For one brief moment, she allowed herself the
truth. Lachlan appealed to her in a most frightening way. His charm
drew her in, against her will. It wasn't only his masculine
physical appeal and the raw male beauty of his defined muscles, but
the heated look in his eyes, the spellbinding sound of his deep,
rich voice. She could not control the rhythm of her own breathing
when he was near, observing her closely.

What if she coupled with Lachlan and all the
pain and terror of Girard came rushing back to her, in her mind. As
if it were happening again now. What would she do? The memory might
be too real, too much to endure.

"One wee peck on the cheek," Lachlan said,
his tone light, such a contrast to her inner turmoil.