My Wild Highlander (16 page)

Lachlan stuffed the damnable signed and
sealed document into his doublet, glad to see the rain had
stopped.

"And are you carrying the French pox, then?"
Rebbie asked, standing by his horse.

"Nay. Officially healthy." As he knew he was.
Angelique would have to pay the piper now and spend the night in
Lachlan's bed. He couldn't wait.

Rebbie hoisted himself into the saddle. "How
much did you have to bribe him with?"

"To hell with you!"

Rebbie laughed.

"You haven't had a wedding night yet, have
you?" Dirk's tone was understated but his question pointed.

As if that was any of his business! Lachlan
scowled.

"What of the bloody sheet?" Rebbie asked.

"'Twas mine own blood. I cut myself. But
don't be telling anyone. The king wanted the marriage consummated
but Angelique wasn't in the mood."

"He beds all the ladies in London but cannot
bed his own wife," Dirk said with exaggerated amazement.

"You're daft. I didn't bed all the ladies in
London." Lachlan mounted. "And 'twill not be long afore mine own
wife drags me to her bed and refuses to let me leave."

"Would anyone care to place a wager on that?"
Rebbie rubbed his hands together eagerly.

"Aye," Dirk said.

"Don't you dare even think about it." Lachlan
nudged his horse into a trot and they raced up the road toward
Draughon, passing beneath the trees. He couldn't wait to see
Angelique's face when he showed her this document. Nor could he
wait to have her naked betwixt his sheets.

Something whizzed past Lachlan's head. "What
the hell? Arrows!"

Dirk yelled curses.

Lachlan kicked his mount into a gallop and
ducked low, scanning the bushes off to the left but seeing nothing.
Cowardly bastards! An arrow struck his saddle. Where was his targe
when he needed it?

The hooves of Dirk's and Rebbie's horses
thundered behind him. Lachlan glanced back. Rebbie fired a pistol
toward the bushes. An arrow protruded from Dirk's shoulder, a
fearsome scowl on his face.

Damn Kormad and his men! If he wanted war, he
would have it.

***

An hour later, Lachlan himself had removed
the arrow from Dirk's left shoulder and helped hold him down while
the blacksmith cauterized the flesh wound. No easy task; Dirk was
strong and mad as two scalded oxen.

"You're fortunate 'twas not your sword arm."
Lachlan handed him a bottle of peat-colored whisky.

"Aye, cause then you'd kick me out on my
arse." He drank a hefty swallow of the water of life.

"Indeed." Lachlan grinned and strode from the
room. Dirk was one of his best and oldest friends and he prayed he
didn't suffer fever from this wound. While he rested, Lachlan would
deliver the signed document to a certain lady.

Angelique waited outside the guest chamber
door, her eyes wide and worried, skin pale. "How is he?"

"He'll be well in a few days. Come. I wish to
speak with you." He motioned her toward the spiral stair and waited
for her to precede him up.

In the corridor, he opened his sitting room
door and motioned her inside. Looking wary, she passed him and
entered, her silken skirts brushing his legs.

After closing the door, he gave a formal bow
and presented the paper to her. 'Twas unfortunate he didn't have a
gleaming silver tray to place it upon. "'Tis what you requested,
m'lady."

With a tight expression, she broke the red
wax seal and read the document... very slowly. Nay, she was reading
it twice.

"As you can see, my 'member' and every other
part of me is healthy."

"One moment." She passed into her sitting
room and opened a box on the table. He followed. She withdrew
another document and compared the physician's signatures.

Damn her. She did not even believe him. When
would she begin to trust him?

"Now you're thinking I forged Doctor Ellis's
signature? I am not a liar, Angelique. If I said I went to the
physician, I did. He examined me head to toe. You can ask Rebbie
and Dirk if you need further witnesses."

Angelique's cool green eyes assessed him.

"Shall we meet in your chamber or mine
tonight?" he asked.

"Neither."

His temperature blazed. Rage clawed its way
up his chest, near choking him. He'd known she'd somehow try to get
out of it despite giving her word and signing a contract. He was
known to have a very balanced temperament but she destroyed his
patience. "Your word means naught then!"

"Your contract does not say
when
I am
to spend the night with you. And I will, but after the second
ceremony. I am glad you are healthy in every way, but I am not yet
ready to... do this. We should get to know each other better
first."

Remain calm, he told himself over and over.
"The night of the ceremony you will be in my bed. And every damned
night thereafter."

Deep breath.

She did not respond, merely stared at his
doublet. If she feared him, his anger certainly wouldn't help
matters. Why couldn't she be reasonable?

"Angelique, I risked my life to get you that
ridiculous signed document. I ken you wish Kormad's arrow had gone
through my heart instead of Dirk's shoulder. What would you do
then? Do you think you can lead these men and this clan by
yourself? Do you think they can protect you from Kormad with me out
of the way? Nay. You would either be married to him or dead
yourself. That's how ruthless he is."

Tears glistened in her eyes. "I am glad...
you were not hurt," she said in a tight whisper. She turned and
fled the room, disappearing into her chamber.

Entering his own sitting room, he slammed the
door, picked up an iron candelabra and flung it against the stone
wall. The loud clang reverberated.
"Iosa is Muire Mhàthair!"
Damn the ice in her heart. He dropped into the chair behind the
desk. Several more days until their second wedding ceremony.

He had never worked this hard to get a woman
into bed, and this his own wife—something he had never wanted to
begin with. He knew marriage would be disaster for him.

She hated him. That was it. She did not want
him, and was completely immune to his charms. Witch!

Still, he yearned for her. Each time she made
the challenge more difficult, he got even harder for her.

Slamming the door on his way out, he strode
downstairs. Not only had his wife declared war on him, so had his
neighbor. Now he had to meet with the other clans in the
surrounding area to make sure Drummagan alliances were strong. If
Kormad wanted a feud, he'd get one.

***

Two days later, Angelique's additional trunks
arrived from London, including her trousseau and wedding gown. In
her chamber, she took out the pale blue French lace and silk
confection and spread it upon the bed. "Exquisite," she breathed,
then gathered it to her with reverence and pressed her nose to the
folds. Her mother's perfume lingered upon it.

I miss you, Maman.

Her mother had given her the gown in France
five years ago. Angelique remembered clearly the sound of her
mother's rich voice, as if she now spoke in her ear. "I was so in
love with your father when I wore this to marry him," she'd said.
"We met at King James' court, at Holyrood Palace. Everything was so
elegant. I was a young girl, not much older than you are now,
filled with hopes and dreams." Her mother's wistful smile had
turned bittersweet. "My dreams were shattered but that does not
mean yours have to be, Angelique. Each woman must find her own
happiness in her own way. I soon learned your father did not love
me in the way I loved him. That is why you must choose your husband
very carefully. Do not fall in love with him until you know he
loves you. Do not marry a Scotsman because they are barbarians and
know nothing of feelings."

"How do you know all Scotsmen are like
Father?" Angelique had asked.

"I knew several when we lived in Scotland
and, in my experience, they are all alike. They love the excitement
of war and fighting above all. They only wish to exert their power
over others, especially women. And they desire a different woman
each night. They care not whether the woman is a lady or a common
servant. They will take them all."

Angelique believed her mother. How could she
not? Her mother's ideas were all she knew. Thus far Angelique had
noted that most men fell into the barbaric, power-hungry,
lust-obsessed category, not just Scotsmen. Women's feelings meant
nothing to them.

"Why could you not be here,
Maman
?"
Angelique whispered to the empty room. Wearing the precious diamond
pendant
Maman
had given her, hidden beneath the gown, would
make her feel her mother was close in spirit on her wedding
day.

A knock sounded at the door. Angelique spread
the gown upon her bed, wiped her eyes and swung the door open.

Camille rushed in, her cheeks flushed and her
breathing elevated. "Lachlan and his men have returned. You wanted
me to inform you."

"
Merci
. Where has he been?"

"Visiting a neighboring family—er clan, I
mean."

Annoyance flashed through Angelique. "He
visited another clan? Without me? He promised to take me. And even
if he hadn't promised, it is my right to go."

She well knew he was doing this because she'd
refused to allow him into her bed and she would tell him what she
thought of that. If not for her, he would own naught but the
clothes on his back. He owed everything to her. And he would treat
her with more respect!

The door to the chamber burst open and
Lachlan barged in, his long, tawny hair loose and windblown, a
light of excitement in his gold-brown eyes. He smelled like the
fresh outdoors. "M'lady." He bowed deeply and presented her with a
bouquet of wildflowers.

"My laird,
merci
." The mingling scents
of daisies, roses and green sap distracted her for a moment, as did
his unexpected romantic gift. No man had given her flowers in long
time. But maybe that was his intention… to distract her.

"So, the wedding gown has arrived at last."
He swept a dramatic hand toward her bed.

"Where have you been?" Angelique asked,
returning to the heart of the matter. "Visiting neighboring
clans?"

His gaze held a bit of spite when it landed
upon her. "Pray pardon, Camille. I need to have a word with
my
wife
."

Angelique did not care for the derisive way
he'd said that.

Camille scuttled out the door and closed it
behind her. Silence reigned for several moments. The tension was so
pervasive Angelique could hardly breathe.

"Well?" she demanded. "Where?"

"Ask nicely and I'll tell you." He bestowed a
mock grin.

"Where have you been, my laird?" she asked
with the utmost sweetness. She held the bruised flower stems in a
stranglehold, wishing to throw them at him.

"Better, but still needs a bit of work. I was
visiting with the chiefs of Clan Robertson and Clan Buchanan. They
will attend our wedding."

"I have every right to visit neighboring
clans with you," she snapped.

"And I have every right to have my wife in my
bed at night. We don't always get what we have a right to. Do we,
madame
?"

"If not for me, you would have naught but the
sword at your side and your damned plaid."

He surveyed her with a deadly gaze. "And if
not for me, Kormad would've already murdered you."

"Hmph. You are a well-paid bodyguard,
monsieur
."

"Or 'haps I am but an expensive stud whose
services you cannot handle."

Did he always have to bring sex into
everything? Stubborn heartless barbarian. "We lead this clan
together. I am the countess!" She flung the bouquet at him. It
bounced off his chest, blooms scattering.

He but acknowledged her attack with a blink
and a clenching jaw. "And I am the earl. As well as the chief."

"Thanks to me."

"And thanks to King James. As well as my own
cunning which garnered the king's favor." One corner of Lachlan's
lips quirked up. "I'm glad we both remember how this debacle came
about," he said in a dry tone.

He was right of course. Despite being a
countess in her own right, she was naught but a woman stripped of
any real power. And yet, she refused to give up anything to him. He
was merely helping her lead the clan. "I wish to be informed about
the clan's affairs."

"I'll inform you. What would you like to
know?" he asked with sugary politeness.

"Do not mock me. It is my right to stand
beside you and help make decisions that affect the clan and estate.
Those men think you alone lead them."

His expression turned serious. "If you
undermine my authority, you will only be causing more conflict. Do
you wish peace or strife? Have you any inkling how vicious Scots
are when a conflict arises? A simple disagreement can turn into a
massacre. I don't wish any bloodshed."

"I don't want bloodshed either, but I want to
go with you to visit the next clan."

"There is no need. I sent a messenger to
invite two other clans to the wedding and the feast. You can meet
them then."

"
Très bien
, but I have a right to know
what's going on. The disputes, the judgments and agreements. My
father would wish it if he were here."

"I'll tell you in private if that's all you
wish. But I won't allow you to order me about before my men."

"
Your
men?"

"Aye, the Drummagans are my men now. When you
chose me and married me before the king's men and God, you gave me
that right." He turned and slammed the door on the way out.

***

"M'laird?" The male servant's whiney voice
and the scratch on the library door grated on Lachlan's nerves.

"I'm working! I need quiet," Lachlan
yelled.