My Wild Highlander (24 page)

Eleanor?

Angelique stopped and turned. "Wait."

The servants froze. "M'lady?"

"What did you say?"

The young servant lowered her timid gaze and
curtseyed. "I have been instructed by Laird Rebbinglen to deliver a
tray of food to Lady Eleanor, Countess of Wexbury, in the south
tower bedchamber."

A hot torrent of fury raged through
Angelique. "What is she doing there? When did she arrive?"

"I…I don't know."

Ignoring the fact she was supposed to be in
the great hall for midday meal, Angelique continued along the
corridor, toward the south tower. She would find out what the
putain
was doing here. Obviously, Lachlan knew of her
presence if Rebbie did. But why had no one told her? Why had
Lachlan allowed Eleanor to remain here? Angelique was afraid she
knew the answer to that, though her heart railed against it.

A tall, burly guard, covered in thick leather
armor and with a sword at his side, stood before the chamber
portal.

"Unlock this door," she said.

"M'lady." He bowed. "I've been told not
to."

"What do you mean? I know Eleanor is in
there."

"My orders were to not allow you or anyone
inside."

"Me? Who did your orders come from?"

"Laird Rebbinglen, m'lady."

"You do not work for Rebbinglen. You work for
me."

"With all due respect, m'lady, Laird
Rebbinglen said his instructions came from your husband."

A chill settled into her blood. "My
husband?"

"Aye. His lairdship. No one is to enter or
leave this chamber except for them or the servant who brings
food."

Her icy rage spread. She would strangle
someone—Lachlan. "Let me in or I shall relieve you of your duties.
Your pay comes from my coffers."

The guard squirmed for a moment. "I must ask
his lairdship."

"No. Now!"

"God help me," he muttered, unlocked the door
and opened it.

Eleanor rose from the window seat. "Thank the
heavens…" Her smile fell. "Oh, Angelique."

She forced herself to step inside the room.
"What are you doing here? I do not recall inviting you."

Eleanor pressed a bejeweled hand to her huge
bosom covered in rich fabrics, pendants and pearls. "What a horrid
way to greet a friend."

"You are not my friend. You covet my
husband."

Eleanor smiled—no, it was a malicious parody
of a smile. "And I've had your husband. You are fortunate
indeed."

Angelique felt as if she'd been struck down
the center with a poleax. What did Eleanor mean? She'd had Lachlan
since their marriage? She'd slept with him here?

"Oh yes, little Angelique. He is indeed an
impressive specimen of a man, so seductive and commanding, is he
not? Last night was breathtaking."

"You are lying," she managed to say in a
seething whisper. Eleanor had to be lying, didn't she?

"Am I? Then how do I know the counterpane on
his bed is green and that his window looks out over the courtyard
and that a tapestry depicting Flodden hangs on his wall."

That bitch.
"I shall kill you." She
flew at Eleanor, her hands aimed at her throat. Before she made
contact, someone grabbed her from behind and lifted her from the
floor. She kicked and elbowed the male who restrained her.

"Angelique. Calm yourself." Lachlan's voice
was a growl in her ear.

She redoubled her efforts to damage him
bodily, her elbows and feet flying and bashing. But he carried her
squirming from the room, down the stairs and along the corridor to
the solar.

He kicked the door closed behind them.

"Let me go, you bastard!" she said in
French.

"Not until you calm yourself."

She stilled, but inside a death pain sliced
through her. "I knew I could not trust you. I knew men like you
could never change."

He released her and she spun away from him,
backing toward the opposite wall. Her eyes burned; her throat
ached.
No, I refuse to cry.

"I have done naught," he said, his tone
defensive, hateful eyes glaring.

"Do not lie. I know you had Rebbie lock her
up for your pleasure. So I would not know she was here."

"Rebbie locked her up to keep her out of my
rooms."

"Because you cannot keep yourself away from
her?"

"Nay! I have no interest in her."

"She was in your bedchamber last night!"

"But I wasn't there at the time. Rebbie found
her, and that's why he removed her and locked her in the
tower."

"You knew she was here before that, did you
not? If what you say is true, why did you not send her away?" She
could barely force the words out, hating her own damnable weakness
and emotion for this bastard.

"I was planning to, but I forgot about her
this morning."

"Forgot? You expect me to believe such?" How
could he forget about the bitch who would destroy their marriage?
"You were keeping her for your entertainment between ceremonies and
meals and the chore of visiting my bed. And you forbade the guard
to allow me inside the tower room. I will have her escorted to the
gates. If you are determined to have a paramour, it will not be
Eleanor." Angelique stalked from the room, forcing herself to
appear strong, though she felt like a windflower tossed upon the
ocean…sinking, drowning.

***

"Angelique. That stupid little cow!" Eleanor,
countess of Wexbury, waited outside the gates of Draughon with her
trunks while her rented coach was brought out. She tugged her
velvet-lined cloak closer against the chill Scottish wind. "I will
not be treated as a fishwife. I shall have my revenge for this
insult, this humiliation," she raved to her maid.

The young Englishwoman wisely kept her eyes
downcast. The nearby guards stared straight ahead, avoiding her
gaze.

It was the height of rudeness to throw out a
peer, a member of the nobility. She would tell everyone she knew
about Angelique's ignorance and viciousness.

A quarter-hour later, just as the fat drops
of rain began, Eleanor's coach arrived from the stables. "Angelique
had best be glad," she muttered and climbed inside. "We stop in the
village, at the Breakstane Inn," she ordered her driver. While she
sat inside the coach, her servants loaded her trunks then climbed
on board.

As they'd passed through that little village
yesterday, she had seen an inn which looked acceptable. Since it
was about a half day from Perth, it was not too rudimentary.
Eleanor was not yet ready to give up the pleasure of having Lachlan
one last time…or several more times. He was the most splendid lover
she'd ever had and she couldn't stop thinking about him, dreaming
of him. He was so young, strong and virile. She didn't know a man
could be so appealing, until him.

Thankfully, Eleanor had finally lost her
elderly husband to natural causes, a man who'd been thirty-three
years her senior, and she wasn't putting off enjoyment of life any
longer. Of course, her father had forced her into the marriage with
the old earl and she'd had no say in it. She'd endured his
repugnant attentions for over ten years and bore him an heir. Now,
finally, she could choose which men she slept with.

Angelique could never appreciate Lachlan and
his bedchamber prowess as she did. He would grow bored with his
unfriendly new wife in short order and when that happened Eleanor
wanted to be close by to fill his carnal needs, of which he had
many.

She only hoped her associate had more luck in
driving the two newlyweds apart. If not, she would pay Kormad a
visit. Surely he would help her, if he thought he could get his
hands on that estate.

Chapter Eleven

"Damn him." Angelique strode from the great
hall toward her rooms. She'd barely held up her façade before the
clan during midday meal while her heart splintered. She should've
killed Lachlan last night while she had him tied up instead of
bedding him. Now that he'd had her, he would pursue someone else.
But not Eleanor; she'd made sure of that. Angelique was certain any
woman would do, so long as she was still breathing. The selfish,
lascivious whoremonger.

It should be a crime, what he did—forcing her
to relish the shocking things he'd done to her with his mouth last
night. But she was the imbecile for taking him into her body. She
feared that act alone had caused her to take him into her heart as
well. Or maybe it was the things that came before, the kissing, the
sweet murmured words, his hands caressing. Even now, she burned for
all those things, no matter that he would never be true.

"
Mademoiselle
," whispered a male voice
in the darkened alcove between the great hall and solar.

She paused. The voice sounded familiar, the
accent French. Not Girard…or was it? She backed away.
"Qui
est-ce?"

"It is I, Philippe." The young man she had
once thought to marry stuck his head out.

She rushed to join him. "Oh, Philippe, what
are you doing here?" she asked in French.

"I had to see you,
mon coeur
." He
grasped her hands and kissed them. "I love you. You must leave the
barbarian."

She tugged her hands away from him, now
realizing, though he was indeed her friend, he was little more than
a silly boy. "What are you talking about?"

"There must be some way out of your marriage.
You loathe him, do you not?"

Loathe? Indeed, she detested many things
about Lachlan. Still, he was her husband. She had spoken sacred
wedding vows and fully intended to keep them as long as possible.
Plus, the marriage was now consummated, thanks to her rash, bold
actions of the night before. She glanced behind herself through the
shadows to make sure no one eavesdropped, then faced Philippe
again. "No, the marriage cannot be undone. It is too late."

"It is never too late. I know some people,
friends, who will help us be together. We can go back to France and
live happily there. You love France. My father has written to me.
He will give me a small estate in the country." Philippe's tone was
rather desperate, as was his gaze. She did not like this aspect of
him.

"Your father?" Last she'd heard, his father
hated him and would not claim him.

"
Oui,
he is a wealthy nobleman."

"I cannot leave my estate and my clan. This
is my birthright and my inheritance. At all costs, I cannot let
Kormad claim it."

"But you are a lady. You need not concern
yourself with the leadership of an uncivilized clan."

"That is your opinion, and I disagree with
it. Besides, my clan is very civilized."

"I am sorry,
ma bien-aimée
." He knelt
on one knee and she realized he moved her not at all. He was but a
timid child compared to Lachlan.

"I beg of you, please consider going away
with me," Philippe said, grasping her hand again. "I shall make you
happy. You will not be happy here with that overbearing brute."

"Don't do this, Philippe. I am married," she
whispered, resisting the urge to again yank her hand from his
clammy one. She did not wish to hurt his feelings and hoped they
could remain friends. "Do you not understand that?"

"Your mother left your father, her husband,
and returned to her beloved France. You can do the same."

That was true but…this wasn't the same yet.
She must bear a legitimate heir and do her duty; that much she
would accomplish for her family and forefathers. And though it was
the most extreme of follies, some small part of her prayed Lachlan
would prove to be more honorable and faithful than she expected.
She had no way of knowing if he was with Eleanor last night.

How dare Angelique dream he might develop
feelings for her? Idiotic. Still, she couldn't help it.

"Have you never heard of annulment or
divorce?" Philippe rose, releasing her hand. "You were forced to
marry him against your will. I have friends who will help us."

"What friends?"

"What the devil is he doing here?" Lachlan's
voice, almost like a growl, came from behind her.

Angelique jumped and turned. Her heart felt
as if it would leap from her body. "Philippe has come for a
visit…to wish us well."

Even in the dimness, Lachlan's cutting gaze
was obvious. Deadly, when he observed Philippe. She had to
sometimes remind herself the frivolous libertine was also a
Highland warrior, skilled with the sword. He'd probably killed
several people in battle.

"I see I shall have to fire my guards for
allowing such vermin inside the gates." Lachlan captured her hand
and pulled her toward the solar. "I will speak with you in private,
wife
."

Angelique's heart sped along.
Mother Mary,
help me.
What would he do?

In the solar, he slammed the door behind
them. "What were the two of you discussing?"

"Nothing of importance." Her head throbbed
with sudden pain as she tried to remember every word she and
Philippe had spoken.

"Plotting against me?" Lachlan demanded.

"Of course not, my laird." She backed away
from his stalking advance.

"
My laird
," he mimicked. "You only
call me that when you're hiding something. What is afoot?"

Her hands trembled and she could not think
what to say. In his anger, he was irrational, like most other men,
believing he had a right to his paramours, while she could not even
have friends.

"Why is he here? What did he say to you?"

"I do not know why he's here and he said
nothing."

"You are lying,
madame
! I heard part
of your conversation. I understand French, remember?"

Mon Dieu
. She was in trouble. What
would he do, beat her? Force her to leave?

"In case you've forgotten, Angelique, he said
something about an annulment or divorce. Then he said, 'You were
forced to marry him against your will. I have friends who will help
us.' Help you what? Are you thinking to leave me?"