My Wild Highlander (25 page)

Her shallow breaths rushed in and out, making
her lightheaded. "No. I told him I would not do it."

"I didn't hear you say 'no.' You said, 'what
friends?'"

"Before that, I told him no; it was too
late."

"Tell him to leave or I will throw him
out!"

She hated it when he became domineering,
ordering her about. This was her home since she was a babe, not
his.
"Non."

"What?" he growled. "You're on thin ice,
madame
."

"No thinner than you are,
monsieur.
Locking your lover in the tower! This is my home. My friends are
welcome if yours are. You had Eleanor come here."

"Wrong! I didn't invite her."

"You would not even tell her to leave; I had
to. And I still don't know if you slept with her last night."

"I did not." His jaw hardened.

"How do I know? She said you did. It is your
word against hers. Neither you nor she is reliable."

He blew out a laborious breath and tried to
cut her down with his glower.

"You are a man controlled by your sexual
appetite," she said.

"There is naught wrong with that! As I
recall, your own sexual appetite was healthy last night, when you
climbed on top and rode me as if I were a pony. Finally making use
of your paid stud."

A furious heat inflamed her face. "You are no
gentleman."

"What has that to do with it? I speak the
truth."

Her thoughts were so mixed up, she could not
think what she wanted to say next.

"Tell him to leave," Lachlan ordered. "I
don't trust the puny bastard."

"Do not call Philippe a bastard. You are the
bastard."

"Why do you defend him? I know you don't love
the weasel!"

Angelique stood obstinate. How dare he tell
her who she loved or didn't?

"Do you?" he asked.

"Mayhap."

"Very well, then. Take him to your bed! See
if I care!"

"I will!" Angelique strode from the room,
heat raging through her blood. She would pay Lachlan back for his
cheating ways.

She found Philippe, looking sheepish and
afraid, in the corner of the crowded great hall. No one seemed to
notice when she slipped her arm through his and escorted him up the
stairs. She would show Lachlan she was not afraid of him and that
she would not obey his every snarl. She would call his bluff. If he
could have lovers then so could she…or at least pretend to.

***

"I don't care," Lachlan muttered as he
stormed blindly out of the castle. Angelique could have her wee
laddie if she wanted him that desperately. "This is a damned sham
of a marriage anyway. Unfaithful, scheming, thorny bitch!"

When he reached the stables, a strong emotion
struck him—battle rage, bloodlust. He turned on his heel and strode
back through the great hall and up the stone steps, seeing no one
and nothing save his destination. Fire pounded through his veins.
He felt strong enough to topple a stone tower.

"Lachlan?" Rebbie trailed after him.

"Not now. I'm killing vermin." He drew his
sword.

At Angelique's sitting room door, he used all
his strength to kick the solid oak. The door swung back and hit
something. He charged in. "If he lays a damned hand on you, I shall
slice the bastard limb from limb!"

Angelique stood by the fireplace alone. Where
was the whoreson?

Someone scuttled out the door behind him. He
turned to see the retreating red cloak.

"Coward." Lachlan sprinted after him.

"Lachlan!" Angelique tailed him. "He did not
touch me."

"You don't wish me to kill your lover?"

"He is not my lover! You dolt." She yanked at
the plaid on his back but he did not stop.

By the time Lachlan reached the courtyard,
Philippe was running for the open gates.

"Damned whoreson."

He hated the victory he saw in Angelique's
eyes. It took all his strength to keep from throwing her over his
shoulder and carting her back upstairs to give her a sound
thrashing on the arse. She sent him a haughty look and disappeared
back inside.

He motioned two of his guards forward.
"Follow that lad, seize him and put him in a cell below," Lachlan
said in a low voice. "Don't hurt him or let anyone know you've
captured him. I'll question him later."

"Aye, m'laird." The guards mounted up.

Lachlan returned to the great hall where a
couple dozen pairs of curious eyes watched him. He gave a brief
bow. "Carry on." He took the stairs two at a time to Angelique's
room. The sitting room door stood open. Her bodyguards remained at
their post, staring into space as if Lachlan wasn't a mad fool.
Aye, he knew he was, but he didn't care. Angelique was his wife and
he wouldn't be sharing her. He knocked at her bedchamber door.
"Angelique?"

"Go away!"

After she'd barred the door on him last
night, he'd decided he would have no more of that and had removed
the plank of oak when she'd gone down for breakfast.

He lifted the latch and pushed. Something sat
before the door—a trunk—which he shoved out of the way.

"I will not speak to you,
monsieur.
"

"Aye, you will and be glad for it."

"You, sir, are jealous!" Angelique gave him
her back.

He slammed the door, placed the trunk before
it again, and advanced toward her. "I am not jealous! I am your
damnable husband. No man who is married to you will have a pleasant
life. 'Tis a certainty."

"
Merci.
Nor will any wife of
yours."

Grasping her waist, he turned her to face him
and pressed her against the nearest wall. Taking her chin in his
hand, he stared at her lips, lush pink. He would not share them.
"Did you kiss that bastard?"

"Oui,"
she said through clenched
teeth.

"Liar." Lachlan crushed her lips beneath his,
forceful, driving. A second later, she bit him.

"Och! Like biting, do you?" He nibbled her
lower lip, caught it between his teeth, but not hard enough to draw
blood. Fiery emotion burned in her darkened eyes, just as arousal
burned inside him.

He released her lip and nipped her neck.

She sucked in a hissing breath, her whole
body shuddering. Her hands fisted in his clothes and drew him
closer. Aye, he loved her responsiveness. He tugged at her sleeve,
baring her shoulder, and scraped his teeth over it, flicked it with
his tongue. Her skin was smooth, hot and alluring. These blasted
clothes were in the way. He yanked up her skirts and slid his hand
along the silk stockings to the top, over the softest skin of her
inner thighs.

She gasped. "Do not."

"Why not?" While looking into her hungry
eyes, he gently stroked a finger over her wet curls. "Because I'll
know how much you want me?"

"I do not want you," she said in a breathy
tone.

"Nay?" He parted her swollen sex lips and her
moisture drenched his fingers. "You're not good at lying,
madame
."

"It is Philippe that I want."

Ha, what a lie. "Is that right?"

"
Oui.
Just as you want Eleanor."

"God's blood! I don't want her. I only want
you," he confessed. Indeed, that one truth stripped his soul
bare.

"Now, who is the liar?" she said, near
breathless.

"After last night, how can you doubt it?"

"I am not a naive child,
monsieur
. I
know about men and their…desires. They want the woman they cannot
have. They want many women because they like variety. They bore
easily."

"You don't know me very well, then." Unable
to imagine being bored with her, he stroked her with firm
gentleness, that wee, sweet nub of flesh between her legs. She
moaned, her eyelids dropping.

Aye. Over and over he caressed her, then slid
a finger inside that snug passage. She whimpered but did not try to
escape him.

He sensed the tension building within her,
readying her for climax, and pulled his hand away. "Who do you
want?"

Trembling, her breathing harsh, she glared at
him.

He rubbed her inner thigh with teasing, light
strokes.

"Touch me," she whispered.

"I want to do more than touch you."

"
Oui.
Do it." Her fingers grasped at
his plaid.

Somewhere, he found a well of restraint and
patience. "Not until you say you want me."

"I want you," she said in French, soft as a
breath.

Saints! She was so lovely and passionate he
wished to devour her like a juicy plum. "Say my name."

"Lachlan."

He took possession of her mouth, kissing her
deep as shivers coursed through him. He must have her now. Lifting
his kilt and her skirts, he anchored the material between them and
picked her up. Urging her to wrap her legs around his waist, he
positioned himself and slid into her. So tight she squeezed the
control right out of him.

"Ah, saints, Angelique," he growled and
halted a moment to savor her. So hot, wet and exquisite.

She buried her hands in his hair, fisting,
pulling, and gave sweet little whimper-cries. "Lachlan?"

"Aye. That's good, hmm?" He moved, driving up
into her gently but with persistence.

"
Oui,
" she breathed.

Every stroke was pure heaven, even more so
because of her enthusiasm. As he had suspected, she wanted him
profoundly, as he did her. He was greedy! He never wanted this to
end. The pleasure was absolute; climax teased him. Slowing, he
fondled that sensitive spot with his wet thumb. She cried out, held
her breath, wiggled on him.

"That's it, lass. Give it to me." When her
inner muscles started to flutter and caress him, he drove into her
hard. She screamed and rode him as her orgasm took over. He let go
some of his control, allowing his own release to burn through him,
so strong and all-consuming his conscious thought left him for a
moment. He groaned, his face pressed into her hair.

"Iosa is Muire Mhàthair."
He had never
felt anything so powerful. Legs weak, he carried her to the bed and
laid her upon it. Still inside her, he rested a moment while gently
kissing her lips. He didn't want to leave her. Not this time, not
when she'd said she wanted him.

Her inner muscles tightened, caressing him
again. He pulled out and stepped back to undress. When he'd shed
his plaid and shirt, Angelique surveyed him with darkened eyes, her
lashes a bit damp.

He could not think of that gut-wrenching
feeling she inspired in him, not now. She was like a storm-tide at
sea that would suck him under and suffocate him. He'd felt her pain
and hated it when she thought he'd been with Eleanor. But Angelique
refused to trust him. It cut him to the bone to realize how
untrustworthy she saw him when it was the thing he longed for most.
That and her devotion, affection.

He hoped she liked what she saw when she
observed him for he was not quite done with her this day. In fact,
he feared he would never be done with her.

She didn't resist when he loosened the ties
and fastenings on her clothing. Soon he unlaced her corset, removed
it, and she helped him pull the shift over her head. Sudden
vulnerability softening her eyes, she crossed her arms over her
breasts.

"You cannot be shy now. Too late." Smiling,
he tugged her arms away.

After thoroughly devouring her mouth, he
turned his attention to her breasts. "You have kept these luscious
morsels from me too long."

"You do not…"

He placed wee cherishing kisses on one.
"What?"

"They are too small," she whispered.

The uncertainty in her gaze flayed him. "Nay.
Your breasts are lovely beyond words." With his tongue, he flicked
her nipple, pink and scrunched hard, then sucked at it.
"Perfect."

She whimpered and closed her eyes.

"Mmm." He switched to the other, savoring the
feel of her fingers in his hair, holding him close.

He allowed his gaze to leisurely wander over
her naked body, taking in each exquisite detail. Her breasts were
not huge, true, but they were round and perky, in perfect
proportion to her slim body. He did not lie; they were indeed the
loveliest breasts he had ever seen. Her waist was slender and her
derriere curvy and succulent. He wished to bite it, then lick and
memorize every inch of her.

"Angelique. You're the most beautiful
creation on God's earth."

"Do not speak." She placed a finger on his
lips.

He kissed the tip. "Why not?"

She grasped his semi-erect shaft in her
hand.

"Och." It was too soon. But as he watched her
small, inexperienced hands stroking him, he hardened with gusto.
"Mmm." He couldn't stay down long with her in control.

She rose over him, mounting him, guiding his
shaft into her. He growled, loving her aggressiveness. A woman who
knew exactly what she wanted and took it. She rode him for several
blissful minutes.

He stroked her nipples, tweaked them gently,
loving the simple act of observing his wife enjoying his body. A
woman who had feared him and hated sex days ago. Giving her
pleasure had become his primary goal in life. He was not sure when
that had happened, but he burned to hear her cry out his name at
the height of passion.

Before he could've expected it, her body
shuddered around him in a climax. Screaming, she flopped onto his
chest and he took over the thrusting as she squeezed him.

Still in complete control, he rolled her onto
her back and rose over her.

Once she had calmed, he pulled her upwards.
"On your hands." She lifted her upper body and held herself aloft
on her hands, while he supported her hips. He drove himself into
her and her head fell back on her shoulders.

"Lachlan," she moaned.

"Aye." A warmth of emotion rushed through his
chest. He tugged her closer, placed her arms around his neck,
brushed her lips with his.
I want only you. Do you understand?
No other woman.
He wanted to say those words to her again, but
they would only remind her of her jealousy. Would only make her
ask, for how long?