My Wild Highlander (26 page)

He didn't know. Maybe forever. He could not
imagine tiring of looking into her eyes, of driving himself into
her hot, wet body. But he yearned to see more in her gaze—complete
trust. Love. How could he gain such things? How could he decipher
the secrets in her?

After another minute he detected a change in
her breathing and loosened some of the control he held. They
reached the height of pleasure together.

He lay her down beside him and pulled her
close so they could rest.

"Angelique?" he murmured a few moments later,
after his own breathing was back to normal, but she didn't respond.
Asleep already? He kissed her cheek, quietly slid out of bed and
dressed. While she napped, he would see what information he could
extract from Philippe.

***

Eleanor descended the narrow wooden staircase
at the inn to dine in the common room. All heads turned to her as
she and her maid entered. She prayed none of the men were
thieves.

"M'lady." The stocky proprietor bowed before
her. "I hope you will allow us to serve you supper this
evening."

"Perhaps." If anything from his humble
kitchen appealed. But she tried not to treat these poor commoners
too badly.

"I've saved you the perfect spot." He
escorted her to a private table in the corner by the window. Not
that the view of a cobblestone street and livery stable was
anything worth noting. Her maid and a footman stood nearby, if she
should need anything. Being a countess could sometimes be lonely.
How she wished Lachlan or some other member of the aristocracy was
here.

Once Eleanor ordered and they'd served the
wine, she waited while her gaze searched the faces of each person
present. Commoners, all. Judging by their clothing, not even a
lowly baron was present.

A tall, thin gentleman with black hair and
stylish clothing descended the staircase. His dark brown eyes
caught on her immediately. Well now, this one showed promise. He
had to be titled or at least wealthy. She thought her eyes were
playing tricks on her when she noticed one of his arms missing.

He approached and bowed before her.
"
Madame, pardonnez-moi
for being so forward as to introduce
myself. I am Guy Laurent,
comte de
Girard, at your
service."

"A French count?" Indeed it was her lucky
day.

"
Mais oui
." Despite the paleness of
his skin, his midnight eyes sparkled wickedly.

"Eleanor Stanhope, countess of Wexbury." She
lifted her hand and he kissed the back.

"Enchanté, madame."

"A pleasure. Join me, won't you?"

"
Merci.
Nothing would please me more."
He pulled out a chair and seated himself across from her.

"Wine?" She waved her maid forward to pour
him a glass. Eleanor had a most intense curiosity as to how he lost
his arm, but minded her manners. "What brings you all the way to
the wilds of Scotland?"

"Visiting an old friend." His French accent
was very thick.

"And who would that be?"

"She is a countess, also. Perhaps you know
her? Angelique Drummagan."

"Indeed, I do! We were ladies in waiting
together for Her Majesty, Queen Anne. You wouldn't be…Angelique's
former suitor, would you?" If this man would take Angelique away
from Lachlan, then the Highlander would be free for her taking.
What a brilliant circumstance.

"I am flattered. You have heard of me?" the
comte
asked.

"I only know she wished to marry a French
nobleman but her Scottish father forbade the match. She did not
reveal his name to me."

He smiled, but strangely, it did not appear a
genuine smile. "You have found me out."

"I assume you've heard she is recently
wed."

"Oui."
He sipped the wine, then
scowled at it and set it down. "What can you tell me of this
fortunate man?"

Fortunate? Hmm, clearly he still had feelings
for Angelique. "Lachlan MacGrath is a good man, a Scottish
Highlander. The marriage was arranged by the king, you see, as a
reward. But I fear it is a terrible match."

"And is this man brave, powerful?"

"Indeed, he is what one would call a warrior.
Very large, strong and crafty with a sword. Also cunning. He saved
the life of the king's favorite by uncovering an assassination
plot."

"Aha." Girard leaned back in his chair, his
expression turning frosty. "And his family?"

Eleanor was careful not to show her glee.
Girard was clearly jealous. Perhaps he would kidnap Angelique. "The
new earl of Draughon is a second son, brother to an earl and chief.
Lachlan is a formidable man. One would not want to confront him
directly."

"Hmm." Girard lifted a dark brow,
waiting.

"He has several guards and trained warriors
who travel with him. If one wanted something he had, one would be
wiser to steal it away while he wasn't looking."

"Indeed?"

Eleanor nodded, observing the scheming
thoughts reflecting in the man's eyes. She did not want him
challenging Lachlan. Not that he had a chance of besting him with
only one arm. Still, pistols could be deadly accurate in the right
hand.

"You have seen Angelique recently, no?" he
asked.

"Yes, I've just come from a visit to Draughon
Castle and the wedding festivities."

"And how is she?"

"Unhappy to have been forced to marry a man
she doesn't love."

Girard snickered, his black mustache and
neatly groomed beard lending him a devilish quality. "Poor little
Angelique."

"Did you love her?" Eleanor prayed he
did.

"Ah,
amour
. It is such a perplexing
emotion,
non
?" The smirk appeared on his face again.
Something about that was all wrong. The man was supposed to be
jealous, angry, and wanting Angelique all to himself.

"I agree," she said. "Sometimes intense
desire can masquerade as love."

"You are a wise lady, I see." His attention
focused on her completely, delving down to that sensual side she
tried to keep hidden, except before the right man.

Excitement charged through her. "I thank
you." Oh, who cared if he had only one arm? The man was intriguing
and debonair. With his slender physique, he could never measure up
to Lachlan and his burly muscles, but he could keep her entertained
in the meantime.

"Angelique took something from me," Girard
said in a secretive tone. "Perhaps you would be willing to help me
retrieve it?"

"Perhaps. If you will help me in turn. She
stole something from me, as well…my lover. And I would like him
back."

Girard threw back his head and laughed. Once
he'd calmed, he lifted her hand and kissed it. "I think we have a
deal,
madame
."

Chapter Twelve

"Let Angelique sleep as long as she will.
When she wakes, take the bath in for her," Lachlan told the
servants. He must keep her occupied, after all. Hopefully,
questioning Philippe wouldn't take long and he'd be back in time to
share her bath before it was cold.

After taking almost an hour to bid their
departing wedding guests farewell, he descended the steps to the
dungeon. Rebbie and Dirk followed.

"We're here to see the French lad," Lachlan
told the armed guard.

"Aye, m'laird." He led them further along the
dank, underground passage and opened a wooden and metal door. Dirk
carried a torch into the dark cell, Lachlan entered, unsheathing
his sword and Rebbie followed.

Lachlan eyed the small fellow cowering in the
corner, squinting at them. He might pity the weasel if he hadn't
tried to steal Angelique. "What is your name?"

"Philippe Descartes, my lord." He crawled
forward a few inches and remained in a submissive kneeling
position.

"And why have you come here to Draughon?"

The boy's eyes were so wide, Lachlan feared
they'd pop from their sockets.

"I am but an old friend of Angelique. I
wished to congratulate both of you on your marriage." He bowed his
head briefly.

"Humph. What a lie," Lachlan muttered,
remembering the goblets from Girard. "Did you bring a gift?"

"A…a gift? Pray pardon, my lord, I did not.
But I shall send you one if—"

"Nay, I mean, did you deliver a gift from
someone else?"

"Non."
The boy's gaze remained steady
for a few seconds, then dropped to the glinting blade of Lachlan's
sword. Perhaps he told the truth, but who could tell? The gutter
rat probably knew not how to be honest.

"Who did you travel from London with?"
Lachlan asked.

"No one."

"I'll tolerate no more lies, laddie! I want
the truth."

Philippe turned jittery, his hands trembling,
gaze darting about.

"You traveled with someone or spoke with
someone. Now, who was it?" Lachlan demanded.

"Eleanor, countess of Wexbury, my lord."

Rebbie muttered a curse, and Dirk sent him a
concerned glance.

"I see," Lachlan said. Now what was that
witch up to? "And who else?"

"Her servants and that is all; I swear it."
The lad's voice broke, making him sound no more than a dozen years
old, but he had to be around twenty.

"What has Eleanor said to you?" Lachlan
asked.

"Sir?"

"I know you and Eleanor are plotting against
Angelique and me. Planning to destroy our marriage. Tell me of
these plans."

"There…there were no plans, my lord."

"You're lying again," Lachlan growled. "Would
you like me to show you how dangerous lying is?" He lifted his
sword before him, as if examining the sharpness of the blade.

Philippe trembled and gave his head a
spasm-like shake. "She wished to…to visit with you. I wished to see
Angelique one last time before I return to France."

"And what did she say about Angelique or
me?"

"She has a most keen interest in you, my
lord."

"Why?"

"I believe she has a great affection for you.
Perhaps she loves you, though she did not say."

Rebbie snorted. And Lachlan felt like doing
the same.

Eleanor wouldn't know love if it bashed her
on the side of the head. Dallying with her had been one of the
biggest mistakes of his life. "What did she tell you to do
here?"

Philippe cleared his throat, his gaze darting
from Dirk, to Rebbie and back again to Lachlan and his sword.

"If you tell me the complete truth, we won't
harm you."

His breaths were so harsh as to be audible.
"Eleanor wished me to…to lure Angelique away from you."

"I see." Lachlan had suspected the woman
could be evil and cunning. "Do you suppose Eleanor went back to
London when she left?"

"I know not…but I was to meet her at the
Breakstane Inn in the village if we were separated."

"Do you know Baron Kormad?"

"I have seen him, but never talked to
him."

"What about a French count named Girard?"

"I have never met him. I only know he asked
for Angelique's hand in marriage but she refused to go through with
it."

Lachlan kept his malevolent glower on the
squirming lad several moments longer, hoping to frighten him one
last bit. "I shall release you if you promise never to set foot
here at Draughon and never approach Lady Angelique again. She is my
wife and will remain so. My advice to you is to return to France
and stay there."

"
Oui
, my lord. I shall.
Merci
."
He bowed again, which put his face close to the floor in his
kneeling position.

Lachlan and his two friends strode out. Near
the top of the dungeon steps, Lachlan spoke in a low voice to the
guard. "Release him but send two men to secretly follow him. See if
he meets with a countess named Eleanor Stanhope at the Breakstane
Inn. If so, see if they can find out what the two discuss. Have one
man report back to me tonight."

***

"Where have you been?" Angelique asked when
Lachlan entered her room minutes later.

He paused, observing her in the large wooden
tub. Firelight gleamed off her wet, ivory skin. Her scrunched
nipples flirted with the surface of the water. The sight arrested
him, making him instantly hard.

"The remainder of our guests left." With much
haste, Lachlan disrobed and dropped his clothing into a pile on the
floor.

"What? I did not get to say good-bye."
Angelique might have been talking about guests, but her gaze
devoured the more intimate areas of his body.

"I conveyed your good wishes and your
gratitude." He knelt by the tub, observing her in closer detail.
Her face was rosy, either from the hot water or a blush. Damp
ringlets of hair teased at her neck, as he wished to do with his
kisses. "How long have you been soaking in there?"

"Not long."

"Do you suppose there's room for me?"

"Perhaps." With a shy grin, she scooted back,
lifting her upper body out of the water and drawing her knees up.
He was pleased to see she was no longer shy about exposing her
breasts.

He stepped into the tub, then sat. "Ahh, nice
and hot."

"Oui."

"Come. Sit here between my legs."

Even in the dim firelight her blush was
obvious.

"You're in no danger, I vow. We will refrain
from coupling for now…if we can." He winked and sent her a wicked
grin.

She giggled. If ever there was a sound he
loved, that was it—Angelique being happy.

"We shall talk about other matters to
distract ourselves."

A knock sounded at the door. "Your food,
m'laird," the female servant called.

He took Angelique's smock from a nearby chair
and covered her chest with it. "Come," he said.

Angelique sucked in a sharp breath, her blush
deepening. "Why did you…?"

"I'm hungry. Are you not?"

The door opened and a middle-aged maid
carried in a tray of food and drink.