My Wild Highlander (28 page)

When he widened her legs, she arched her
back. So inviting. Placing a hand beneath her belly, he pulled her
upward, parted her feminine lips and licked between. Her sweet
arousal intensified his need. He flicked that tiny nub of flesh and
she gasped.

She arched her back further, pressing firmly
against him as if she wanted more. He gave her a thorough licking,
until she was whimpering and crying out.

Kneeling behind her, he stroked the tip of
his shaft through her generous moisture and between those delicate
folds that reminded him of pink rose petals. He pushed just inside,
her heat near scorching him. Keeping in mind she might be sore, he
controlled his movements.

"Mmm." Thrusting in and out gently, he
gradually went deeper each time.

She cried out. "Lachlan."

"Aye, Angelique. Are you liking that,
then?"

"Oui."

Still fully inside her, he wrapped an arm
around her below her breasts and lay down on his side, taking her
with him. He aligned her back to his chest and breathed into her
ear, nibbled on it. She made wee whimpering noises between those
breathy French words. Just listening to her made him want to drive
in harder. But he must not.

He stroked his hand from her breasts downward
to brush over her mound, then lifted her leg.

As he thrust, he sucked at her earlobe and
stroked her in a circular motion. Mindless, she cried out and
pushed her hips back against him, meeting each thrust. Damnation,
she fired his blood, made him want to take her with more forceful
movements.

"Lachlan!" she cried out when her climax
overcame her. How he had dreamed of that.

"Aye, you're so beautiful, lass." He held her
tighter as pleasure exploded through him. He growled, relishing the
way her body caressed his, milking him of his seed. Long seconds
later, he regained his breath and kissed her neck, realizing each
time with her was even better than the last. How was this possible?
Usually he grew bored with a woman after a few times, but with
Angelique, he grew more intrigued, more drawn under her spell with
each bedding.

He turned her about to face him. His lips
against her forehead, he drew her close and they rested, relaxing
in the firelight, he knew not how long. He only knew he was happy
and content, at home.

A knock sounded at the door, awaking him from
a light doze.

"What is it?" Angelique asked in French, her
voice groggy with sleep.

"I'll go see." He arose and covered her.
After putting on his long shirt, he opened the door a crack.

"M'laird, Rebbinglen wishes to speak to you,"
one of Angelique's personal bodyguards told him.

"I'll be right out," Lachlan said, then
closed the door. He returned to the bed, kissed Angelique on the
cheek and picked up his plaid. "Rebbie wants to talk to me about
something. I shall be back soon."

"It is late."

"Aye."

She remained silent while he dressed.

"You wish me to sleep here tonight?" he
asked, observing her for reaction.

"
Oui
," she whispered in a vulnerable
tone.

An aching thrill twisted through his chest.
"'Twill be my pleasure." He gave her a lingering kiss on the
lips.

Though he did not want to leave the room, he
had to. Rebbie wouldn't interrupt them unless it was important.

He found his friend in the great hall with
Dirk and one of the guards who had followed Philippe to the
inn.

"Come." He escorted them to the solar and
closed the door. "What news?"

The guard spoke first. "M'laird, the French
lad did indeed go to the inn and meet with a richly dressed lady.
We sat close but could hear naught of what they said. They
whispered and drank wine. Later, they retired to separate rooms for
the night."

"Now, tell him the most interesting part,"
Rebbie said.

"We stayed in the common room a while to see
if either of them left. They didn't, but another man came in. A man
with only one arm. This one was also a Frenchman—we figured out by
his speech—but a more finely dressed one. Considering the way the
proprietor bowed and coddled to him, we figured him of noble
blood."

"Did you get a name?" Lachlan asked, almost
holding his breath.

"No, we only heard his title mentioned.
Comte.
Count."

"God's teeth. 'Tis Girard, I'm certain of
it," Lachlan said. Angelique's terror sliced through him again. He
could only imagine the pain she suffered at the bastard's hand and
body when he'd raped her. Lachlan should castrate the whoreson.
"Our first priority is to protect Angelique. My concern is he will
try to kill her or kidnap her. Why else would he be here?"

Rebbie and Dirk nodded.

"Anything else?" Lachlan asked the guard.

"Nay."

"I thank you. Excellent work. I will see you
on the morrow."

When the guard left, Lachlan spoke to Rebbie
and Dirk in a low voice. "You must not repeat this, ever, to anyone
but you must know why Girard is so dangerous to Angelique. Do you
swear?"

"Aye." Both men waited with troubled
gazes.

Lachlan hated to even say the damnable words.
"Girard raped her."

"Nay. The bastard," Rebbie growled.

Dirk's expression changed to lethal
iciness.

"Aye." Lachlan said. "And I hope he gives me
a reason to kill him outright." They knew what he meant. He had
never killed a man in cold blood, nor would he ever, but his rage
over this was intense and he yearned for justice. "If Girard tries
to approach Angelique, I take that as leave to kill him. I protect
what is mine. Girard will never lay a finger on her again. Before
first light, we'll leave for the inn."

Chapter Thirteen

A soft tap sounded at Angelique's bedchamber
door. Her first thought was that Lachlan had returned. But no, he
would not knock.

"Who is it?"

"Me." Camille stuck her head in.

"Enter." Angelique sat up in bed, the sheet
and counterpane covering her breasts.

Her friend closed the door with a snap.
"Well, I see you have been thoroughly bedded. Is he a skilled
lover?"

Angelique's face burned. "Do not ask such a
question." She could not discuss the profound things she and
Lachlan shared. No words existed, in French or English, to
adequately describe the astounding sensations and feelings he
provoked within her. Too conflicting—wicked, yet divine. What she
should find abhorrent was instead amazing and wonderful.

"I knew he would be by the way he moves…and
the way he looks at you."

Angelique wanted to ask how Lachlan looked at
her, but she already knew—with sensual, dark and lingering
interest. His eyes communicated his sexual thoughts clearly. She
shivered.

Camille sat by the fireplace, stirred the
coals and added more wood. "He also seems very just and fair."

"I suppose." Angelique could not help but
remember the silly games they'd played and how Lachlan had
manipulated the outcome to suit himself…and her, too, if one
considered the pleasure she received.

"Not only just, but almost lenient," Camille
went on. "Though I feared he would kill Philippe in the dungeon, he
released him instead."

A shock went through her. "Why was Philippe
in the dungeon?"

"Oh, you did not know? He had Philippe held
for a short while, went to visit him—I suspect to question him—then
released him, free as a bird. Not many men would do that after
someone tried to lure their wife away with suggestions of
divorce."

"
Sacrebleu!
When did he capture him? I
saw Philippe leave and run through the gates."

"After your ruckus, with all the chasing and
yelling. What a lovers' spat that was." Camille giggled.

"Please tell me what you know."

"Lachlan had someone bring Philippe back. I
suspect you were here being seduced at the time."

"That bastard!" She shoved herself toward the
edge of the bed. "He manipulated me."

"As I said, he was lenient with Philippe; he
did not harm him."

"He withheld the truth from me!" Angelique
yanked her smock over her head, then slid on her wrap. "He promised
to keep me informed about everything." And worst of all he had
imprisoned her friend.

"If I'd known you would react this way, I
would not have told you."

"What? You are my cousin. I thought you my
friend."

"I am, but you cannot blame Lachlan for
wanting to protect you. He is the best husband for you."

"You are as daft as he is," she muttered,
though she could not imagine being married to anyone else.

"It is not my fault you refuse to see the
truth. He would protect you with his life. If Girard returns, you
will be most fortunate to have Lachlan for a protector."

That was likely true. She did trust him to
protect her, as she always had, but…"I shall kill Girard
myself."

"Like you did last time?" Camille's tone
reeked of sarcasm.

"My aim will be better in the future. I must
have you by my side, Camille. We protect each other, remember?" She
sat down on the settle by her cousin.

"
Oui.
I am with you always, my
friend."

"But Lachlan…I shall deal with him."

***

Awareness buzzed through Angelique when
Lachlan returned an hour later, entering her room and removing his
boots. "I thought you would be sleeping," he said.

"No." She sat by the hearth, watching the
flames. "I awaited your return."

"Well then, you should've awaited me in bed,
naked," he said in a teasing tone.

She refused to look at him, knowing that
seductive expression would be on his face. Perhaps even a charming
grin or wink. But she must stay focused on her anger. "You were to
tell me of all your decisions that affect me and the clan."

"What do you mean?"

"You imprisoned Philippe without telling me."
Not that she loved Philippe, but he was harmless. She often felt
the need to protect him. He had been her friend back when few
others were.

Lachlan sighed and dropped into the chair
across from her. "There was no time to consult with you. I had to
make a speedy decision. I had to find out what Philippe knew."

"You did not tell me because you wanted me
pliable in bed." She sent him a sharp look, which he returned.

"I didn't force you. 'Twas your decision. You
said, 'do it' and that you wanted me. I'm not one to refuse such an
invitation from my beautiful, desirable wife."

So, he would seek to distract her with barbed
compliments. "But if I had known you threw Philippe into the
deplorable dungeon, I would not have wished to be in the same room
with you."

Lachlan's eyes narrowed. "Do you want to know
what your precious Philippe revealed to us?"

"What? Did you torture him for
information?"

"Nay, I never torture. He is conspiring with
Eleanor to break us apart."

"Eleanor? He would not. He doesn't know her
that well."

"Apparently Philippe and Eleanor are fast
friends. They traveled from London together."

"In truth?" If that was so, then Philippe was
no longer her friend. Anyone who conspired with Eleanor, she would
not defend.

"Aye, but that isn't the worst of it. I
believe Girard is staying at the inn in the village."

A deathly chill blew over her. She shivered.
"
Non.
Girard?"

"I've been told a French count is there. He
is as you described, tall and thin with dark hair. He has only one
arm. Does that sound like him?"

"One arm?
Mère de Dieu
." Her breath
rushed in and out too fast. That was it. He would kill her. He
desired revenge.

"Angelique? What is it? How did he lose his
arm?"

Tears filled her eyes, burning. Her throat
closed. And it was almost as if she were there again, on that
bridge, a year ago in France.

Lachlan moved and sat beside her on the
settle. He pulled her close and laid her head upon his chest.
Stroked her hair. But he could not soothe her. No, Girard was
plotting her murder.

"Tell me, Angelique. I must know so I can
protect you and the clan from him. What will he do?"

"He will kill me…and Camille."

"Why?"

"Revenge."

"But why does he seek revenge? What I know
about him is you wished to marry him and you were lovers. He
cheated on you and you rejected him. He then raped you. Right?"

"
Oui.
After that, he stole the only
thing of value my mother left me. A large briolette cut diamond
pendant known as the Boehm Diamond. She gave it to me on her
deathbed. Her lover had given it to her many years before and even
stated in his will it was to be her property after he died. And
that man was Girard's uncle. Girard said the diamond was part of
his inheritance and that my mother had connived to steal it from
his uncle. Girard is not so wealthy as he appears, you see. He's
deeply in debt. After he raped me, he ripped the pendant from my
neck and left. I refused to let him have the only thing my mother
possessed, the only thing she left me besides the wedding gown. So
Camille and I took the diamond back from him."

"God's bones, you're brave, lass." Lachlan's
arm tightened around her, and with the opposite hand he stroked her
cheek. The sweet gesture distracted her a bit, as did his dark,
concerned gaze.

"We had to act quickly before he sold it. A
few nights later, in disguise, we searched Girard's rooms but the
diamond was nowhere. We hid and waited outside near his building.
Girard and his friend Pierre finally staggered in from a night of
drinking. Camille and I were both armed. We each had a loaded
pistol and knives."

"You're always armed to the teeth," he said
in a proud, serious tone.

"Only because I have to be." Nausea rose
within her when she remembered how black the night was, how chill
the air. "Girard knocked me down, discovered who I was and prepared
to rape me again. We fought and I shot him. I missed his heart and
hit his arm. His friend chased Camille with a sword. They struggled
and Pierre fell from the bridge. He may have drowned in the river.
It was never our intention to kill anyone. I took the diamond from
Girard. Camille and I ran away and stayed with a cousin in Paris
for a while. We did not hear anything from Girard until that gift
arrived—the goblets. And now you tell me he has only one arm.
Without doubt, the missing one was amputated because of the gunshot
wound."