His tarse further hardened at the image.

"Iosa is Muire Mhàthair!" He should go out and find some willing lady to swive, just as his loving wife had suggested. 'Haps he could even locate Eleanor. But that was exactly what Angelique wanted. He would not prove her right if he had to become a beef-witted monk.

He slammed the bedchamber door on the way out and hastened down the wide staircase. Plush carpets underfoot and the gleam of gilt from the shadows told him this was an elegant home, far different from the old, but beloved Highland castle he'd grown up in. He joined his friends and the king's retainers in the library.

They dropped silent and turned curious eyes toward him when he entered. This was nothing new; he was used to being stared at for one reason or another. He proceeded to a table and poured himself a generous helping of sherry.

Rebbie approached hesitantly. What the hell was wrong with everyone? Was his scowl that fearsome?

"Should we send for a physician?" his friend asked in a low tone.

"What for?" Hoping they didn't know he'd cut himself, he glanced down at his shirt. No blood seeping through as of yet.

"Your wife," Rebbie whispered.

"Why? She was fit as a shrew-fed badger last time I saw her."

Rebbie clamped his lips between his teeth for a moment, fighting hard to keep from laughing.

"What the devil is wrong with you?"

"We feared you'd killed Lady Angelique when you bedded her."

"Oh, that. Nay. She's a strong lass, half Scottish, you ken."

He wouldn't have to keep up the pretense for long. In short order, he'd have her aching for his attentions and clamoring for a goodly piece of paradise betwixt his sheets.

***

The coach lumbered along the rough street, through holes and ruts that jarred the teeth. Angelique sat stiffly, fully clothed this time and tried to avoid Camille's direct gaze.

"What did he do to you?" Camille whispered in French after a long while.

"Nothing."

"But all that blood. The men were talking."

"I will tell you later but it is nothing to worry about." Angelique tried to sort through her jumbled feelings about her scoundrel of a husband. Though she was loath to admit it, Lachlan had been the epitome of a hero when he'd cut himself. Not only did he not force himself on her, but he'd covered for her lack of virginity to appease the king. But afterward, the way he'd touched her and the thrilling yet frightening sensations he'd wrought in her body…that was the perplexing part.

"Did you couple with him?" Camille asked. "Did he force you?"

"Non. But you must tell no one."

Her cousin remained silent a long while. "You cannot deny your husband forever."

Angelique knew that, but she would keep him at bay as long as possible. They would need an heir of course, and she would do her duty. But she dreaded the task.

Some part of her feared if she let him tear down her wall, she could not re-erect it. If she let him in, he would take advantage of her in every way, walking over her and asserting his control over all aspects of her life, her estate, her clan. She feared he would force his way into her bed and into her body. Worse, she feared he'd use another tactic, a manipulative one, forcing his way into her heart. And then expect her to accept his whoring.

He wasn't like Girard, the oafish swine. Already, Lachlan's kiss…she could think of little else, except his nude body which he'd proudly displayed, hoping to arouse her, she was certain. He knew of naught but seduction. The man was deluded and full of himself.

"He will seek out the favors of other women," Camille said.

"Oui, he will anyway, sooner or later, whether I lie with him or not. Men like him tire of one woman easily."

"Hmm. Maybe you will also find a brawny Scottish lover once we reach Draughon," Camille purred.

"I do not want one," Angelique snapped.

"Very well, but I do."

Angelique wished she could be so blasé about the coupling. And she knew her cousin was but trying to erase some of her fears about it.

An influx of galloping and neighing horses surrounded their coach. The conveyance sped up. Pistol shots rang out.

"Mère de Dieu!" Heart lodged in her throat, Angelique held on. Had Kormad caught them?

"Halt!" a male voice outside yelled.

More shots popped; burning gunpowder filled the air. Shouts in English and Gaelic echoed off the buildings. The coach slowed to a stop.

"Merde! This cannot be good." Camille blew out the lamp and bolted onto the bench seat with her. They flattened themselves against the back, away from the windows.

"Kormad will kill us if we do not do something," Angelique said.

More pistol shots exploded and swords clashed. What if he'd already killed Lachlan. No, she could not bear to think of it.

"Ready yourself." Angelique removed the dagger from her pocket. This would not be the first time she and Camille had fought for their lives.

"I will shoot their stones off," Camille whispered, drawing a small pistol from her pocket.

"I did not know you had that." Angelique wished she hadn't left her own pistol in her trunk, now on top of the coach. "Is it loaded?"

"Oui. Why would I have it otherwise?"

Angelique peered out the window, saw no one, and stretched her neck further. She recognized the poor man lying on the ground as their driver. Another man crawled from beneath the coach and sidled toward the front.

Angelique ducked back inside. "They've killed our driver and now someone is trying to make off with this coach. We must get out and hide."

Camille nodded and opened the opposite door. They both slid out into the muddy darkness. Clutching Camille's hand in hers and dragging her along, Angelique crossed behind the coach and searched for a safe place to hide. The shadows of the buildings were pitch black.

"Get back inside!" yelled a man sitting atop a large horse.

She didn't know whether he was one of Lachlan's men or one of Kormad's.

"Damnation," the man muttered and glanced away. "MacGrath!"

The stolen coach started rolling away. Another horse galloped by. The rider leaned down and snatched Camille off her feet. She screamed and dropped her pistol.

Chapter Four

Angelique snapped up Camille's pistol, aimed at the fleeing abductor's back and pulled the trigger. A shot exploded from the small weapon, jarring both her arms, the scent of gunpowder burning her nose. The man cried out and dropped Camille from the horse. She toppled to the ground.

"Sacrebleu!" Ignoring her stinging hand, Angelique rushed forward and knelt by her cousin, touched her face. "Camille?"

Horseshoes clattered on cobblestones, but she could not take her eyes off Camille's still face.

"God's bones! Why did you not stay in the coach?" Lachlan demanded with thickening burr. He dismounted and crouched beside her with a torch. The heat from it near scorched her skin.

Camille's blood painted the cobblestones red. Mère de Dieu, have I caused her to die? Angelique crossed herself, vile nausea coiling in her stomach. "They killed the driver!" she told Lachlan. "Another man was going to steal our coach. I saw him."

"And now he's dead, too. We wouldn't have let them take you." His voice was rough, almost a growl.