"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.