My Wild Highlander Page 13

  "It is time for supper." She dabbed one last ink spot. "There now, all gone."

  "I thank you." The unhappy look in his eyes clutched at her heart. He seemed... not himself at all. Not arrogant.

  "C'est rien."

  "Damnable books." He slammed the ledger closed, rose and paced toward the window.

  "What is wrong?"

  He stared out the window into the twilight a long moment. "Naught."

  "Stubborn," she murmured.

  "That's the pot calling the kettle black."

  His bitter words made her want to scowl, but she didn't. She knew he was right. Her mother had called her stubborn on more than one occasion. And Lord knew she'd been stubborn with him. But she had no choice.

  "So, where have you been these last two nights?" she asked.

  He shrugged. "Here and there."

  She had peeked into his room each night two or three times. Once, she found him asleep in the early morning hours. Other times she wondered if he had done as she expected and found a paramour. Camille had warned her countless times he would find someone else to slake his lusts, and urged her to go to him. Even though she knew Camille was right, she could not make herself crawl into his bed. Every time she considered it, she froze up, recalling the pain.

  She pushed the fear away and focused on something she could control. "Is something wrong with the estate books?"

  He released a long breath and turned to her. "I'm good with languages, not numbers."

  "Languages?"

  "Aye, I can speak and read six languages. Pick them up easily in a short time. But the estate accounts... I simply want to cast them into the fire."

  "I am good with numbers," she said, proud of her education and abilities.

  "You are?"

  She nodded. "My cousin taught me in France."

  "Then 'haps you can help me look these over. I'm not sure I trust Fingall, or the treasurer, and a few of the other servants. Anyone who's dealt with the funds."

  "I will help you on the morrow. Supper is being served and they are waiting for us."

  He exhaled as if tired. "Are you certain you wiped all the ink off my face? If Rebbie sees that, he'll have something else to needle me about."

  She suppressed a grin, but feared he noticed it anyway when his gaze sharpened on her. "Oui, it is clean," she said. At times like this she could actually see herself enjoying being in Lachlan's company. Not because he was in a surly mood, but because he was showing her he could be real and humble... and a bit unsure of himself—the way she felt all the time. "What is Rebbie needling you about?"

  "What do you think?" He gave her an accusatory look.

  "Oh." Her face heated. "Well, that is none of his concern."

  "Do you think he cares? He's the nosiest man on God's earth."

  "He is not married so he cannot possibly understand."

  Lachlan snorted. "I doubt every married couple is like us."

  "Probably not."

  "Likely, we are bizarre beyond measure."

  She glared at him. Did he have to exaggerate everything?

  "What?" he asked. "I tell you true."

  A crash sounded in the far corner of the room... from the crack between the stones. Someone lurked in the hidden passage behind the room.

  Chapter Eight

  Angelique dashed toward the break between the stones, the same one where she'd eavesdropped on Lachlan and Rebbie several nights ago. "Who is there?" She peered into the crack. No candlelight escaped.

  Silence. Sickening shivers covered her.

  "What the hell is going on?" Lachlan stood at her elbow.

  "Someone was listening to us."

  "How?"

  "See the crack between the stones? It is wide enough to see and hear through. There is a hidden passage behind this room."

  "God's blood! Why did you not tell me?" He turned a dark scowl on her.

  "I... I'd forgotten." She had wanted to keep the passage a secret so she could eavesdrop on Lachlan again, but if a traitor was using it, that would no longer be safe.

  "How does one enter the passage?"

  "I shall show you when we have more time." She headed toward the exit and he followed.

  "Aye. You must show me all the hidden passages and entrances to them. 'Tis vital to the safety of the clan. And our home."

  "Who do you think was listening?" she whispered.

  "'Haps Fingall, the treasurer, or any of their cohorts. I hate to say it, but we cannot trust our own clan."

  ***

  After supper when the fiddler struck up a lively jig and most of the clan was busy watching the lasses dance, Lachlan escorted Angelique to her sitting room. He had to find out more about this secret passage and who had been spying on them. Their four personal bodyguards followed but waited outside in the corridor.

  "Is it safe to talk in this room without anyone eavesdropping?" he whispered in her ear.

  "Oui." She drew back and appeared to stifle a shiver. Her eyes were darker green when they met his. "I'll show you the easiest way to enter the secret passageway."

  Carrying a candle, he followed her to his bedchamber. "You jest. My room?"

  "Indeed. 'Tis the laird's bedchamber, after all." She barred the door from inside. "My great-grandfather had the newer section of the castle designed this way so he could keep an eye on his guests." She moved a stone from the base of the hearth, then pressed a lever. Metal clanged behind the tapestry.

  He had not even thought to lift the tapestry to see what was behind it.

  "Have a care with the candle." She burrowed behind the heavy tapestry. After lighting another candle on his mantel, he followed, holding the material out like a tent.

  He had his sword sheathed at his side, as well as a small dirk, in the event they ran into the clan traitors.

  She pushed open the door.

  "Allow me to lead since I have the candle." He ducked his head and took a step down onto the steep stone stairs, barely wide enough for a man his size to squeeze through. Debris crunched beneath his boots. He enjoyed the feel of Angelique's hand lying lightly on his shoulder for support as she crept behind him downward into the depths of darkness. But that was the only appealing thing about the situation. Hell, he did not like this eerie place. He carefully unsheathed his sword and held it at the ready.

  "Could someone sneak up this way and murder me in my sleep?" he whispered, imagining a horrid scenario.

  "No." Angelique said quietly, close to his ear. Her warm breath fanning his hair sent a curl of arousal through him. "No one can open the door from this side... at least not without making a lot of noise. Which would wake you, no? We left it open and that is the only reason we can go back through. Only one of the passage doors opens from this side and it is in the armory."

  "Ah. 'Tis a good thing then." On the next tread, his foot landed on something. He sidestepped it and lowered the candle. "What the devil is this? A fire poker?" He pushed at it with his toe to see it better. "Is that mine? I noticed it was missing and had one of the servants bring me another."

  "I do not... know." Angelique whispered, sounding a bit unnerved.

  "Careful you don't step on it." They reached the bottom of the stairs and the passage stretched ahead, how far he couldn't tell. Pitch blackness surrounded them beyond the candle's glow.

  "The castle's finest guest bedchamber is on the other side of this wall," she whispered. "And here is the fissure to look through."

  "Your ancestors spied on their guests in bed?"

  "I suppose so. Several Stuart kings and queens have slept in that room, even our own King James many years ago. Dukes, an assortment of earls and other nobility have also stayed here. Did your clan have nothing like this to spy on guests?"

  "Nay." 'Haps his clan was too trusting.

  "Go a few yards more and you will be behind the library."

  Lachlan moved forward. "Aha. Look at that." He had intentionally left a candle burning on the library mantel, and indeed near the whol
e room was visible through the horizontal opening.

  "Further along and up more steps are the spy holes to the great hall. Hear the faint music?"

  "Aye. But where are the other entrances to this passage?" he asked.

  "As I mentioned, one is in the armory—an exit doorway concealed behind a weapons display. Another entry is in the treasury room, hidden behind a tapestry. This passage also leads to tunnels that run beneath the estate."

  "Where do they come out?"

  "I do not know. When I was a child, they had locked iron gates across them, and beyond was dark. Perhaps the exit is concealed from the outside and would only be used in dire circumstances for the chief and his family's escape. Almost no one had access to this passage back then, or even knew about it."

  "Well, someone does now. We need to find out which entrance this person uses and try to catch him entering or leaving. If he listened to our earlier conversation, he knows I suspect someone of tampering with the books."

  "Oui."

  "Let's go back now. I'll investigate more on my own or with a man I know I can trust. I don't wish to endanger you further."

  "I am not endangered." She sounded insulted. "I explored these often as a child."

  "You're a brave lass. But there's a traitor about now." The passage was too narrow for him to maneuver around her. "You must lead on the way back. Take the candle." She moved along quickly and climbed the stairs. He took two steps up and accidentally bumped into her derriere. She gasped and dropped the candle. The flame sputtered out and cast them in absolute blackness.

  "Merde!"

  He laid a hand on her shoulder and caressed her neck. "Shh. Don't fash yourself. Stay calm."

  "It is dark as a dungeon," she said in French, her breathing escalating.

  "I can see that. Now, slowly take one step up at a time and we shall make it out."

  "Très bien." She did just that, as did he, his palm flat against the rough stone wall for support.

  A sound of metal against stone clanged behind them. They froze. He turned sideways, staring back, but saw naught, not even a glimmer of light. Silence followed. If he'd been alone, he would've crept through the darkness to see who was there, but he wouldn't jeopardize Angelique.

  "What was that?" she said in a near inaudible whisper.

  He faced forward again, his mouth and nose bumping into what felt like her cheek. She released a breath but did not draw away. That soft, smooth skin and the sweet woman scent of her made him forget where he was. He brushed his lips over her again, inhaling.

  Her lashes fluttered, tickling his nose. "Oh." The sound was no more than a breath from her.

  His next contact was lips against lips; she'd turned to face him more. Arousal blasted through him like a trumpet. In an attempt to draw her closer, he almost dropped his sword but managed to hold onto it and slide his other hand around her lower back. And, saints, when her arms encircled his neck, he thought he would die with happiness and lust. She wanted him.

  Without a protest from her, he ate at her mouth, nibbled her lips and slipped his tongue between. Her unique flavor drove him mad and he wanted to drown in her. She shyly touched her tongue to his, giving him a pleasurable rise beneath his plaid. Iosa is Muire Mhàthair! He could take her right here.

  Footsteps registered in the back of his mind. A shock of alarm smothering his desire, he turned his head abruptly, breaking the kiss. "Listen," he whispered. Faint footsteps receded into the distance, then a door closed.

  More silence.

  Who the hell was that?

  Angelique continued up the steps and he followed, one thing on his mind... nay, three. Another kiss. Undressing her. Dragging her into his bed.

  Once they passed through the door, he closed it and pushed from beneath the tapestry. He squinted against the brightness of the candle remaining on his mantel. Angelique replaced the stone in the hearth, and he sheathed his sword.

  Despite the danger, his first instinct was to seduce Angelique; she was in his bedchamber, after all. But on second thought, 'haps this was not the best course of action. Every time he'd tried that, she'd become angry and launched into an argument. A slower approach might lead to success. She would let down her guard. Aye, he had to convince her to like him first—and not fear him—then she would want him in her bed every night. He would teach her to love sensuality and sex, at her own pace. She had said she wanted honesty and seduction. He could give her that.

  "How will we discover who was down there?" she asked.

  "I don't know yet. Leave it to me." Damned if his need for her wasn't overriding his common sense. He could scarcely think at the moment. Celibacy did that to him.

  "Why are you looking at me like that?" Her gaze communicated warning. His lust must be showing. After a kiss like that, how could she blame him?

  He inhaled deeply and tried to change his expression. "Like what?"

  After a suspicious glance, she removed the bar from the door. "Bonsoir, monsieur."

  "Lachlan," he corrected.

  "Lachlan." Her accent caressed his name in a most arousing way. He considered changing his mind about delaying the seduction, but then she was gone, flitting out the door and closing it behind her.

  He cursed.

  Though frustrated, he thought his new plan might be ingenious. For once he was using his head instead of his... He stared down at his erection, straining to tent the plaid behind his sporran. "Just be patient, lad. Not much longer."

  Besides, he should be focused on discovering the identity of the traitor in the passage.

  ***

  The next day, Lachlan again trained with the men all morning but he could think of naught but meeting Angelique in the remodeled solar to go over the books. He had gone daft in truth, calf-eyed, like his brother had been over an Englishwoman the last time he'd seen him. Even the arrival of the Clan Buchanan chief, his family, and entourage could not sway Lachlan's thoughts. He caught himself staring at his beautiful... nay, irritating wife during midday meal, and missed part of the conversation going on around him.

  Once the Buchanans were settled into guest quarters for a bit of rest after their travels, Lachlan headed to the solar.

  Angelique stood at the edge of the large window, staring out and waiting for him. He wanted to smile but didn't for fear she would become annoyed again. For some reason, she seemed to smile more when he was in a dark mood. Clearly she didn't wish him happy.

  "Here you are, Angelique."

  She turned. "The sky is lovely today. So blue, and the clouds look like great piles of clean, white wool."

  "Aye." He carried two straight chairs and placed them before the desk at the window. Afternoon light flowed in. "But you are lovelier."

  Pink colored her cheeks and her gaze skipped away. "Merci." She took her seat and he sat down close beside her.

  "You're certain no one can spy on us here?" He drew in a breath of her subtle rose scent, wishing he could bury his nose in her hair.

  "No. Before the wing containing our suites was constructed, this was the chief's bedchamber. He had no reason to spy on himself."

  "Ah. That makes perfect sense." Of course, he knew what early solars were used for because Kintalon, his clan's castle deep in the Highlands, had a similar structure.

  "But my father did have this large window added so he could look down on the grounds and enjoy this view."

  "'Tis very nice." Within the bailey walls, several of the servants went about their daily chores below them. Above the green trees, brownish, heather-covered mountains rose in the distance, to the north. That way lay MacGrath holdings and his home, which he had not seen in several months. But… nay, now his home was here, with Angelique. Each day he was growing to love this place more. The landscape here was lusher and the weather warmer than in the more northerly Highlands. The Drummagans had accepted him as their chief, and Angelique was slowly warming to him. Very slowly. Still, he was making progress.

  His bare leg below his kilt nudged hers
through the material of her skirts. Sparks of sexual awareness ignited within him. He yearned to feel her smooth bare leg sliding against his. Nay, wrapped around his waist… while he stood, pinning her against the wall. Saints! What an image. He had only to be in the same room with her to get hard, but with fantasies like that, his frustration mounted. His tarse thought he had lost all seduction ability.

  Angelique drew her leg away. Hmm, maybe she'd felt that spark, too. He opened the account books and turned to the appropriate page.

  "Oh, what a beautiful horse!"

  Lachlan followed Angelique's gaze out the window to the far left, over a wall. One of the groomsmen led a saddled white horse across the courtyard to the stables.

  "You have a fondness for white horses?"

  "Oui, I had one in France—Blanche—but had to leave her behind. She was very affectionate and fleet of foot."

  As she focused on the horse, Angelique's tender, longing expression arrested Lachlan, for he had never seen that look in her eyes before. In that moment, he knew he would strive to give her anything she wanted.

  "I have never ridden a white horse. Too visible at night," he murmured so she wouldn't suspect his intentions. He would find the owner and see if he could buy the horse, or one like it, for Angelique. Though she'd laughed at his expense last night, when he'd had ink on his face, seeing her smile and giggle had been worth it. Her face alight with amusement and happiness did bizarre things to him inside... things he did not understand or want to examine. A horse would be the perfect wedding gift for her; it would make her happy.

  "As to the books," he said. "I tried to repair this where I smudged it. You see?"

  The horse now disappeared from sight within the stables, she lowered her gaze to the ledger. "It is clear enough."

  He explained what each row represented in the way of estate income and expenses.

  "That is a lot of expensive Italian Vernage." She pointed to the figure.

  "Aye, bought only three months ago and I have yet to see drop of it."

  "Perhaps that wine has not yet arrived."

  "It has been checked off on the inventory." He flipped through his stack of papers for the correct one. "Here." He showed her the document.