Chapter Fifteen

 

Girard. Here to kill her…rape her. "Mère de Dieu." The sensation of ice claws latched onto Angelique's chest, cutting off her breath.

"I have missed you, ma petite choute." He bared his teeth in the mockery of a grin; his pupils dilated. The missing arm amplified his malevolence…because of what it meant. She had done that to him. He would show her no mercy. She would rather die now.

Sucking in a breath, she tried to think normally. Dear God, to face a demon…I will not faint. I will not faint.

"Did you search her for weapons?" Girard snarled. His voice, an echo from her nightmarish memories, sent shards of dread through her.

"No need," Kormad said.

"You do not know our little angel, do you?" He sounded almost amused.

"You want her searched, do it yourself!"

Girard's gaze stabbed through her. "Where is that Camille bitch?"

"Not here," she managed in a strong voice. No, he would not see what he did to her. He would not see he had torn her apart, physically, emotionally, and that now she was but a patchwork, held together by thin threads.

"So, you will pay for her crimes as well as your own."

Angelique focused on survival, clasping the dagger hilt firmly within her pocket. She hoped he would attempt searching her. He wore no leather armor as the other men did. But if she killed him, likely Kormad would kill her.

What must I do? Lachlan. He would know what to do. A strong, warm protector, he was.

"I wish to see my husband," she said, barely pushing the words past her tight throat.

"Oh, you will." Kormad laughed. "'Haps you'd both like to be buried in the same grave? Together forever."

No. Lachlan could not be dead. She focused on the memory of his smile. Tears pricked her eyes.

"Oh, you love this husband of yours," Girard said.

She had not wanted him to see anything inside her. Already, he was breaching her defenses. "Non. He is a bastard like you."

One corner of Girard's lips quirked a fraction. "You will have a chance to say goodbye to him before I take you back to France."

"What? Back to France? Non."

"She's not going anywhere!" Kormad growled. "Except a few feet beneath the sod of Scotland."

Girard speared Kormad with that devil glower. "We have a deal."

"That's not part of it."

"You promised her to me first." A bald man stepped forward. Who…? Dear God, he was the monster who'd tried to kill her on the ship weeks ago.

"Promised to you?" Girard said. "She is mine to do with as I please. I own her! Do you understand?"

They argued, growling and snapping like dogs, ripping apart her life as if it were a deer hide. Which one would sink in his teeth first? Angelique's legs trembled, and she dropped to her knees. She could not breathe. Dear heaven…rape, torture, death, her body used and abused by them. The blackness of oblivion would be better.

Get up; you are strong, some part of her urged…or was it a guardian angel whispering in her ear?

I cannot. I have nothing left.

Girard grasped her upper arms and jerked her to her feet.

Now, that defensive side of her shouted. The dagger hilt was firm in her hand. She shoved the blade up toward Girard's stomach. It bit through clothing and flesh. He shrieked and shoved her to the floor. Pain shot through her hip and elbow.

"You see!" Girard yelled. "You see why you should search her?" He tore at his clothing to examine the bloody wound. Not deep enough.

Kormad chuckled and snatched the dagger from her hand. "Take her to the dungeon and toss her in with MacGrath," he commanded the guards. Two yanked her up, one by each arm, painfully wrenching her shoulders. But she was glad to hear the name MacGrath. Was Lachlan alive? I pray you, Mère de Dieu.

"Wait, search her first," Kormad said.

Their meaty hands ran over her—her breasts, legs and hips. She almost gagged. "Cease!"

"No more weapons," one of the guards said.

"Take her below. We have more important matters to attend to. Have George saddle the horses."

The massive guard dragged her, stumbling, outside to another area, his cohort in front. Steps led down to a narrow stone passage, dark and underground. She tripped and would've fallen if this beast hadn't been holding her up. She could scarce breathe in this dank, foul place.

The cell door screeched as the guard in front opened it a narrow space. Her captor shoved her inside the blackness and the door clanged shut.

Gaelic curses resounded. "Angelique! How the hell did they get you?"

"Lachlan?" She turned, unable to see. "Where are you?"

"Here."

Relief surged through her, weakening her limbs. "Grâce à Dieu, you are alive. Are you hurt?" In the dark, she found him, her palms stroking over his doublet, up his arms to his shoulders. "Are you bleeding?"

"Nay." He framed her waist in his hands, then hugged her close, the most wonderful feeling in the world. "I have a devil of a headache, but I'll live." His voice was deep and husky against her ear. "Did Kormad hurt you?"

"No. Girard is here also. They were arguing about what to do with me—kill me or allow Girard to take me back to France. I will not go—"

"What the hell were Rebbie and Dirk thinking, letting you slip into the bastard's hands?" he rasped along with blunt foreign words.

"It was Fingall. He and Kormad's man killed my bodyguards, then stole me away through the secret passages."

"Damn Fingall. I had someone watching him and I had two guards posted in the secret passages at all times."

"Likely they are dead. I pray Rebbie and Dirk still live."

"As do I."

The warm possession of his embrace lured her, but his betrayal repelled her. She backed away. "I thought if they could not rescue you, I would myself, you miserable miscreant."

"I ken I'm a damned fool. If you die, 'tis my fault." His tone was tortured. "I couldn't even protect you."

"I did not need your protection."

"Well then, what did you need from me?"

Things too precious to verbalize. Finally, her eyes adjusted to the dark. The sliver of light from the small window in the door outlined Lachlan's tawny hair, the bone structure of his face, his broad shoulders. "What I needed, you cannot give, so it matters not," she said.

"Tell me."

"Fidelity."

"I gave you that, at least. 'Twas the only thing I gave you."

"Do you imagine I believe your lies?" How could he think she'd never find out?

"What lies?" he demanded.

"I know what you did yesterday."

"You're angry that I bought you two white horses?"

Her throat ached. "No! Neilina. The south tower. I am not an imbecile."

"God's teeth! That was Dirk with Neilina. We hatched a scheme so she would think 'twas me, but in truth 'twas Dirk pretending to be me."

Lachlan would never change. He likely believed his own lies. "You think I am exceedingly naïve, oui?"

"Nay. 'Twas a good hoax."

She turned her back to him. "How are we to escape this place?"

"Angelique. You cannot believe that was me. I was meeting with members of the Robertson clan to purchase two mares for you as a surprise, a late wedding gift. You can ask Dirk and Rebbie."

"If they live, I trust their word no more than yours. They are your loyal friends, so naturally they will lie for you.

"Ask anyone in the Robertson clan when I left their castle." He named the Drummagans who accompanied him. "Ask any of them."

"I won't have a chance. Kormad is going to kill us, you know. Bury us in the same grave…so we are together forever." A sob burst from her constricted throat.

"Come here." Lachlan pulled her into his arms, her back against his hard chest. His thick, strong arms held her tight.

She squirmed from his grasp. "No, you are a lecher. I believed in you. I believed you had changed and every word you said." The tears would not stop no matter how much she wished they would.

"I swear to you, upon my honor, I didn't touch Neilina. And somehow I shall prove it to you."

"But I heard you. You told her to meet you in the south tower at sunset."

"I did say that, but I didn't meet her. I never intended to. I had Dirk take my place so he could find out if she's Kormad's spy. I think she is."

"You…the man with her wore a kilt. Dirk does not wear a kilt."

"He wore mine. He pretended to be me!"

Did he tell the truth? She wished to believe him. It would be her fondest dream if he was honest, but some part of her refused to be naïve and trusting anymore.

"She moaned your name while…" At the image of Lachlan driving into another woman, nausea welled inside her.

"'Twas not me. I told you, you're the only one I want." His tone was low and fierce. He turned her and clasped her close, her face against his chest. And she allowed it. She but needed one moment of hope. The unique, appealing scent of him filled her nostrils, bringing back memories of the profound and sweet intimacies they'd shared. How she wished….

"I'm sorry you went through that, and believed it was me," he said. "Truly, love, I'm not lying. Dirk made her think he was me. It was necessary so she wouldn't know we suspected her of being a spy. How are you thinking I got captured out on the moor if I was in the south tower?"

"I do not know when you were captured. I left."

"What do you mean?"

"I left you." She shoved back from him. "I was going to London for a divorce when Rebbie and Dirk stopped my coach."

"Damnation." His voice held an icy edge as if she were the betrayer.

"I had every right!"

"You would do that without even confronting me. Just assume?"

"I told you—"

"You judge and sentence me all without my knowledge?" His voice echoed from the walls.

So the small pleasant moment was passed. No more deceiving herself.

"I knew this would happen when I married you. I knew you would have affairs and mistresses and whores. I knew you would draw me in with your charm, make me trust you, then that you would trample my heart like refuse. I should not have been surprised really, but I wanted to believe. My own folly. Why did you have to pretend…?" Why couldn't he have simply been honest about his intentions?

"I didn't pretend about us! I told you at the first I would never lie to you and I haven't." Lachlan glared at Angelique's back through the dimness. How could she believe such a thing about him? Had she learned naught about him in the past few weeks?

"I do not know what the truth is anymore," she whispered.

Her words stabbed like daggers into his chest. He had never been called a liar so much in his life. Unfaithful? Hell, he hadn't even been tempted to look at another woman since he'd married her. Strangely, she was all he desired. He didn't understand it, but she wasn't like other women. She was special in a way he'd never experienced before. He wished only to please her, protect her, and give her all she wanted.

But the thing that quelled his anger was the raw pain in her voice. She cared; she wanted him all to herself. That much, he liked. What sliced him to the core was her distrust, her doubts. Like everyone else including his father, she expected the worst of him. He was a worthless, faithless, ne'er-do-well and could not rise above it. What a fool he was. Their capture was all his fault.

He must prove the truth to her. How? The testimony of Dirk and Rebbie meant naught. No one else knew of their ruse with Neilina. But plenty of men had seen him at the Robertsons'. None of this would matter anyway, if they couldn't escape. He had failed utterly at protecting her. What kind of husband was he?

"I have an idea," she whispered. "You will pretend to hit me. I will scream and cry, and the guard will come."

"I wouldn't have anyone believe I'd hit my wife."

"A ruse. He will open the door to separate us, and you hide behind the door and hit him."

"He will not likely come alone. And he'll be heavily armed if he thinks I'm violent."

"Do you have a better idea?" she asked in challenge but kept her voice low.

"Aye, you pretend to hit me and knock me down. He'll think I hit my head on the wall. My head already has a lump on it, so 'tis believable. You scream hysterically. They won't see you as much a threat. They'll think I'm unconscious or dead and come in. Then we'll disarm them. If there are two of them, you'll need to be careful."

"Very well."

"Let's get into a mock fight," he whispered. "Come on, throw a few punches."

Out of nowhere, her hand flew up. The slap cracked against his face.

"Ouch." His cheek stung and a resounding pain shot through his head from the earlier injury. "Do you have to be so damned enthusiastic?"

"You told me to."

"Not hard," he whispered.

"Weak lad!"

"Och. Come on, show me what you've got, wee wench."

She shoved lightly at his chest and he toppled backward in a controlled fall, though he tried to make it look real in the event someone spied through the opening in the door.

Angelique screamed, the deafening sound intense in the confined space. "I've killed him! I've killed him!"

"What the devil is going on?" The guard growled from the passage.

"I've killed my own husband! But he deserved it! The unfaithful swine."

That was a bit much. Lachlan watched the door through eyes narrowed to slits. One guard entered, halting just inside the door, a torch in one hand, a dagger in the other, and his sword still in the scabbard. Angelique crouched in a corner, pretending to weep. "I did not mean to kill him. I shoved him. He fell and cracked his skull on the wall."

After wedging the torch between two rocks in the wall, the guard inched closer and nudged Lachlan with his foot. When Lachlan didn't move or even breathe, the man bent over him. Lachlan grabbed the guard's knife hand, shoving the blade toward his chest, and grasped the hilt of his sword at the same time. The guard jerked back, cursing, and dropped the knife. Lachlan took possession of both weapons.

"What's happening?" A second guard entered the cell.

Angelique sprang from behind the door and bashed the empty chamber pot against his head. He slumped to the floor.

The first guard backed toward the exit.

"Halt!" Rising, Lachlan motioned with the tip of the sword toward the back corner. "Over there."

When the man obeyed, Lachlan leapt over the other guard and joined Angelique in the corridor. She locked the cell door.

The first guard yelled. Lachlan closed the small opening at the top of the door, muffling his cries.

Footsteps and voices advanced toward them down the dim corridor lit by a lone torch.

"Hell. Kormad's men," Lachlan said.

"I am ready." Angelique held a dagger.

"Where did you get that?"

"From the second guard."

"Have a care." Damnation, what if he couldn't kill them all and protect her? Nausea clutched at him when he imagined the horrors she would endure if he died. Rape, torture, death. He simply could not fail.

Wielding the sword in one hand and the knife in the other, Lachlan confronted the first of Kormad's men. The large, leather-clad bastard charged him, sword slamming against Lachlan's. The impact traveled up his arm, clashing steel deafening in the confined space. Fortunately, the passage was so narrow two men could not fight abreast. He knocked the sword from the man's hand and quickly ran him through. Battle fury raced hot through his veins.

The second man stepped over the body and attacked. Once he fell, Lachlan turned his attention to the next in line. He and two others hung back, their eyes wide in the dimness.

Someone charged in from outside, behind the men. A battle cry arose.

Rebbie? Indeed it was. And Dirk backed him. Clanging blades were a blur of motion.

Lachlan engaged the enemy closest to him. The man stumbled and fell. Lachlan smashed the sword's basket hilt against his head, knocking him out.

"Lachlan! You live." Rebbie slapped him on the shoulder. "Come!"

"How many outside?"

"None. We dispensed with them."

"I thank you." Lachlan took Angelique's hand, keeping her close by his side. "Where are the rest of our men?"

"Two or three were killed," Rebbie said. "The others, we know not what happened to them. 'Twas chaos. When we saw Fingall and the other man bring Angelique through the gates, we knew we had to act quickly."

Outside, Dirk held three of Kormad's horses.

Another guard charged around the corner. "Help her mount," Lachlan said to Dirk, then engaged in swordplay with the last man. He was fast and skilled.

More of Kormad's men poured down the distant castle steps. Where the hell did he get so many men?

"We must go now, Lachlan!" Dirk threw a stone at the man. It bounced off his shoulder, but that was enough to distract him. Lachlan's blade sliced his arm. Yelling curses, the enemy retreated.

Lachlan leapt onto the bareback horse behind Angelique and followed Rebbie's and Dirk's mounts at a fast gallop out the unmanned, open gates.

"Follow them!" someone shouted from behind.

***

Hoof beats thundered behind them on the race toward Draughon.

"Damned whoresons!" Lachlan held Angelique tightly before him on the horse and glanced back. Two of Kormad's men gave chase.

Draughon's iron gates came into view. "Open the gates!" Lachlan yelled.

The guards moved quickly, obeying his orders. The horses galloped through and into the empty bailey. The gates clanged shut behind them.

"Where is everyone? Were all the men killed?" Lachlan leapt down and helped Angelique dismount.

"I don't know," Rebbie said. "We took a dozen to Burnglen with us."

Since the secret passageways had been breached, Lachlan didn't know what to expect. Drawing his sword, he ran up the steps and yanked open the door to the crowded great hall.

Kormad and Girard jerked around to face him, their eyes bulging.

"What the hell are you two doing here?" Lachlan's first instinct was to gut Girard, then Kormad. But caution froze him to the spot. "Who allowed them entrance?" This was his and Angelique's home, and these knaves stood here as if they owned the place.

"Get Lady Angelique out of here!" one of his guards yelled. "They have turned everyone against you." He sat in the corner, his face bloody, hands behind his back.

Kormad smashed the man in the jaw with his fist, and he keeled over. "Well, that's one of your last loyal men, MacGrath. I'll let you guess who the other one is." Kormad chuckled.

Another guard in the room, apparently unharmed and free, averted his gaze. What about the guard at the gate outside…also a traitor? Or loyal? Several Drummagan clansmen, guards, and those holding other positions, stared at him with hard, accusing eyes. Where was Bryson, his sword-bearer and war leader? And Heckie? How many had turned traitor?

Lachlan glanced behind himself to find Angelique standing before Rebbie and Dirk, safe for now, but wide-eyed and pale.

"You will leave now!" Lachlan commanded his enemies.

Kormad laughed. "The Drummagan clan kens of your misdeeds, MacGrath. 'Haps your wife doesn't know the whole of it yet. Murder. Rape."

"You thrice cursed whoreson!" Lachlan forced himself not to act on his impulses. He wanted to launch himself at Kormad, sword slicing. But they were greatly outnumbered. He backed toward Angelique.

"MacGrath raped these two women." Kormad indicated Fingall's wife, mock weeping, and Neilina, who glared.

"You are insane!" Lachlan said. "I did not touch either of them."

"We have witnesses. Several, in fact. We know you killed the French lad, Philippe. We have proof."

Behind him, Angelique gasped. "Philippe is dead?"

"Aye, ask your husband about it."

"I know naught of it," Lachlan said.

"We found your dagger in his back," Kormad said.

"You took my weapons when you knocked me on the head and captured me."

"Angelique murdered a man in France last year," Girard said.

"More lies," Lachlan seethed, his hatred of Girard raged. It took all his strength not to lop the man's head from his body. "You are the rapist and I intend to see you pay."

"Not to worry, my friends." Kormad addressed the Drummagan clan. "I have sent one of my men to report their crimes to the constable and magistrate. Seize them!"

Lachlan stepped back, shielding Angelique. "Protect her."

Dirk and Rebbie raised their swords. Standing back to back, the three of them formed a triangle with Angelique at the center. Lachlan held her hand in his left.

"You wish to kill more innocent people, I see," Kormad said. "Things will go easier if you give yourselves up and admit to your crimes."

"We have committed no crimes. You and this damned Frenchman are the criminals—rapist, murderer and thief."

"'Twill do you no good to fight. I have already shown the clan the legal papers," Kormad said. "The former chief, John Drummagan, married my sister in secret and they had a son. Timothy, as the sole legitimate male heir of John Drummagan, is the rightful earl. I am his guardian and therefore will serve as chief until he comes of age."

"'Tis lunacy! Are you telling me you believe this man's lies?" Lachlan asked the Drummagan clan, men he thought loyal. Men he trusted. "You swore your allegiance to me. And yet you believe this outlaw's lies over your own chief?"

Several men of the clan dropped their gazes. Others glared at him, eye to eye.

"False papers are easy to draw up. False witnesses are easy to find if you pay them enough, aye, Kormad? I wager constructing this web of lies has cost you a large sum."

"It has cost naught, because 'tis all true."

"Oui, and I come to take this murderess back to France. She will have a trial." Girard's gaze on Angelique held an unholy gleam. Lust combined with deep hatred. Lachlan could not allow Angelique to fall into his hands at all costs. She would suffer more than death. The three of them could not fight Kormad, Girard, their men, and the whole Drummagan clan—not and keep Angelique safe. He should've kept the king's retainers a few more weeks. Now, aside from his two good friends, he had no men to help him fight.

"Rebbie, Dirk, we are going out the way we came in," Lachlan said.

"Stand aside!" Dirk yelled.

Slowly, they retreated through the front door. Lachlan and Dirk barricaded the castle door from the outside with several large stones they rolled from the side. "Hurry! To the stables. They'll follow."

Two of Kormad's warriors on foot rushed them, swords drawn—the men who'd chased them on the road. Rebbie engaged one; swords clanged. Dirk ran the other through on the second strike, then helped Rebbie.

"After you kill him, make sure the gates are open," Lachlan yelled. Angelique in his arms, he carried her toward the stables.

"I cannot believe how my kin has betrayed us," she said. "What must we do?"

"Angelique!" Camille trotted from the kitchen garden. "Grâce à Dieu!"

"Where have you been?"

"Hiding. Girard would see me dead."

"Saddle five fresh horses," Lachlan ordered the stable lad and set Angelique on her feet.

"I already have, m'laird." He led one from a stall. "I knew you'd be needing them when you arrived."

"Where will we go?" Angelique asked. She looked so small and pale, her big green eyes trusting, depending on him to keep her safe. Lachlan had failed so miserably, he didn't deserve her trust anymore, but he was glad for it nonetheless.

Determined to make up for his faults, he set about testing the saddles and strength of the girth straps. He would save her life if he did naught else.

"I wouldn't sabotage your saddles, m'laird. I ken Kormad is the biggest liar in all of Scotland. I shall be your eyes and ears whilst you are gone."

"I thank you. Stay safe." Lachlan turned to Angelique. "Can you ride alone?"

"Oui."

He helped the two women mount, then did so himself. Once Rebbie and Dirk took to their horses in the bailey, they all galloped through the gates. He glanced back to see the clan pouring from the doors.

***

"Where are we going?" Angelique asked Lachlan two hours later when they stopped, dismounted and allowed the horses to drink at a stream. Rolling fields and a few bushes surrounded them. All she knew was they were riding north toward the Highlands, toward the brown, rounded peaks of the Cairngorms she could see in the distance.

"MacGrath holdings. Kintalon Castle," he said. "The clan of my birth won't turn on us so quickly." Dried blood and golden brown stubble covered Lachlan's jaw. Dirt and blood smeared his shirt and plaid. But his expression bothered her most; the playful charmer had vanished, and in his place was this frowning warrior with a hard mouth and fierce eyes.

"Why did you not ask the nearby clans we have alliances with for their help?"

"If the Drummagan clan can turn on us so easily, so can any of the other clans if they believe Kormad's lies and false papers. But I trust my brother with my life and yours. 'Tis the only place I know with certainty you'll be safe."

He was most concerned with her safety? She could not look him in the eye after that. Her clan shamed her. She could not believe they had betrayed her and Lachlan so easily.

"Kormad and Girard are the most malicious men I have seen," she said. "I know one of them killed Philippe." He'd been her friend when few others had, and she would miss him. But he'd never possessed a piece of her heart as Lachlan did. Nevertheless, Philippe had never hurt anyone and didn't deserve to be murdered in cold blood. If not for her, he wouldn't have been in Scotland. So in some small way, she blamed herself.

Lachlan observed her closely, his gaze almost cutting. "Greed, revenge—they are powerful motivators."

"What shall we do? We cannot simply allow Kormad to keep Draughon."

"And I won't. But first I must make certain you're safe. I cannot protect you and fight those two and their men at the same time. Besides, now that the clan is on his side, I have no fighting men. I am bright enough to ken when to retreat and gather forces. The MacGrath clan is larger than the Drummagan clan, and I wager, will be willing to come to our aid."

"I thank you for protecting me," she said in a low voice.

"You don't have to thank me for that." He strode away to wash his face and arms in the peat-tinged water of the nearby stream.

She was thankful they'd escaped Kormad's clutches, but what if she and Lachlan could never go home to Draughon?

***

Before dusk, they arrived at a small derelict castle where, Angelique learned, an acquaintance of Lachlan and Rebbie, from their academy days, lived. This jovial baron fed them well, then Camille and Angelique stayed the night in a private bedchamber.

Lachlan, Rebbie and Dirk slept on the great hall floor with the rest of the men of the household. Though her bed was comfortable, she missed Lachlan's hard, hot body spooned against her back. They might never lie that way again. Sleep was elusive, and nightmares of Girard and Kormad plentiful.

Before daybreak the next morn, they quickly ate and set out on their journey, before Kormad and his men could catch up to them…if they were following. The baron provided supplies—blankets, tents and food—to see them through should they not have anywhere to stay the next night.

Lachlan looked a mite better this morn, having washed up and borrowed clean clothing from his friend. Still, his expression remained shuttered, determined.

All that day, they rode hard. The mountains of the Cairngorm rose up around them. Through the mist, she glimpsed patches of snow at the tops of some mountains. She had never been this far north into Scotland and found the landscape both stark and beautiful. Black clouds gathered overhead and the north wind blew chilly.

Lachlan stopped and dismounted. He pulled a woolen plaid blanket from the collection of supplies, wrapped it around Angelique and covered her head. His touch was gentle but efficient, his mood distant.

"Merci," she said.

"Tell me if you get cold."

She nodded.

"Can you wrap a blanket around Camille?" Lachlan asked Rebbie and returned to his horse.

Suddenly, she missed that intimate, lingering gaze Lachlan used to bestow on her. She did not even know why she wished to see it again from a man of his sort. This was just one more thing reminding her that her dreams of love were indeed foolish.

Once they commenced riding again, a thin misty rain sprayed through the air, making Angelique doubly thankful for the tightly woven blanket keeping out most of the dampness. Clearly, she was not a Highland lass, but Lachlan seemed in his element.

At sundown, the rain stopped but the cold remained. They dismounted in a sheltered area beneath trees, no castles or crofts in evidence anywhere.

The men unloaded supplies. In the dusky light, she and Camille gazed out toward mountains that seemed somehow welcoming but gloomy. Low, brown vegetation covered them, heather perhaps, but no trees. This was such a different world from the green, bushy Lowlands.

Footsteps approached. "Lady Angelique, could I have a word?" Dirk asked.

"Oui." How unusual. He rarely said anything to her beyond a greeting.

Camille sauntered away.

Dirk's sharp blue gaze sliced through a person. He appeared most serious, but his cheeks were ruddy. "In truth, 'twas me with Neilina that evening in the south tower. Lachlan wouldn't be unfaithful to you."

Angelique had no response to that. Had Lachlan told him to say this, or had she indeed spied on this man in carnal relations with a woman? Her face burned. She wished he spoke sincerely, but she knew better than to take any man at his word. No, now her naiveté and innocence were dead. "I have no proof of that. Whoever I saw looked exactly like Lachlan and…my cousin said his name."

Dirk frowned. "She did call me Lachlan, but I didn't correct her because I was pretending to be him. It was my duty to see if she was Kormad's spy. 'Tis clear she was. I've known Lachlan more than ten years and he has never taken to a lass as he's taken to you."

"He's married to me so he has to maintain a credible façade."

"God's truth, he is smitten with you, though likely he'll never tell you that. 'Tis all I wished to say. I bid you good eve." He gave a shallow bow and strode away.

That was the most Dirk had ever spoken to her. She didn't know whether to believe him or not. Lachlan smitten? How was such a thing possible?

Dirk joined Lachlan where he was setting up a tent, and spoke a few words to him. Lachlan then moved toward her, a solemn expression on his face. What were they scheming?

"I need to tell you something, Angelique." He pulled the plaid more tightly about his shoulders. "This is a hell of a time and place to do it, but I have little choice."

Panic rose within her. Was he going to confess his infidelity only minutes after Dirk tried to convince her otherwise? "What is it?"

He inhaled deeply, hesitated, then looked her in the eye. "I have two sons."

"What? Sons?" Surely she'd misheard.

"Aye, two wee lads. Orin and Kean. They live with the MacGrath clan at Kintalon."

"Mère de Dieu." The soggy Scottish soil had surely dropped from beneath her. "Are you sure that is all? Such a man as yourself probably has twenty children in every country you have visited."

He lifted a brow. "Are you trying to be amusing?"

Amusing? She wished to strangle him. She was the fool, the woman who did not know of her husband's sons.

"Why did you not tell me long before now?" Who was this man? Did she know anything about him at all? A stranger.

"I didn't tell you because I knew you'd be angry. And you are, aye?"

She was unsure how she felt at the moment. Like a woman being spun about in a whirlwind, everything beyond her control, out of her grasp. She didn't have her husband nor her estate—both in the possession of someone else.

"Were you married before?" she asked.

"Nay."

Just as she'd suspected, they were by-blows of his endless string of sexual liaisons. "What of their mothers?" Women he had given those same intimate and sensual delights to that he'd given her. Despite being his wife, she was not special; she was but one among hundreds. Well, she'd seen that back at Draughon.

"Kean's mother died tragically a few months ago in a fire. Orin's mother still lives in the village. I'm no longer involved with her, of course."

"Of course," she muttered. Whether or not he was involved with a woman hinged on a split second decision and how lecherous he was feeling at that moment. "You could have told me…about your sons." She felt defeated somehow. Lost. "I know you are only telling me now because we are going to Kintalon, where I'm likely to run into them. What if we hadn't? Would you have ever told me?"