***

Angelique peered out the coach window, Camille beside her, watching Lachlan and his swaggering, confident stride. He had kissed her, damn him, and distracted her, seized control. Now what if he got hurt in this ridiculous sword fight?

"We could've settled this peacefully if he'd listened to me."

"You were brandishing a weapon just as he is," Camille said.

"Oui. But I was not going to use it." Well, only if she had to.

"A man always prefers to show force alone. And look how well he does it."

Angelique snorted. But yes, he did do it well. She admired the commanding way he brandished a sword. "Are you observing my husband?"

"No more than anyone else." Her friend gave her an innocent look. "Are you jealous?"

"Non. But make sure you do not become his mistress or I will have to disown you and find a new companion."

"Do not worry, Ange. I much prefer his friend."

"Which one?"

"Look." Camille pointed.

Lachlan moved with skill and grace as he engaged the shorter man in swordplay. They parried and thrust. A hint of a wicked grin played upon Lachlan's mouth. To him this was but a game. Did he not realize his life was in danger?

What do I care?

But she did care, for whatever reason. He had protected her and helped her escape Kormad and his men. As well, she had grown used to his smiling eyes and tall, muscular body…which she had seen every bare inch of. And taken note of every scar and bulge of muscle.

Metal clanged and flashed in the bright sunlight while Angelique held her breath. Swordplay was much like a violent dance of death, beautiful and dark. She had not hated it so much until this moment.

The men of both sides shouted encouragements.

A sword flew up into the air and tumbled to the ground. "Sacrebleu," she whispered before Lachlan turned and she saw he still held his sword. "Grâce à Dieu. He has done it."

"Did you have any doubt?" Camille asked.

Angelique shrugged and kept her eyes on the action.

Kormad's man, now unarmed, backed away, tripped over a rock and sprawled to his back. Standing over him, Lachlan pressed the tip of the sword against the man's throat. "What are you called?"

"Edward."

"Well, Edward, I shall spare your life if you deliver a message for me."

"A m…mes…message, m'laird?"

In Angelique's estimation, Lachlan looked a bit too pleased with himself.

"Aye. Tell Kormad if he wants this castle, to come get it himself, if he is brave enough. It belongs to Lady Angelique and me." He nicked the man's cheek. Blood trickled from the small wound.

He included me first. Pride swelled within Angelique, and a warm spot inside her chest softened for Lachlan.

Stepping back, he sheathed his sword. "Get up. Gather your men and go."

The prone man lurched to his feet and stumbled away. Four men rushed past, following him.

"Does anyone else wish to challenge me or leave with your friends?" Lachlan asked.

No one moved.

"Anyone else loyal to Kormad?"

Angelique noticed a tall, skinny man off to the side, clothed in dark brown leather, holding a sword behind his back. His face was hard as he watched Lachlan, like a terrier intent upon his prey.

"Who is the steward here?" Lachlan paced before the remaining clansmen, looking into the face of each one. When he turned his back, the thin, suspicious man charged forward, his sword aimed directly at Lachlan's back.

Chapter Five

Murder in his eyes and his mouth pulled into a grimace, the stranger charged Lachlan's back with the broadsword.

"Mère de Dieu." Angelique lifted her pistol. Holding it steady with both hands, she aimed at her target and fired. The pistol popped and the recoil jarred her teeth.

Crying out, the traitor flipped to the ground and slid a few inches. His sword clattered away.

Lachlan ducked, his gaze darting to the groaning man she'd downed, then to her. "What the devil?"

Where did I get such reflexes? She coughed against the thick smoke, stared at the pistol and lowered it with shaking hands spotted with black powder.

"You have done it again, Ange!" Camille said. "Maybe someone would hire you as a mercenary."

"Do not jest with me so."

Now was the time to assert her power, before Lachlan and the clan. He would not lead alone. Carrying the pistol, she climbed down from the coach and strode forward, trying to conceal how her knees shook.

Lachlan stood over the traitor. "Lock him up," he told two of the Drummagan men. "Have someone see to his injury." Blood soaked the man's right sleeve. Lachlan turned to one of the king's retainers. "If you would, see they do what they're supposed to."

Two brawny Drummagans carried the man away and two retainers followed. Lachlan shifted his attention to Angelique, his expression showing mild amazement—or was it amusement? Oui. Again, he had the smiling eyes which taunted and teased, but now she glimpsed a bit of pride there as well. Perhaps he had underestimated her before, but now he saw what she was capable of.

Get accustomed to it, she wanted to say to him but faced her clan instead. "Do you know who I am? Lady Angelique Drummagan, countess of Draughon in my own right. The rightful heir and daughter of John Drummagan. Lachlan is my husband, the earl and chief. We are laird and lady here. This is our home. You will put away your weapons and let us pass."

Lachlan sidled in close beside her, his sword again drawn, and put his arm around her shoulders. She savored the way he always wanted to protect her, but she'd shown him she was strong enough to protect him as well. And she wished he'd remove his arm before he felt her tremble.

The worried gazes of the male clan members shifted from her to Lachlan and back again. She looked into the eyes of each one, some of them vaguely familiar, from her childhood, and others foreign to her. They must trust and respect her and Lachlan. For this to happen, they must see no sign of weakness or fear.

"You have the look of your father, lass," the man directly in front of her murmured, then dropped his gaze and went down on one knee. "M'lady. Pray pardon."

His was one of the familiar faces. What was his name? Byron? Bryce. No, Bryson. "Are you Bryson?" she asked.

"Aye, m'lady." He grinned, a light of awe entering his brown eyes. "I was sword-bearer for your father."

"I remember you." She glared at the armed men behind him, meeting the wild, pale eyes of another man she recalled. His thick beard had gone white. "Heckie," she said. "You were Father's bard."

He winked. "Indeed, m'lady. And I can recite the clan's history back to the time of Noah."

His ridiculous comment caught her off guard and she smiled.

"You've grown into a lovely young lady, lass. Glad I am you've returned to us so another chapter of the Drummagan story can unfold." He laid down his sword and knelt.

One by one, the rest of the men put their weapons upon the ground and knelt.

"We are grateful for your loyalty." She curtsied, feeling a bit of awe herself.

"Indeed, good men," Lachlan said with a bow. "Now if you would please, open the gates."

One of the men lurched up and fumbled with the lock.