When the black iron gate swung back, she strode forward, her legs a bit stronger now. Lachlan walked beside her, the retainers and his friends following.

"We shall all assemble in the great hall at supper," she called, almost stepping in a pile of horse dung, one of many littering the bailey. "Clean this place forthwith! It is no better than a pigsty." She held a fondness for her clan, but they would not shirk their duties or view her as weak. She had observed her father giving orders often enough.

Once she and Lachlan climbed the stone steps and entered the great hall, she saw that it was much cleaner than the outside and looked just as it had during her childhood. She inhaled the sweet scent of fresh rushes and pungent herbs scattered about the floor.

When she was a child, Heckie and other clan members had told the stories depicted on the large, colorful tapestries that decorated the stone walls. A barrage of nostalgic memories flitted through her mind, most bittersweet. She truly had loved this place. And missed it more than she realized.

Her father's ornate oak chair sat at the elevated high table. How she wished she could see him proudly sitting there one last time, his russet hair gleaming in the firelight. She could not imagine this place without him. He belonged here much more fully than she did.

He had sometimes remarked in anger he wished she'd been a boy. But at other times, he looked at her with kindness and stroked roughened but gentle fingers over her cheek. Often, when he returned from trips, he brought her a baby doll or some other trinket.

"Angelique," Lachlan whispered in her ear.

Realizing the whole of the household was assembled before them, Angelique blinked back the burning in her eyes and tried to wipe the past from her mind. Several of the female servants and clanswomen curtsied or bent their heads in respect.

"A good day to you. I thank you for your service. The castle looks splendid." Was that the right thing to say? She glanced up at Lachlan as if he would know.

"Indeed." He tucked her hand around his elbow. "'Tis a lovely home."

"I am Angelique Drummagan. Some of you may remember me from when I was a child. My mother took me to France when I was nine but I always missed this place. This is my husband, Laird Lachlan MacGrath Drummagan, your new chief and the earl."

The women curtsied again.

He bowed. "'Tis my great pleasure to meet all of you."

The women, especially the younger ones, did what all women did around Lachlan—stared as if mesmerized. She wanted to snap her fingers to break their collective trance. Ninnies.

"We have traveled from London and would like to rest a bit before evening meal. Please see that the guests in our party and the king's retainers are well cared for," Angelique said, her tone a bit more irritated than she'd meant. Clearly if Lachlan wanted a paramour—or several—to warm his bed, he'd have no trouble finding such among this lot.

The servants curtsied and disbursed, murmuring amongst themselves. A giggle or two reached her ears.

A round, gray-haired woman rushed forward with a wide grin. "Welcome home, m'lady! You may not remember me but I was your nanny when you were a wee bairn. I'm so pleased you've come home again, and with such a strapping and handsome lad for a husband."

"Thank you, Mistress Mayme. Oui, I remember you. We used to play games together. And you told me many stories. I have not forgotten them."

"Bless you, child." The older woman patted her arm. "I will show you and the laird to your chambers so you may rest. We've kept them clean and maintained these last months because we expected your return, though we didn't ken when. I'm so glad Kormad wasn't allowed to take over." She kept up the chatter the entire time they climbed the narrow spiral stone stairwell and entered the master's chambers, Lachlan following.

"As you recall, this was your mother's suite," Mistress Mayme said. "And the laird's suite is just beyond, with a door connecting the sitting rooms. I hope you will find it to your liking, m'laird."

"I'm sure 'twill be excellent."

"I had best get busy and see that the evening meal is prepared properly. Let us know if you have need of anything." She hastened away.

Angelique entered the sitting room that used to be her mother's. Was that her mother's perfume lingering in the air? A blend of lavender, violet and ambergris. Angelique half expected her to be sitting in her favorite chair by the window. She moved forward, as if through a dream of the distant past. The chair was empty, of course, but the view the same, sheep grazing on the rolling hills. Beige stalks of grain waiting to be harvested in the fields. And in the distance, the sparkling River Tay; her mother had loved looking at it.

"I thank you for saving my life," Lachlan said behind her.

Angelique jumped, her blurry gaze darting to where he stood just inside the doorway.

He moved forward. "Is something wrong?"

She dabbed at her misty eyes and tried to put the past behind her, but not before Lachlan touched her face. "Why are you crying?"

"I am not." Chills showered over her from his warm hand. His concern, his every touch felt like affection. But it was manipulation, she knew. She would not allow him to draw her under his charmed spell. A man such as Lachlan inside her soul would cut her to bits and leave her bleeding. Heavens. Each day she found him more appealing. And each day she told herself he could not be trustworthy or faithful…but those things, she wanted above all.

She paced away from him, shoving her fragile, daft emotions behind the cold protective wall, then turned. "Shooting the traitor…it was the least I could do for mine own husband, a man who trusts too easily."

Lachlan stiffened. "I would've stopped him if you hadn't."

"Indeed? Before or after he stabbed you in the back?" This was what she needed to forget her nostalgia—a good dose of reality.

"I'm not daft. I ken what you're doing." Amusement returned to his eyes. "Unsheathing your claws, wee hellcat. The rose is becoming thorny again, hmm? And considering what you did out there, I'm thinking you're a bit too cocky for a lady."

Her face burned. She hated his damnable perceptiveness. Why could he not simply keep his distance? The distance she required for her own sanity.

"Non, you are the cocky one, sir. Very confident and trusting of strangers. I wonder if you are up to the task of leading this clan."

"Oh, believe me, I am." His grin disappeared and his jaw hardened. "And I shall be proving it to you."

She had to turn her eyes away from the determination lighting his. He would not fail without a massive fight to the death. But boredom might claim him first. He wouldn't be able to pursue his favorite pastime here. No elegant skirts to be lifted, only the serving maids'. But she was sure he would keep them busy.

"You will quickly grow bored here, I fear." I hope. Did she hope or not? What would it be like to lead her clan alone? To not be able to look upon his arrogant face each day? A face that—with its square jaw, sensual lips and intelligent golden eyes—threatened to cast a spell on her.

"I've never been bored, and I won't be here."

"You have never been married before, either. Have you?"

"Nay, but I have a feeling our marriage will never be dull." He winked.

She hated being an object of his twisted amusement. He didn't take her seriously. She must remedy that. "Mayhap I will be the one who is bored."