They passed through four doors, guarded by numerous courtiers and royal servants before reaching the antechamber with its gleaming ebony furniture upholstered in the finest red velvets. Numerous candles lit the room and glimmered off the gold leaf.

What did the king want? He'd sent for her two days before at Hampton Court Palace, though he hadn't been ready to meet with her until now. She disliked leaving the comfort of the queen's household, but King James was her guardian and she must do as he bid. Chatsworth and Dryden had been searching for her before they found her in the room with this Highlander, so the summons could have naught to do with him. Why had they asked him to accompany them?

They neared the king's private rooms and an usher opened the carved door. "Lady Angelique Drummagan and Sir Lachlan MacGrath," he announced.

The four entered. The men bowed, and she curtsied deeply before the king.

The scrawny, aging monarch, wearing overblown clothing in colorful silks, occupied an ornate chair on an elevated platform. Buckingham, his favorite courtier, a regally handsome dark-haired man in his early twenties, stood next to him, along with several other members of the aristocracy.

"You have found her." King James turned his rheumy, unsteady gaze toward the tall man beside her. "And Sir Lachlan, I'm so glad you have joined us once again."

"Your Majesty, 'tis a supreme honor." Lachlan bowed.

Dryden whispered something to another courtier, who whispered to Buckingham. And he proceeded to murmur into the king's ear.

The frail monarch's eyes widened. "The two of you have…met?"

Angelique's face heated. "Non. Not in truth."

The king frowned at his courtiers but his expression lightened when he looked at Lachlan. "It matters not. This is my ward, Lady Angelique Drummagan, the new countess of Draughon in her own right." He motioned toward her. "My dear, meet Sir Lachlan MacGrath, a hero to whom we owe much."

The cursed MacGrath took her hand and kissed it. "'Tis my great pleasure to make your acquaintance, m'lady." His rich baritone and the Scottish burr appealed more than it should have.

She stiffened.

In the bright candlelight, she saw he was a most visually interesting man. His tawny hair was too long by far and not of the current style. His eyes gleamed like a tiger's eye stone. It was not the color that arrested her, but the expression—assessing and sensual. She had come upon many a rogue like him in France, and barely escaped marrying one.

She jerked her hand away but remembered her manners just in time and curtsied. Not too deeply, because he didn't deserve even that. "An honor, Sir Lachlan."

A tiny grin lifted one corner of his full lips. Though she already loathed him because he was a Highlander and a debaucher, something about him defied her to look away.

"Through his cunning and sharp wits, Sir Lachlan has saved the life of our dear marquess of Buckingham and broken up the den of conspirators," King James said. "We knighted Sir Lachlan a fortnight ago but we believe he deserves an even greater reward. Do we not, Steenie?"

Buckingham nodded.

"He will also receive a title." King James gave her a toothless grin. "Earl of Draughon."

What? Her late father's title?

The shock and silence threatened to render her senseless on the floor. What had the king meant?

"Yes, my dear, I have finally found you the perfect husband. He is Scottish, as you are. He is pleasing to look upon and…"

"Pray pardon…Majesty." Fearing she would faint, she quickly curtsied and fled the stateroom as if Lucifer himself chased her. She would die before she'd marry a Highlander whose favorite pastime was lifting skirts.

***

Lachlan watched the lovely red-haired lass dash from the room. What the devil had just happened? Had the king said something about a husband? And the earl of something? He shouldn't have drunk so much sack earlier.

He shook his head, attempting to clear it. Facing the king, Lachlan could hardly believe he stood once again in His Majesty's opulent private chambers—Lachlan, a Highlander and a second son with no title, nothing but a canny wit and a sword. During the past several weeks, while he'd been at court, enjoying every moment of the drinking, feasting, hunting and other, more carnal, pursuits, he had not been caught in such a compromising situation. And now His Majesty wished to leg-shackle him to a prickly lass? It made no sense. Clearly, Lachlan had overstayed his welcome and should've already departed for his clan's Kintalon Castle in the Highlands.

"Well, then," King James said. "Has there ever been a bride unafraid of the holy state of matrimony?" He grinned. "A toast!" He motioned to his courtiers and servants, who scrambled about for drinks.

Future bride? Lachlan shook his head. Nay, he could never marry. He loved women too much to settle with only one.

"Your Majesty, pray pardon… what are you saying? You wish me to marry Lady Angelique?"

"Yes, yes. I understand you two already know each other, in a sense." James winked.

"Upon my honor, I did not touch her. She happened upon me in the room where I was napping." Had she already been in there when he and Eleanor had arrived, or had she slipped in later? And who had she been hiding from?

"Very well." The king glared at Dryden. "He did not touch her."

Lachlan accepted a crystal glass of the king's prized Greek wine.

Marriage? God's teeth! 'Twill be a disaster.

"So, what say you, lad?"

Damnation, he should say naught. He should keep his tongue trapped firmly betwixt his teeth, but given the dozens of aristocratic gazes burning into him, including the king's, he could not play a mute this late in the day. Marriage? He could not entirely grasp the concept, except that it might be torture. But he could not offend the king by refusing. Besides, he had mentioned an earldom, had he not?

"I…I don't rightly ken what to say, Your Majesty, except I thank you. I'm overcome by your generosity." Lachlan bowed. Saints! What did I utter? He was afraid he'd just agreed to get married.

"I'm glad you are pleased." King James raised his glass and the other men followed suit. "To the next earl of Draughon and chief of Clan Drummagan."

Lachlan took a sip of wine, though in truth he did not want it. He must think clearly.

"Lady Angelique is much in need of a husband," the king said. "Her father, a good friend of mine, died without having a son, therefore Angelique is his heir. He wished that she marry a good Scotsman to guide her and help her run the estate. She will agree of course and, after the marriage, give you Draughon Castle, the earldom and all the lands she possesses. I will confirm it by charter. The men of the clan are headstrong and need an even stronger man to lead them. You, lad, are strong in mind and in body."

"I thank you, Majesty." Something twisted in Lachlan's gut. Though he recalled no past dealings or feuds between his own clan and the Drummagans—what if they refused to accept him?

"A distant male cousin of the fifth degree could be next in line but her father, John Drummagan, did not wish him to be chief, nor does the clan. Besides, there is some question as to his lineage. The only way I would approve of him is if Angelique wishes to marry him. Doubtful, I daresay." The king drank from his glass and a bit of the wine dribbled from the corner of his mouth. A courtier quickly blotted the liquid.

Lachlan remained silent. Me, married? He tried to visualize that without success.