"I was too tired to stay for the music and dancing." She clenched her hands, trying to hide her unease. "What is in the basket?"

"I couldn't help but notice you ate hardly anything at supper. And who could blame you what with the way Bernice went on? So I brought you some bread, cheese and wine."

"I am not hungry," she blurted before his generous concern could breach her defenses.

"You must be. You ate only two or three bites. I wouldn't be accused of starving my wife." He broke a small, soft chunk of bread and held it before her lips. It smelled heavenly and she noticed her appetite had returned. She opened her mouth and he pushed the bread inside.

"Good, hmm?" He took a bite for himself, sauntered toward the fireplace and dropped onto the settle. "Come. Sit."

What was he scheming? She did not wish to become cozy with her husband. But he did not seem threatening at the moment. When she sank into the plush cushion beside him, he broke a bit of the hard yellow cheese and offered it to her in the same way. The fire warmed her legs in the inviting dimness. While they chewed, the silence stretched but it was not an unpleasant moment.

"Bernice won't be working in the castle anymore," he said.

"Did you speak with Fingall about it?" Perhaps she should have done that, but she had only wanted to escape the animosity and everyone's scrutiny. She had to show more strength tomorrow.

"Aye. They don't reside at the castle anyway. They have their own home on the outskirts of the village. His good income is enough to provide them what they need."

"Grâce à Dieu. Bernice is a menace. And her brother did try to kill you. C'est qu'il est goujat! Did Fingall take offense at me?"

"Nay. He continued to apologize and wished to make it up to us."

"I pray she is the only disloyal one left."

"As do I. All the Drummagan clansmen I've met have sworn their allegiance," Lachlan said. "Tomorrow, Dirk, Rebbie and I will begin training them more rigorously. In the event Kormad attacks, we shall be ready."

The thought of an attack or battle produced an icy sensation in the pit of her stomach. "Do you think he will?"

"I cannot rightly say. But he won't give up easily." Lachlan offered her another piece of bread. When she tried to take it into her hand, he shook his head and pressed it to her lips. She ate, watching him carefully. His tiger's eye gaze gleamed in the firelight as did the trace of dull gold stubble on his jaw.

"When would you like to have the second wedding and the feast?" he asked.

She swallowed, surprised at this change in subject. "After my wedding gown arrives from London."

"A week and a half, then? If your gown doesn't arrive within a week, I shall send someone to London to fetch it." He gave her a bite of cheese, his finger carelessly grazing her lip, then popped a bite into his own mouth. "The women of this clan make good cheese, aye?"

She nodded; indeed it was better than most of the French cheeses. But she feared what made this cheese so tasty was that he was feeding it to her. Never had a man done this before.

He uncorked the half bottle of wine and offered it to her. "'Tis Brabant."

She was not accustomed to drinking from a bottle but it seemed like a fun thing to do. She turned it up. After two sips of the wine sweetened with honey and spiced with cloves, she passed it back to him. He drank a long swallow, then licked his lips.

The primal side of her craved another sip so she could place her lips where his had been. What an insane thought. She recalled the way, at their wedding, he had kissed her possessively, his tongue darting into her mouth in a startling and disturbing manner. The memory sent heat searing through her.

"Would you like to work with the other women on planning the wedding and feast?" he asked.

She swallowed hard, shoving the memory away and suppressing her reaction. "Oui."

"Arrange it as you desire."

Desire? She scrutinized his neutral expression, then nodded.

He stood, stretched and yawned. "'Tis late." He headed toward the door. "I'll leave this in case you get thirsty." He sat the corked bottle of wine on a table.

"Merci."

He bowed. "Good night."

"Bonsoir. Where are you going?" she blurted, then hated herself for it.

Pausing, he hid a grin, unsuccessfully. Wickedness entered his eyes. "I could stay, if you wish?"

"No. I was just…never mind."

His heated gaze lingered upon her for a moment longer, then shifted. "I might have a wee dram of whisky, if that meets with your approval."

"Oui. Enjoy."

"Sleep well." He bowed again.

The door snapped closed. She could not believe he'd truly walked out without trying to kiss her.

Whisky? He had evaded her question nimbly by not telling her where he would drink the whisky. Was it an excuse? Had he already found a paramour here at Draughon?

Hmph!

She had not saved his miserable life only to have him embarrass her the first night here. After putting on her slippers, she crept to her sitting room and listened at the door that joined his. No sound. She strode through his sitting room and paused at his bedchamber door.

No giggles or moans. He'd had no time to bring a woman back here.

She tapped softly, then harder. Silence. Holding the candle aloft, she eased the door open and entered the empty room. Sidestepping his trunk in the middle of the floor, she moved toward the bed. A servant had turned down the covers, neat and tidy. She plucked his whisky flask from the bedside table and shook, the liquid inside sloshing. If he had only wanted a nightcap, why would he not drink it here? Where had he gone?

To a woman's bed elsewhere in the castle?

What was he up to? Maybe she could find him without his knowledge. At the cold fireplace, she removed the rock at the bottom, where the hearth connected to the wall. She pressed the metal lever with her foot. A screeching clang sounded behind the tapestry. Cringing at the noise, she glanced back at the door, then picked up the fire poker.

Careful to keep the candle flame away from the fabric, she burrowed behind the tapestry and pushed open the hidden door to reveal a narrow spiral stair. Spider webs crisscrossed before her. She used the poker to clear them away, then descended into the musty darkness. Debris and rubble crunched underfoot, poking up into the bottom of her leather slippers. Likely no human had ventured here in over a decade.

As a child, she had played in these hidden passageways and learned the dangerous but fascinating art of eavesdropping. No one would ever tell her what was going on, but she always learned the secrets anyway.

She certainly remembered the vicious arguments between her parents about her father's infidelity and mistresses. Her mother had loved him and that's why it had hurt her so much. And now, what if Angelique slid into the same predicament? No, she would never love Lachlan. She couldn't. To do so would be self-destruction of the worst sort.

At the bottom of the stairwell, the stone floor leveled out and the narrow corridor stretched behind two rooms, a guest bedchamber and the library. Further along, it ran behind the upper portion of the high-ceilinged great hall where small apertures allowed full views of the occupants, unnoticeable from floor level. If Lachlan was down there, she would see him. In the old days, the slits had allowed guards to keep an eye on guests and even to shoot arrows if necessary.