"And are you carrying the French pox, then?" Rebbie asked, standing by his horse.

"Nay. Officially healthy." As he knew he was. Angelique would have to pay the piper now and spend the night in Lachlan's bed. He couldn't wait.

Rebbie hoisted himself into the saddle. "How much did you have to bribe him with?"

"To hell with you!"

Rebbie laughed.

"You haven't had a wedding night yet, have you?" Dirk's tone was understated but his question pointed.

As if that was any of his business! Lachlan scowled.

"What of the bloody sheet?" Rebbie asked.

"'Twas mine own blood. I cut myself. But don't be telling anyone. The king wanted the marriage consummated but Angelique wasn't in the mood."

"He beds all the ladies in London but cannot bed his own wife," Dirk said with exaggerated amazement.

"You're daft. I didn't bed all the ladies in London." Lachlan mounted. "And 'twill not be long afore mine own wife drags me to her bed and refuses to let me leave."

"Would anyone care to place a wager on that?" Rebbie rubbed his hands together eagerly.

"Aye," Dirk said.

"Don't you dare even think about it." Lachlan nudged his horse into a trot and they raced up the road toward Draughon, passing beneath the trees. He couldn't wait to see Angelique's face when he showed her this document. Nor could he wait to have her naked betwixt his sheets.

Something whizzed past Lachlan's head. "What the hell? Arrows!"

Dirk yelled curses.

Lachlan kicked his mount into a gallop and ducked low, scanning the bushes off to the left but seeing nothing. Cowardly bastards! An arrow struck his saddle. Where was his targe when he needed it?

The hooves of Dirk's and Rebbie's horses thundered behind him. Lachlan glanced back. Rebbie fired a pistol toward the bushes. An arrow protruded from Dirk's shoulder, a fearsome scowl on his face.

Damn Kormad and his men! If he wanted war, he would have it.

***

An hour later, Lachlan himself had removed the arrow from Dirk's left shoulder and helped hold him down while the blacksmith cauterized the flesh wound. No easy task; Dirk was strong and mad as two scalded oxen.

"You're fortunate 'twas not your sword arm." Lachlan handed him a bottle of peat-colored whisky.

"Aye, cause then you'd kick me out on my arse." He drank a hefty swallow of the water of life.

"Indeed." Lachlan grinned and strode from the room. Dirk was one of his best and oldest friends and he prayed he didn't suffer fever from this wound. While he rested, Lachlan would deliver the signed document to a certain lady.

Angelique waited outside the guest chamber door, her eyes wide and worried, skin pale. "How is he?"

"He'll be well in a few days. Come. I wish to speak with you." He motioned her toward the spiral stair and waited for her to precede him up.

In the corridor, he opened his sitting room door and motioned her inside. Looking wary, she passed him and entered, her silken skirts brushing his legs.

After closing the door, he gave a formal bow and presented the paper to her. 'Twas unfortunate he didn't have a gleaming silver tray to place it upon. "'Tis what you requested, m'lady."

With a tight expression, she broke the red wax seal and read the document... very slowly. Nay, she was reading it twice.

"As you can see, my 'member' and every other part of me is healthy."

"One moment." She passed into her sitting room and opened a box on the table. He followed. She withdrew another document and compared the physician's signatures.

Damn her. She did not even believe him. When would she begin to trust him?

"Now you're thinking I forged Doctor Ellis's signature? I am not a liar, Angelique. If I said I went to the physician, I did. He examined me head to toe. You can ask Rebbie and Dirk if you need further witnesses."

Angelique's cool green eyes assessed him.

"Shall we meet in your chamber or mine tonight?" he asked.

"Neither."

His temperature blazed. Rage clawed its way up his chest, near choking him. He'd known she'd somehow try to get out of it despite giving her word and signing a contract. He was known to have a very balanced temperament but she destroyed his patience. "Your word means naught then!"

"Your contract does not say when I am to spend the night with you. And I will, but after the second ceremony. I am glad you are healthy in every way, but I am not yet ready to... do this. We should get to know each other better first."

Remain calm, he told himself over and over. "The night of the ceremony you will be in my bed. And every damned night thereafter."

Deep breath.

She did not respond, merely stared at his doublet. If she feared him, his anger certainly wouldn't help matters. Why couldn't she be reasonable?

"Angelique, I risked my life to get you that ridiculous signed document. I ken you wish Kormad's arrow had gone through my heart instead of Dirk's shoulder. What would you do then? Do you think you can lead these men and this clan by yourself? Do you think they can protect you from Kormad with me out of the way? Nay. You would either be married to him or dead yourself. That's how ruthless he is."

Tears glistened in her eyes. "I am glad... you were not hurt," she said in a tight whisper. She turned and fled the room, disappearing into her chamber.

Entering his own sitting room, he slammed the door, picked up an iron candelabra and flung it against the stone wall. The loud clang reverberated. "Iosa is Muire Mhàthair!" Damn the ice in her heart. He dropped into the chair behind the desk. Several more days until their second wedding ceremony.

He had never worked this hard to get a woman into bed, and this his own wife—something he had never wanted to begin with. He knew marriage would be disaster for him.

She hated him. That was it. She did not want him, and was completely immune to his charms. Witch!

Still, he yearned for her. Each time she made the challenge more difficult, he got even harder for her.

Slamming the door on his way out, he strode downstairs. Not only had his wife declared war on him, so had his neighbor. Now he had to meet with the other clans in the surrounding area to make sure Drummagan alliances were strong. If Kormad wanted a feud, he'd get one.

***

Two days later, Angelique's additional trunks arrived from London, including her trousseau and wedding gown. In her chamber, she took out the pale blue French lace and silk confection and spread it upon the bed. "Exquisite," she breathed, then gathered it to her with reverence and pressed her nose to the folds. Her mother's perfume lingered upon it.

I miss you, Maman.

Her mother had given her the gown in France five years ago. Angelique remembered clearly the sound of her mother's rich voice, as if she now spoke in her ear. "I was so in love with your father when I wore this to marry him," she'd said. "We met at King James' court, at Holyrood Palace. Everything was so elegant. I was a young girl, not much older than you are now, filled with hopes and dreams." Her mother's wistful smile had turned bittersweet. "My dreams were shattered but that does not mean yours have to be, Angelique. Each woman must find her own happiness in her own way. I soon learned your father did not love me in the way I loved him. That is why you must choose your husband very carefully. Do not fall in love with him until you know he loves you. Do not marry a Scotsman because they are barbarians and know nothing of feelings."