Her lashes fluttered, tickling his nose. "Oh." The sound was no more than a breath from her.

His next contact was lips against lips; she'd turned to face him more. Arousal blasted through him like a trumpet. In an attempt to draw her closer, he almost dropped his sword but managed to hold onto it and slide his other hand around her lower back. And, saints, when her arms encircled his neck, he thought he would die with happiness and lust. She wanted him.

Without a protest from her, he ate at her mouth, nibbled her lips and slipped his tongue between. Her unique flavor drove him mad and he wanted to drown in her. She shyly touched her tongue to his, giving him a pleasurable rise beneath his plaid. Iosa is Muire Mhàthair! He could take her right here.

Footsteps registered in the back of his mind. A shock of alarm smothering his desire, he turned his head abruptly, breaking the kiss. "Listen," he whispered. Faint footsteps receded into the distance, then a door closed.

More silence.

Who the hell was that?

Angelique continued up the steps and he followed, one thing on his mind... nay, three. Another kiss. Undressing her. Dragging her into his bed.

Once they passed through the door, he closed it and pushed from beneath the tapestry. He squinted against the brightness of the candle remaining on his mantel. Angelique replaced the stone in the hearth, and he sheathed his sword.

Despite the danger, his first instinct was to seduce Angelique; she was in his bedchamber, after all. But on second thought, 'haps this was not the best course of action. Every time he'd tried that, she'd become angry and launched into an argument. A slower approach might lead to success. She would let down her guard. Aye, he had to convince her to like him first—and not fear him—then she would want him in her bed every night. He would teach her to love sensuality and sex, at her own pace. She had said she wanted honesty and seduction. He could give her that.

"How will we discover who was down there?" she asked.

"I don't know yet. Leave it to me." Damned if his need for her wasn't overriding his common sense. He could scarcely think at the moment. Celibacy did that to him.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Her gaze communicated warning. His lust must be showing. After a kiss like that, how could she blame him?

He inhaled deeply and tried to change his expression. "Like what?"

After a suspicious glance, she removed the bar from the door. "Bonsoir, monsieur."

"Lachlan," he corrected.

"Lachlan." Her accent caressed his name in a most arousing way. He considered changing his mind about delaying the seduction, but then she was gone, flitting out the door and closing it behind her.

He cursed.

Though frustrated, he thought his new plan might be ingenious. For once he was using his head instead of his... He stared down at his erection, straining to tent the plaid behind his sporran. "Just be patient, lad. Not much longer."

Besides, he should be focused on discovering the identity of the traitor in the passage.

***

The next day, Lachlan again trained with the men all morning but he could think of naught but meeting Angelique in the remodeled solar to go over the books. He had gone daft in truth, calf-eyed, like his brother had been over an Englishwoman the last time he'd seen him. Even the arrival of the Clan Buchanan chief, his family, and entourage could not sway Lachlan's thoughts. He caught himself staring at his beautiful... nay, irritating wife during midday meal, and missed part of the conversation going on around him.

Once the Buchanans were settled into guest quarters for a bit of rest after their travels, Lachlan headed to the solar.

Angelique stood at the edge of the large window, staring out and waiting for him. He wanted to smile but didn't for fear she would become annoyed again. For some reason, she seemed to smile more when he was in a dark mood. Clearly she didn't wish him happy.

"Here you are, Angelique."

She turned. "The sky is lovely today. So blue, and the clouds look like great piles of clean, white wool."

"Aye." He carried two straight chairs and placed them before the desk at the window. Afternoon light flowed in. "But you are lovelier."

Pink colored her cheeks and her gaze skipped away. "Merci." She took her seat and he sat down close beside her.

"You're certain no one can spy on us here?" He drew in a breath of her subtle rose scent, wishing he could bury his nose in her hair.

"No. Before the wing containing our suites was constructed, this was the chief's bedchamber. He had no reason to spy on himself."

"Ah. That makes perfect sense." Of course, he knew what early solars were used for because Kintalon, his clan's castle deep in the Highlands, had a similar structure.

"But my father did have this large window added so he could look down on the grounds and enjoy this view."

"'Tis very nice." Within the bailey walls, several of the servants went about their daily chores below them. Above the green trees, brownish, heather-covered mountains rose in the distance, to the north. That way lay MacGrath holdings and his home, which he had not seen in several months. But… nay, now his home was here, with Angelique. Each day he was growing to love this place more. The landscape here was lusher and the weather warmer than in the more northerly Highlands. The Drummagans had accepted him as their chief, and Angelique was slowly warming to him. Very slowly. Still, he was making progress.

His bare leg below his kilt nudged hers through the material of her skirts. Sparks of sexual awareness ignited within him. He yearned to feel her smooth bare leg sliding against his. Nay, wrapped around his waist… while he stood, pinning her against the wall. Saints! What an image. He had only to be in the same room with her to get hard, but with fantasies like that, his frustration mounted. His tarse thought he had lost all seduction ability.

Angelique drew her leg away. Hmm, maybe she'd felt that spark, too. He opened the account books and turned to the appropriate page.

"Oh, what a beautiful horse!"

Lachlan followed Angelique's gaze out the window to the far left, over a wall. One of the groomsmen led a saddled white horse across the courtyard to the stables.

"You have a fondness for white horses?"

"Oui, I had one in France—Blanche—but had to leave her behind. She was very affectionate and fleet of foot."

As she focused on the horse, Angelique's tender, longing expression arrested Lachlan, for he had never seen that look in her eyes before. In that moment, he knew he would strive to give her anything she wanted.

"I have never ridden a white horse. Too visible at night," he murmured so she wouldn't suspect his intentions. He would find the owner and see if he could buy the horse, or one like it, for Angelique. Though she'd laughed at his expense last night, when he'd had ink on his face, seeing her smile and giggle had been worth it. Her face alight with amusement and happiness did bizarre things to him inside... things he did not understand or want to examine. A horse would be the perfect wedding gift for her; it would make her happy.

"As to the books," he said. "I tried to repair this where I smudged it. You see?"

The horse now disappeared from sight within the stables, she lowered her gaze to the ledger. "It is clear enough."

He explained what each row represented in the way of estate income and expenses.

"That is a lot of expensive Italian Vernage." She pointed to the figure.