Lachlan glanced back at Angelique, standing on the castle's entrance steps. So regal, she looked like a queen in her golden gown and bejeweled headpiece. Meeting her eyes, he winked and her skittish gaze darted away. Was that a blush?

He wanted to lick her head to toe and stay in bed all day, exploring every inch of her perfect body and each facet of her cunning mind. He would never grow tired of her. That realization struck like a punch to the stomach. God's blood! How could he know such a thing? He had no answer for himself; he simply knew. Facing forward again, he imagined the next time he'd get her alone.

"What the devil's so amusing?" Rebbie asked.

"Naught is amusing at the moment." Still, Lachlan couldn't hide his daft grin.

Dirk leaned toward them and whispered, "He's calf-eyed."

Lachlan scowled. "I prefer the word 'happy.'"

"Och. St. Andrew, deliver us," Rebbie muttered.

"This is an important and serious ceremony," Lachlan said. "And deserves my undivided attention."

"Aye. So stop staring at your wee wifey and pay attention."

"You blather on too much."

Lachlan tried to forget about Angelique and focus. He had been present at his brother's inauguration deep in the Highlands five years ago. The Drummagans had a similar tradition. He just hoped the pyramid of rocks, built to symbolize his elevated position as leader of the clan, didn't collapse once he sat on the chair atop it.

The Protestant minister said a prayer. Heckie, the Seanachaidh, recited the Drummagan genealogy back to the 11th century, then Lachlan's ancestry to the 12th century, which the older man had to learn from Lachlan in only a few days. Heckie then delivered a newly written poem in Lachlan's honor.

And he was honored. He still could not believe his great fortune in receiving a title, becoming chief of this strong clan and marrying Angelique.

Though last night had surely been bizarre as wedding nights go, it was unforgettable. He had to make sure tonight was better for her, and hoped she had stopped fighting him.

As for the Girard outlaw, he had seen neither hide nor hair of the whoreson. And they couldn't discern where the goblets had come from.

***

On her way to the great hall for midday meal, Angelique strolled along the dim corridor, passing servants and other clan members. She had not been close to Lachlan all day and must now sit beside him to eat. A sudden fit of nerves seized her stomach. What if he made mention of last night, either to her or to his friends? She would die of mortification. Yet, in another way, she looked forward to being near him. Too much. She could not let herself enjoy him and his charm too much.

"I am to take Lady Eleanor a tray of food," a female whispered.

Eleanor?

Angelique stopped and turned. "Wait."

The servants froze. "M'lady?"

"What did you say?"

The young servant lowered her timid gaze and curtseyed. "I have been instructed by Laird Rebbinglen to deliver a tray of food to Lady Eleanor, Countess of Wexbury, in the south tower bedchamber."

A hot torrent of fury raged through Angelique. "What is she doing there? When did she arrive?"

"I…I don't know."

Ignoring the fact she was supposed to be in the great hall for midday meal, Angelique continued along the corridor, toward the south tower. She would find out what the putain was doing here. Obviously, Lachlan knew of her presence if Rebbie did. But why had no one told her? Why had Lachlan allowed Eleanor to remain here? Angelique was afraid she knew the answer to that, though her heart railed against it.

A tall, burly guard, covered in thick leather armor and with a sword at his side, stood before the chamber portal.

"Unlock this door," she said.

"M'lady." He bowed. "I've been told not to."

"What do you mean? I know Eleanor is in there."

"My orders were to not allow you or anyone inside."

"Me? Who did your orders come from?"

"Laird Rebbinglen, m'lady."

"You do not work for Rebbinglen. You work for me."

"With all due respect, m'lady, Laird Rebbinglen said his instructions came from your husband."

A chill settled into her blood. "My husband?"

"Aye. His lairdship. No one is to enter or leave this chamber except for them or the servant who brings food."

Her icy rage spread. She would strangle someone—Lachlan. "Let me in or I shall relieve you of your duties. Your pay comes from my coffers."

The guard squirmed for a moment. "I must ask his lairdship."

"No. Now!"

"God help me," he muttered, unlocked the door and opened it.

Eleanor rose from the window seat. "Thank the heavens…" Her smile fell. "Oh, Angelique."

She forced herself to step inside the room. "What are you doing here? I do not recall inviting you."

Eleanor pressed a bejeweled hand to her huge bosom covered in rich fabrics, pendants and pearls. "What a horrid way to greet a friend."

"You are not my friend. You covet my husband."

Eleanor smiled—no, it was a malicious parody of a smile. "And I've had your husband. You are fortunate indeed."

Angelique felt as if she'd been struck down the center with a poleax. What did Eleanor mean? She'd had Lachlan since their marriage? She'd slept with him here?

"Oh yes, little Angelique. He is indeed an impressive specimen of a man, so seductive and commanding, is he not? Last night was breathtaking."

"You are lying," she managed to say in a seething whisper. Eleanor had to be lying, didn't she?

"Am I? Then how do I know the counterpane on his bed is green and that his window looks out over the courtyard and that a tapestry depicting Flodden hangs on his wall."

That bitch. "I shall kill you." She flew at Eleanor, her hands aimed at her throat. Before she made contact, someone grabbed her from behind and lifted her from the floor. She kicked and elbowed the male who restrained her.

"Angelique. Calm yourself." Lachlan's voice was a growl in her ear.

She redoubled her efforts to damage him bodily, her elbows and feet flying and bashing. But he carried her squirming from the room, down the stairs and along the corridor to the solar.

He kicked the door closed behind them.

"Let me go, you bastard!" she said in French.

"Not until you calm yourself."

She stilled, but inside a death pain sliced through her. "I knew I could not trust you. I knew men like you could never change."

He released her and she spun away from him, backing toward the opposite wall. Her eyes burned; her throat ached. No, I refuse to cry.

"I have done naught," he said, his tone defensive, hateful eyes glaring.

"Do not lie. I know you had Rebbie lock her up for your pleasure. So I would not know she was here."

"Rebbie locked her up to keep her out of my rooms."

"Because you cannot keep yourself away from her?"

"Nay! I have no interest in her."

"She was in your bedchamber last night!"

"But I wasn't there at the time. Rebbie found her, and that's why he removed her and locked her in the tower."

"You knew she was here before that, did you not? If what you say is true, why did you not send her away?" She could barely force the words out, hating her own damnable weakness and emotion for this bastard.

"I was planning to, but I forgot about her this morning."