"I see I shall have to fire my guards for allowing such vermin inside the gates." Lachlan captured her hand and pulled her toward the solar. "I will speak with you in private, wife."

Angelique's heart sped along. Mother Mary, help me. What would he do?

In the solar, he slammed the door behind them. "What were the two of you discussing?"

"Nothing of importance." Her head throbbed with sudden pain as she tried to remember every word she and Philippe had spoken.

"Plotting against me?" Lachlan demanded.

"Of course not, my laird." She backed away from his stalking advance.

"My laird," he mimicked. "You only call me that when you're hiding something. What is afoot?"

Her hands trembled and she could not think what to say. In his anger, he was irrational, like most other men, believing he had a right to his paramours, while she could not even have friends.

"Why is he here? What did he say to you?"

"I do not know why he's here and he said nothing."

"You are lying, madame! I heard part of your conversation. I understand French, remember?"

Mon Dieu. She was in trouble. What would he do, beat her? Force her to leave?

"In case you've forgotten, Angelique, he said something about an annulment or divorce. Then he said, 'You were forced to marry him against your will. I have friends who will help us.' Help you what? Are you thinking to leave me?"

Her shallow breaths rushed in and out, making her lightheaded. "No. I told him I would not do it."

"I didn't hear you say 'no.' You said, 'what friends?'"

"Before that, I told him no; it was too late."

"Tell him to leave or I will throw him out!"

She hated it when he became domineering, ordering her about. This was her home since she was a babe, not his. "Non."

"What?" he growled. "You're on thin ice, madame."

"No thinner than you are, monsieur. Locking your lover in the tower! This is my home. My friends are welcome if yours are. You had Eleanor come here."

"Wrong! I didn't invite her."

"You would not even tell her to leave; I had to. And I still don't know if you slept with her last night."

"I did not." His jaw hardened.

"How do I know? She said you did. It is your word against hers. Neither you nor she is reliable."

He blew out a laborious breath and tried to cut her down with his glower.

"You are a man controlled by your sexual appetite," she said.

"There is naught wrong with that! As I recall, your own sexual appetite was healthy last night, when you climbed on top and rode me as if I were a pony. Finally making use of your paid stud."

A furious heat inflamed her face. "You are no gentleman."

"What has that to do with it? I speak the truth."

Her thoughts were so mixed up, she could not think what she wanted to say next.

"Tell him to leave," Lachlan ordered. "I don't trust the puny bastard."

"Do not call Philippe a bastard. You are the bastard."

"Why do you defend him? I know you don't love the weasel!"

Angelique stood obstinate. How dare he tell her who she loved or didn't?

"Do you?" he asked.

"Mayhap."

"Very well, then. Take him to your bed! See if I care!"

"I will!" Angelique strode from the room, heat raging through her blood. She would pay Lachlan back for his cheating ways.

She found Philippe, looking sheepish and afraid, in the corner of the crowded great hall. No one seemed to notice when she slipped her arm through his and escorted him up the stairs. She would show Lachlan she was not afraid of him and that she would not obey his every snarl. She would call his bluff. If he could have lovers then so could she…or at least pretend to.

***

"I don't care," Lachlan muttered as he stormed blindly out of the castle. Angelique could have her wee laddie if she wanted him that desperately. "This is a damned sham of a marriage anyway. Unfaithful, scheming, thorny bitch!"

When he reached the stables, a strong emotion struck him—battle rage, bloodlust. He turned on his heel and strode back through the great hall and up the stone steps, seeing no one and nothing save his destination. Fire pounded through his veins. He felt strong enough to topple a stone tower.

"Lachlan?" Rebbie trailed after him.

"Not now. I'm killing vermin." He drew his sword.

At Angelique's sitting room door, he used all his strength to kick the solid oak. The door swung back and hit something. He charged in. "If he lays a damned hand on you, I shall slice the bastard limb from limb!"

Angelique stood by the fireplace alone. Where was the whoreson?

Someone scuttled out the door behind him. He turned to see the retreating red cloak.

"Coward." Lachlan sprinted after him.

"Lachlan!" Angelique tailed him. "He did not touch me."

"You don't wish me to kill your lover?"

"He is not my lover! You dolt." She yanked at the plaid on his back but he did not stop.

By the time Lachlan reached the courtyard, Philippe was running for the open gates.

"Damned whoreson."

He hated the victory he saw in Angelique's eyes. It took all his strength to keep from throwing her over his shoulder and carting her back upstairs to give her a sound thrashing on the arse. She sent him a haughty look and disappeared back inside.

He motioned two of his guards forward. "Follow that lad, seize him and put him in a cell below," Lachlan said in a low voice. "Don't hurt him or let anyone know you've captured him. I'll question him later."

"Aye, m'laird." The guards mounted up.

Lachlan returned to the great hall where a couple dozen pairs of curious eyes watched him. He gave a brief bow. "Carry on." He took the stairs two at a time to Angelique's room. The sitting room door stood open. Her bodyguards remained at their post, staring into space as if Lachlan wasn't a mad fool. Aye, he knew he was, but he didn't care. Angelique was his wife and he wouldn't be sharing her. He knocked at her bedchamber door. "Angelique?"

"Go away!"

After she'd barred the door on him last night, he'd decided he would have no more of that and had removed the plank of oak when she'd gone down for breakfast.

He lifted the latch and pushed. Something sat before the door—a trunk—which he shoved out of the way.

"I will not speak to you, monsieur."

"Aye, you will and be glad for it."

"You, sir, are jealous!" Angelique gave him her back.

He slammed the door, placed the trunk before it again, and advanced toward her. "I am not jealous! I am your damnable husband. No man who is married to you will have a pleasant life. 'Tis a certainty."

"Merci. Nor will any wife of yours."

Grasping her waist, he turned her to face him and pressed her against the nearest wall. Taking her chin in his hand, he stared at her lips, lush pink. He would not share them. "Did you kiss that bastard?"

"Oui," she said through clenched teeth.

"Liar." Lachlan crushed her lips beneath his, forceful, driving. A second later, she bit him.

"Och! Like biting, do you?" He nibbled her lower lip, caught it between his teeth, but not hard enough to draw blood. Fiery emotion burned in her darkened eyes, just as arousal burned inside him.