"Aye, they have!" A renewed spark of rage and determination lit within him. He would have Draughon.

"Perhaps we will help each other?" Girard stroked his sleek black mustache.

"In what way? Do you have men to add to my fighting force?" Kormad asked.

"Non. I have only one servant with me and he is not a soldier. I am not suggesting a battle, but something infinitely more subtle."

"Such as?"

"Subterfuge. Someone sneaks into this castle of theirs and destroys them from the inside."

"Aye, I like the way you think. But who would do this?" Kormad asked. A clever idea occurred to him. A distant widowed cousin of his lived nearby. Neilina Lockhart was both beautiful and sympathetic to his and Timmy's claim for Draughon because of their shared hatred for the late John Drummagan. Neilina and his sister Lilas had been the best of friends.

Burnglen's entry door burst open, interrupting Kormad's thoughts.

"M'laird!" MacFie trotted toward him.

"What is it?"

"MacGrath and his men rode by, headed toward the village."

"Well, don't just stand there. Prepare the men!"

***

Wearing thick leather armor, Lachlan, Rebbie, Dirk and five more clansmen entered the low-ceilinged common room of the Breakstane Inn. Lachlan's gaze immediately landed on Eleanor, eating at a table by the window. She sent him a beaming smile and waggled her fingers in a flirtatious wave.

"Och. He is here no more than five seconds and he is summonsed to a woman's bed," Rebbie muttered.

"I'm going to question her. Watch for Girard." Lachlan approached her table.

"Oh, Lachlan, 'tis so nice to see you." Eleanor's voice oozed a sugary sweetness that near turned his stomach. Her gaze traveled down his body. "You appear to be dressed for a wild Scots battle. How exciting."

"If it comes to that."

"Won't you please join me? Oh, and congratulations on your marriage and your new title."

"I thank you." He dropped into the chair across from her. "I understand you traveled from London with Philippe Descartes."

Her smile disappeared. "Well…um…not with him precisely. We happened to be traveling to the same place, but for different reasons."

"Or for the same reason—to come between Angelique and me."

"No. Never." Her pout was even worse than the sugariness.

"Do you know a Frenchman named Girard?" he asked in a harsher tone.

She paled. "I wouldn't say I know him. I have met him."

"Here?"

"Yes, actually. He was here yesterday. I've not seen him today."

"Did he say anything about Angelique or me?"

Eleanor hesitated a second too long. "No."

So she was determined to lie to him. "Did he say why he was here?"

"I only spoke to him for less than a minute. We introduced ourselves. We did not state why we are here."

"And why are you here? Why were you at Draughon?"

"I but wished to offer you and Angelique my congratulations. I thought since we are friends, I might spend a bit of time in Scotland, but Angelique was far less welcoming than I expected."

What a load of horse dung. "Can you tell me anything else about Girard? 'Tis very important."

"I know nothing more."

He gave her a hard, threatening glare. "I think you do."

"I swear to you, Lachlan," she said in an intimate tone. "If I had more information, I would gladly give it to you."

He was wasting his time with her and her lies. He was not prepared to force the truth from her at knifepoint. But even her lies gave him information—Girard was here, he discussed Angelique with Eleanor, and he was likely now putting some plot into motion. "Very well, then." Lachlan stood and gave a brief bow. "I bid you good day."

"Wait! Would you perhaps like…" Her voice lowered to a whisper. "…some company today? I have the best room in this place, which isn't saying much but—"

"Nay. Thank you." He strode away from her and joined Rebbie and Dirk at a table on the opposite side of the room.

"I talked to the proprietor," Rebbie said in a low voice. "Girard is staying here, but he headed out somewhere very early this morn. He is expected to return."

Lachlan's stomach felt as if a lead weight landed in it. "He could be headed to Draughon for Angelique."

Dirk guzzled a hefty amount of ale and lowered the mug. "We didn't pass him on the road."

"If he is going there, he would not wish us to see him," Rebbie said. "Perhaps he traveled another way or hid when he saw our party coming."

"We need to head back. I'll leave a man to watch the inn," Lachlan said.

A quarter hour later, while on the road to Draughon, a flock of birds rose from the copse of bushes up ahead. A flash of steel glinted from among the shadows. The fine hairs on the back of Lachlan's neck stood on end. He motioned for the men to stop.

"They're waiting for us there." He pointed.

All his men pulled out weapons and readied themselves.

"Kormad!" Lachlan called. "I ken you're there."

Nothing, no movement.

Lachlan aimed his pistol. "If you're not there, then it won't matter if I shoot into the bushes."

Before he could pull the trigger, a shot exploded from the bushes and the lead ball whizzed over his head.

"Everyone, back!" He didn't want his men nor his horses injured. They retreated out of pistol range. "Anyone hit?"

A chorus of nays and curses went up.

"Come out and fight like men, you cowards!" Lachlan yelled.

A rustling from behind snagged their attention. Lachlan wheeled his horse about and came face to face with five men charging on foot, swords in hand. He fired the pistol, the lead ball catching one in the upper chest, near the shoulder. The man fell. Lachlan shoved the pistol into his belt and drew a basket-hilt broadsword to deflect the first blow aimed at him. The whoreson looked familiar; he'd seen him on the streets of London when they'd tried to steal Angelique's coach.

Clashes of steel, yells and curses filled the air.

Finally, Lachlan's blade sliced the other man's forearm. He screamed and ran away. Another warrior, wearing full leather armor including a helmet, rushed him. He looked familiar as well… the bald bastard who'd tried to throw Angelique from the ship.

***

"Where is he, Camille?" Angelique stared through the distorted glass window in Camille's chamber toward the empty courtyard, praying Lachlan would ride through the gates on his big bay. "He should be back by now. It is almost noon."

"Will you please calm yourself and sit. He is a warrior knight. Not so fragile as you imagine." Camille's needle slid through the cloth over and over, effortlessly.

"He is a man, vulnerable as any of us." She strode to the other side of the room and back. "Girard is vile and devious. You can never tell what he will do."

"I believe you have fallen in love with your husband," Camille sing-songed.

Angelique snorted. "Nonsense. Just because I worry about his health does not mean I love him." She refused to love him. If she did, then she was the fool.

"What does it mean then?" Camille's blue gaze challenged her.

"It means I worry about my husband's health. I need a husband and he seems best suited for that role at the moment."