The second man, Lord Chatsworth, half English, half Scottish, was old enough to be her grandfather. Likely he would not live long. He might not even survive the wedding night. When his eyes met hers, he licked his cracked lips and gave her a toothless grin. She grimaced when she imagined one moment of his attentions.

The third man, the Highlander. He was not difficult to look at. In fact, once her gaze landed on him she felt compelled to keep staring, taking in each detail of his appearance. A crisp, white linen shirt beneath a dark green doublet fitted flawlessly over his wide chest. A green, blue and red tartan kilt was belted above his narrow hips and the top portion of the plaid secured over his left shoulder with a silver brooch. The basket-hilt of his sword gleamed at his side.

Mischief danced in Sir Lachlan's eyes and he smiled more than any man she'd ever encountered. Indeed, he had even, white teeth. More importantly, he had not displayed any true anger toward her, despite her resistance to marrying him. He had an easy-going manner the other two men lacked. Perhaps he would be simple to command. Once they married, he would likely grow bored with her and return to London for more adventurous pursuits, leaving her to run her estate alone. Exactly what she wanted—a marriage in name only with an absentee chief.

"Très bien. I choose Sir Lachlan MacGrath," she said in what she hoped was a strong voice.

The grinning scoundrel winked at her. She wanted to kick his bare shins.

"Splendid, my child," King James proclaimed.

Her future husband stepped forward, the two disappointed suitors glowering after him. Lachlan helped her stand and kissed her gloved hand. "I thank you for choosing me, m'lady. Don't worry, I shall protect you," he whispered. Leaning close, he sniffed. "You smell lovely. What is that, rose water?"

Her eyes burned. Likely they were hideously red and swollen. But she did not care whether he found her attractive or not. And what was he talking about—protect her from what, or whom? The only thing she needed protection from was his lascivious ways…unless Girard had crossed la Manche. No, he would never come to England, if he still lived. He had too many enemies here.

"You two shall be married four days hence," King James said. "The Archbishop of Canterbury is granting a special license."

All bowed and curtsied before the monarch as his courtiers escorted him from the room.

The baron of Kormad approached, his eyes blacker than jet and his face flushed above his beard. "Sir Lachlan, Lady Angelique, I'm wishing you both well. We'll be neighbors and I'm sure we'll oft be seeing each other in Scotland." He bowed.

Angelique's stomach knotted at the malevolence emanating from him.

"Kormad." Lachlan extended his hand.

Staring down at Lachlan's hand, Kormad stilled for a moment, then turned and stalked away with a stiff posture.

"I'm thinking we shall see trouble from him," Lachlan whispered. "He appears to be coveting his neighbor's future wife."

"You mean his neighbor's future estate and title. He cares naught for me." And neither will you.

"Come, let's talk." Lachlan offered his elbow.

"If you insist."

Her fingers surveyed the well-developed muscles beneath his sleeve. She could not recall touching such a large, solid arm before—like iron. Ma foi! I do not find him nor his arm appealing! She loosened her grip.

Though she had to marry the goat, she did not have to like him.

They strolled through two lavish rooms and out into one of the gardens. The odor of the nearby Thames kept the air from being pleasant. Now mayhap she could leave London for the clean country air. Though she hadn't been to Scotland since she was a child, she remembered the air had always been fresh at Draughon Castle.

She brushed by the mint sprawling onto the cobblestone path, releasing its fragrance. Warm sunlight beamed down upon them, gilding strands of Lachlan's tawny hair.

His arm tensing, he glanced about in all directions.

"Is something amiss?" She released him.

He stopped. "I thought I heard something." After a moment, he turned to her. "You're in danger, mademoiselle. From Kormad. You must not say anything about it. And you must never be alone for a moment. He is planning something."

A chill coursed through her. "How did you learn of this? Did he say this to you?"

"I heard him talking with his men. Have you a guard you trust?"

Feeling completely alone and exposed, she shook her head. She and Camille had been protecting each other since the year before. This was no different.

"I shall speak to Buckingham about it. Once we're married, I'll guard you myself."

She appreciated the solemn look in his eyes. She would never trust him to be faithful, but perhaps she could trust him to fend off Kormad.

"Merci."

"Have you any inkling why your father didn't wish Kormad to succeed him?"

She felt shamed in how little she knew of her father and his wishes, but she could not be at fault since her mother was the one who'd taken her away. "I only know they did not get on well."

Lachlan nodded, scrutinizing her until a wave of discomfort warmed her face. "I wish you to know, Lady Angelique, I only have the best of intentions concerning you, the estate and the title. And I thank you again for choosing me."

Her heart sprang up with his gallant words. But, in truth, he was trying to steal his way into her affections. The intimate murmur of his voice, the way he lowered his lashes against the sunlight, his mere presence, all contrived to charm her, seduce her into believing he was the noblest of men. But she knew differently.

"King James already made his decision. I had no choice in the matter because I am a woman. You have pleased the king and so he gives me to you, along with everything that is mine. I am but an object to be owned."

Lachlan frowned. "I don't see you that way at all. You are a lovely lady who deserves only the best."

"We are to be married. There is no need to pay courtship to me with your silver-tongued compliments."

"I am not—" Irritation glinting in his eyes, he glanced away. "Never mind."

She immediately regretted her harsh words. After all, the man had offered to protect her from danger, but he was being paid handsomely for his services—a title, an estate. Still, he could be a lot worse. He could be Kormad or Chatsworth or Girard. All bastards.

"I'll never lie to you," Lachlan said. "You cannot trust me now and that is fine, but in time you'll see."

"You are a man who cannot control his baser urges. I do not want a husband who will make me a laughingstock."

He sent her a brittle stare. "What are you speaking of?"

"Lady Eleanor." The name turned her stomach.

"Aye, you caught me with her, but I was not betrothed to you then."

"And you were with Lady Catherine the night before."

He appeared a bit sheepish for a moment, glancing away. But then his dark gold gaze found her again, challenged her. "Indeed, but I hadn't met you yet, in either case. How can you hold that against me?"

"Now that we are betrothed, do you suppose you are instantly a different person?"

You will always want many women, a different one for each night perhaps. I will never be enough for you. Her eyes burned and she stared at the lacey handkerchief in her hand. What did she care? She did not want him touching her anyway.