"Enchantée, monsieur. Lachlan has told me much about you." She curtsied.

Alasdair bowed and kissed her hand. "A pleasure, m'lady, and congratulations on your marriage."

Dirk helped Camille dismount and Lachlan introduced her as well.

"Come inside. The snow grows heavy. A lad will see to your horses." Alasdair urged them toward the castle entrance. "Lachlan?" He hung back at the door.

Lachlan allowed Angelique to slip from beneath his arm and continue inside with the others. "Aye?"

Snowflakes lit on Alasdair's black hair, while his dark eyes gleamed with both curiosity and happiness. "When you wrote to me of your marriage I could hardly believe it."

"'Twas unexpected, to say the least. I must talk to you in private as soon as possible. I'm afraid this isn't a social call."

Alasdair nodded, clapped a hand onto his shoulder and ushered him up the steps.

"Did you wed Gwyneth?" Lachlan asked.

"Indeed." Alasdair gave him a broad smile. "I'm not letting her escape me again."

"I'm glad. Congratulations to you as well."

In the great hall, the smiling faces, warmth and light from the hearths, and the scent of fresh baked bread and mutton stew held a homey, welcoming appeal.

Gwyneth rushed forward, her middle a bit thicker than it used to be and Lachlan wondered if the next earl of MacGrath had already been conceived. Lachlan smiled and kissed her cheek. "Gwyneth, good to see you. Please meet my lovely new bride, Angelique. Angelique, my sister-in-law, Gwyneth."

"'Tis a pleasure, madame." Gwyneth curtsied as did Angelique. "I'm sure you're all frozen to the bone. Come, warm by the fire. The servants will bring food out in a few minutes. And rooms are being prepared. I'm so glad you've come."

Angelique watched in amazement as Lachlan continued to greet his grinning clansmen, all of whom shook his hand heartily or slapped him on the shoulder. Some of them teased him mercilessly. His arm around her, he proudly introduced her to all of them.

"I'm going to talk to Alasdair for a few minutes about the Draughon situation." He kissed her forehead and disappeared down a corridor. That brief affectionate action disoriented her for a moment, taking her back to those times she missed, of sharing his bed.

"You must be exhausted. Let's sit." Gwyneth escorted her and Camille toward high table, not far from the blissful heat of the fireplace. Servants bustled about, setting out food and drink. Gwyneth fussed over her and Camille as if they were a couple of children, serving their stew and pouring ale. "Whilst the men talk about…manly things, we shall eat." Gwyneth's aristocratic English accent stood out as unusual among all these Scots, and Angelique wondered how she'd met Lachlan's brother.

A lad of about six approached Gwyneth. She pulled him close and introduced him as her son, Rory. After a shy greeting, he scampered away to play with a group of children.

Gwyneth smiled. "We were so surprised and pleased to receive the missive about your and Lachlan's marriage."

Angelique wished she could be as pleased, but at the moment she didn't know what to think or feel. "Our marriage was as much a surprise to me. Arranged by King James, you know."

"I never thought Lachlan would marry," Gwyneth said.

"He probably should not have." Sacrebleu, why had she said that? Now everyone would know they were unhappy.

Flushing, Gwyneth frowned slightly and picked at her berry tart.

"Pray pardon. I did not mean to say that." The tears which had threatened for days now flooded Angelique's eyes. The exhaustion, fear and confusion finally overcame her.

"I must beg your pardon. I did not mean to upset you," Gwyneth said.

"Do not worry over it, my lady," Camille insisted, patting Angelique's arm. "It is only that Angelique and Lachlan have had a dispute."

"Forgive me. I didn't mean to pry." Gwyneth's worried gaze shot to the opposite end of the great hall. Angelique turned.

A young lad of about three or four sat atop one of Lachlan's broad shoulders. The child had the same smile as Lachlan. Blond hair. It was eerily like seeing a tiny version of Lachlan.

"One of his sons," Angelique whispered. Though she knew about them, seeing one in the flesh was like a blow to her vitals. Forcing herself to breathe normally, Angelique found her gaze would not leave her husband and the lad, engaged in boisterous horseplay.

Lachlan held him upside down, the child laughing so hard he could scarce breathe. And Lachlan looking happier than he'd been in a while. Games. That was all he knew. He was more child than man, himself. And then she recalled the games she'd played with him in the bedchamber, the risqué version of hazard. Yes, he was a man full grown then. She had so enjoyed the play, but that was a thing of the past.

"I'm very tired. Would you mind if I lie down?" Angelique asked.

"Of course not. I'll be right back." Gwyneth hastened across the room and said something to Lachlan. He nodded, his gaze flying to her as he set the lad to his feet.

Gwyneth returned. "Please, follow me, both of you, and I will show you to your rooms."

Lachlan trailed behind at a distance, up the stairs to a dimly lit corridor. Gwyneth opened a door. "Lady Angelique, this is Lachlan's room and yours. Camille, your room is further along." The two women continued on.

Angelique paused, refusing to look at her husband when he drew near. "I wish a separate chamber," she said, needing to rest and release some of her emotions. She could not do that in Lachlan's presence.

"I must protect you, so we need to sleep in the same bedchamber," he said in a low, rough voice.

"It is but an excuse."

"Call it what you will. I'm your husband and we share a room, even if I do sleep on the floor."

"The floor. I agree with that." One part of her wanted to hurt him viciously as he had done her, while another part rebelled at the thought of him lying on the floor. No, that large poster bed with blue hangings of fine velvet was his.

He urged her inside the chamber and closed the door behind them. A thick white candle sat lit on the mantel and a cozy fire flickered in the hearth.

"That was one of your sons," she said.

His sharp, dark gaze shot to hers. "Aye."

"He appears to be a small replica of you."

Lachlan's lips lifted a bit. "Indeed. I hope you'll want to meet them."

Her mind felt overcrowded, too many thoughts and feelings squeezed into it. "Perhaps. But right now I'm exhausted. Would you mind if I rest alone for a while."

"'Tis exactly what you need." Lachlan turned down the covers and fluffed the pillow. "Would you like me to bring you anything else? Food, drink?"

"Non. Merci."

"Well then, I'll return in a short while. I'll be in the library with Alasdair should you need me."

A knock sounded at the door. He opened it to Camille, bowed and showed himself out.

Lachlan strode away from his own bedchamber, the one he'd slept in most of his life, feeling as if it was no longer his. He had let Angelique down in so many ways. Mayhap those people who believed he would amount to naught were right. Maybe he was not capable of handling the responsibility given to him; maybe he had no potential at all.

"God's blood," he muttered. He would not be defeated in this. He would get Draughon back if 'twas the last thing he accomplished.