Upon entering the library, he found Alasdair by the fireplace, pitcher in hand. "Clarey?"

"Aye, thanks."

His brother poured wine into a pewter mug and handed it to him. "So, you—Seducer of the Highlands—are married?" Alasdair held his own mug aloft.

"Aye." Lachlan clanked his mug against his brother's in toast. "To our lovely wives." He drank a long swallow of the spiced wine.

"I never thought I'd see it." Alasdair smiled.

"Nor I. But I couldn't pass up the king's generous offer. And I had to protect Angelique."

"You like being married?"

"Aye." Lachlan couldn't prevent the grin that escaped when he remembered the few days of bliss he'd shared with Angelique. Making love during the day, or at night. The games. The way they'd laughed together. Would they ever be that close and harmonious again?

"I can see you care for her."

Lachlan nodded, staring down into his mug. His brother didn't know the half of it. But Lachlan wasn't going to enlighten him.

"I've heard a rumor that…you two have had a disagreement."

"Damnation. What did you—?"

The library door opened. Rebbie and Dirk strode in and closed the door back.

"Are we interrupting?" Rebbie halted. "Should we come back later?"

"Nay," Lachlan said. "We're done with that subject."

"I'm not so sure about that, brother." Alasdair grinned.

***

Angelique crept down the dim, deserted stairway and toward the library where Lachlan was to meet with his brother. A chambermaid had been kind enough to tell her the location. Thankfully, Angelique encountered no one along her trek, though a murmur of conversation echoed from the great hall. She'd wished to sleep, but the restlessness would not leave her.

The library door was thick carved oak, but a slice of light escaped a narrow crack around the frame. If she held her head just right, she understood every word from within. The men did not keep their voices down. For a while they talked of the Drummagan clan and the problems at Draughon, then Rebbie mentioned Neilina.

"Who is this Neilina?" Alasdair asked.

"God's teeth, Rebbie. Can you not keep your mouth closed?" Lachlan growled.

"'Tis difficult."

Angelique awaited Lachlan's answer, a sick feeling coiling inside her. Would he admit his guilt?

"She's Angelique's cousin, and Kormad's. She was working for him, spying and trying to seduce me."

"You and your women," Alasdair scoffed.

"She's not my woman, never was. I sent Dirk to meet with her in my place to get information. She didn't even ken 'twas Dirk until after the deed."

"Then what happened?"

"She was furious," Dirk said. "Angelique believes 'twas Lachlan with her because I was wearing his kilt. We tried to tell her, but she still thinks Lachlan is the guilty party."

"Can't say I blame her, given your habits, Lachlan," Alasdair said.

"To hell with you. I've changed my habits."

Alasdair chuckled. "So, you're faithful to your wife?"

"Indeed."

"Does he tell the truth?"

"Aye. He's not near as much fun as he used to be. No more carousing. He but obsesses over the wee lass," Rebbie grumbled.

"Do you love her?" Alasdair inquired in a smooth voice.

In the dark, Angelique could scarce breathe, afraid she would miss the answer. But more, terrified his response would be nay.

"Who?" Lachlan asked.

"Don't be daft. Lady Angelique."

"She is beautiful. I enjoy her. She enjoys me."

"You didn't answer my question."

"You ken I don't get calf-eyed over women."

"Has he gone calf-eyed?" Alasdair asked.

"Aye, that he has," Rebbie answered.

"To hell with you, too. Don't be putting words in my mouth."

"He will never admit it. Do you ken, he couldn't even bed his own wife until she made him go to the physician and get his tarse checked for the French pox."

"Damnation, Rebbie," Lachlan snapped.

The other men let loose an uproarious laugh.

Angelique's face turned scorching. Why had he told them everything?

Lachlan muttered curses. "Well, I'm healthy, officially, and completely free of disease."

"'Tis a miracle," Alasdair said.

"Some brother you are."

"So, how long has she had you cut off this time?" Rebbie asked. "A week?"

"I will not be discussing my intimate relations with my wife with you heathens."

"No lass was ever able to resist him long. So doubtless, his wife cannot resist him either," Alasdair said.

"Even if she wishes to kill him sometimes," Rebbie put in.

"A stormy relationship suits him, I'm certain," Alasdair said.

"Will you bastards cease discussing my marriage like a gaggle of fishwives."

"I think he loves her," Alasdair said in an astounded tone.

"He does. He can think of naught else but her."

"Did I not tell you 'twould happen?" Alasdair asked. "You've been bitten on the arse."

"No one has bitten my arse, I thank you."

"Cupid shot him in the arse," Dirk said.

They guffawed. Angelique fanned her burning face, wondering if what Rebbie said was true—did Lachlan love her?

"You're all daft." The abrupt noise of chair legs scraping across the floor sounded. "I'm going to bed."

"Nay. Come back. We're sorry." More laughter.

"He never could take teasing, though he likes to do it to others."

"His pride is as big as Ben Nevis."

"Will you stop talking about me as if I'm not here? A bunch of lasses, the lot of you. I thought we were here to discuss the Draughon situation. If not, I'm going to bed."

Angelique rushed away from the door and up the stairs. She ran into their bedchamber, closed the door, and jumped into bed, covering her head with the counterpane. Her hands trembled, as did her whole body.

Could any of it be true? Had he been faithful? Did he love her, though he would never admit it?

***

Two hours later, Lachlan entered his bedchamber quietly. He crept toward the bed. Angelique was asleep as he'd expected. Something about seeing her lying there in his bed struck him deep in his vitals. Her smooth ivory skin in the firelight, her flame-colored hair. She was so lovely he couldn't look away for long seconds. Saints! She had bewitched him.

Though he craved her, he would not touch her again until she wished it. He was innocent of the charges she'd hurled at him—innocent for the first time in his life—and he would not grovel at her gold-slippered feet. If she never believed him, never forgave him, he would suffer in silence. As long as he could.

What if they could never make amends? What if she never kissed him again or gave him that rare sweet smile he'd glimpsed a few times during their love-play? He would live in hell, that's what. Emptiness crept slowly over him. His skin ached for her hands on him. He remembered how she'd stroked her fingers down his chest, down his bare abdomen to the sensitive skin on the lowest part of his belly. She'd made him tremble with touching him there, so close to his shaft. Teasing him and making him yearn as he never had.

He grew hard now with the memory.

Releasing a harsh breath, he approached the fireplace and quietly added two more bricks of peat. He dropped into the padded chair and his gaze returned to her. Aye, what he wouldn't give now to strip naked and crawl between those warm sheets with her. Just to hold her.