"You are lying," she managed to say in a seething whisper. Eleanor had to be lying, didn't she?
"Am I? Then how do I know the counterpane on his bed is green and that his window looks out over the courtyard and that a tapestry depicting Flodden hangs on his wall."
That bitch. "I shall kill you." She flew at Eleanor, her hands aimed at her throat. Before she made contact, someone grabbed her from behind and lifted her from the floor. She kicked and elbowed the male who restrained her.
"Angelique. Calm yourself." Lachlan's voice was a growl in her ear.
She redoubled her efforts to damage him bodily, her elbows and feet flying and bashing. But he carried her squirming from the room, down the stairs and along the corridor to the solar.
He kicked the door closed behind them.
"Let me go, you bastard!" she said in French.
"Not until you calm yourself."
She stilled, but inside a death pain sliced through her. "I knew I could not trust you. I knew men like you could never change."
He released her and she spun away from him, backing toward the opposite wall. Her eyes burned; her throat ached. No, I refuse to cry.
"I have done naught," he said, his tone defensive, hateful eyes glaring.
"Do not lie. I know you had Rebbie lock her up for your pleasure. So I would not know she was here."
"Rebbie locked her up to keep her out of my rooms."
"Because you cannot keep yourself away from her?"
"Nay! I have no interest in her."
"She was in your bedchamber last night!"
"But I wasn't there at the time. Rebbie found her, and that's why he removed her and locked her in the tower."
"You knew she was here before that, did you not? If what you say is true, why did you not send her away?" She could barely force the words out, hating her own damnable weakness and emotion for this bastard.
"I was planning to, but I forgot about her this morning."
"Forgot? You expect me to believe such?" How could he forget about the bitch who would destroy their marriage? "You were keeping her for your entertainment between ceremonies and meals and the chore of visiting my bed. And you forbade the guard to allow me inside the tower room. I will have her escorted to the gates. If you are determined to have a paramour, it will not be Eleanor." Angelique stalked from the room, forcing herself to appear strong, though she felt like a windflower tossed upon the ocean…sinking, drowning.
***
"Angelique. That stupid little cow!" Eleanor, countess of Wexbury, waited outside the gates of Draughon with her trunks while her rented coach was brought out. She tugged her velvet-lined cloak closer against the chill Scottish wind. "I will not be treated as a fishwife. I shall have my revenge for this insult, this humiliation," she raved to her maid.
The young Englishwoman wisely kept her eyes downcast. The nearby guards stared straight ahead, avoiding her gaze.
It was the height of rudeness to throw out a peer, a member of the nobility. She would tell everyone she knew about Angelique's ignorance and viciousness.
A quarter-hour later, just as the fat drops of rain began, Eleanor's coach arrived from the stables. "Angelique had best be glad," she muttered and climbed inside. "We stop in the village, at the Breakstane Inn," she ordered her driver. While she sat inside the coach, her servants loaded her trunks then climbed on board.
As they'd passed through that little village yesterday, she had seen an inn which looked acceptable. Since it was about a half day from Perth, it was not too rudimentary. Eleanor was not yet ready to give up the pleasure of having Lachlan one last time…or several more times. He was the most splendid lover she'd ever had and she couldn't stop thinking about him, dreaming of him. He was so young, strong and virile. She didn't know a man could be so appealing, until him.
Thankfully, Eleanor had finally lost her elderly husband to natural causes, a man who'd been thirty-three years her senior, and she wasn't putting off enjoyment of life any longer. Of course, her father had forced her into the marriage with the old earl and she'd had no say in it. She'd endured his repugnant attentions for over ten years and bore him an heir. Now, finally, she could choose which men she slept with.
Angelique could never appreciate Lachlan and his bedchamber prowess as she did. He would grow bored with his unfriendly new wife in short order and when that happened Eleanor wanted to be close by to fill his carnal needs, of which he had many.
She only hoped her associate had more luck in driving the two newlyweds apart. If not, she would pay Kormad a visit. Surely he would help her, if he thought he could get his hands on that estate.
Chapter Eleven
"Damn him." Angelique strode from the great hall toward her rooms. She'd barely held up her façade before the clan during midday meal while her heart splintered. She should've killed Lachlan last night while she had him tied up instead of bedding him. Now that he'd had her, he would pursue someone else. But not Eleanor; she'd made sure of that. Angelique was certain any woman would do, so long as she was still breathing. The selfish, lascivious whoremonger.
It should be a crime, what he did—forcing her to relish the shocking things he'd done to her with his mouth last night. But she was the imbecile for taking him into her body. She feared that act alone had caused her to take him into her heart as well. Or maybe it was the things that came before, the kissing, the sweet murmured words, his hands caressing. Even now, she burned for all those things, no matter that he would never be true.
"Mademoiselle," whispered a male voice in the darkened alcove between the great hall and solar.
She paused. The voice sounded familiar, the accent French. Not Girard…or was it? She backed away. "Qui est-ce?"
"It is I, Philippe." The young man she had once thought to marry stuck his head out.
She rushed to join him. "Oh, Philippe, what are you doing here?" she asked in French.
"I had to see you, mon coeur." He grasped her hands and kissed them. "I love you. You must leave the barbarian."
She tugged her hands away from him, now realizing, though he was indeed her friend, he was little more than a silly boy. "What are you talking about?"
"There must be some way out of your marriage. You loathe him, do you not?"
Loathe? Indeed, she detested many things about Lachlan. Still, he was her husband. She had spoken sacred wedding vows and fully intended to keep them as long as possible. Plus, the marriage was now consummated, thanks to her rash, bold actions of the night before. She glanced behind herself through the shadows to make sure no one eavesdropped, then faced Philippe again. "No, the marriage cannot be undone. It is too late."
"It is never too late. I know some people, friends, who will help us be together. We can go back to France and live happily there. You love France. My father has written to me. He will give me a small estate in the country." Philippe's tone was rather desperate, as was his gaze. She did not like this aspect of him.
"Your father?" Last she'd heard, his father hated him and would not claim him.
"Oui, he is a wealthy nobleman."
"I cannot leave my estate and my clan. This is my birthright and my inheritance. At all costs, I cannot let Kormad claim it."
"But you are a lady. You need not concern yourself with the leadership of an uncivilized clan."