"Mmm." Thrusting in and out gently, he gradually went deeper each time.
She cried out. "Lachlan."
"Aye, Angelique. Are you liking that, then?"
"Oui."
Still fully inside her, he wrapped an arm around her below her breasts and lay down on his side, taking her with him. He aligned her back to his chest and breathed into her ear, nibbled on it. She made wee whimpering noises between those breathy French words. Just listening to her made him want to drive in harder. But he must not.
He stroked his hand from her breasts downward to brush over her mound, then lifted her leg.
As he thrust, he sucked at her earlobe and stroked her in a circular motion. Mindless, she cried out and pushed her hips back against him, meeting each thrust. Damnation, she fired his blood, made him want to take her with more forceful movements.
"Lachlan!" she cried out when her climax overcame her. How he had dreamed of that.
"Aye, you're so beautiful, lass." He held her tighter as pleasure exploded through him. He growled, relishing the way her body caressed his, milking him of his seed. Long seconds later, he regained his breath and kissed her neck, realizing each time with her was even better than the last. How was this possible? Usually he grew bored with a woman after a few times, but with Angelique, he grew more intrigued, more drawn under her spell with each bedding.
He turned her about to face him. His lips against her forehead, he drew her close and they rested, relaxing in the firelight, he knew not how long. He only knew he was happy and content, at home.
A knock sounded at the door, awaking him from a light doze.
"What is it?" Angelique asked in French, her voice groggy with sleep.
"I'll go see." He arose and covered her. After putting on his long shirt, he opened the door a crack.
"M'laird, Rebbinglen wishes to speak to you," one of Angelique's personal bodyguards told him.
"I'll be right out," Lachlan said, then closed the door. He returned to the bed, kissed Angelique on the cheek and picked up his plaid. "Rebbie wants to talk to me about something. I shall be back soon."
"It is late."
"Aye."
She remained silent while he dressed.
"You wish me to sleep here tonight?" he asked, observing her for reaction.
"Oui," she whispered in a vulnerable tone.
An aching thrill twisted through his chest. "'Twill be my pleasure." He gave her a lingering kiss on the lips.
Though he did not want to leave the room, he had to. Rebbie wouldn't interrupt them unless it was important.
He found his friend in the great hall with Dirk and one of the guards who had followed Philippe to the inn.
"Come." He escorted them to the solar and closed the door. "What news?"
The guard spoke first. "M'laird, the French lad did indeed go to the inn and meet with a richly dressed lady. We sat close but could hear naught of what they said. They whispered and drank wine. Later, they retired to separate rooms for the night."
"Now, tell him the most interesting part," Rebbie said.
"We stayed in the common room a while to see if either of them left. They didn't, but another man came in. A man with only one arm. This one was also a Frenchman—we figured out by his speech—but a more finely dressed one. Considering the way the proprietor bowed and coddled to him, we figured him of noble blood."
"Did you get a name?" Lachlan asked, almost holding his breath.
"No, we only heard his title mentioned. Comte. Count."
"God's teeth. 'Tis Girard, I'm certain of it," Lachlan said. Angelique's terror sliced through him again. He could only imagine the pain she suffered at the bastard's hand and body when he'd raped her. Lachlan should castrate the whoreson. "Our first priority is to protect Angelique. My concern is he will try to kill her or kidnap her. Why else would he be here?"
Rebbie and Dirk nodded.
"Anything else?" Lachlan asked the guard.
"Nay."
"I thank you. Excellent work. I will see you on the morrow."
When the guard left, Lachlan spoke to Rebbie and Dirk in a low voice. "You must not repeat this, ever, to anyone but you must know why Girard is so dangerous to Angelique. Do you swear?"
"Aye." Both men waited with troubled gazes.
Lachlan hated to even say the damnable words. "Girard raped her."
"Nay. The bastard," Rebbie growled.
Dirk's expression changed to lethal iciness.
"Aye." Lachlan said. "And I hope he gives me a reason to kill him outright." They knew what he meant. He had never killed a man in cold blood, nor would he ever, but his rage over this was intense and he yearned for justice. "If Girard tries to approach Angelique, I take that as leave to kill him. I protect what is mine. Girard will never lay a finger on her again. Before first light, we'll leave for the inn."
Chapter Thirteen
A soft tap sounded at Angelique's bedchamber door. Her first thought was that Lachlan had returned. But no, he would not knock.
"Who is it?"
"Me." Camille stuck her head in.
"Enter." Angelique sat up in bed, the sheet and counterpane covering her breasts.
Her friend closed the door with a snap. "Well, I see you have been thoroughly bedded. Is he a skilled lover?"
Angelique's face burned. "Do not ask such a question." She could not discuss the profound things she and Lachlan shared. No words existed, in French or English, to adequately describe the astounding sensations and feelings he provoked within her. Too conflicting—wicked, yet divine. What she should find abhorrent was instead amazing and wonderful.
"I knew he would be by the way he moves…and the way he looks at you."
Angelique wanted to ask how Lachlan looked at her, but she already knew—with sensual, dark and lingering interest. His eyes communicated his sexual thoughts clearly. She shivered.
Camille sat by the fireplace, stirred the coals and added more wood. "He also seems very just and fair."
"I suppose." Angelique could not help but remember the silly games they'd played and how Lachlan had manipulated the outcome to suit himself…and her, too, if one considered the pleasure she received.
"Not only just, but almost lenient," Camille went on. "Though I feared he would kill Philippe in the dungeon, he released him instead."
A shock went through her. "Why was Philippe in the dungeon?"
"Oh, you did not know? He had Philippe held for a short while, went to visit him—I suspect to question him—then released him, free as a bird. Not many men would do that after someone tried to lure their wife away with suggestions of divorce."
"Sacrebleu! When did he capture him? I saw Philippe leave and run through the gates."
"After your ruckus, with all the chasing and yelling. What a lovers' spat that was." Camille giggled.
"Please tell me what you know."
"Lachlan had someone bring Philippe back. I suspect you were here being seduced at the time."
"That bastard!" She shoved herself toward the edge of the bed. "He manipulated me."
"As I said, he was lenient with Philippe; he did not harm him."
"He withheld the truth from me!" Angelique yanked her smock over her head, then slid on her wrap. "He promised to keep me informed about everything." And worst of all he had imprisoned her friend.