"Of course," she muttered. Whether or not he was involved with a woman hinged on a split second decision and how lecherous he was feeling at that moment. "You could have told me…about your sons." She felt defeated somehow. Lost. "I know you are only telling me now because we are going to Kintalon, where I'm likely to run into them. What if we hadn't? Would you have ever told me?"
Chapter Sixteen
The next evening, snow flew through the gray gloaming as the sweet sight of Kintalon Castle and its ancient towers appeared in the distance, the loch beside it like dark glass.
"Thanks be to God," Lachlan murmured, warmth spreading through his chest. He hadn't realized how badly he missed home.
He'd let Angelique down in a big way, but he intended to take possession of Draughon again. He would not be defeated in this. His stomach knotting, he glanced back at her, shivering in the blankets. Damnation, he had to be a much better husband to her.
"We're almost there," he called out, the icy wind carrying his words away.
A half hour later, they rode through the village and approached the gates. Upon recognizing him, one guard unlocked the gates while another ran for the castle—to notify his brother, no doubt. Their party passed through into the empty barmkin where a lone torch flamed, lighting the snow-strewn cobblestones.
His dark-haired, smiling brother emerged from the tower and advanced toward them. "Lachlan! You barely made it by first snowfall."
"Aye." After swinging down from his horse, he shook Alasdair's hand, but then pulled him into a brotherly hug.
Dirk and Rebbie dismounted and greeted Alasdair, whom they had met years before. Lachlan lifted Angelique down from the horse and wrapped an arm around her, sharing some of his warmth. She felt perfect next to him and he'd sorely missed her touch. "I'd like you to meet my wife, Angelique, countess of Draughon. Angelique, my brother, Alasdair, earl of MacGrath."
"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.