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.
But he did not deserve such bliss. He'd lost her estate, and he would not pursue his husbandly rights again until he'd earned them by reclaiming Draughon.
***
Mid-morning the next day, Angelique opened the bedchamber window a crack to better see the view of the snow-covered Highlands. Bright sunlight gleamed off the white mountains and the shimmering loch reflected the blue sky, near blinding her. Tiny bits of ice and snow still flickered through the air. What a stark difference to the Lowlands of days ago.
It was a long way back to Draughon. Lachlan and several more men planned to leave two days hence. Imagining Lachlan being injured in a battle so far away from her wrenched her inside. What if he were to be killed and she never saw him again? She may as well die, too.
In the snow-whitened barmkin far below her, Lachlan stood talking to his brother. Secretly, she savored the sight of him. She had awakened this morn to find Lachlan sleeping in a chair by the hearth. He hadn't forced himself into bed with her—his bed, in truth. She was the outsider here. She felt vulnerable with a hundred questions hovering. How did he truly feel about her? She prayed he could learn to love her.
A woman, her belly large with child, ambled though the gates below. The lad of about five or six years broke away from her and ran to Lachlan. He picked him up, hugged him, and threw him over his shoulder like a sack of grain. The child's laughter was sharp in the crisp air. His older son, surely.
Alasdair walked away and the pregnant woman approached Lachlan. Angelique tensed, waiting for an emotional blow. But Lachlan didn't touch her, even after he set the lad to his feet. He merely talked to her in a low tone for several minutes. He dug into his sporran, took something out and gave it to her. Coins. Dear Lord, that woman was carrying his child. Again.
Nausea rolling in her stomach, Angelique closed the window and pulled the thick curtain over it, making the room dark again. Who had she married? A man who wanted a harem? Angelique had done the most idiotic thing on earth and fallen in love with her rogue husband.
Several minutes later, she sat before the fire when Lachlan opened the door and entered the chamber.
"Are you well?" he asked.
She could not look at him; it was too painful. "Oui. Why would I not be?"
"Gwyneth said you were resting. I thought you'd be asleep."
"I do not take naps," she snapped, then realized she sounded like an irritable child.
"What's the matter?"
Her stomach knotted and a bit of her pain and rage crept out. "So, you are to be a father yet again?"
"What?"
"I saw you talking to her." She motioned toward the window.
"Och. Nay, the bairn she carries is not mine. I haven't been with her in years."
"Did you give her money?"
"Aye. For my son, and her. For clothing, food."
"And, of course, you have plenty of money now." She felt bitter and hateful even as she said the words. But it was true; he'd married Angelique for her money and estate.
He remained silent for a long moment. "Would you have them starve or wear rags?" His tone was not angry as she'd expected, but resigned.
She did feel sorry for them, other victims of Lachlan's irresponsible escapades. "Of course not." But did that mean her money should provide for them?
"I am bringing my sons home with us soon, once we have Draughon back."
"What?" She felt as if he'd struck her. Her gaze flew to him and his determined expression.
"Aye. I miss them. Kean's mother was killed. He has been living here at the castle. Alasdair and Gwyneth provide excellent care for him, but I want to care for him. Both of them. I've never had the opportunity before. You wish me to be responsible, so I will be. I want to be."
She admired him for that. Still, for her to instantly be a mother of two children—her husband's bastards—what would people think of her, accepting them so easily? "You decide without even asking my opinion."
He moved to the mantel, stared at something upon it for several moments. "They will love you. And you will love them if you give them a chance. They are but innocent children. They have done naught wrong."
Tears burned her eyes and she stared at her lap. She knew that; she would never blame them for Lachlan's misdeeds.
"Kean asked me if you are a princess."
"Heavens. I do not know how to take care of children."
"We shall hire a nanny. 'Haps we will need one soon, anyway."
When she forced herself to look at him, he winked. Everything was a jest to him, was it not?
"Will your older son's mother not mind if you take him away?"
"Nay, 'twas what she was talking to me about. She fears she cannot watch after him once her new bairn arrives. Orin's a wee rambunctious, and gets into scrapes, as I oft did as a lad. But you don't have to worry; he listens to me."
"He looks so much like you." Indeed both his sons did.
"Aye, 'tis true." He smiled with affection. With love. He could love his children, but not her. She felt beyond ridiculous being jealous of her husband's sons.
"Angelique." He stepped in behind her and grasped her shoulders in his big strong hands, caressing deeply into her tense muscles. "I'm hoping you can understand. I'm sorry for my past, because of you. Because I ken it bothers you. But I'm not sorry I have children. Can't you see? They are like treasures to me."
She bent forward, trying to escape his hypnotic touch, trying to hide the emotion in her eyes.
He came around in front of her and knelt, took her forearms into his hands. "Angelique. What's wrong? Tell me."
She shook her head.
"When we have children, I will love them as much."