He could love her children, but not her. How foolish she was to care how he felt about anything. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her hair, her temple. She loved the way he smelled, like soap and musky male, loved the feel of his strong body. He had not touched her in a while; she hadn't let him. But now he felt so wondrous, like she remembered. She wished to wrap herself about him tightly, skin to skin.
"We must have a son to be the next earl of Draughon," he murmured. "Then, we must have a daughter, a wee lass who looks exactly like you."
How could he say such things? As if he might care. As if he wanted a true family with her. Tears pricked her eyes and she pressed her face against his chest.
"Shh." He rocked her and stroked her hair. "We shall get Draughon back. Never fear."
"I hope you are right." Yes, let him believe she worried she would never possess Draughon again, when in truth she feared she'd never possess him.
***
After evening meal, Angelique sat by the fire in the great hall. Lachlan had convinced her earlier to meet his sons. He now brought them forward and knelt between them.
"Kean, this is my wife, Lady Angelique." Lachlan whispered something else in his younger son's ear.
"M'lady." His wide-eyed gaze locked on her, then the tiny lad bowed.
Angelique's throat tightened. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Kean."
The lad beamed at her, his light brown eyes and endearing smile so like Lachlan's it near broke her heart. What an adorable little cherub he was.
"And this is Orin." Lachlan stood and placed his hand upon his older son's shoulder.
"M'lady." Though only five, he gave a dramatic bow as if he'd been practicing a while.
She couldn't help but smile. "Orin. It is so nice to meet you."
Orin did indeed have Lachlan's light hair and facial shape, but his eyes were clear blue.
Kean inched closer to where she sat, staring at her intently. "You're pwetty," he said.
"Merci. I thank you. What a little charmer you are." Smiling, she touched his baby-fine blond hair. He took that as leave to climb onto her lap and snuggle.
With no idea what to talk to such a small child about, she looked to Lachlan for help. The grinning scoundrel only winked. She placed her arms around Kean to hold him, and some emotion struck her she had never felt before—a warm, maternal feeling. She and Lachlan might one day have a son much like Kean, yes, some part of her wanted that intensely.
Outside, in the barmkin, men shouted, giving her a start.
"Stay here," Lachlan said and moved toward the entrance along with his brother and several more men.
Two guards entered and talked quietly with Lachlan and Alasdair.
Lachlan returned to her side. "Kormad, Girard and their men are outside the gates."
Chapter Seventeen
"I never suspected Kormad and Girard would find us," Lachlan said to Alasdair as they donned studded leather armor in the armory. Rebbie, Dirk and the MacGrath clansmen prepared themselves in a like fashion, choosing weapons.
"'Tis better this way," Alasdair said. "We shall defeat them here. On our home sod we shall have the advantage."
"How many men with them?" Lachlan asked.
"About two dozen."
"I hate to see any of the Drummagans killed. I'm supposed to be their chief."
"Aye, but if they ride with Kormad, they're traitors. You don't want a man in your clan who isn't loyal."
Lachlan knew it was true. Still, he'd failed them. Why hadn't the Drummagans trusted him? Why had they turned against him so easily?
Once they had their weapons and targes, they headed outside into the snow and icy wind. Evening descended, casting the barmkin in gloom.
"Hand him over!" Kormad demanded when Alasdair and Lachlan were some twenty yards from the closed iron gates. "He is a fugitive wanted in Perth for murder and rape."
"Trumped up by you," Lachlan said.
One of Kormad's men fired a pistol through the bars.
Alasdair and Lachlan dove for cover behind a wall. The MacGrath archers on the battlements rained down arrows onto Kormad's men. Amid shouts, more pistol shots exploded from both sides. Another volley of arrows flew from above, all landing outside the gates.
"You bastard, Lachlan MacGrath," Girard yelled in French.
The mere sound of his voice lit a fuse of rage within Lachlan. "I shall kill that craven whoreson if 'tis the last thing I do!" He had already told his brother in confidence what Girard had done to Angelique.
"Is he the man with one arm?"
"Aye, she got a bit of revenge. Shot the bastard's arm off."
Alasdair sent him an unholy grin. "Both our wives have a bloodthirsty streak."
"We are fortunate." Lachlan peered from behind the wall and a shot whizzed over his head. He ducked. "God's teeth!"
He lay on the ground and aimed at the whoreson—one of Kormad's hired mercenaries—and fired. The man jerked and howled. Lachlan slid behind the wall again. His comrades fired in retaliation.
Kormad's men shot flaming arrows toward the windows and roof of Kintalon. Good thing Alasdair had ordered all the shutters closed. Moments later, some of the flaming arrows flew downward again from the roof to strike at the men who'd lit them.
"Retreat!" Kormad ordered. The men disappeared from the gates.
Alasdair rallied his men and moments later, they all rode out on horseback, making sure the gates closed behind them. Several guards remained to defend the castle.
"Capture them if you can," Alasdair yelled.
***
Through a crack in one of the shutters, Angelique watched the MacGrath men give chase to Kormad's and even members of her own clan—those who'd turned traitor. In the evening light, she picked out Lachlan's figure; he rode at the head of the men beside his brother. Her stomach aching, she crossed herself. Mère de Dieu, protect him.
She glanced aside to find Gwyneth with her eyes closed, her face white. Then with watery blue eyes, she met Angelique's gaze. "Every time Alasdair rides out on that black warhorse…" Swallowing hard, she shook her head.
Angelique knew. Life was incredibly fragile, even that of a trained, armored warrior. "I am so sorry to have brought this trouble to your clan."
"'Twas not your fault. And I can see you're worried about Lachlan."
"Oui. He takes too many risks. Thinks he is immortal."
"All men do."
Angelique nodded, remembering how Lachlan was a free bleeder and prayed he would suffer no injuries.
A while later, moonlight reflected off the snow and the riders returning, shouting. Hooves clattered on cobblestones in the barmkin. Angelique's pulse spiked. Where was Lachlan? Through the window she could not tell who was who in the darkness, despite the few torches. She and Gwyneth ran down the steps to the entrance.
When Gwyneth opened the thick door, icy cold pierced Angelique's clothing. She had not thought of a wrap or cloak. They peered through the cracked door. The MacGraths unloaded bound men from the horses and shepherded their prisoners toward the far corner of the castle.
"They're taking them to the dungeon," Gwyneth said. "Listen." She let out a breath. "That's Alasdair talking, giving orders. Thanks be to God. There he is with Lachlan." She pointed.
A man with light hair separated himself from the mass of teaming men and horses. She recognized his stride. Angelique whispered a prayer of thanks. In her heart, she now believed he had not betrayed her. She was afraid she had fallen foolishly in love with him. If only he would feel the same.