My Wild Highlander by Vonda Sinclair

to
be lifted, only the serving maids'. But she was sure he would keep
them busy.
    "You will quickly grow bored here, I fear." I hope . Did she hope or not? What would it be like to lead
her clan alone? To not be able to look upon his arrogant face each
day? A face that—with its square jaw, sensual lips and intelligent
golden eyes—threatened to cast a spell on her.
    "I've never been bored, and I won't be
here."
    "You have never been married before, either.
Have you?"
    "Nay, but I have a feeling our marriage will
never be dull." He winked.
    She hated being an object of his twisted
amusement. He didn't take her seriously. She must remedy that.
"Mayhap I will be the one who is bored."
    His grin appeared, broadened. "That, I
consider a challenge, madame . I would never allow such a
thing."
    "Everything is not under your command or
control." She forced the words out.
    Lachlan moved forward, closer to her but she
stood firm, her heartbeat accelerating. I do not find him
appealing. Not his big, strong body nor his clean male scent. Not
the seduction gleaming in his eyes, nor the smile on his sensual
lips. Though she tried to convince herself these things were
true, her instinctive side would not listen.
    "There are different kinds of control. My own
is very subtle." He bent to her ear and lowered his voice. "And I
wager you will like it." His breath and lips brushed her ear;
tingles raced down her chest. Her nipples hardened against her
corset and she silently cursed them…but they craved his touch, his
roughened but gentle fingertips squeezing them. His subtle control,
his hot breath and wet tongue upon them.
    Ma foi! She swallowed hard and tried
to extract herself from beneath his seduction by turning away. She
licked her lips and noticed they had become overly sensitized, as
if craving… no, do not think it .
    Several paces away from him, she gauged his
reaction. He watched her from the corner of his eye, his gaze
astute and delving.
    She couldn't allow him to perceive even one
small speck of her feelings, nor her uncontrollable and instinctive
yearnings.
    Clearing his throat, he strode away from her.
"I'll be in the great hall…or 'haps outside, meeting some of the
clansmen. I shall see you at supper." He bowed and exited.
    Meeting the clansmen? He was trying to get
ahead of her already, exerting his male power.
    She ran to the door only to come upon two
footmen carrying her trunk, several more servants and Camille
waiting there.
    Parbleu. She must see to them before
she followed Lachlan.
    ***
    During supper, Angelique sat beside Lachlan
at the great hall's high table. She squirmed, wishing this meal
finished. His friends, the king's retainers, the steward and his
wife, along with Camille sat with them. The rest of the clan ate at
lower tables, a loud drone of conversation echoing toward the lofty
ceiling. Angelique couldn't recall half the names of the people
who'd been introduced to her this evening. Some of them, she
remembered from her childhood. With others, her mind drew a blank a
moment after they'd given their names. What was distracting
her?
    She picked at her fish. She'd had no appetite
since her illness on board the ship.
    The way the clan—both men and women—watched
her, flicking covert glances her way when they thought she wasn't
looking, disturbed her. Were they suspicious of her? One woman in
particular—the steward's wife—glared at her. What was amiss?
    She wanted to edge closer to Lachlan's
protective presence, though she forced herself not to. He was more
pleasant to focus on than her clan, and nothing about him escaped
her notice. He had cleaned himself up and changed clothes since
she'd last seen him that afternoon. His voice rumbled in
conversation with the steward, Fingall Drummagan, on his other
side.
    Rebbie sat by her on one side and Camille
next to him. She only caught a few sentences of Lachlan's
discussion as Fingall filled him in on the food and drink he was so
proud of, where it came from