The redcoats were greeted cordially by Lachlan MacDonald and a few other MacDonald clansmen, who took charge of the horses and led them to the stables. The soldiers were taken into the hall, while Lachlan escorted Colonel Worthington to the North Tower.
Gwendolen’s heart began to pound. What would happen when the colonel spoke to Angus? Would he take her side, and command Angus, under order of the King, to restore Kinloch to the MacEwens? Or would he recognize Angus’s right to rule Kinloch and inform him that he had learned of the invasion from someone inside the castle walls? Worst of all, would Angus discover who had sent the dispatch?
Chapter Ten
Gwendolen sat in her private chamber, feeling as if she were waiting to be escorted to the executioner’s block. Every sound outside her door caused her to jump, as if it were the ominous approach of the hooded axe man. By the time someone actually climbed the stairs and knocked, she had worked herself into such a state of anxiety that she kicked over a stool in her haste to answer the door.
Standing outside in the corridor, it was—as she had expected—the conqueror of her clan, looking grim.
He had not visited her chamber since the night he carried a candle into the room, woke her from her dream, and joined her on the bed. She experienced a flash memory suddenly—of his body pressed tightly to hers, his mouth on her neck, her legs wrapped around his kilted hips—and shivered with a mixture of sexual arousal and fear.
How strange that she would think of such things now, when there were far more pressing matters to worry about—like the fact that in his hands, he held the letter she had written to the English colonel at Fort William.
Angus’s eyes were cool and mistrustful. Not knowing what to expect, and feeling guilty and convicted before he even spoke a single word, Gwendolen invited him inside, while her stomach turned over with dread.
He entered and glanced around the room, as if looking for more evidence of treachery, then glared at her directly. God help her. He knew she had sent the letter. She had broken her vow to him, and may have cost him his ultimate triumph.
“You have something you wish to say to me,” she said, deciding it would be best to confront the issue head-on.
She glanced down at the small rolled parchment in his battle-scarred hands, which was tied with a black ribbon that had come from her own dressing table, and felt transfixed by the sight of those long fingers. He ran a bruised thumb along the length of the dispatch.
“Did you write this?” he asked.
She knew she had to say something, but couldn’t seem to find her voice.
His eyes lifted, and a muscle flicked at his jaw. “Didyou?” he repeated, causing her to jump.
Gwendolen strove to remain calm. She looked him in the eye and nodded, for she certainly couldn’t let Mary take the blame for it. The poor girl couldn’t even read. This was her own doing, and she would claim full responsibility.
Bracing herself for the oncoming storm of the Lion’s wrath, she wondered if he would beat her. Or drag her to the prison.
He looked down at the dispatch again, and she was forced to stand and wait, while he decided what to do with her.
Slowly, he moved to the window and stood with his back to her, saying nothing for the longest time. Gwendolen grew more desperate to explain herself. She wanted to apologize, because she had indeed broken her word, while he had kept his side of the bargain. He had not harmed or mistreated her, nor had he robbed her of her virginity before marriage. He’d treated her mother with respect as well, and had permitted her to keep the jewels that once belonged to his own mother, years ago.
As much as it shocked and pained Gwendolen to admit it, Angus the Lion, savage warrior and sworn enemy of the MacEwens, had been merciful.
“You lied to me,” he said at last, in a low voice that made her wonder if those days of mercy and kindness were over.
“Aye. But if you will let me explain—”
“Do you think you deserve that opportunity?”
“Please, Angus—”
He faced her and took a very long time to consider her appeal. “All right,” he said at last. “I’m listening.”
Somehow, she managed to speak in a steady voice. “I sent it the morning after you invaded Kinloch and claimed me as your wife.”
His eyebrows pulled together in a frown, but she forced herself to continue.
“Please understand that I was afraid of you and I felt a responsibility to my clan. Kinloch belonged to the MacEwens. My father had been dead only a month, and already we had lost it. I didn’t know what to expect from you. All I knew was that you were a ruthless warrior and you claimed me for your own political gain, and I am still unhappy with your tyrannical methods and the life you have forced upon me, without ever asking.”
He eyed her with his usual menace, and she spoke even more passionately while stepping forward.
“Angus, you are a warrior. Surely you cannot blame me for fighting for my freedom and what belonged to my family. It was my father’s greatest achievement, and now that he is gone—becausehe is gone—Kinloch means everything to me. I was only trying to save the people of my clan from your cruelty.”
She stopped herself, realizing she had just insulted him. But there was no other way to put it. It was the truth.
