Angus looked up at the swallow’s nest in the rafters, but the bird was not there. “Has there been any word from her brother yet?”
“No news, but I sent five men out to hunt him down, so one of them should be able to discover something. It might take a while, that’s all. In the meantime, I’m extracting all kinds of interesting facts and opinions from Onora. She’s an easy flirt and a fountain of information about Kinloch, and the people in the village.”
Angus wiped the towel over his face again. “Do you ever feel like you’ll burn in hell for using her like that?”
Lachlan chuckled. “Nay, because she’s using me, too. She’s quite the seductress. And it’s not as if I’d ever bed her.”
“Just keep your wits about you.” Angus wiped at his arms. “And don’t forget your first priority—to maintain a strong defense. Position the most reliable men at the battlements and keep sending out the scouts.”
“I’ve got it all under control.”
“Has anyone been out yet this morning?”
“Not yet.”
“I’ll go myself, then.”
Lachlan regarded him keenly. “Are you sure? Don’t you have a pretty young bride waiting in your bed?”
“Aye, but she took advantage of me last night. I need to refill my well.”
Lachlan threw his head back and laughed.
***
A short time later, Angus strode across the rooftops to check on the sentries. He looked toward the horizon, then went to the kitchen, grabbed an apple and crunched into it on the way to the stables. He told the groom to back off and mind his own business while he saddled a horse for himself, then departed from the castle through the main gate.
Galloping fast across the bridge, he relished the hollow sound of the hooves clopping over the planks, then trotted across the dewy field to the forest. As he delved deeper into the wood, the dappled shade cooled his body, and he stopped a moment to breathe in the fresh scent of the pines and listen to the sound of fast-rushing water nearby. A squirrel chattered overhead.
He was pleased to be home at last, after two years on a distant, windswept island. He felt at peace here—something he had not thought possible for himself. Not in this lifetime. Yet here he was.
At the same time, he knew that if he was going to maintain control over Kinloch, he would have to be exceedingly careful. He could not allow himself to become distracted by a beautiful wife. Until Gwendolen’s brother was found, the possibility of an invasion would be a constant threat. Angus would have to stay focused and remember why he married Gwendolen in the first place—to improve relations between his clan and hers and provide stability at Kinloch.
He also needed an heir, and for that reason, he would continue to bed her. It was his duty, and he would fulfill it. With luck, the fires of his lust would diminish over time and these persistent thoughts about her would fade. Perhaps when she was with child, his passions would cool.
But she was not with child yet…
Turning his mount back toward the castle, he wondered if she was awake and imagined how she would respond if he slid back into bed beside her. He galloped through the wood, hungry for her body, and failed to notice the MacEwen clansman who was crouched low in the bushes, watching him with sharp and vigilant eyes.
***
After a record number of days of sunshine, it rained buckets in the Highlands for a month. Despite the wet weather and muddy terrain, the Kinloch scouts continued to scour the surrounding forests each day, and the sentries paced back and forth on the rooftops, providing security against the threat of attack.
Angus placed his trust in Lachlan, his devoted cousin and competent Laird of War, and poured a great deal of energy into the important task of providing Kinloch with an heir.
He and Gwendolen spent the afternoons indoors, ignoring the weather outside and alternating each night between her bedchamber and his.
“Has Lachlan always lived here at Kinloch?” Gwendolen asked, late one morning, as they lay naked in Angus’s bed with a fire blazing in the hearth. His chamber was warm and they were cozy beneath the covers. Angus lifted his head on the pillow to look down at her, for they were at opposite ends of the bed. She was resting her head on the footboard. He was massaging her feet.
“Aye. We grew up together,” he told her. “We used to compete in everything. I was a faster runner, but he had better aim with a musket.”
“What about swordplay? Which of you prevailed?”
“We were equally skilled, and to this day our sessions almost always end in a draw.”
She rubbed her toe over his shoulder and down the length of his arm. “How many of these scars did you get from your childhood competitions with Lachlan? Surely they were not all earned in battle.”
“I’d wager more than half came from friendly fights, when one of us was not paying attention, or was too drunk to be wielding a weapon in the first place.”
