“Never expected, that’s the trouble,” the armorer said, no doubt always prepared, but apparently not alarmed. “Without the protection of the Garter knights, I want everyone in the party, even the bishop, to be ready if ambushed,” he said soberly. Then he nodded toward Ursula. “What about the other lass?”
Lachlan laughed. “That sorceress?” he said, pointing toward the healer. “Don’t arm her, she may put an arrow through my heart.” He clutched at his chest.
Rosalyn couldn’t hold back her giggle. How dramatic.
The armorer didn’t appear amused, but gestured to Lachlan to follow him and the two riders moved on.
Rosalyn was grateful for the interruption and pleased for an easy way to rid herself of Lachlan for now. After securing her bow to the back of her saddle, she slung the quiver over her head and settled the leather strap on her left shoulder feeling prepared. She was a good shot and was more secure about the journey ahead. Now, what to do about Lachlan? She needed a foolproof plan.
It wasn’t long before the trumpeters on the parapets interrupted her inner plotting. Once the revelry was complete, Lord Hailes led the bishop to a grand, roofed wagon drawn by four massive chestnut destriers. Three of the bishop’s men followed him to the wagon and the others joined on horseback. The priests no longer looked placid, for they were now equipped with breast plates and swords.
As she scanned those gathered at the portcullis gate, she confirmed what she’d suspected. Everyone, even Ursula, was now armed.
Lord Hailes climbed part way up the parapet steps to rise above those assembled, then raised his hands in the air and addressed them.
“Holy men, lords, and ladies, a missive from Windsor arrived this morn from the realm’s king-at-arms announcing only a few Garter knights are en route to Berwick for the Golden Rose transport. Most have been called by King Henry to Warwickshire to protect his brother from a Yorkist uprising.”
“God save your king and his brother,” Bishop Passarelli called out.
Lord Hailes nodded. “Thank you, bishop,” he answered with a slight bow toward the holy man. “I shall send you off to Edinburgh with our retired knights and volunteers today, but will direct the Garter knights to Edinburgh after they arrive.”
The bishop raised his hands. “Thank you, Lord Hailes. With God’s speed, we leave you.”
The restless horses stomped, pawed, and made snorting noises in response, then the bishop turned away and followed his three men into the grand wagon.
When the group began to move, Ursula rode up beside Rosalyn, her eyes wide and full of questions. Before the healer opened her mouth, Rosalyn held up her hand. “I know what you are thinking, but it was Ethan who drank our concoction, not Lachlan.”
Ursula’s mouth gaped as the truth sunk in.
Rosalyn decided it was time to share her thoughts as the group began to file over the drawbridge and the two women’s horses fell in line with them forming a caravan on the trail toward Edinburgh. She might not have another private moment for some time.
“Ursula, I didn’t use all the potion,” Rosalyn admitted, tapping the wooden flask strapped to her leather belt. “Given another chance with his wine, there should be plenty here to make him sick enough to turn back.”
Ursula grinned wickedly. “Then all is not lost,” she said, her eyes sparking with mischief. “I, too, had another plan after seeing Lachlan arrive and sent a missive to my love.” She glanced about making sure their conversation was still private, but she lowered her voice anyway. “Asking him to rendezvous with us. To escort us to the king ahead of this group.”
“Are you sure your messenger will find him?”
“I cannae be certain he’s even in his village,” she said with a detached gaze toward the horizon.
If Rosalyn could, she would have hugged her friend. “I’m grateful,” she said, her throat thick with emotion.
The healer’s eyes became clear again and full of warmth. “Anything for a kinswoman. Anything.” Then she nodded. “Keep that poison at the ready.”
Chapter 8
As he rode behind the bishop’s wagon on the well-traveled path to Edinburgh, Lachlan remained befuddled by the blessing.
Still, he was happy to ride along as a protector with sword and shield rather than as a prisoner with ball and chain. No doubt he’d make a much better impression with the King James in that fashion, too.
Lachlan adjusted his arse in his saddle and slowed his horse to fall further back in the procession. He relished knowing he’d have time over the next two days to make some important decisions.
As much as he hated being Nicholas Luttrell’s son, there were traits he’d inherited that seemed unshakeable, such as his obsession with land, lying when it suited him, and buying his way out of trouble. At the moment, his father was obsessed with Fyvie Castle and Lachlan had been willing to lie to get it. He knew a judge could be bribed, but could a king?
While mulling over how to influence King James, Lachlan noticed he’d dropped back far enough to join Ursula, who rode alongside Rosalyn. His focus shifted to the most important decision he’d make this day: Who would warm his bed and massage his aching muscles after the long ride?
When he turned to the healer and flashed her one of his twisted, naughty grins, she ignored him. He grunted, frustrated by her cold rejection. Might the fiery redhead riding beside Ursula be more receptive?
Looking past Ursula to the Highland lass, Lachlan caught Rosalyn’s eye, and she shyly returned a grin. Lachlan’s smile deepened as he recounted how he’d charmed Rosalyn into a kiss more than once.
Charisma. That’s one thing he had that his father didn’t. Lachlan chuckled as he pondered his love of wooing the ladies. He never saw himself as the marrying kind, now or ever, because there were so many willing women out there to conquer. And Rosalyn was certainly worth pursuing, despite her sharp tongue and hatred of the English.
But Rosalyn could wait. Lachlan wanted one more go at the dark-haired sorceress.
“There’s my beauty,” he called over the head of his horse toward Ursula. He reined in his destrier close to her palfrey. Ursula and her horse snorted in sync.
“I am not your anything, Lachlan. If I had my way, you’d be gone.”
“What do you mean by that, my love? Would you place a dagger in my heart while I slept?”
“Your dagger was more than an eyeful last night when I ordered you out of my bed,” she snapped, then bit off an oath.
“Your bed?” Lachlan laughed. “As much as I’ve fantasized about joining you there, I’ve yet to be invited.”
“You invited yourself. Don’t toy with me, Lachlan.”
He scratched his beard with a gloved hand absentmindedly. What was she talking about? “Toying with you is always my business, but you know I’ve never pushed you beyond that, my love.”
“You shan’t lie your way out of this one, Lachlan,” she said as if condemning him to hell. “I have a witness.”
“A witness to me lying in your bed? What was I wearing?” he asked, one corner of his mouth tugging his lips into a curve beyond his control.
“I shall not give you the satisfaction of describing your disgusting behavior. Rosalyn was there,” Ursula said with a nod to her companion. “Ask her.” And with a final grunt of disgust, she reined her horse away from Lachlan and led her palfrey into a canter. That left Lachlan behind in an uncomfortable spot with Rosalyn. It also confirmed his suspicion that his brother had no intention of winning the bet fairly. Why would it be any different now than when they were boys and Lachlan was blamed for their mother’s death?
Squaring his shoulders, he shrugged off the emotions of the past and the brother who treated him as an enemy. He turned to the Highland lass, as sparring with her gave him great pleasure.
Unfortunately for Lachla
n, though, the man-at-arms rode up beside them and signaled the group to stop for some rest. Before Lachlan could offer Rosalyn his companionship, she spurred her palfrey and pushed past him to follow Ursula.
Lachlan remained determined to pursue Rosalyn as he made his way to the designated grove. But as he dismounted his horse, the bishop stepped out of his wagon and waved him down.
“Lachlan, my son,” the bishop said, holding his side and walking stiffly toward Lachlan, “I need your assistance. Lord Hailes believes me to be too old to ride, yet I grow old riding in the wagon with my priests.”
Bishop Passarelli looked exasperated and Lachlan understood his frustration. “Perhaps one of the women will trade places with you,” Lachlan offered, then nodded toward the woods. “I see Lady Rosalyn is taking a walk. Mayhap I can convince her to ride in the wagon.” The Italian’s eyes twinkled with happiness as Lachlan added, “She may be just as grateful for the switch.”
Lachlan turned on his heels and watched Rosalyn walk her palfrey into the dense forest. He had an excuse to follow her, but wondered why she hadn’t tethered her horse.
Glancing about, Lachlan noticed that food preparations were underway and no one apparently cared about anything else. Free from scrutiny, Lachlan walked his destrier down the same path Rosalyn took, being careful not to step on the bracken and make noise. He followed Rosalyn for a few minutes as the path narrowed and became more difficult.
Was she going to escape?
Walking in front of his horse now, and holding his right hand high to keep the branches from swatting his face, Lachlan stopped when he spotted a sizable cross trail ahead.
A short cut?
Squinting into the sun with his hand still raised to shield his eyes, Lachlan realized Rosalyn had traveled around the main trail and would be ahead of the group if that was her plan. Before he could decide whether to stop her or join her, a young lad jumped from an overhanging branch onto the path, blocking her.
Rosalyn screamed.
The lad made his intention clear. “Give me your coin, your jewels. Now!” he shouted as he stood in the center of the path and waved a thorn-covered mace.
“I have none of those things. I’m a prisoner, escaping,” she answered in a shrill, loud voice.
Lachlan was close enough to know that Rosalyn was in danger. He quickly secured his horse to a nearby tree and with sword drawn, inched his way between the shadows toward the standoff.
“Then I’ll have your horse, if you have no wealth,” the lad growled, giving the animal a good smack on its rump and sending it toward Lachlan. “And I’ll have you for my pleasure. Take off your clothes.”
Slowly Rosalyn reached under her skirt as if to comply. She surprised Lachlan when she drew out her dirk.
At first, he thought Rosalyn might succeed when she charged forward with the dagger and a rebel yell. But the attacker easily knocked the weapon from her hand with a swift kick.
When the attacker belted his mace and moved toward her, Lachlan knew he had to act quickly to save her. Luckily, that’s when Rosalyn’s palfrey reached him and he saw her bow and arrows attached to the saddle. He sheathed his sword and grabbed the other weapons.
Sprinting quietly along the edge of the path, Lachlan aimed an arrow at the attacker as the distance between them shrunk.
“You will not deny me, woman,” the attacker yelled, stripping the top of her dress to her waist and exposing her breasts. Rosalyn screamed, covered her chest and fell to the ground, leaving Lachlan’s target open.
Breathing hard, Lachlan stopped and drew the bow’s twine tense against his cheek. The arrow quivered in the bow’s nook, waiting. Aim. Ready. Release. The arrow soared from Lachlan’s grasp with a high-pitched whine and struck the attacker in the back with a solid thud. The man staggered, groaned and fell to his knees, then toppled onto a sobbing Rosalyn.
Lachlan dropped the bow and raced to Rosalyn. “Love, are you all right? Your guardian is here,” he said while he rolled the dead man off her.
“Ursula?”
Lachlan laughed. “You must have taken quite the fright to think I am Ursula.” His heart softened as he gazed down at her windblown red tresses and dirt smeared face. A trail of tears streaked down her cheeks.
“Can you stand?” he asked, extending a hand.
She nodded, drawing her cloak to cover her torn dress with one hand while she accepted his help with the other. He tried to turn his eyes, but he couldn’t as he caught a glimpse of her soft, pale breasts and rosy peaked nipples.
“How? Where? What happened?” she asked, gazing at him like a mysterious wood nymph.
Lachlan removed the brooch from his cloak as he spoke. “My love, I promised to be your guardian, and when I noticed you’d left the group alone, I followed you . . . in case you needed protecting.” He used the brooch to secure her cloak around her neck.
Rosalyn examined Lachlan’s handiwork with the jeweled brooch. He had turned the cape into a coat.
“Brilliant,” she said.
“Me?” he said, holding her gaze.
She blushed. “Well, I must thank you, of course,” she said, ignoring his question, but appearing grateful.
“This was a long way to travel for a lady’s reprieve and privacy.”
“Was that what you were after? A peek at my privates?” she asked, eyes flashing.
He felt heat rise up his face. “Never, my lady. I was far too distant to interrupt any private moments. Close if needed. And needed I was,” he said, bowing slightly. “But you must know I heard you back there.
“Aye, scared for my life.”
“But didn’t you claim you were trying to escape?”
She laughed nervously. “You do nae understand. I would have said anything to save myself.”
Chapter 9
Rosalyn breathed a sigh of relief. What had seemed so simple had gone so very wrong. She was grateful to Lachlan for rescuing her. Inside, she was still rattled to the core, wanting nothing more than to hightail it back to Berwick Castle. Even the dungeon appeared safer now than the highway.
But as they walked back to retrieve the horses, she put up a brave front, chatting about how she had been searching for a river or stream, not realizing she’d strayed so far from the safety of the group. It was an all-out lie, of course, because Ursula had planned to meet her at the short cut, and together, they’d intended to sneak off from the group to join Ursula’s beau, Joshua, somewhere on the trail.
Still reeling from the attack, Rosalyn reviewed their plan and realized escaping had been a horrible idea.
When Lachlan and Rosalyn walked back into the impromptu camp, a few travelers waved, but no one seemed suspicious of their return from the woods. Lachlan’s handiwork kept her torn dress well-hidden. He offered to help her find another dress, but she declined, assuring him she was fine and promised to find Ursula.
After securing her horse to a tree, she nearly jumped out of her skin wen Ursula appeared at her side.
“God’s teeth, you startled me.”
“Shh, keep your voice low,” the healer warned. “What happened? Why did you return with Lachlan? Did he follow you and force you to come back?” Ursula’s litany of questions sounded like an inquisition, but Rosalyn could sympathize with her friend’s anxiety as she stood waiting for answers with her hands on her hips and eyes bulging.
“Wasnae anything like that. He saved me from being raped and left for dead.”
Ursula covered her mouth in horror, her eyes filling with tears. “My sweet girl. I shall kill the bastard myself if he hurt you.”
“Nay.” Rosalyn blew out the word as if it had been blocking her throat, the emotions gushing out. “It was horrible. After the attacker ripped my dress down to my waist, Lachlan shot one of my arrows through the man’s heart. He fell dea
d on top of me.”
Ursula gasped. “Come, we must get you changed. I’ll ask the bishop’s guard if we can borrow the wagon. Tell him it’s women’s business. I’m sure he’ll agree.” Ursula turned her head in the direction of the man-at-arms as he made the final call. “Let’s hurry,” she said, looking wild-eyed and ready to run.
Holding her arm tightly, Ursula ushered Rosalyn across the gathering space. Then, after negotiating with the guard at the wagon, she herded Rosalyn into the back of the cart like the last sheep, clicking her tongue and pushing her arse.
“You spent too much time on your father’s sheep farm. Stop prodding me,” Rosalyn complained as she gathered her skirts and stepped into the bishop’s inner sanctum of the grand covered wagon.
Rosalyn gasped in awe as she gazed at the various books, soft gold-and-white floor pillows, and assorted rosaries within the room. Her eyes were drawn to the ceiling as the healer pointed above.
“Lavender, fenugreek, and sage,” Ursula said with a tinge of surprise in her voice. “Fenugreek is not found in England or Scotland.” Ursula sounded impressed and appeared ready to poke through the bishop’s belongings if Rosalyn didn’t get the healer back to the task at hand.
“Mayhap when we settle in for the night, you can ask more about these concoctions, but for now—”
“Oh, lass, I shouldnae been so distracted,” Ursula said, refocusing her gaze on Rosalyn’s makeshift coat. “I’ll be back in a moment with a new dress for you,” her friend promised and rushed past Rosalyn in a fury and out the back of the wagon.
Feeling safe again, Rosalyn thought back to the moment the attacker ripped her dress. She slid down to her knees among the soft pillows and rested her head on one without realizing it.
Content in the bishop’s sanctum, she fought back tears. She knew if Lachlan had not been there to save her, she would have been raped. How lucky she was that he had followed her, no matter what his reason. Even if it was to spy on her, or who knows what else, he was an honorable and brave man to have killed the attacker. In the Macpherson family, when someone saves your life, you are indebted to them until you return the gesture. That would complicate things, for the very man she had attempted to poison had saved her life.
The Golden Rose of Scotland (The Ladies of Lore Book 2) Page 6
