The Golden Rose of Scotland (The Ladies of Lore Book 2)

by Marisa Dillon

  Lachlan laughed at Ethan’s feeble attempts. “Would you be giving your brother a bloody nose before his betrothal?”

  Ethan growled after he pinned Lachlan on his back, reminding him of the days when they were bairns, before mother died. She’d have separated the two by now.

  “A black eye would be even better,” Ethan grunted out as his right fist swung close to Lachlan’s cheek. But Lachlan arched his back at the right time and ducked away from Ethan’s flailing arm.

  “Fitting, from the Luttrell twin with a black heart,” Lachlan retaliated. And in an instant, he managed to roll Ethan to his back. Straddling his brother’s chest gave him control now, but Ethan didn’t let up and swung his fists, punching at Lachlan’s stomach.

  Finally, Lachlan caught his brother’s right wrist after an awkward swing, then flipped him onto his stomach, pinning him to the fancy flooring.

  A little winded, but pleased with himself, Lachlan was grinning over the small victory when a knock came at the door.

  In less than a heartbeat, the bishop strode into the room, taking a shocked step back after discovering the melee on the king’s floor.

  “The guards heard some unusual noises coming from here. They suggested a fight. But I waved them off and told them they were wrong.”

  The bishop stared at their awkward positions and after a long pause asked, “Were they wrong?”

  Lachlan gave the bishop a sheepish grin as he released his brother and climbed to standing. He extended his hand to help Ethan up, but the idiot slapped his hand away and rolled up to sitting.

  “What do you think, Father?” Ethan asked, groaning as he climbed to his feet on his own.

  “A man of God never judges, he leaves that to the Almighty,” the bishop answered, his eyes twinkling. If there was anything Lachlan could count on in the days since he left Berwick-upon-Tweed, it was the almost perfect nature of Bishop Passarelli.

  “Let us pray,” the bishop suggested, tenting his hands and closing his eyes.

  Lachlan complied with an inward sigh, wishing he’d had a chance to cause his brother some physical pain. Instead, he hung his head and closed his eyes, anticipating the bishop’s efforts to try to make them a functioning family.

  “Dear Lord, I have before me identical twin brothers, Ethan and Lachlan. Even though I have not known them long, I know them well. Both proud, ambitious young men, competitive to a fault, but brothers in the eyes of their countrymen and in the house of God.”

  As the bishop continued with good intentions, one moment Lachlan was struggling to focus on the prayer and the next he was biting his tongue to keep from screaming out loud while his black-hearted brother ground the heel of his boot into the top of Lachlan’s bare foot.

  Now, with eyes wide open and a heart filled with fury, Lachlan shoved his brother hard. Laughing when Ethan landed with a thud back on the floor. But the bishop did not falter. With a serene expression and eyes still closed, he soldiered on.

  “And Lord. Even though they struggle with mutual respect, and don’t show any outward signs of affection toward each other, I know you can help them regain their family loyalty and honor.”

  When the bishop opened his eyes, Lachlan plastered a serene and compliant expression on his face. After glancing sideways at Ethan, he wondered what his brother would do now that he’d regained his footing.

  Relief filled him when he was greeted by a similar sideways calm expression from his brother. As if rehearsed, they both tipped forward in a bow, with their hands clasped together in prayer.

  Lachlan spoke first. “Thank you, Bishop, for your blessings and prayers.”

  “Yes,” Ethan chimed in, “if any day we should put our differences aside, it should be on my brother’s wedding day.”

  The bishop appeared pleased as if he’d ended one of England greatest battles, clasping his hands in joyous celebration, his eyes bright. “Then my work is done here and God will continue to watch over you both.” The holy man turned to leave. “Next I see you, Lachlan, will be in the chapel. God be with you.”

  “And also with you,” both men replied in unison.

  When the door closed softly behind him, Lachlan spun to face his brother. “Truce for today then,” he said, extending his hand toward Ethan.

  Not that he expected an embrace with a handshake, but Ethan turned away from him and walked toward the open window instead.

  “Give you a leg up,” Lachlan offered without jest, “right out that window.”

  “Do not act hastily, Brother, for I am not of that mind right now.”

  “Are you out of your mind, then?” Lachlan strode half way across the room, then stopped with arms crossed over his chest, trying to control his rage. “You most certainly should be, for showing up on my wedding day expecting to be welcomed, especially after your actions at Berwick with Ursula.”

  His brother tossed his head back with a haughty laugh. “Oh, you mean when I pretended to be you in Ursula’s bed? Your ego cannot be that fragile, Brother. I was aiming to win a wager.”

  “At all costs?”

  “Life should be lived at all costs, that’s what father would say.”

  “And that’s another reason why we differ on just about everything.” Lachlan walked closer to Ethan. “What do you gain, Brother, by waiting around?”

  “To see that Fyvie is finally in our family’s holdings once more.”

  “With this marriage it will be. Don’t you think I’ll go through with it?”

  “It’s not you I’m worried about.”

  Lachlan grunted. “I will send you a missive with a copy of the deed.” He narrowed his eyes on his brother. “I thought you left yesterday. Your horse was missing.”

  “Do you track all my moments?”

  “When you are suspected of stealing something. The Golden Rose is missing.”

  Ethan appeared unaffected by his words and shrugged. “I’m suspected of many things.”

  “That you are,” Lachlan said before curling his mouth into a wicked smile when he realized he had a solution to Ethan’s insistence on attending the wedding.

  Later that afternoon, Lachlan found the perfect opportunity to get back at his brother. When Ethan agreed to meet him at the stables, it was a stroke of good luck. Lachlan had promised to let his twin borrow his destrier.

  After Lachlan wound the rope around one more time, he finished with a double knot.

  “I cannot believe you are going through with this,” Ethan grumbled.

  “The wedding?”

  “No, tying me up in here.”

  “Because of the company?” Lachlan laughed, but then his smugness disappeared. “I have my reasons,” Lachlan admitted, “and one of them is trust. I’m sure you aren’t surprised.”

  “Do you think I’ll put an arrow in Rosalyn’s heart at the service?”

  “I wouldn’t put it past you to put one in mine,” Lachlan snapped back, then frowned and gave his brother a deadly glare. “But you poisoned the only other woman I ever loved.”

  “You know that was an accident, I—wait, you’re in love?”

  “You blamed it on me,” Lachlan said, losing patience and ignoring his brother’s question.

  There was an awkward silence until Lachlan responded. “Ethan, you’ve always blamed your bad deeds on your good brother. With this marriage, I plan to start a new life, free of the Luttrells.”

  His twin clenched his jaw before he spoke. “I promised father I’d see this through,” he grunted. “If marrying the lass wins the castle, I need only witness the ceremony before the King of Scots.”

  He checked the knots around Ethan’s feet and hands. “You’ll just have to trust that I won’t get cold feet,” Lachlan said with a tinge of amusement. Then he closed the gate to the pigsty and laughed
when the sound of snorting mixed with Ethan’s cries for help.

  Chapter 20

  Rosalyn leaned forward, and Ursula whispered in her ear, “Nay, I’ve never seen a bride more beautiful than you.”

  When Rosalyn raised a brow, the healer narrowed her eyes, but she still smiled through gritted teeth as she whispered, “Why would I lie? I have no reason to.”

  After Rosalyn gave Ursula a sideways glance, the healer tsked and grabbed her hand. “I’ll let your groom do the convincing then,” she promised, leading her to the back of the procession.

  Rosalyn drew in a shaky breath and held it for a moment hoping that might help settle her frayed nerves. She was grateful the white lace veil hid a lot of her face, and she managed to eke out a trembling smile but bit her lip to steady it.

  No turning back, she told herself. And if her da was right by it, so was she.

  Rosalyn imagined her father looking down on her now as she stood at the end of a long chain of Scottish royalty, hoping he was proud as the parade of sorts began to move toward Edinburgh Abbey. The king had insisted she be married in the grand church, saying his chapel would never be big enough for all the nobility he’d invited.

  Rosalyn craned her neck to see around the person in front of her while the Garter knights started the procession up the steps, moving through the abbey doorway. The ripple of movement made its way finally to Ursula, who stood by her side looking as nervous as Rosalyn felt.

  The healer must have sensed Rosalyn’s fear, because she gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “Here we go,” she whispered.

  “No turning back,” Rosalyn said as she walked more briskly now.

  When Rosalyn finally reached the abbey’s grand entrance and entered the holy nave, her heart thundered in her chest. But before her fears totally consumed her, the vision of her betrothed standing next to the bishop gave her the courage she needed to proceed.

  Rosalyn barely noticed the little girls giggling behind her while they readied her gown, for standing at the end of a long white runner dusted with red rose petals was the most handsome man she’d ever seen.

  She filled her lungs with one deep inhale, then released the air slowly as she closed her eyes, holding an image of Lachlan that made her soul sing.

  Wanting to confirm she hadn’t gone mad, she popped open her eyes again. As she gazed at her betrothed, his steady, charming smile made her believe, at least for now, he was willing to marry her.

  Lachlan was dressed in the finest red and gold brocade the Scottish kingdom could provide. His dark beard and mustache were trimmed to architectural perfection. His broad, muscled shoulders framed his masculine waist. Partly veiled by the embroidered gold and red cape he wore, his bare, tanned arms teased her.

  Had the king adopted him as his own? For Lachlan looked more royal than His Majesty.

  When the king finally reached her side, his eyes crinkled with a smile, and Ursula hooked Rosalyn’s arm on his.

  Gasps of adulation rose from the pews as they walked slowly down the aisle. Rosalyn kept her gaze locked with Lachlan’s, as if he was providing the compass to keep her straight on the narrow runner. Once they reached the altar, Rosalyn’s hands were placed into Lachlan’s. Then the bishop wound a silky, golden-tasseled cord around their wrists. Around and around the cord went until it couldn’t go another time.

  For a moment, it reminded her of when they were first bound together in the dungeon. She shivered, happy that this union was different, one she hoped would grant all her wishes.

  After the handfasting knot was secure, the bishop came in front of them and tossed her a wink. Then he placed his hands on top of theirs before speaking.

  “This cord represents the marital bond. It is strong enough to hold you together during times of struggle, yet flexible to allow for you each to grow. As your hands are now bound together, so shall your lives be bound as one. These are the hands of your best friend, holding yours on your wedding day as you promised to love each other today, tomorrow and forever.”

  The bishop paused for a moment, and Rosalyn considered the weight of his words. Forever. She was thinking perhaps a year. Could she make a promise before God to bind herself to Lachlan forever? She had been gazing into his eyes at the same time the bishop was speaking and now she closed them for a fleeting moment. But while her conscience was making noise, the bishop’s voice drown it out with his words.

  “These are the hands that will work alongside yours as you build your future together. These are the hands that will passionately love you and cherish you through the years, and with the slightest touch, comfort you like no other. These are the hands that will hold you when fear and grief fill your mind. These are the hands that will countless times wipe the tears from your eyes, tears of sorrow and tears of joy. These are the hands that will tenderly hold your children, the hands that will join your family as one.”

  Children with Lachlan? No, she’d already had his promise of a celibate marriage. They wouldn’t have children. Her gaze moved to Lachlan. He was watching her with such tenderness it took her breath away.

  As the bishop began to untie the ropes, he said, “And lastly, these are the hands that even when wrinkled and aged, will still be reaching for yours, still giving you the same unspoken tenderness with just a touch. Let us pray.”

  Rosalyn bowed her head and started her own prayer with God, asking for His forgiveness if she made promises today she couldn’t keep.

  When they both finished, the bishop gestured to Rosalyn that it was her turn to speak. He’d helped her pen the vows she would now pledge to Lachlan.

  She cleared her throat and gazed directly into his eyes. “You cannot possess me, for I belong to myself. But while we both wish it, I give you my name, Macpherson, which is mine to give.

  “You cannot command me, for I am a free person, but I shall serve you in those ways you require. That is my wedding vow to you.” When she finished, she nodded to Lachlan.

  He squeezed her hands when he began. “I pledge to you the first bite from my meat, and the first drink from my cup. I pledge to you my living and dying, equally in your care. To tell no strangers our grievances and take your name, Macpherson, and carry it with honor.” His eyes held hers as he finished the last verse. “This is my wedding vow to you.”

  Bishop Passarelli moved to stand between them, taking the closest of each of their unbound hands and held them high.

  “A person standing alone can be attacked and defeated, but the two who can stand back to back, will conquer.” Then he turned to Lachlan and released their hands. “You may now kiss your bride.”

  When Lachlan lifted her veil, she couldn’t help but beam with happiness. Somehow, at least at this moment, her fears vanished. They were replaced by a sense of promise his pledge and loving attention could bring to their marriage. He raised her chin, and her damp eyes locked with his.

  “You are beautiful, Wife,” he whispered before claiming her lips with a gentle kiss. Not one she’d recognize from any of the other times he’d kissed her.

  Applause broke out through the abbey and cheers of huzzah rose about them. Lachlan’s arm circled her waist and he drew her even tighter. To the amusement of the crowd, the kiss continued while the bishop said his final words.

  “May you know nothing but happiness from this day forward. May the road rise to meet you, and may the wind be always at your back. May the warm rays of the sun fall upon your home. And may the hands of a friend always be near. And finally, may the heart that loves you be true.”

  May the heart be true? Rosalyn pondered the meaning of that promise as Lachlan finally released her and the bishop spun her around to face the congregation and Lachlan followed.

  As she stood in front of those who’d witnessed her vows before God, she started to fret. Would she be punished by the Lord if she wasn’t true t
o her heart?

  Before she could dwell upon it further, Lachlan took her hand and led her down the steps from the altar and along the ivory runner still filled with red rose petals. Well-wishers crowded its sides from the pews. “Come, Wife, we’ve many to greet,” he urged, waving at the adoring courtesans.

  Rosalyn was not surprised at the grand reception they received. The Scots loved their weddings, English groom or not.

  One man at the back of the church caught her attention before they reached the door. She turned to her new husband when she recognized him. “I dinnae know your brother was coming to the wedding.”

  “Neither did I,” Lachlan said dryly.

  Chapter 21

  Lachlan was grumbling something as he started down the path outside the abbey. He still held her hand, but his pace was faster than Rosalyn’s legs wanted to pump.

  “What are you running from?” she asked, panting, tugging on his hand to stop.

  Turning, he gave her an apologetic shrug.

  Still winded, she held her side and her ground. “Or should I ask from whom?”

  That made Lachlan gaze above her head and toward the guests who were filling out of the abbey. After staring blankly over her for a few moments, letting her catch her breath, he returned his attention and gave her hand a gentle tug. “Come, Wife, we have a proper reception to ready for.”

  “And at this pace, I may beg for you to carry me, Lachlan.”

  “Lachlan? You should call me husband,” he insisted, picking up speed.

  Husband? Oh, my. Rosalyn hadn’t even gotten used to calling him Lockie yet. “What about sire?” she suggested.

  Lachlan slowed to laugh. “Sire? As in Your Majesty?” He paused for a moment and gazed into her eyes.