“Loyalty is important, but I cannot award this castle on the pleas of servants. The king would never support it, so I must table this hearing until after the midday meal.”
Some disgruntled rumblings surfaced right away, but immediately subsided when James’s attention went from the servants to the loudest offenders.
“Regardless of the displeasure of those who join me today, I will give the Macpherson family a few hours. Clearly, even if their contention is to rule over this castle, a family member must be found to come before us,” James declared, then he snatched the gavel up and pounded on the wooden table. “Dismissed.”
This time the room erupted into a loud ruckus. No longer needed to abide by decorum, the clan groups and smaller gatherings of servants began to talk about the unusual proceedings. Ethan turned his back on them all and began to make his way to the exit. He was disappointed that James had not just dismissed the servant’s claims as bogus and award Fyvie to the Luttrells as he had expected.
With the great hall full of opposing interests, Ethan decided it was better to leave and revise his plan. For what he feared now, was word of James’s appeal reaching any remaining Macpherson family members in Aberdeen.
Until this hearing, he’d been certain Rosalyn and Lachlan had plans to make the claim by themselves. Yet, to secure his future, he needed to stop the gray-haired old lady from letting details of the hearing leave the grounds of Fyvie.
Stepping back from the main corridor at the intersection to the servant’s hallway, Ethan waited for Rosalyn’s supporters to disperse. Being servants, not nobles, no doubt they had chores to attend to and would need to return to their tasks.
Greta. She was his target now. As he zeroed in on his mark, he trailed her, unseen, in the shadows. When she led him to the dungeon staircase, he was not surprised.
Chapter 38
The cell door swung shut, but Lachlan would not let go. For a dying man, that was quite extraordinary. But Rosalyn wouldn’t give up, and she pushed against his chest. Finally, their lips parted.
“Och! You’ve cured him without my help,” a familiar voice said.
Rosalyn straightened her skirts as she stood to greet Ursula at the cell door, grateful her grinning but sarcastic friend was finally here to help . ”I’m so relieved to see you.” Rosalyn gave her friend a big squeeze and when she released her, both women’s smiles faded. “We have work to do.” She grabbed Ursula’s hand and led her to Lachlan. “‘Tis it night or day?”
“Day,” Ursula said with a heavy sigh that spoke to her frustration. “Ethan assigned a sentry to guard the dungeon staircase. It was only moments ago that the watchman nodded off and I was able to slip by him.”
Rosalyn shuddered. She was grateful that Ethan was busy with other matters and had sent someone less ambitious than himself to watch.
Ursula squeezed her hand. “Your mother and sister are safe, and I know some of what transpired here, but tell me of Lachlan,” she said with a serious tone, dropping to her knees opposite Rosalyn as they bookended Lachlan.
Her lips moved to a slight smile. “As much as you think I’ve done nothing but kiss my husband, he’s been pale and cold to the touch with short sessions of ever-like sweats.” She gazed own at her now-sleeping husband. “His voice is weak, he’s barely able to stand, and he said right after his midday meal he’d fallen violently ill.”
“Ye be right to call for my help. Poisoning is the likely result of his symptoms,” Ursula said, feeling about Lachlan’s gut.
Ursula’s head shot up. “The hearing?” Her friend’s gaze met hers. “Have you lost Fyvie because of this man?” The deadly calm of her tone escalated Rosalyn’s confusion.
She sighed and blinked back tears. “Honestly, I donna know,” she admitted. She swallowed hard. “Greta offered to go on my behalf. But when Lachlan was locked up in the state he’s in—well, I put my mother and sister in danger, sending them to the servants’ quarters to bring you here for help. I trust Greta to protect my family, but I’m not sure she was able to carry out her plan.”
Ursula gave her a look of dread. “You trusted a servant to ask for your rightful ownership of Fyvie and you stood beside a man you donna love?”
The corners of Rosalyn’s lips took a down turn and she furrowed her brows. A humph came out before she could articulate her feelings.
“She loves me,” came a weak, but boastful response from Lachlan. Although his eyes stayed closed, a slight smile danced across his pale lips.
Ursula’s gaze darted from Lachlan to Rosalyn. “He donna lie!” she almost shouted.
“Shh, keep your voice down,” Rosalyn said after giving the healer a sheepish grin.
Her friend let out a few soft tsks, shaking her head. “Love over land. Lachlan wins?”
“Life over land would be more appropriate,” Rosalyn defended, not denying what her friend claimed was true or not. Clearly, her heart and head were conflicted.
With her lips pressed into a thin line and one brow arched, Ursula turned from her and began tossing herbs out of the satchel she had stashed under her skirt.
Rosalyn’s eyes widened when the healer drew a pestle and mortar out of the hiding place too.
When she turned back to Rosalyn, she froze. “What now?”
“I am astounded by your preparation,” Rosalyn admitted with a smile. Then her heart warmed. Taking in a big sigh first, she eked out the words, “Thank you.”
Her friend tsked again. “You are my sister of the heart. I would do anything for ye,” she promised, then turned her attention to the herbs. In a few short moments, Ursula had turned leaves and flowers into an aromatic pomace.
Finally satisfied with her work, Ursula looked up to meet Rosalyn’s gaze, but the healer appeared puzzled.
Now it was Rosalyn’s turn to ask, “What now?”
“How do I feed this to him when he’s, um, unconscious?”
Rosalyn grinned. “Give it to me.” She tossed her hair behind both shoulders like a pony shaking its head. She scooped up a small portion of the paste on her middle finger and her gaze caught Ursula’s. “I don’t want to endanger you any longer. I have what I need.”
Her friend laughed. “Nae, you want to entertain your husband and you donna want me to watch,” her friend accused, tossing her a mischievous look.
Rosalyn felt her cheeks heat. “This tactic worked before.” She paused. “In the bishop’s wagon when Lachlan had been poisoned by our potion.”
Her friend cracked a smile. “At least it wasnae you who tried to poison him again.”
At that moment, Lachlan raised his head slightly and turned toward Rosalyn. Although his eyes were still closed, his lips parted to speak. “You tried to poison me?” His words were filled with hurt.
It was Rosalyn’s turn to chuckle. “My dear husband, it was Ursula who wanted to poison you.” Her hardened gaze met her friend’s. “Remember, you two didnae always get along,” she reminded him.
He grunted. “No excuse to poison a man,” he said grudgingly.
At that, Ursula rose silently.
“Aye, but this time she’s come to save you. You must forgive her now,” Rosalyn urged.
Lachlan was silent for a while and just when her panic began to rise, he grunted. “All right then, if I live, I’ll forgive her.” He paused dramatically. “But if I don’t, I’ll blame both of you and I hope you’ll rot in hell.”
Her head snapped up to gauge her friend’s reaction and she found her only smiling. Then Ursula said, “I hope for your sake he lives. I already know I’m going to hell.”
And with that, she let herself out the cell door and silently disappeared down the corridor.
Rosalyn released another sigh. Gazing back to her husband’s handsome but still pale face, she hoped he would forget what he’d heard
. As much as she hated to be in the dungeon with Lachlan, she knew this was where she belonged. For a fleeting moment, she’d wanted to leap up and chase after her friend. How complicated her life had become since her da’s death.
But it was time to save Lachlan. With her right middle finger full of antidotal herbal paste, she laid down by his side as she had in the wagon days before their nuptials. Rolling over, she press herself to his body and began tracing his lips with her pinky finger, careful not to lose any of the precious paste from her middle finger. When Lachlan’s lips parted and he let out a reactionary groan, she popped the finger full of paste into his mouth. Immediately, he began to suck on her finger. As he began the rhythmic motion, the paste dissolved and all that was left was his lips around her sensitive skin.
She wasn’t surprised, but rather relieved, when her groin began to get moist and heat traveled through her. In the chill of the dungeon, a romantic heat wave was welcome. Her eyes closed and she relaxed into the sensation. As she relaxed, she began to realize how tired she was. So sleepy.
Wasn’t this nature’s antidote for fear and exhaustion? Being close to someone you love? A love that could end before it began. While she’d been chasing castles, he’d been chasing her. How had she been so blind? But then through her exhaustion, her rational mind reminded her he was English and conceited. But he was also caring, kind, and considerate. How could she resist?
While she lay thinking about all that was right, her finger fell away and she wrapped her arm across his chest and sighed. Lachlan was silent, but his breathing was steady. She reached her idle hand to his brow, but it was still feverish. Perhaps the herbs weren’t working. Poison was a tricky thing, much more difficult to treat than a common ailment. And as he’d reminded them, he’d survived a previous poison attempt. She could only hope he was more impervious than most.
When the door to the cell swung open, she gasped and shot straight up to sitting to find Ethan standing in the opening with a disgusted expression on his face.
“This just warms my heart after I’ve bloodied my hands.”
Chapter 39
Ethan opened the cell door without unlocking it. Shocked that the two remained in the dungeon when freedom beckoned, especially for Rosalyn, he let the cell door creak closed by itself behind him.
Lachlan hadn’t moved, making Ethan wonder if his goal was complete and Rosalyn was just mourning her loss. Although her eyes were shooting daggers and her fiery hair looked like she’d ridden horseback through the wind with no hood for protection, his brother’s wife appeared more ready for battle than in need of comfort.
“You are the devil,” she screamed, “with blood on your hands.” Jumping to her feet, Rosalyn reached under her skirts and withdrew her dagger.
Ethan mentally cursed himself for not searching Rosalyn before he left her unconscious on the cell floor.
She circled in front of Lachlan as if to protect his body.
“Is he dead?”
“Aye, and you are responsible,” she said with venom in her voice.
He let out a wicked laugh. “Oh, my, that’s quite a compliment, m’dear. Most people call me irresponsible.”
She gave him an evil look and spat in his direction.
“Rosalyn, you are a widow now. But don’t fret. I look and sound just like Lachlan,” he said, walking closer to her.
“Donna flatter yourself. You are nothing like him.”
“Oh, then I’m better looking,” he said, taking another step toward her.
She took a measured step backward. “You disgust me.”
He cut the distance between them. “Pray tell, why the toy knife?” he asked, trying to provoke her even more.
“I would love to end your life right now. Leave you dead next to your brother. Your lives began together, ‘twould be fitting for you to die together.”
Now it was her turn to return an evil laugh. As he continued to stare, she began to slash the air in front of her with the dagger.
“I killed Greta,” he confessed and held up his stained hands. “This is her blood,” he lied, hoping to shock her. To break her. It was pig’s blood. But his false claim produced the desired result. Rosalyn stopped slashing, and her arm dropped.
As he stared at her, Rosalyn’s face took on an eerie, satanic expression. Her eyes grew frantic, like a woman who had lost all senses. Like a witch.
“You are going to hell,” she denounced in a flat tone.
“I never wanted to go to heaven, and there’s only one alternative. I’ve accepted that fate. Now you must accept yours.”
She glared at him. “If you plan to kill me, too, I’ll at least give you some nasty scars before you take the last of my breath,” she promised and began to slash the air again with her weapon.
No, he would not kill her. He required her assistance, even if she was going to give it unwillingly. So he needed another lie.
“Your mother and sister are being held hostage until Fyvie is awarded to us. I will pose as Lachlan, and as my betrothed, you will support this lie,” he demanded.
Rosalyn eyed him up and down, no doubt noticing he wore Lachlan’s clothes. Then her arm dropped and the dagger made a clanging sound when it hit the stone floor. Her shoulders slumped and her head bowed.
Ethan drew in a deep sigh of relief. James required a Macpherson at the hearing, and he needed assurance that he had the one Macpherson who could secure his fate with Fyvie. He was no longer confident his half-brother would award the castle in his favor without her.
When Ethan had left the great hall earlier, James had not even acknowledged his presence at the hearing. Once he’d hammered the gavel, James had turned his back on the proceedings and left the great hall through the owner’s corridor without a glance or nod in his direction.
No, Ethan could not trust a Luttrell and that was the same reputation he’d earned from all those Luttrells before him. As with most families, it was one of your own who stood in the way.
Thankfully, James was a half-brother, not a full-blooded Luttrell. When they had spoken last night it was clear James cared little about land or castles, particularly Fyvie.
But that was not the case for Ethan. Fyvie was where he’d bonded with his father, where he learned how his father had coerced the clan to do his bidding.
Soft sobs moved Ethan out of his musings and reminded him there was work to do before the hearing. He needed her to be presentable for the great hall.
As her gaze rose, he was greeted by a dull stare. The fire inside her was gone. A lifeless haze covered her features. The light in the dungeon had not changed since he’d returned, but the glow of her eyes, the spark in her movements, the fire of her hair, all had dimmed as if water had doused the flame of her soul.
Ethan moved toward her, stooping low to scoop up her dirk. With a few efficient movements, he secured the weapon within the sheath of his own dagger.
When her eyes swung to the dungeon floor, he grabbed her chin and tilted it up so she had to look at him. “I need your word that you will join me at the hearing and pretend I am Lachlan Macpherson.”
“What happened at the hearing this morn? Fyvie was not awarded?”
“You need not know the details.” The last thing he wanted was for her to know the support she had. “You had unlocked the cell door. Why did you miss the hearing?”
When her gaze darted to Lachlan, he had his answer.
“Love over land?”
“I prayed I could help him.”
“And your prayers were not answered. Perhaps you are going to hell with me? Your own lies may be too vast for penance.” He laughed when she threw him a disgusted look and he moved to embrace her, but she jumped backward and leveled a killer stare at him.
After that cold reception, he pointed her to the corridor. He walked with h
er back the way they’d come the night before. With the threat of her family’s lives in the balance, she said nothing to the servants they passed in the corridor, although each one they encountered appeared to struggle with hiding their surprise at seeing her.
The fact that she’d been missing due to a supposed illness helped disguise the fact that she did not look well at the moment. Ethan was grateful they’d walked through the lesser-traveled corridors without questions as they approached Rosalyn’s chamber door.
Just as he was reaching for the handle to the entry, a voice called out, “Rosalyn, there you are.”
Turning, Ethan spotted a dark-haired woman with her hands on her hips standing at the end of the corridor like a sentry.
He hadn’t expected this kind of disruption, wanting now to disappear inside her chamber with Rosalyn and shut the dark-haired demon out.
“Stop right there,” the woman threatened, rushing toward them.
“She’s one of my handmaidens,” Rosalyn said softly. “If you want me ready for the hearing, I will need her assistance.”
Ethan hesitated. Then he recognized the dark-haired beauty, the one he’d tried to bed to win Lachlan’s earldom. He had not planned for Rosalyn to speak to anyone before the hearing, and especially not Ursula, but when he looked down to assess Rosalyn again, it was clear she could not go to the great hall in her current state of dress.
He hesitated with on hand on the door lever and the other on Rosalyn’s arm, deciding not to let on that he recognized the vixen.
Ursula softened her hard gaze and gave him a forced smile. “Aye, Rosalyn is in need of my services,” the woman suggested, grabbing Rosalyn’s other elbow. As if she expected him to release her, Ursula started off toward the chamber door, but Ethan held on.
Strung between the two of them, Rosalyn cried out.
“She stays here,” Ethan growled.
The Golden Rose of Scotland (The Ladies of Lore Book 2) Page 23
