A Temptress in Tartan

by Gerri Russell

  Still she hesitated. “Have you had much experience with women?”

  He startled. What was she asking if he was a virgin?

  He must have let his surprise register on his face because her eyes went wide as she clarified, “I mean, do you know how women think? Or how devious some of them can be?”

  Lachlan relaxed. “I had no sisters and have spent the better part of my life only around men, especially my brothers-in-arms.”

  “If you intend to leave me chaste, then might I suggest we find some blood?” She offered her palm as she had the night before. “A small amount will do.”

  With a sigh, he rolled to sit at the side of the bed, then stood. He strode to the chair containing his abandoned clothing. He dressed quickly in his shirt and kilt. Finally, he thrust his feet into his boots and turned to face her once more.

  “Where are you going? You said we needed sleep,” Elizabeth asked.

  “I’ll be back.”

  “If I’ve offended you, I am sorry.”

  “You are an odd one, Elizabeth. I will grant you that,” he said as he slipped from the room. He managed a smile as he made his way down the back stairs. It wouldn’t do for someone to see him. If they did, his nighttime journey would be all for naught.

  But he need not have worried because no one was about. They had either taken to their beds or were still in the great hall. He quickly found what he needed and made his way back to the bedchamber. As he shut the door behind him, he heard an odd sound.

  Croak. Croak. Croak.

  As soon as he stepped away from the door the sound stopped. “What was that?” he asked.

  Elizabeth sat against the pillows, watching him with wary eyes as he approached the bed with a pail. “I’m fairly certain it is exactly what it sounds like—frogs.”

  “Someone put frogs in this room?”

  “Aye.”

  “Whatever for?”

  “To remind me once again that I am not wanted here.”

  “God’s teeth,” he swore and set the bucket down. “I’ll find the frogs and return them to the outside.”

  “Nay,” Elizabeth protested. “I do not mind the sound. In fact, I find it rather comforting.”

  He frowned. “You do?”

  She nodded. “It reminds me of summers near the loch, when I would lie on the shore, looking up at the stars and listening to the soft repetitive croaking of the frogs. If you close your eyes, you can imagine them serenading you.”

  He gave her a skeptical look, then grinned. “I suppose one can imagine anything if one tries hard enough.”

  She smiled in return. “At least Mariam didn’t place an adder in the sheets.”

  His grin vanished. “You think Mariam did this?”

  “I suspect it,” Elizabeth said then gestured to the bucket. “What is that?”

  “Get up for a moment,” he replied, taking the bucket in his hands once more.

  She wrapped the bed sheet around her and rolled to the edge just as he poured the contents of the bucket in the middle of the lower bed linens. She gaped at him in horror as a red splotch of color darkened the cloth. “What did you do?”

  “You wanted blood. I got some from the slaughterhouse.” He gestured toward the bed again. “Now get back in bed.”

  Her eyes went wide. “I’ll not sleep in blood.”

  He shook his head, dazed by the conversation. “First you want blood. Then you don’t want blood. Which is it to be?”

  “Whose blood is that?”

  “It’s the stag’s blood from our meal tonight. I gathered some of the blood they set aside.” He stared down at the bright red splotch. “Do you think it’s enough?”

  “Sweet Mary . . . ’tis more than enough. They will definitely think I surrendered my maidenhead, but they will also think you abused me all night.”

  He frowned. He had no idea how much blood would be spilled by a virgin on her wedding night. All he knew was war. And to him, what was on the bed was hardly any blood at all. “Well, that amount will have to do since there is no taking it back.” With a shrug, he hid the bucket inside the armoire in the corner of the chamber. “I’ll return this to the slaughterhouse in the morn.” Turning back to the bed, he peeled out of his clothing then slid onto the soiled sheet, pulling the coverlet over himself. “You can stand there freezing all night, or you can lie beside me and warm yourself. I intend to get some sleep while I still can.” He turned on his side and, propping his head on his elbow, looked up at her. “You did well tonight, Elizabeth. I doubt other women would have done so well given the challenges you faced first with the whisky, then the singing, and now with the frogs.”

  Hot color stained her cheeks. “Thank you,” she said, her voice so quiet he had to strain to hear it. She hesitated another moment before she finally lay back down on the bed and pulled the coverlet over her body, shielding herself from his gaze.

  The fire crackled, the light passing over her face, brightening her eyes, her cheekbones, her lips. She was so lovely when she was at peace like this. Peace between a Ruthven and a Douglas. Who would have thought it would only take a few days to accomplish such a feat? Pleasure wound through him, spiraling until it became a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

  In the half-light he relaxed back into his pillow and listened to the croaking of the frogs. She was right. The sound was soothing. “Tell me about your summers by the loch.”

  “You wish to hear about that? Something from my past as a Ruthven?” she asked nervously.

  “There is no Ruthven or Douglas in this room tonight. Only two people who are curious about each other. Tell me about the loch.”

  She relaxed into the softness of the mattress. She laughed nervously. “You truly wish to know about my past?”

  “Aye.”

  There was another short pause before she drew a deep breath and said, “As a child I was drawn to the water of the loch near our home. At sunset the water would turn from green to black, and the frogs that had been hidden from view all day would come to the shoreline . . .”

  Chapter Six

  Lachlan had encouraged Elizabeth to talk too long the night before. Even so, they were on their way at sunrise, shortly after Lachlan had secretly returned the bucket to the slaughterhouse. They had bid their farewells before much of the household had awakened, a fact with which Elizabeth was well pleased. It meant avoiding further challenges by the residents of Ravenscraig or any possible comments about the amount of blood in her and Lachlan’s bed.

  Involuntarily, her thoughts returned to last night. Despite all the challenges the residents of Ravenscraig had thrown at her, she had passed their tests. Her small victory brought a surge of satisfaction she had not experienced before. Lachlan had been proud of her. She was surprised at how happy the thought made her as the next segment of their journey began.

  Lachlan had opted to leave the carriage behind for his coachman and Cameron’s men to deliver to Whittingehame at a later date, and instead to proceed on horseback for which Elizabeth was grateful since it meant she no longer needed to suggest such a tactic.

  There was no sign of her father or his men this morning, but Elizabeth could not help but think they weren’t far away. Donald Ruthven was no fool. It wouldn’t have taken him long to figure out the deception of yesterday’s travel. At least on horseback, she and Lachlan could stay ahead of the Ruthvens if they picked up their pace.

  Elizabeth nudged her horse into a slightly faster rhythm.

  Lachlan increased his speed to match hers. “Are you in a hurry to put Ravenscraig behind us?”

  She turned in her saddle to look at the landscape behind her, searching for her father’s presence. Finding none, she released a shattered breath. Just because she could not see her father and his men as she had before did not mean they were not there. “Lachlan, I . . .” She’d been trying to find a way to tell him about her father following them all morning, but had yet to find the words. “I need to tell—”

  “Sinc
e you are not afraid of the water,” Lachlan said, interrupting her, “I’ve decided we should cross the Firth of Forth instead of taking the longer journey around.”

  Elizabeth nearly sagged with relief. Again, Lachlan had spared her from formulating a half-truth or from betraying her clan. “I’ve never been on a boat before.”

  “It’s more of a ship than a boat,” he corrected. “Large enough for a full crew, cargo, and several horses.”

  Elizabeth pulled the edges of her cloak together against the cool morning air. “How long will it take us to cross the Firth?”

  “With the winds to the southeast and in our favor, it should only take a few hours to reach the shores of Aberlady. We save a day and a half of travel taking this route.”

  Her father would never expect them to sail instead of traveling by land. Pleased at the turn of events, Elizabeth kept her confession to herself. As the morning mist dissipated, the blue-green waters of the Firth of Forth came into view. Traveling closer to Kirkcaldy Beach, Elizabeth soon made out a long, narrow dock and a ship with three tall masts anchored there.

  “Is that the ship we will be taking?” she asked as Lachlan brought his horse alongside hers.

  Lachlan nodded. “She’s a carrack named The Golden Rose. Cameron Sinclair owns this ship and several others.”

  “He’s a merchant?” Elizabeth asked.

  Lachlan raised a brow. “He’s a warrior who dabbles in trade with exotic locales.”

  “That explains the spices used on the roasted stag last night. I have never tasted their like.”

  “Cinnamon.”

  “What?” she asked.

  “It’s the inner bark of a tree. Cameron has developed quite a fondness for the spice. He’s acquired that and many others from a trade route out of Egypt.”

  “I’ve heard tales of great explorers who have sailed vast distances and discovered many wondrous treasures.”

  “Aye,” Lachlan said. “Places filled with silver and gold, forests that go on forever, and many native cultures, in addition to many pleasurable things such as cinnamon.”

  She nodded. “There is so much out there, so many things we have yet to discover or to even imagine.”

  “You sound like an explorer,” he said.

  “I have always been interested in what lies beyond the horizon. We live on an island, and there is so much more to see beyond the Scottish shores.” She became thoughtful for a moment. “Perhaps that is why I am drawn to water . . .”

  “It sounds as though I should talk with Cameron about letting the two of us sail on one of his ships as it travels to foreign lands. Would you like that?”

  She would love to travel, but she wasn’t certain if she wanted to travel with him. “I will think about it.”

  Neither said anything further until they reached the coast where Lachlan dismounted then lifted Elizabeth down from her horse. “God’s teeth, you’re cold. Why didn’t you tell me you were so cold?” He pulled her cloak more closely around her.

  “I didn’t feel the cold after a while,” she replied as the wind continued to blow all around her.

  He removed his own cloak and settled it over her shoulders before he enfolded her in his arms. “This should help you stay warm until I can get the horses settled on the ship.”

  She tensed at first, then unable to resist the warmth lingering on Lachlan’s cloak as it permeated through to her flesh, she relaxed. She should back away, refuse to take the comfort he offered, but she found she could not. Instead, she focused on the howling of the wind as it whipped across the Firth. Whitecaps danced on the surface, giving evidence of the strength of the wind. “Will it be safe to cross in this weather?”

  “It is always a little windy here at the Firth. And ’tis nothing to a large ship like The Golden Rose.”

  “Thank you for the warning,” she said after a long moment.

  “I will see you safely across.”

  She looked down at his chest, refusing to meet his eyes. “I used to think I didn’t need anyone or anything in my life—that I was fine being alone, being ignored by my clan, being unloved by my father. He wanted a son, you know. He was never pleased that I was his only child.”

  “You were his child. That should have been enough. He should love you for who you are.”

  “Love?” She startled at the word. “Do men know the meaning of the word?”

  He pulled back to look into her face. “Aye, Elizabeth, they do. I’ve seen that miracle twice recently with my cousins, Reid and Quinn. I cannot wait for you to meet them and the women who stole their hearts, Lucy and Vivian. You’ll like them.”

  He was talking to her as though she were a part of his family, not a stranger who he did not truly know. Tears sprang to her eyes and ran down her cheeks, only to be whipped away by the wind. “I don’t know why I’m crying,” she said as she impatiently wiped her wet cheeks. “It’s foolish to weep over the past.” And maybe even the future. Would Lachlan’s family treat her the same way the residents of Ravenscraig Castle had? She couldn’t change who she was. Or could she?

  He didn’t comment on her crying. He merely held her until her tears dried up. When she was at peace once more, he loosened his arms and took her hand, leading her to a log that sat facing the water on the beach. “Sit here and wait until I load the horses, then we will set sail.”

  As she watched Lachlan head toward the boat, she wondered what it would have been like to be loved by a father. If he had loved her, would it have made a difference in her life from the start? If she had learned to trust love instead of reject it? She was finding it harder and harder to see Lachlan as her father had always painted their enemy—as ruthless and dangerous. Instead, the longer they were together she saw him as caring and almost tender. Was that what a man who could love was like? She’d thought Roland had shown her love before, but perhaps true love was something bigger than she’d ever imagined.

  *

  Less than an hour later, with the wind in her face, Elizabeth curled her hand around the rail on The Golden Rose’s forecastle. She gazed at the tall, round masts and the sails that were taut, filled with wind as they made their way across the Firth of Forth. The water below was turbulent, but the ship remained steady, lifting then falling in a constant rhythm. Below her, sailors darted to and fro as they adjusted the sails and tightened the rigging. It was like a well-orchestrated dance between the wind and the men who chose to capture it, however briefly, to do their bidding.

  “The wind is sharpening. You should go below deck.” Lachlan came to stand beside her.

  “Soon,” she replied. “I like it here.” She gazed out at the point where the sea met the sky and listened to the wind as it sang through the rigging. “I feel like everything is so clear out here on the water. Like nothing is hidden from view except what lies beyond the horizon.” She turned to him with a smile. “But that is where the mystery begins. There is so much promise beyond that horizon.”

  He studied her expression. “You are a sailor at heart.”

  She turned back to look at the horizon and felt her exhilaration fade. “Except that women have no place on a journey of exploration. Their place is at home, surrounded by chi—”

  “Your place,” Lachlan interrupted, “is wherever you choose it to be.”

  She gazed at him incredulously. “You truly believe that?”

  “Of course. Life is short and often filled with difficulty. It is our dreams that make our lives worth living.”

  “Is it your dream to be a warrior and protect the king?”

  His lips tightened. “I do what I do out of loyalty to my kin and my country, and because I have never had any reason to do anything else.” His voice faded as he looked out at the water, suddenly tense.

  “Excuse me, Elizabeth,” he said before he rushed to the back of the forecastle and stared into the distance. “There’s a boat in distress to our starboard side. They are sinking.”

  “Fishermen?” one of the seamen asked as he came
to join Lachlan at the railing.

  “Most likely,” Lachlan replied. “And if we do not hurry, they will all drown.”

  The seaman shouted orders to reduce the sail, which slowed the ship. The swells seemed large now that The Golden Rose wasn’t gliding over their tops. In the distance, Elizabeth could see an overturned boat with six men struggling to keep their heads above water as they clung to the wood. It seemed to take forever to get The Golden Rose into position alongside their small boat.

  “Bring her up close,” the captain commanded the seaman at the rudder.

  “Aye, Captain,” he shouted and put the ship into a quick turn that sent white water along the lee rail. As they got closer to the men in distress, several seamen who could swim leapt into the water, Lachlan among them.

  By the time they arrived at the scene, only four men remained above the water, clinging to the boat. Elizabeth’s breath stilled in her chest as she watched Lachlan dive below the water’s surface, no doubt looking for the two men who had vanished beneath the waves. Long horrible moments passed while the sodden men were lifted out of the water and hauled onto the quarterdeck by those who had remained aboard.

  Where was Lachlan? She could see nothing in the water, which now appeared an inky black. Finally, a dark-colored head broke through the choppy surface, followed by a more familiar one. Relief ran through Elizabeth’s blood so potently she felt dizzy. Lachlan was all right and he had saved one of the men who would have drowned.

  The seamen at the rail lowered a boat hook that Lachlan attached to the fisherman’s clothing. They hauled him up. His body was limp, his face white, and he was streaming with water when they deposited him on the deck. The seamen pumped the man’s legs up toward his head, hoping to rid him of the seawater he had breathed. After several attempts, the man coughed, sputtered and gave up the water in his lungs. Color returned to his face as he struggled to open his eyes.