A Temptress in Tartan

by Gerri Russell

  Reid turned and gripped both Lachlan’s arms. “The men and I will clear the way for your escape. Leave here at once and go to Kinmount House with Quinn and Vivian. By royal decree, Kinmount is designated as a sanctuary for all who might be accused as a witch or a warlock. Even James cannot touch you there.”

  Lachlan stood tall as a bleak silence fell over the chamber. “I will not run from this. To do so would make me appear as though I am guilty. I am not.” He turned toward Donald Ruthven. “This is a ploy by a dangerous man to try and subdue his enemy with the least effort possible.”

  “This is folly and conjecture,” Reid added. “’Tis insulting that it is being taken seriously.” Reid paced back and forth in front of Lachlan as he branded each elder with an angry glare. “You would not dare take him to the tribunal.”

  “Did you hear that?” her father asked. “I believe Reid Douglas just threatened the elders gathered here. Perhaps we can expand that arrest warrant to include Reid Douglas as well?”

  “Nay, Reid,” Lucy cried, coming to her husband’s side. “You cannot help your cousin if you are also in gaol. Please, stand down.”

  Reid hesitated a moment, then released a harsh breath. “I will go to the king myself, with all due haste,” he said to Lachlan.

  The tallest of the elders drew a pair of iron manacles from a satchel he carried over his shoulder and held them out to Lachlan. “In the meanwhile, you must come with us.”

  Elizabeth looked up at her husband, her eyes filled with misery and disbelief. “What can I do? How can I help?”

  Lachlan ignored the manacles as he took her icy hands in his. “Stay here. Be strong. I am a great believer in the truth.”

  “Where are you taking him?” Elizabeth asked.

  “To the tolbooth in Haddington,” the minister replied.

  Elizabeth did not take her eyes from Lachlan while they secured the manacles around his wrists and snapped them tight before jerking him into motion toward the doorway and through a path created by his men. They were taking him to gaol.

  Lachlan’s eyes were wide, yet unseeing, staring past them all as if focusing instead on the horror he suspected was ahead. With every step, the chains that bound him rattled, the jarring, sound echoing deep in her soul.

  Chapter Eleven

  Oblivious to the chaos around her, Elizabeth paced as her thoughts spun. There was guilt—terrible, gut-wrenching guilt—that her father had done this to Lachlan. But there was also an emptiness she did not understand.

  Her father’s voice cut through the turmoil. “I’ll teach you to say no to me. Get your things, Lizzie. We are leaving.”

  Elizabeth startled at the barely concealed outrage on her father’s face. “I told you before and I’ll tell you again, nay. I am no longer your concern.”

  He took her elbow. “You’ll come with me or I’ll carry you out of here, tied up if need be.”

  She twisted free, scorched by his touch. “Oh, nay,” she exploded, her body shaking with wrath. “The only reason you wish me to leave this place is so you will have more leverage over the Douglases.”

  “Elizabeth,” her father growled.

  Elizabeth backed up, avoiding his reach. “I’m tired of not knowing what is truth and what is a lie. From now on, I only want the truth from you and everyone else.”

  “The truth is your husband is a warlock, and that he will be put to death. When he is gone, do you really want to remain here surrounded by the very people who hate and despise you?”

  Determined to stand up not only for herself, but also for a man she believed was innocent, Elizabeth hurried from the great hall. She would not give in to the demands of her father or the sense of impending doom she’d been struggling to contain since she and Lachlan had taken their vows.

  Her father chased after her. “Returning to the clan is the only possible solution to your problem,” he called.

  She wheeled around, confronting her father once more. “Don’t you dare suggest the clan would be a refuge for me when it has always been more like a prison. Only once I left did I finally catch a glimmer of what my life might hold. And now you’re trying to take that away from me as well.”

  “I’ve taken nothing from you, girl. But that bastard you call husband has.”

  Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. “Another lie, Father?”

  “You decide,” he said, his gaze fixed on her.

  “I’m listening.”

  “You were only a young girl when your mother died, and I let you think her death was due to natural causes because you were mired in grief. But that is not the whole truth.”

  Her heart rose in her throat. “Go on.”

  “Lachlan Douglas blamed our clan for his parents’ deaths. One night, when he was only a lad of seven, he infiltrated Ruthven Castle and entered my and your mother’s bedchamber. Under the cover of the night, he cursed us both then fled before he could be apprehended. The next day your mother was dead. The wise woman said her heart simply stopped beating.”

  Elizabeth heard whimpers come from her own throat as the memory of holding her mother’s lifeless body in her arms came back to her. She remembered stroking her mother’s hair and rocking her gently, begging her to wake up. Yet she had not.

  Another memory came to her just as suddenly—a memory she’d tucked deep inside—that of a young boy not coming into her parents’ bedchamber, but her own. He hadn’t been armed. He hadn’t demanded anything. He’d simply stared at her with the most soulful eyes she had ever seen. Blue eyes. Lachlan’s eyes.

  Her father spoke the truth, at least in part. Lachlan had come to them. But why? Had he sought revenge; he could have taken it that night. Yet, she clearly remembered him with no weapon in his hands. But sorcery needed no blade. The spoken word—be it enchantment or curse—could have done just as much damage.

  Nay! Elizabeth closed her eyes, breathing raggedly, as she struggled to push those memories away. Her father was trying to sow doubt in her mind, to make her fear the man she’d been forced to marry but had begun to trust.

  She had to believe Lachlan was innocent. At least for now. When she felt more in control, she opened her eyes, and despite the heaviness that weighed her down, she shook her head. “That doesn’t prove anything. If you and Mother had been killed by the Douglases, I might have vented my anger in the same way.”

  Her father’s face was colorless now, and pain reflected in his eyes. “’Twas a curse, I tell you.”

  Her fingernails dug into the palms of her hands as she tried to force the memories and her father’s accusations away. “I don’t believe you,” she said before turning away and heading out the door. She needed to find someone to help her get to Haddington before the entire world threatened to turn upside down.

  *

  That night and early into the following morning passed in darkness for Lachlan as he sat upon the cold stone floor with mice scurrying about his feet. Despite the fact it was summer, only cold seemed to seep through the thick stone walls of the tolbooth in Haddington. He’d been given a cell with a small window that looked out onto the main street. No doubt his position with the king was the reason why he had this indulgence. While his captors might fear his magical abilities, they feared retribution by the king more for abusing one of his warriors. Yet even so, the air in the cell was stale with the stench of decay.

  Word must have reached the king by now, and yet Lachlan was still a prisoner. Were his accusers waiting for him to be weary from anxiety and exhaustion until they questioned him? He’d heard rumors of such tactics—keeping the prisoners awake, feeding them little, and then torturing them for hours on end in order to gain confessions, attesting to all manner of untrue sorcery and sin.

  An hour later, when the sun finally cast a long shadow into his cell, Lachlan heard footsteps on the flagstone outside his door. A moment later a loud scraping sounded as the iron bolt slid back. The door creaked open, revealing a tall, lean man with dark hair and, if not kind, at least a friendly face. In h
is hands he held a tray, which he came forward with and set on the floor beside Lachlan. “Lachlan Douglas,” he greeted. “I am the Lord Chancellor, John Maitland. I was sent by the king to make certain you were well tended.”

  Lachlan allowed hope to blossom. “I am to be released then.”

  At the Lord Chancellor’s expression, any hope Lachlan held died.

  “The king is intent upon ridding his kingdom of all evil. He has proclaimed he is appointed by God himself to accomplish that task, and will not rest until the deed is done. The Privy Council and the ministers of this great land have worked tirelessly to uncover the Devil’s work and all those who wreak havoc on his behalf. Your arrest was necessary in order to demonstrate our commitment to seeing the king’s orders executed. No one is above suspicion, whether they be laird, lady, or peasant.”

  Lachlan scoffed. “You make an example of an innocent man?”

  “If you are innocent, that will come to light.” The Lord Chancellor dropped his gaze. “Your interrogation will begin this afternoon. The king himself will be present at the proceedings. He means to handle your case with care so that other chieftains do not get the idea that they can settle clan disputes by accusing each other of witchcraft.”

  Lachlan tried to see that as a hopeful sign. If the king were present, there was less of a chance of Donald Ruthven abusing the process for his own purposes.

  “He wishes to see that justice is served,” the Lord Chancellor said as though reading Lachlan’s thoughts.

  “Thank you,” Lachlan said. “As long as it is justice and not revenge that is served, I have no fear. I am an innocent man.”

  The Lord Chancellor looked at him with a mixture of sadness and admiration before he stepped back through the door, shut it, then slid the bolt tight.

  *

  That afternoon, one of the guards opened the door and, keeping Lachlan’s manacles on his wrists, led him outside the tolbooth to a transport cart. Four guards walked before the cart while another four followed behind, all with their swords drawn, prepared for any interference that might come their way.

  The cart rattled through the small town until it stopped outside the ruins of Berwick’s Old Parish church. “We’re here,” one of the guards announced as he helped Lachlan out of the cart before escorting him into the tribunal chamber.

  Inside the building, the air was heavy with the smell of tallow from the multitude of candles burning in sconces on the walls of the chamber, as well as that of pitch and decay. It took Lachlan’s eyes a moment to adjust to the bright light, but when they did, he saw King James himself striding back and forth across a raised dais at the front of the room. Every few steps, the king stopped and looked about the chamber as if expecting to find a witch among those in attendance.

  Lachlan scanned the faces of those gathered until he found what he sought. Elizabeth stood on the left side of the chamber with Reid and Lucy at her side. His wife’s face was pale and her features drawn as she clutched her hands in front of her with such force her knuckles had turned white. Her father and several other Ruthvens, including Keddy, stood closer to the front. Others he recognized in the chamber were Peter Grayden and several of his warriors, along with the minister, Hugh Godfrey, and the five elders who had arrested him. The remainder of the crowd were no doubt local residents who were curious to see if a laird could be punished as easily as any of them might be.

  Silence fell over the chamber as he was ushered onto the dais to stand beside the king. King James’s gaze fell on him, not with sympathy, but with a fierceness Lachlan had never witnessed before. “Your Grace,” he greeted with a deep bow.

  “I’m very angry with you,” King James said through narrowed eyes. “Your cousin, Reid, was quite insistent that I come here myself and oversee these proceedings, forcing me to abandon my own pleasures.”

  “My apologies, Your Grace. This whole event is a farce, forced upon me by none other than Donald Ruthven.”

  The king’s gaze connected with the Ruthven in question. “Aye, he might have started this whole thing, but there are serious charges against you that must be reconciled.”

  Lachlan’s body tensed. “Your Grace, ’tis me, one of your warriors. You know me. You trust me, or at least you did once.”

  “’Tis more complicated than that. The Devil’s clutch may be on you yet. We must prove otherwise.”

  Lachlan shivered as a chill walked his spine. “You know me, Your Grace.”

  “I cannot make an exception for even one man, whether I know him or not, if charges are brought against him.” Beads of perspiration appeared on James’s forehead as his gaze moved across the increasing crowd. After a long pause, he said, “The specter of the Devil stalks this land. I trust in these proceedings to let the truth be known.”

  “The truth is, I am innocent. I’m no sorcerer, but I am your guardsman. ’Tis my duty and my honor to keep you safe as a Scot, a Stuart, and the rightful king. And in return, you had once vowed the same to me.”

  Color bloomed on James’s cheeks even as his eyes narrowed. “You dare to judge me?”

  “Nay, Your Grace,” Lachlan replied, his jaw tense. “But it appears you are about to judge me.”

  James frowned but said nothing more as a tall, thin man wearing a white wig and a scarlet robe took his place on the dais. As he did, the murmur of the crowd died down until there was only silence. John Skene, the Lord Advocate, proceeded, saying in a voice loud enough for all to hear, “Lachlan Douglas, Earl of March, you have been brought before this tribunal to answer for the following crimes:

  “Item: You have acted against King James VI’s laws governing the use of sorcery.

  “Item: You have used potions to cause sickness and enchantments to unbaptize and cause the Devil to take over Bessie Broun’s soul.

  “Item: You used enchantments to stir up the waters of the Firth of Forth causing the death of Dillon Kemp, and to incite willful acts of evil that nearly took the lives of five others.

  “Item: By consorting with the Devil, you attempted to sacrifice your wife on the altar of matrimony.

  “Item: You shapeshifted into a black cat and summoned up other spirits as you passed through the village of Aberlady.

  “We have ample testimony from those who’ve been affected by your evil deeds, and yet I must ask, how do you plead to these charges?”

  Anger surged inside Lachlan as he looked first to the king, then to Elizabeth. Both refused to meet his gaze as though they feared he might somehow influence their behavior. When his gaze lit on Donald Ruthven, the man’s mouth twisted into a slow smile of satisfaction. “Not guilty,” Lachlan replied.

  The Lord Advocate frowned. “We have ample evidence against you.”

  “Then bring forth your ‘proof,’ and I will help you to see the actual truth,” Lachlan said.

  The minister who had arrested him stepped forward with a Bible in his hands. His cheeks were mottled and his eyes blazed. “Lachlan Douglas, what contract have you made with the Devil?”

  “I’ve made no contract with the unclean one.”

  “He lies!” the minister shouted as the room suddenly became charged with both energy and noise.

  “Silence,” the Lord Advocate shouted over the murmurs of those gathered. “We will hear more testimony.” He turned back to the minister. “If you have a point to make, make it, sir.”

  The minister held the book out to Lachlan. “Touch this holy book and let us see if your flesh doth burn.”

  Lachlan lifted a manacled hand, and with chains rattling, he placed his right hand atop the Bible. When nothing happened, Lachlan allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction.

  “Look! He smiles!” Someone in the crowd shouted. “The Devil helps tae keep him from bursting into flames.”

  Lachlan startled. “What absurdity is this? The Devil is nowhere near me. I am but a man who touches and reads from the Bible every day.”

  “Then read a passage now,” the minister said, shoving the Bible at hi
m with a fanatical grin.

  Lachlan took the holy book in his hands and flipped it open to a random page. He looked down at the words, and for a moment terror filled him as he saw that the book was not in the king’s tongue, but in Latin. Lachlan struggled to control his breathing. He might not fluently speak the language, but he had studied it for years and knew many of the words. At least enough to pass this suddenly-thrust-upon-him test.

  He’d opened the pages of Deuteronomy. His gaze immediately caught on the words “confortare et esto robustus.” He read the passage in Latin. “Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the Lord your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you.”

  “How dare you speak the words of God!” the minister hissed as his hand cracked against Lachlan’s cheek with brutal outrage. “What powers do you have that allow you to speak so?”

  “I have no powers other than those given to a mortal man.”

  “The Devil is his Master.” The minister’s voice rose. “You are charged with witchcraft and sorcery.”

  Despite the panic that threatened, Lachlan kept his emotions in check. Echoing the man’s anger would do nothing to help his cause. He needed to be rational and logical in his own defense since it appeared even the king would not stand for him. “I am innocent,” he said again. “I have done no witchcraft or sorcery.”

  “I ask again, what contract have you made with the Devil?”

  “None.” Lachlan’s heart pounded painfully in his chest.

  “Enough, Godfrey!” A voice boomed above the others. “This line of questioning is getting us nowhere and is only inciting hysteria. How am I to fulfill my promise to God to root out witches from this kingdom when I am surrounded by fools?” the king asked.