When three of the attackers came toward her, she screamed louder, hoping to startle them. Steering her horse with her knees, she freed her hands to ready her bow, arming it with an arrow from her quiver.
As she held her aim, the three Highland warriors stopped immediately and lowered their weapons.
That made Rosalyn grin with pride until the noise of horses behind her made her glance over her shoulder. To her chagrin, it was more than just her might that had slowed the attackers. Four knights had formed a line behind her with their longswords dawn and shields held high.
No doubt the Highlanders expected a surprise attack to be in their favor and had underestimated the strength of the party, for almost all but one man drew up short before making contact with the English knights.
That one brave warrior ran head-on with his sword to parlay, stroke for stroke, with the Gartner knight called Red.
It wasn’t long, though, before the aggressor was laid to the ground by Red’s sword and Lachlan dismounted to join them.
“Donna let me bleed to death, English,” the injured Highlander shouted. “Put me to death and be quick about it.”
Red hesitated with his sword. “What say you, Lachlan?” The knight was under oath to follow the orders of his leader, and in this case it was Rosalyn’s husband’s decision.
Rosalyn looked about the group and then a shrill scream came from behind her. “No! No! Do not kill Joshua.”
Shocked by the outburst, Rosalyn spun in her saddle to find Ursula shoving her way between the horses to reach the fallen Highlander.
“Spare him, he means no harm to clan Macpherson or to our group.”
When Lachlan hesitated, Rosalyn spoke up. She recognized the colors of these men. “‘Tis true. This man and his companions are from Clan Fraser, friends of the Macphersons who rule these lands. I am Rosalyn Macpherson, daughter of Dengas Macpherson. These men should be spared. No doubt they thought the English were invading their neighboring lands and rushed into protect what belongs to my family.”
When Lachlan stayed silent, the Garter knights followed her lead, reaching down to help the fallen man to his feet. By that time, Rosalyn had dismounted and joined Ursula, who provided a blanket from her saddle. Then the healer led the three of them to a small clearing.
Rosalyn didn’t linger long. Once she was certain the injured clan member was tended to by Ursula with the proper care, she turned to address the two groups.
The Highlanders were gathered on the far side of the trail talking in whispers, while the knights, squires, and Lachlan sat mounted waiting for direction.
For Rosalyn, it was a defining moment. One that gave her courage and the confirmation that she could lead men.
“Highlanders, knights, squires, and those of noble of birth, we prevented loss of life over a misunderstanding of alliances. Thanks to the quick reactions from both sides, we can be grateful that potential foes can become friends. Ursula and Joshua intended to meet in Aberdeen, not over his wounds, but in the woods. Who would like to accompany our party to Fyvie Castle, the home of my clan?”
The huddled Highlanders gave one quick glance at their injured friend, then spread out into a long line. With weapons overhead, they cheered. Then the leader stepped forward, “We all follow you, Lady Rosalyn.”
With her heart full and her confidence soaring, Rosalyn searched her group for Lachlan, but he was busy digging into his satchel for something. Fair enough, if he didn’t question her leadership, she would snatch it from his grasp.
“Welcome, men. Let’s build a transport for Joshua and we’ll be on our way. If we work quickly, we can make it to the gates of Fyvie by nightfall.”
And quickly they worked. It wasn’t long before the knights and Highlanders had created a strong bed of sorts that could be dragged along the back of a horse like a sled.
As the band of men fell into a caravan, she followed behind Lachlan. He appeared uninterested in the goings on of the group, or her, for that matter. While she decided it wasn’t worth her worry, her gaze was drawn to his oversized deerskin satchel.
Funny she hadn’t noticed it before.
Big enough to pack a weeks’ worth of clothing, perhaps a thick blanket, or even the stolen Golden Rose of Scotland?
As the bag bounced against the horse’s rump, Rosalyn studied its movements. There was definitely something heavy and bulky inside. Now she’d have to find a way to snag it before it disappeared.
Settling into her saddle and squaring her shoulders, she sat taller than before. Surely, her marriage was one of convenience and a gamble with her future, but she’d never been one to make safe decisions.
The more she thought on it, the more she was able to distance the emotional entanglement she’d had with Lachlan. Even though he’d kept his distance the past two days and hadn’t tried to take her as he’d done on their wedding night, she wasn’t certain his actions toward her were sincere. For in the days since their marriage, he’d spoke mostly of the lairdship and not once of their future.
The future was on her mind through the rest of the ride and as nightfall crept in over the rolling hills of Aberdeen. Rosalyn heaved a sigh when Fyvie Castle finally came into view. Her heart began to beat faster. What type of welcome would she receive?
Approaching the massive entrance with their winding caravan, Rosalyn scanned the familiar parapets, filled with at least a dozen guards. When they started to cross the drawbridge, the main gate opened and a group of four knights started toward them.
Lachlan held up his hand and called out to halt the horses. The other party stopped, too. One knight from each group dismounted and met in the middle of the drawbridge.
To Rosalyn’s relief, happy recognition replaced guarded scrutiny. No doubt these were some of the original Garter knights they’d expected in Berwick-upon-Tweed. Their leader addressed Rosalyn’s group.
“Lords and Ladies, I am Sir James Luttrell, future Duke of Somerset, a Garter knight, and guardian of this castle.”
A Luttrell? Her happiness faded. Had another Luttrell already laid claim to the lairdship?
While she fretted, Sir James continued to address their group, introducing the other knights in his party. When she found Lachlan unexpectedly at her side, he leaned over slightly so only she could hear his words.
“Say nothing, Wife, you may regret.”
Chapter 27
Lachlan silently cursed. They’d been on the trail to Edinburgh for two days and there had been no sight of Ethan’s retinue. And according to the bishop, Ethan’s group had only a half day lead. But no matter how hard Lachlan’s team of eight rode, with fewer stops and short respites, they hadn’t caught up with Ethan yet.
Lachlan even was beginning to wonder if his brother’s group was traveling to Fyvie at all. His twin could have told the bishop of his plans, then convinced his party to travel to another part Scotland. Or to Somerset, for that matter, to hide Rosalyn. There was no telling, because the Garter knights would follow Ethan’s orders. They wouldn’t suspect his twin was doing anything wrong. And if Ethan had the Golden Rose of Scotland, it would be easier to sell if he were traveling through England.
Bishop Passarelli must have sensed his uncertainty. He turned his horse around and met Lachlan at the edge of the trail where they’d stopped.
“Lachlan, have faith,” the bishop said, holding both his reins and his hands in prayer. “Although they elude us now, God’s will is strong.”
“We are at a disadvantage, Bishop. Between an Italian priest, an English Lord, and six English knights, none of us are very familiar with this countryside.”
“Si, Lachlan, ‘tis clear we are taking the most-traveled path, and I sense your discouragement every time we encounter a traveler going the opposite direction with no news of Ethan’s party. If we don’t meet up with them on the
road, we will in Aberdeen.”
Lachlan hoped what the bishop said was true. He was anxious about the safety of Rosalyn, but he would be more at ease if he knew she was already at Fyvie, where she had some support.
He hoped, too, that her people would welcome the real Lachlan Macpherson. But he needed to arrive in time to confront his brother, before Ethan was sworn in as laird and chieftain.
If he was too late, would there be a way to reverse the award? He had to expect that with the bishop’s trust in God’s will, all would be right soon.
~ ~ ~
Once inside Fyvie’s castle walls, Rosalyn scanned the group of servants who’d lined up to greet them. As they dismounted in the lower bailey by the stables, it was not long before one of them came rushing toward her.
“Lady Rosalyn, you are home,” the young girl gushed. “My prayers have been answered.”
Rosalyn remembered her well. “Sweet Catherine, yes, your lady has arrived home.” She smiled at the young girl, but before she had a chance to ask Catherine how she was doing, the rest of the staff queued up behind her.
Ursula stood by Rosalyn while some of the men got busy putting away the horses. It was only Sir James and Lachlan who stayed behind.
At the moment, Rosalyn did not care what her traveling companions thought of her welcome. She was going to relish every moment of it. These people had served her for years and were like family. She was happy to greet each one of them personally.
After the last servant woman came forward with a little bow, she took both of Rosalyn’s hands in hers.
“Greta!” Rosalyn immediately recognized her childhood nursemaid. Then Rosalyn threw tradition aside, drawing Greta into her arms. She gave her a hug with squeal of delight. “I’ve missed you so,” she confessed softly in the caretaker’s ear.
Greta held on and Rosalyn did the same, not wanting to let her nursemaid go as the memories came flooding back.
“Lady Rose,” Greta whispered in that familiar, loving voice, “your mother and sister are prisoners somewhere in Aberdeen.” The servant released her and bowed.
“So good to see you too, my lady,” Greta said in a formal tone. The maid’s eyes met hers and gave her a knowing look. “Good to have you home, my lady.” She curtsied. “I shall wait ‘til yer ready and escort ye to yer room.”
While Rosalyn plastered a smile on her face for appearances and waved the staff back to work, her mind began to whirl. Her mother and sisters were prisoners? Somewhere in Aberdeen? She wished Greta could have given her more information.
But Rosalyn was determined to keep her combined anger and panic in check. Boundaries, allies, and castle ownership needed to be established with a cool head and a strong constitution.
What would Dengas Macpherson do? That’s what she must do, she decided as she spun around.
Rosalyn turned to James and Lachlan with the same plastered smile she’d used to see the staff off. Both men, a few yards from her, stood in similar stances, arms crossing the body and legs spread wide as if their boots were roots reaching into the earth.
Does James know he’s related to Lachlan? Perhaps that’s what Lachlan wanted to keep secret when he’d threatened her at the gate.
She mimicked their stance and grew serious. “Men, I am home. This is my birthplace and where generations of my family have led Clan Macpherson.” Secretly, she prayed that the two would hear her out. “My da, Dengas Macpherson, gave me the title of laird on his deathbed four years ago, but before he was buried and his body cold, Nicholas Luttrell stole Fyvie Castle from the Macphersons. Aye, he forced me, my mother, and my sister out.” Rosalyn stood on her tiptoes wanting to appear taller. “I want it back.”
Sir James and her husband both stared at her for a moment, neither speaking. She wondered if they’d consorted while she’d greeted the servants.
Could the two be brothers? Or where they distant cousins? Both men had tall, muscular frames, but that was where the similarities ended. Lachlan’s sleek, black, and meticulously groomed hair and beard were a stark contrast to his brother’s. James looked like a wild Norse God, his golden hair tossed wildly about his shoulders in the brisk evening breeze.
Finally, Sir James came forward, taking her hand and turning to Lachlan. “I welcome you both to Fyvie Castle,” he said in a formal but warm tone. “Greta will show you to your chambers. Later, we will all meet in the great hall. If you are here to claim Fyvie, we have much to discuss.”
Rosalyn wanted to talk now, but she was determined to keep up the appearance of a calm clan leader. No doubt, she’d have to be patient and let Sir James explain the process.
She felt less anxious, though, when Greta hooked her arm. Striking a childhood chord, she wanted to skip across the lower bailey as they’d done when she was little, but Rosalyn held herself in check for Lachlan fell in step with James behind them.
The walk across the familiar lawn seemed both pleasant and torturous. Of course, being reunited with a loved one, even if wasn’t her mother or sister, made Rosalyn want to weep with joy.
On the other hand, she was anxious, too, because Lachlan and James would have private time together. Even though they were married and he carried her name, they were still both vying for Fyvie.
When Greta and Rosalyn reached Fyvie’s keep, she stopped and turned to watch the two men deep in conversation. They had cut to the right and were going into the main entrance.
“Greta, you trust me, don’t you,” she asked in a hushed whisper even though they were alone. When Greta nodded, she continued with a request. “I need you to follow me, but don’t ask any questions.” When Greta nodded again, Rosalyn started across the bailey, walking quickly with her nursemaid at her heels. If it wouldn’t have drawn the attention of the guards on the parapets, she would have run.
Once they’d reached the horse stables, Rosalyn took a sharp turn at the corner and headed toward the entrance. Pushing Greta ahead of her, the servant followed her pantomimed directions until they entered the well-appointed horse barn.
Once inside, Rosalyn pressed a finger to nursemaid’s lips, then led her by the hand through the back of the stables. Rosalyn needed to search Lachlan’s satchel before anyone else did. She’d watched the groomsmen lead the warhorse away with the bag attached to the saddle. Surely, his destrier would be feeding by now.
After winding around a few rows of empty stalls, Rosalyn found success. The massive bay was chomping on some fresh straw and looked to be in good spirits, giving her a whinny when she approached his stall.
Rubbing his snout cautiously, she noticed his bucket was empty. Good, she thought, he should be approachable.
Motioning to Greta stay on guard, Rosalyn quietly entered the stall and began searching for Lachlan’s bulky satchel, hoping a stable hand hadn’t already taken it first.
Kicking straw with her boots, she scanned the stall in the dim, late-afternoon light. She noticed right away that the saddle had been removed and placed on a rack. Her stomach sank first with disappointment, then did flip-flops when Greta coughed.
“Hello, good sir,” she said brightly to someone outside as Rosalyn dove for the floor and covered herself in straw.
Chapter 28
The straw was scratchy, stifling, and made Rosalyn want to sneeze. She grabbed her nose and pinched it between her thumb and middle finger trying to keep it under control.
Greta was talking to someone outside, and it was important for her to stay buried, but now that she was under the straw, she couldn’t hear a thing. As much as she wanted hold her breath, she knew that wouldn’t work and did her best to stay still hoping Greta could manage. Luckily for Rosalyn, just when another sneeze threatened, Greta called her name loudly enough for her to hear.
Tossing the straw off in all directions, Rosalyn inhaled a deep breath and rose to her feet just
as Greta poked her head over the gate. The nursemaid grinned broadly, then reassured her, “He’s gone. Yer safe.”
“Achoo!” Rosalyn wrinkled her nose. “Greta, you helped me hide from Rowen when I was little. Nothing’s changed, has it?”
Although she was still smiling, Greta’s eyes clouded with concern. “My lady, nothing’s changed in my heart, but much has changed here at Fyvie. Although it may be gossip, the servants who travel about Aberdeen say Mary and Rowen have been jailed.”
Rosalyn sobered. “Oh, Greta, I hold no power here. How will I find my mother and sister?”
“My lady, no one is certain when they were last seen at Fyvie, but I know it was before Sir James arrived. Although he appears to be a rigid leader of men and merciless knight, he’s quite the contrary.”
Greta’s confession made Rosalyn wonder how James could be a son of Nicholas Luttrell’s if he were not consumed by land ownership.
“Greta, I’m pleased to know Sir James is as noble as the Garter knights are fabled to be, and thankful it was not he who is responsible for their disappearance. As I get my bearings, he may be someone I can trust, but until then, I have many who I cannot.”
Her nursemaid gave her a sympathetic smile. “Yet, there are many ye can trust, my lady. Like that stable boy who stopped here moments ago.”
“You can trust him?”
“Thaddeus said he was sent to fetch the satchel for ye husband.” She grinned again. “I lied and told him another had taken it, but then straight away, I asked for God’s forgiveness.”
The satchel. “If that’s why he’d come, then it must still be here.” Rosalyn spun around in her spot. Her eyes finally adjusting to the dim light as she scanned the stall again. Then she spotted it. She’d walked right by the bulky thing.
The Golden Rose of Scotland (The Ladies of Lore Book 2) Page 17