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

by Marisa Dillon

  Chapter 30

  Rosalyn spun in a circle with her arms outstretched as if she were ten years old again. Her chamber. She was finally back in her chamber. She turned and turned until she collapsed into a tangled pile of dress and giggles on the tapestried floor while Greta watched her from a seat by the hearth, just like she had when she was little.

  Rosalyn gazed about her childhood room full of beauty and whimsy. Unicorns galloped across the walls, painted by one of Aberdeen’s most acclaimed artisans. Her white-canopied bed sported bright-red velvet drapes, where she’d spent hours hiding and playing games.

  “Aye, Rose, the other servants and I fought to keep it the same as when ye left,” Greta said proudly.

  Rosalyn glanced over at her former nursemaid just as she was swiping a tear from her cheek.

  “We prayed you would be back as rightful heiress, and here ye be,” Greta gushed.

  Rightful heiress? Yes, that’s what she would like to believe as she rushed to the hearth and sat at the feet of the woman who’d been like a mother to her. “Do I dare to dream the people of Aberdeen, our clan, and the servants at Fyvie, will welcome me back?” She gazed up at Greta. “To allow me to lead?”

  With a loving gesture, Greta brushed the stray hair from her brow. “Darling Rose, I cannae speak for the clan, nor the people of Aberdeen, but I can tell you with all the confidence in my soul, that the servants of Fyvie love you and will follow you anywhere you lead us, just like your da.”

  The words warmed her heart and had her beaming inside with pride. If only she could rid herself of Lachlan and gain the trust of the clan and the people of Aberdeen, then she would find a man, a righteous, brave Highlander to join her in the wool trade. Perhaps even venture to Norway together to barter for some of the finest wools of all the kingdoms.

  As Greta stroked her hair, Rosalyn’s dreams lifted her spirits. Her nursemaid had shared the news, that the Garter Knight Sir James, current custodian of Fyvie, would hold court on the morrow and make judgement on all the claims for her castle.

  How dare others come forward to seek what is rightly mine?

  “Why are you frowning, child?” Greta asked, bringing her out of her musings.

  “Oh, Greta, I must find a way to win Fyvie. I have to convince Sir James that the castle should be mine.”

  Greta gazed down at her with that loving wisdom that can’t be forced or faked. “Darling, Rose, do not trouble your pretty head over those details.” She grinned widely. “Leave it to me. I will show you, and Sir James, who should be rightful heiress of Fyvie. Will you trust me?” Greta asked, her gray hair shining bright from the flaming light behind her.

  Rosalyn nodded.

  “Good,” she said. “Tis settled, now no more fretting.” She tsked. “You pretty yourself up, and I shall see you in the great hall for the evening meal.”

  Rosalyn sighed, but nodded in acceptance. Sometimes it felt good to be bossed about by someone who loved her. She still missed her mother, and the news that she could be in prison somewhere in Aberdeen with her sister worried her terribly, but for now, she had to focus on gaining control and then she could rescue her family.

  After Greta let herself out, Rosalyn was surprised to find a number of newly sown gowns in her wardrobe. What Greta had said was true, they’d been planning her return.

  Now, what to do about Lachlan and the hearing in the morning? She felt so conflicted. Before the marriage, Lachlan had been charming, attentive, even doting at times, making her hate the English less. But then on the way to Aberdeen, he’d been cold, insulting, and distant. When they’d been close, he’d been demanding. She was grateful to have remained a virgin, but threating him with public humiliation had kept him away.

  Now that she looked back upon the events leading up to their union, Rosalyn was certain Lachlan had only pretended to be smitten with her. Acting, to convince her that the idea of marriage would set things right. For they truly were not.

  But if Greta was certain the servants and those beyond the castle walls would support her leadership, then she wouldn’t need Lachlan and she could follow through with an annulment after all.

  A dim rapping sound on her chamber door shattered her solitude. And before she had a chance to make an inquiry, Ursula seemed to magically appear.

  “Oh, my, are you a witch?” Rosalyn asked with breathless surprise. “I could swear you materialized out of the air.”

  Ursula gave her a smug smile. “Witch or healer, which am I? Perhaps both,” she said, her eyes gleaming mysteriously.

  Rosalyn rushed to her friend and grabbed her hands. “How is Joshua faring? I’ve been so wrapped up in my own needs, I had not looked into how your Highlander was doing.”

  Ursula squeezed her hands. “Do not worry, he’s been in my good care and is improving enough for me to seek you out and share some information with you.”

  “Information? Like spy information?” Rosalyn asked, rubbing her hands together.

  Ursula took her one hand and let it swing between them. “Aye, like spy information. Come.” She led her to Rosalyn’s bed. The two climbed up and settled in the middle of the whimsical flower-covered comforter. Still in her linen sheath, Rosalyn shivered more out of excitement than from a chill.

  “Tell me, spy, what have you uncovered?”

  “Ethan is here with Bishop Passarelli,” she whispered excitedly, as if there were spies listening in from the outer passage or outside the window.

  Rosalyn capped her hand over her mouth. If Ethan was here, he might challenge her claim to Fyvie. He was Nicholas Luttrell’s son, too.

  “Why do you think he’s here, and why do you think the bishop is with him?”

  “Good questions, but I donna have those answers. I wanted to warn you that trouble was brewing.”

  “Do you think the bishop believes Lachlan has the Golden Rose? Perhaps Ethan made the bishop believe that he has it and they’ve followed us here with a plan to defame Lachlan and take everything from him.” She paused and swallowed hard. “From me.”

  Ursula must have picked up on the fear in her voice for her friend put an arm about her shoulder. “Now, I didnae come here to worry you, but to warn you of what you could be facing. When the bishop and Ethan arrived, the Garter knight who is the custodian, took them to a special meeting room. The two did not even take water or rest before they walked with the knight to speak.”

  Even though Ursula was trying to assure her that what she was saying was helpful, it complicated the situation even more. Rosalyn trembled now with worry.

  Ursula noticed and gave her a big, sisterly hug, making Rosalyn grateful for the support. But with her da gone and her husband estranged, Rosalyn’s only hope for male support was Bishop Passarelli.

  “I must speak to the bishop,” Rosalyn said finally.

  “Aye, he’s the only one you can trust,” Ursula agreed.

  But then Rosalyn began to think the worst. “If Lachlan, James, and Ethan are blood brothers, who’s to say they couldnae all three band against me and take back the castle that their father had stolen from my da in the first place.”

  With a sober nod, Ursula gave her another hug. “Come, let me dress you to be the heiress you shall become.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Ethan’s plan to have the Golden Rose and Fyvie was unraveling. With the news that his brother and Bishop Passarelli had arrived, he was going to have to resort to the kind of deviant behavior that would make his father proud. Walking briskly, he reached the chamber door the servants said belonged to Rosalyn.

  Without knocking, he burst into the room and startled the two women inside.

  Ursula stopped lacing the corset that bound Rosalyn into an emerald-colored gown that hugged all her curves in the right places.

  For a moment, Ethan was speechless and so were t
he women. It was Ursula who responded first, returning to her work and finishing the last tie. Then she gave Rosalyn’s rump a quick pat. “There ye are, love. You are ready.” The maid turned to face him and delivered an ugly sneer. “It appears your husband wants a word with you.”

  She gave Rosalyn a hug, and when the healer walked by on her way out, she watched Ethan through wary eyes. If he had been the cowardly type, he would have sworn Ursula gave him the evil eye. But he shook it off after she passed and left the chamber quietly.

  “Why must you enter my room so abruptly?” Rosalyn asked. “You promised me you wouldnae treat me like property.”

  She put her hands on her hips and glared at him. The angrier she was, the more beautiful. Actually, if he had his way and worked his plan, she’d be angry all the time.

  But Ethan had no time for love or the soft pleasantries of keeping a wife happy. Ignoring her plea, he walked toward her now, circled her waist and with one quick movement, slapped her hard across the face.

  Chapter 31

  Rosalyn staggered back. Stars circled before her eyes. She went limp in Lachlan’s arms, her legs buckled, and she gingerly touched the spot on her face where he’d struck her.

  The pain in her jaw was excruciating, and she tried to move it a little to make sure it wasn’t broken. Closing her eyes in reaction to the pain, she dared not open them. She hung limp against him, hoping he’d think she’d passed out.

  Through the fog of her pain, and fighting a rising nausea, she could not imagine what she’d done to prompt his anger. Had he found out it was she who had stolen his satchel?

  Lachlan said nothing now as he lifted her into his arms. But instead of walking toward the bed, where she had imagined he would rape her, he walked toward the chamber door instead.

  “Say a word or voice an objection, and I’ll break your neck,” Lachlan said in a harsh whisper.

  Although she was only half-conscious, she understood his threat and kept still, her head lay across his forearm.

  Through tiny slits in her eyelids, she watched the ceiling of her chamber pass by as they entered the corridor. Lachlan strode quickly while she squinted through her lashes, recognizing every turn he took. But as much as she hoped they’d encounter someone, anyone, no one crossed their path.

  But her panic began to rise when he started down the stairs to the dungeons. Even if she wasn’t dazed from the slap to her face, she couldn’t do much to fight him, and there was nothing to prevent him from hitting her again.

  As her mind spun in the pain and agony of her current state, a tiny cloud of reason began to emerge. Of course, she thought, he wanted her out of the way for the hearing in the morning. It would be Lachlan standing before Sir James as either Macpherson or Luttrell, whatever surname gave him best advantage. And he would consort with his brothers for the sole right to Fyvie.

  As much as she believed a woman could walk in a man’s path, she needed to accept that no titled man would support her claim to be laird.

  Rosalyn fought back tears, still wanting Lachlan to believe she’d passed out from his blow, while he fumbled with a key in the cell door until it clicked.

  Somehow, he managed to kick the ancient door open, and it groaned as if speaking for her pain.

  Rosalyn was grateful that he didn’t just drop her on the floor once they were in inside. Instead, he lay her down on the cool stone floor which provided some relief to her damaged cheek.

  She almost held her breath, but she remembered she wasn’t playing dead, just helpless, while she listened.

  Finally, she let out her breath when the key turned in the lock and his footsteps faded away.

  The tears began to fall as she sat up and hugged her knees. Tucked tightly into a ball, she opened her eyes and assessed her surroundings. Even though she wasn’t happy about where she was, Rosalyn was grateful she’d only been slapped, not a beaten or raped.

  To her relief, the dungeon was not as bad as she’d imagined. A sconce burned in the outer hallway, confirming that Lachlan had planned this all along.

  But when Rosalyn turned to inspect the cell behind her, she almost screamed. There, in the corner, lay two women huddled together, unmoving.

  Surely, if they were sleeping, they would have been disturbed when Lachlan had entered the cell, but she hadn’t noticed any sound or movement coming from the corner.

  Moving slowly as not to threaten or startle the women, she rose to her feet and began to inch toward them.

  Once she was closer, her heart leapt and she fell to her knees before the pile of humanity. A weak hand reached toward her. “Do not trouble yourself, good princess. We have been prisoners here for as long as we can remember.”

  ~ ~ ~

  As Ethan walked up the circular stone stairs from the dungeon, he was pleased at how easy it had been to lock Rosalyn away. At least the first part of his plan was complete.

  Next, Lachlan.

  After that, there was the business of finding the Rose. That idiot stable boy he sent to retrieve his satchel never returned. The lad was so nondescript, Ethan couldn’t even find him to levy punishment.

  Fortunately for Ethan, he’d befriended a young squire at Edinburgh who’d agreed to be his apprentice. Like him in spirit, the boy had already helped procure Fyvie’s dungeon key, and had spied on the bishop and Lachlan for him, so he was certain he could count on his loyalty to help with his brother as he made his way toward Lachlan’s chamber.

  When his spies told him Lachlan and bishop had arrived today, Ethan had to assume that Lachlan had followed him here to find Rosalyn. With time now ticking away and very little of it left to accomplish his plan, Ethan decided that he’d need to take extreme measures to keep both Rosalyn and Lachlan from the hearing tomorrow.

  He had just rounded the corner of the corridor that would bring him to Lachlan’s door when he came within inches of colliding with Bishop Passarelli.

  They both took a step back. The bishop seemed startled. “There you are, Lachlan,” the holy man said, taking his arm, “I was hoping to talk to you before dinner.”

  Ethan had to think quickly before they arrived at Lachlan’s chamber. “Good Bishop.” Ethan spoke to mimic Lachlan as he had with Rosalyn. “I was looking for you as well, but my chamber is being cleaned.” He shrugged helplessly. “It is full of servants.”

  Ethan steered them around in the corridor and nodded to his squire as they rounded about to head the other direction.

  With the subtleness of a spy, the squire nodded back.

  “Si, Lachlan. We can talk here as long as there’s no one to listen in,” the holy man said, lowering his voice and glancing over his shoulder where the squire had been.

  When he looked the other way and all was clear, the bishop leaned in toward him. “Lachlan, as I promised earlier, I will find Rosalyn and tell her what has happened. Surely, she must think Ethan is you and may take a pledge before Sir James tomorrow for Fyvie Castle. Once that happens, it will be difficult to reverse the judgment.” He paused and swept his gaze up and down the corridor again.

  When he was certain they were still alone, the bishop continued. “You said yourself, you wouldn’t put it past Ethan to do something irrational if he found out you were here, too. I thought you had agreed to stay in hiding . . .” he said with concern, peering up at him.

  Ethan nodded. “Yes, Bishop, I will have my evening meal in my chambers like we discussed. But you don’t know the extent of the wagging tongues of the servant maids. As soon as they are finished, I’ll be back in hiding.” Ethan shrugged again and the bishop patted his back.

  “Scusami for my overprotectiveness. I understand how much your brother’s deviant ways disturb you and I will continue to keep my promise to do everything in my power to help you, as you’ve promised to help me find the missing Golden Rose.”

>   Just then, a group of servants came around the corner. Bawdy laugher bounced down the once quiet hall. Shortly after spotting Ethan and the bishop, the rowdy servant’s hushed whispers replaced their bad manners.

  Then the holy man turned to Ethan and said, “God be with you.” And without further circumstance, the bishop followed the servants around the corner. Ethan spun on his heel and headed back to Lachlan’s chamber.

  Cracking the door slightly, Ethan set his eye to the tiny opening and peered in. As he’d hoped, the squire sat on watch in a chair while Lachlan appeared to be asleep in the chamber bed.

  Ethan eased himself inside, then closed and bolted the door behind him.

  “Did it work?” Ethan asked the squire named Benjamin.

  “Aye, sir, the work is done,” the boy answered, pointing to the tray on the chest across the room. A good portion of the food had been eaten, but not all.

  “Does he have a fever?” Ethan asked, walking closer to the bed to peer down on his brother, whose face was clammy and pale.

  The boy shrugged. “He has been moaning while I have been at his side.”

  For a moment, Ethan found himself wracked with a terrible sense of dread, as if staring at his mother burning with fever from the berries he’d given her before she died.

  He tried to shake the memory, but it hung on, like a witch to her wicked spell. Ethan had few regrets, and unfortunately, killing his mother was one of them.

  Yes, he’d tried to lie and place the blame on his twin brother. Ethan had been destroyed by her death. All he wanted was the pain to go away and it to be someone else’s fault. That time he’d been innocent. Lachlan’s groan shook the nightmares from his thoughts, reminding him that was another time and place.