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

by Marisa Dillon

  “I know that laugh. That sweet beautiful sound, a melody for my heart,” said a weak voice that could be no one’s but Lachlan’s.

  Her companions’ eyes widened, and they watched Rosalyn for a response.

  She frowned. How could Lachlan slap her senseless one minute, then speak so fondly of her the next? No doubt her mother and sister were thinking the same. She struggled with the dichotomy of it all.

  “Rose, the missing Rose. I’ve lost you forever, haven’t I?”

  Lachlan’s incoherent mumblings spoke volumes.

  Her mother searched her eyes. “Does he mean he’s lost you forever? Were you missing?”

  Rosalyn tried to hold it back, but the sigh escaped and carried with it all of the frustrations she’d been holding inside since she left her mother’s sight. Although it could have been easy to break down into tears again, Rosalyn had been tested more in the past few weeks than she’d ever been in her one and twenty years. She refused to digress, even if her mother was willing to listen.

  “Nay, Ma, the prisoner does not speak of me. He is mumbling about the Golden Rose of Scotland and its disappearance.” Then she lowered her voice. “Many believe Lachlan stole it before it was to be delivered to King James as a gift of peace and great honor from the pope.”

  “Oh, my, Rosalyn. You have been tangled up with the wrong man,” her mother said. “Not only has he beaten you and treated you poorly, but he’s attempted to steal a prize of honor for our king.” She grabbed Rosalyn’s shoulders and gave her a shake. “You must get an annulment at once, daughter.”

  Rosalyn drew in a frustrated breath. Whether she stayed married to Lachlan for a few more hours or a few more days, she agreed with her mother, but first she had to be sure Fyvie was not sacrificed by her actions.

  “Aye, Ma, I will rid myself of this man,” she promised shrugging off her mother’s hold, “but I must be cautious. I suspect his twin brother, Ethan, is working against him or he’s joined up with his half-brother, Sir James Luttrell, the Garter knight who is custodian of this castle.”

  Both her mother and her sister gasped.

  “Sir James is a son of Nicholas Luttrell and brother to Lachlan?” her mother asked, mouth agape.

  “Aye, fair lady, that is a fair assessment,” came Lachlan’s weak voice from across the way.

  When Lachlan answered for her, she turned toward him as did her mother and sister.

  Although he hadn’t moved, his eyes were open to slits and he held his gut gingerly. Even though he was in pain, there was something about him. Something was different.

  Rosalyn shook her head. No, it was her healer heart that was speaking, not her rational mind. She had to remind herself how evil he’d been to her since they’d been married.

  Her mother let out a sigh, resigning her anger. “How can this be?”

  Rosalyn wrung her hands. “Garter Knight, Sir James, is only a half-brother to the tyrant that ran our family off this land and stole our rightful claim to the clan. When he arrived o’er a week ago, he established order and set about to find the rightful heir to this clan and castle. But—” She stopped mid-sentence, not sure how to proceed, who to believe, which men were consorting against her, and which were with her.

  Lachlan groaned again and their attention swung in his direction once more. What they hadn’t expected was to find him sitting up and leaning against the bars peering over at them.

  “Good ladies, and my lovely wife,” he said in an agony-filled voice, “please hear me before I pass out again.” Wincing once more, it was obvious he was dealing with a lot of pain. One thing Rosalyn had learned about him in the short time she’d been in his company was that he did not give in to pain easily. And because he was so proud, he tried to hide it from her.

  As she studied him through the bars, it was easy to see with his clenched fists and anguished expression he was doing it again.

  “Listen to me now,” he insisted. “You may not believe me, but hear me out,” he pleaded with genuine angst. “Ethan. ‘Twas Ethan who stole you from me and took you here.”

  Rosalyn gasped, and she covered her mouth as he groaned and shifted his position.

  “You know how he can modify his voice and copy my mannerisms. Even our parents had trouble telling us apart.”

  Rosalyn ran to the cell bars. She reached her hand out, wanting to help Lachlan. Of course, why hadn’t that occurred to her? She’d been so wrapped up in Fyvie and how she could get to what she wanted through him, she was guilty of being insensitive to everything around her. She’d been a muttonhead, consumed with what she wanted. The two men were identical. Neither Ursula nor the bishop had been able to tell them apart even when they were together.

  “Oh, Lachlan, will you forgive me?” she begged. “How could have I have doubted you?”

  He gazed at her with a painful smile plastered on his lips. “There’s too much to tell, but I’ll be quick about it, I’m dying, Rosalyn. I’m sure if it.” He gulped in air as if he couldn’t get enough of it. “Ethan’s poisoned me.” Lachlan spoke so softly she wasn’t sure she heard him correctly. “James killed my father. I’m not sure if Ethan and James are working together. I can trust only you.”

  Emotion caught in her throat. “He poisoned you? Are you sure?”

  Lachlan’s eyes bore into hers as if he was trying to tell her something his lips could not. He nodded as his body began to slide against the bars and he passed out cold on the floor.

  She spun around to meet the bewildered looks of her mother and sister. “What?”

  “You love him,” her mother said plainly.

  She shivered, not from the cold, but from the realization that she might lose him. And right now, there was nothing she could do locked up in the cell. She pounded on the bars in frustration, grabbing one in each hand and yanking them as if they’d give way. After a few moments of irrational behavior she sighed, then bowed her head and started a silent prayer.

  Dear God, if I am the chosen one, chosen to deliver the Golden Rose to the King of Scots, You must help me. I have the Rose, but I must have my husband by my side to make this happen. Please give me the resources to save him.

  As she stood there by the wall of bars separating her from Lachlan, her sister and mother came behind her and each rested a hand on her shoulders.

  When she sighed, Rosalyn released the bars and her hands fell to her sides. But one hand struck something familiar.

  A glimmer of hope rose to the surface of her gloomy thoughts. She spun around, freeing herself from their thoughtful hold to face them. A slow smile emerged when she rolled up the hem of her skirt and yanked free her precious fur pouch.

  “The key. I have the key.”

  “Your da’s key?” her mother asked, surprised. “I thought it was stolen.”

  Rosalyn tried to hide her guilt. “It was stolen,” she admitted sheepishly with her head bowed, then she glanced up at her mother, “but I’ve used it for good,” she promised, taking her ma’s hand and placing the furry pouch in the center of it. “Hold this,” she instructed, while she reached for the ties and pulled the bag open, then dug around in the precious cargo.

  Her face lit up with satisfaction when she found what she sought and drew it out as like a prize.

  Rushing to the bars as she’d done before, this time with excitement, she pushed the key into the lock and held her breath. With some sticky resistance, the key wobbled around in the hole until Rosalyn jiggled it in a little deeper. Once the key slid into the locking chamber, she took both hands and turned the head to the right.

  When the catch released and the cell door swung open, she finally let out her breath.

  Chapter 35

  Ethan blinked rapidly after James’s declaration. Fortunately, the loud-mouth Highlander distracted James before Ethan had to lie.


  He wasn’t surprised his father had been killed at the hands of someone he knew, even less so that it was carried out by James, a noble Knight of the Garter. No doubt James had personal reasons for killing their father. But Ethan would seek retribution nevertheless. He only needed James as an ally until Fyvie was awarded, then he’d settle the score. For even if his father’s death had been at the hands of his English king, he could not let it go unavenged.

  Nicholas’s cunning was a testament to his longevity. Besides James, there were no doubt other Luttrell family members, his ex-wives, his castle staff, who wanted him dead.

  Fortunately for Nicholas, he’d been on good terms with the Tudors, and at his cousin Henry VII’s crowning, his father was reinstated as earl and regained Dunster Castle in the southern shire, the crown jewel of the Luttrell holdings. Then Fyvie had been reconfirmed by King Henry VII, although it had been his former father-in-law who had gifted the property to Nicholas.

  Why the Macphersons continued to claim ownership was still a mystery to him, but with his newly formed plan, he’d be able to squelch their interests for good.

  Ethan had remained quiet after James’s initial declaration, and his half-brother had not given him any attention as the meal progressed. Clearly the obnoxious, kilted Highlander was expressing his interest in Fyvie and that had dominated James’s attention now.

  However, it was clear that James had met Lachlan. How much had his twin revealed? What had he claimed? If his ploy had been fully exposed, wouldn’t James have demanded some answers?

  With servants continuing to refill goblets at the high table as if the mead were merely water, it was not long before the two-cupped brute of a Highlander at Ethan’s side was drunk and surly.

  The clansman sneered at Ethan. “What does an Englishman want with a Scottish rose?” the Highlander asked with a distinct slur in his brogue.

  Rose? Does this fool know some of my secrets?

  Ethan decided not to be ruffled by this idiot and tapped the goblet closest to the Scot, ignoring the man’s direct question by asking one of his own. “Had your fill, Brother?”

  “I arenae your brother, my name is Osgar,” the bloke declared, kicking his chair back as he leapt up. The heavy, ornate seat toppled over, and the conversation at the dais stopped. After the head table went silent, a wave of broken conversations traversed from table to table throughout the great hall. Even servants froze in their tracks.

  All eyes were on the red-faced Highlander who was weaving back and forth as he stared down at Ethan.

  “Get up,” Osgar ordered.

  Before Ethan blinked, a chair screeched loudly and he could feel the air rush behind him, certain James had climbed to his feet.

  The brute looked to James and said, “I didnae mean you.”

  Ethan stood, holding Osgar’s gaze as he fingered his hilt. “This is how you repay my generosity?”

  “I donna need a sword to get my point across,” the man said, winding up his right arm and curling his fingers into a fist.

  Ethan waited for the arm to come around and the bloke to take a swing. With his sluggish reflexes, the man was more embarrassment than threat and Ethan ducked out of the way in plenty of time. But when he heard a thwack, he sprung around to find Osgar’s fist had connected. He’d struck James in the chin instead.

  Ethan wanted to laugh, but held back, waiting to see what James would do. As he watched for his half-brother’s reaction, it was clear James was in control. He raised his hand high in the air and within moments, four knights crowded the table where the drunken Highlander swayed.

  While the man spewed oaths, the knights secured his arms behind his back and walked him off the platform. And even though Osgar was drunk, he should have sensed he was outnumbered. But no, the man struggled against his hold and shouted at the top of his lungs until he was finally escorted out of the great hall.

  The ruckus echoed down the corridor until finally the heavy wooden door to the keep slammed and silence followed.

  James hooted with laughter. It was so infectious that everyone at the head table joined him, followed by those in the front tables, and it rippled through the rest of the guests.

  James was still on his feet and raised his goblet. “A toast. For those who continue to drink and can hold their liquor, best of luck to you on the morrow for now there is one less contender for Fyvie.”

  “Huzzah!” was the response from the mostly sober guests.

  While Ethan waited for James to take his seat, the sound of the empty chair moving beside him piqued his interest.

  Even before he turned to satisfy his curiosity, a familiar voice asked, “What are you doing here, Ethan?”

  The bishop’s direct question caught him off guard as he spun around to greet him. As much as he was comfortable lying, he wasn’t with a man of God. Then, it was if his dead father’s ghost gave him a push, he tipped forward and said through gritted teeth, “Good Bishop, how nice it is to see you.”

  The bishop leaned forward, too. “Let me ask you more directly. Two Roses are missing, and I believe you have both of them.”

  Ethan returned the bishop’s condemning gaze with a no-nonsense glare. “What do you mean by two roses?”

  The bishop’s eyes narrowed. “The Golden Rose and your brother’s wife, Rosalyn. Both went missing when you left Edinburgh. Coincidence?”

  “Perhaps you were not privy to this information, but I am my father’s executor. When I found out just before I arrived at Edinburgh that he was dead, I informed my brother Lachlan and King James, then took off immediately for Fyvie. This is why I traveled to the home of King James to begin with. Lachlan, up until this very moment, has been unable to secure that castle, one of our family’s holdings recently reinstated by King Henry.”

  Ethan glanced over his shoulder to confirm James was still engaged in a conversation before he lowered his voice and continued. “Cleaning up after Lachlan’s failures occupies much of my leisure time. What he’s done with his wife, I cannot say.”

  Ethan sat back and crossed his arms, satisfied that he’d been truthful after all.

  The bishop’s normal child-like expression turned dark. For a moment it appeared he would question him further, but finally he said, “I’ll pray for your soul.” Then the holy man stood up and walked off the dais.

  Ethan relaxed his tense muscles and clenched jaw. As he scanned the room, he realized that in the short time he’d been with the bishop, most of the great hall had cleared except for James who was quietly finishing the meal that had been interrupted by too many Highlanders. Now was his chance.

  ~ ~ ~

  Rosalyn wiped Lachlan’s brow with the hem of her skirt. He was feverish and shaking. If he’d been poisoned, as she suspected, there would be a few things she would need immediately.

  Dashing quickly back across the dungeon corridor, she entered the unlocked cell where her mother and sister waited.

  “Saving Lachlan isnae going to be easy, yet I must do everything in my power to help him now that I know the terrible treatment I suffered was at his brother’s hands, not his own.”

  Her mother and sister nodded their approval. “We donna mind putting ourselves in danger to help. What can we do?”

  What can they do? Rosalyn pondered that for a moment while the two waited anxiously before her. Surely, she was more in danger if she ventured from the dungeon to the upper chambers of the keep. She needed to reach Ursula, but neither her mother nor her sister would know her by sight. Ursula would have the herbs Rosalyn needed.

  Rosalyn snapped her fingers. “Aye, I have it. You two take the servants’ stairs and find Greta. She’ll shield you both and will know how to find the Highland healer, Ursula, who is my ally. I’ll need her herbs for treating Lachlan’s poisoning,” she said, rushing through the instructions until
she finally took a much-needed breath. “Promise me neither one of you will do anything but this. I want you safe.” They both nodded.

  Rosalyn was relieved for so many reasons. She’d been reunited with her family, the chance of stopping Ethan was more plausible now, and thankfully, she’d found out Lachlan was not the monster she thought she’d married. But there were a number of logistical challenges that still lay ahead. First, they’d have to wait out the next guard visit. Her mother had mentioned the daily food drop by was just before sunset.

  As if they were all thinking the same thing, the three turned to the loophole window. They were fortunate the day had been sunny and it was easy to see that the sun was now setting. And if that wasn’t enough, Rosalyn’s stomach was protesting the lack of food.

  “I regret having to do this,” she said as she fished her skeleton key out of her pocket, “but I must lock us all back in the cell until after the food is delivered.”

  Rosalyn hurried to Lachlan. After checking his fever and giving him a passionate kiss on the lips, she locked his cell door.

  Just as she was removing the key, the scuffling of heavy boots sounded on the stairs beyond the turn in the corridor. She rushed to her mother and sister, and quickly locked them inside. Silently, she laid back on the spot where Ethan had left her, while her mother and sister huddled in the darkened corner.

  As the footsteps grew closer, Rosalyn shivered, hoping it was food that was on its way to them and nothing worse. When the heavy footfall stopped, she kept her eyes closed. Even though her back was to the gated cell door, she cringed.

  “Still asleep, I see. Even my brother. Well, then, there’s no need for food after all.”

  Chapter 36

  Keeping as still as possible, Rosalyn listened intently to the sounds of the dungeon.

  As much as she wanted to flip over, even partway with a pretend groan, she did not want to risk Ethan’s interest in her. She also prayed silently that he’d leave Lachlan alone too.