But a groan from her husband’s cell had her heart racing. And the shuffling footsteps made her panic.
“You bastard,” one of the Luttrell brothers uttered in a soft pitch.
Rosalyn held her breath. Were the words weak enough to have been Lachlan’s, or were they were spoken by Ethan so only his brother could hear?
She waited. Her breathing shallow, her heart pounding.
“What did you call me?”
Goosebumps ran up Rosalyn’s arms. Unless Lachlan had a miraculous recovery, it was Ethan who spoke last for the voice was loud and commanding.
“You heard me easily enough, and you know how fond I am of that name for you,” Lachlan replied. Although low in volume, his voice was high in venom.
“Well, call me names all you want, for you know you are dead to me.”
Dead was a word Rosalyn did not want to associate with Lachlan.
“At least I am grateful for that, or else you would have a conscience about what you’ve done to Rosalyn,” Lachlan shot back in a shaky voice. “Leave me here, but release her. She’s done nothing to you.”
Ethan gave a wicked laugh. And now she understood why he hadn’t laughed when he was pretending to be her husband. It was very different from Lachlan’s jovial one. Laughter was hard to fake.
Since the two of them had been talking, even though Lachlan’s voice was weak, they were different and she should have suspected something was wrong. Never should have believed Lachlan could have been so mean to her.
“You do not know what I’ve done to her, do you?” Ethan asked.
“You’ll soon be a dead man,” Lachlan lashed out. “And you are a coward if you do not step inside this cell now.”
Rosalyn weighed her options. If she said something to support Ethan, perhaps she could stop Lachlan’s brother from entering his cell and killing him outright. Her husband had no strength.
The sound of a key turning in the lock made her heart slam against her bodice. Never had she felt so helpless. About to go mad with fear and frustration, Rosalyn could no longer hold her tongue.
“Ethan, if you touch your brother, you shall never touch me again. I swear it,” she said, rising from the cold floor to stand tall in the cell, prepared to fight on behalf of her husband with her wit and her passion.
He spun around at her words. With a long, seductive gaze he ogled her from head to toe. “You threaten me?” he asked, chuckling. “Both of you.” He glanced back and forth between them. “Behind bars, beaten by my hand, yet you both try to intimidate me when I have the upper one?”
“Ethan, I donna threaten you,” Rosalyn said, “I’m merely laying down my rules. Now that I know you are not my husband, you will not have access to my chambers unless I give you permission.”
He crossed his arms over his chest and contemplated what she’d said. Surely, he’d forgotten that she’d only been obeying his wishes because she thought he was Lachlan. Let him believe he might have a chance with her if it would buy both she and her husband the time they needed.
“Rosalyn, I forbid you to give him permission to anything, do you hear me?” No doubt Lachlan was trying to shout, but his words were barely above a whisper. She understood he was trying to protect her, even if it was in a domineering way.
“Lockie,” she said sweetly, “my love, you are on death’s door.” It would break his heart for her to say what was coming next, but she hoped after she said it, he would understand why. “I must think of my future and that of this castle. I donna wish to be a dungeon dweller, but to support the clan leader who will rule this castle for the ages. I—” Her voice cracked. “I love you, but know I must do what is best for me.” She wanted to weep after she said those words, but she forced herself to be strong.
“Well, Lachlan,” Ethan said as he turned the key back the other way, then faced Rosalyn, “it appears I can have all my heart desires, your death, your wife, and your castle. I will let the work be done without me having to force it to a close.”
There was a glazed but predatory look in Ethan’s eyes as he acknowledged her through the cell bars.
Her gut lurched, but because it was empty, she had nothing to fear but the man who ogled her again. She silently thanked the Lord that she was separated from him by iron bars and that they were not secured in a darkened chamber with no one to hear her screams. The thought of any contact with Lachlan’s evil brother made her promise that if he did not die on her husband’s blade, he would die on hers.
So she kept mum, worried her body or her voice or her emotions would betray her now. She even tried not to blink and kept her gaze steady despite her loathing the man whose eyes were locked with hers.
Silence enveloped the dungeon for what seemed to be the length of a midday meal. Lachlan had either passed out or was so angry with her response, he was repulsed. Her mother and sister had remained silent as well, and with Ethan the only one free to leave the place, Rosalyn wondered why he lingered. Perhaps he was still assessing her. Deciding what his next move would be, or even waiting out Lachlan’s death.
Lachlan? Her heart lurched for a moment, but she kept her gaze cool and steady. The longer Ethan stayed in the keep’s lower recesses, the more precious time ticked away.
Finally, she decided to break the silence. “I await your return and to hear the final judgement on the castle.”
Perhaps that was all he’d been waiting for, because he turned on his heel and started back toward the stairs, but he gave her one last glance after he’d taken his first step, as if he’d catch her making a face at him, or her rushing to the bars to fuss over Lachlan.
Fortunately for her, she’d remained steady like a soldier ready for inspection. She may not have even blinked, congratulating herself on her newfound skill.
Apparently satisfied to leave husband and wife in separate cells once more with his malicious plan in place, Ethan snickered before he moved on and finally out of sight.
When she did move toward the dirty dungeon bars, it was to push her face as close to them as she could stand to make sure he was truly leaving, listening for the echo of his steps ascending the stairs. When nothing stirred, she felt safe to move about freely and motioned her mother and sister from the corner.
In a rush against time, the three pressed forward to the cell door. Rosalyn fitted the skeleton key into the lock then released the mechanism that kept them prisoners.
“Quickly now,” she said with an urgency she could taste, “go to Greta and have her send Ursula with a poison antidote for me. Understand?”
Both of them nodded. As malnourished as the two were, Rosalyn wasn’t sure how good they would be at completing the task, but it was her only chance at saving Lachlan.
“Be careful and tell only Greta where you’ve been and what you’ve seen,” she warned. “We cannae trust anyone else.”
Once they left, the door shut behind her and Rosalyn hurried to Lachlan’s cell. After she’d let herself in with the skeleton key, she dropped to her knees beside him. Glancing at the sun shining in from the high loophole window, Rosalyn promised herself to take matters into her own hands if the poison antidote did not arrive by dusk.
Lachlan groaned when she touch his forehead. The fever was still raging, and perspiration covered his pale, handsome face. She’d read about vampires in some of her childhood fables and she imagined they’d look like Lachlan did now.
His crisp widow’s peak defined his brow line and his glossy black hair, growing from its point, swept back into a dramatic crescendo at the nape of his neck. Never had his skin been so vampire white.
Rosalyn sat staring at him for some time, wishing her first days as a married woman would have been spent with him and not his brother. She was relieved and angry at the same time.
Glancing up at the window, she realized that there was only li
ttle light left in the sky. Her gaze drifted back to Lachlan and she wiped his brow again with her skirt. He startled her when he grabbed her hand.
“Do you really love me?” Lachlan asked, his eyes fluttering open momentarily and then, as if they were too heavy to hold, they closed again, but a smile flickered across his face.
“What?” Rosalyn asked, dumbfounded that he was speaking and trying to open his eyes.
“You’ve forgotten already that you said you loved me?” he asked in a hurtful tone.
For a moment she banished her worries about his fever, her longing for Fyvie or where they were, and she leaned down and kissed him with all the passion her soul could muster.
Desire swelled in her heart when his arms circled her waist and he crushed her to his chest. Although it must have taken Herculean effort, he began kissing her back.
Instead of the hide and seek he often played with her tongue, this time his lips corralled hers as if she was a wild horse ready to buck him. She was so grateful to be with him again, to have his heart beat with hers. Realizing that just moments ago she was comparing him to a lifeless vampire.
But even if Lachlan was as nocturnal, he needed to maintain what strength he had. It might be hours before Ursula arrived. With only concern for him, Rosalyn loosened her hold and gave Lachlan a few last delicious pecks on his swollen lips.
But he pressed her for more, speaking awkwardly into her mouth. “I’d rather you show me, not tell me, you love me, any day.”
Chapter 37
When Ethan entered the great hall the next morning, he was feeling confident. Cocky, even as he sized up his competition. In addition to the Luttrell coat of arms, Ethan wore a smug smile. He wanted his competition to know who they were dealing with.
Ethan was also pleased his conversation with James had been productive yester eve. James had listened to his arguments and had nodded agreeably throughout his plea.
Never once did Ethan lead on that his father wanted Lachlan to be the one to win the property back. No, instead he promised to be the more responsible twin.
Ethan also reminded James how Lachlan had relinquished the family name, and for that reason alone, his twin should be out of contention.
James even nodded favorably when Ethan had insisted Fyvie stay in the Luttrell family. Neither brought up Rosalyn’s claims.
Ethan also told James, as a knight serving his king, he wouldn’t have the leave of duty to preside over both an estate in Scotland and one in the south of England.
Ethan pledged to make the sacrifice. With the two working together, he promised, the Luttrells could be an insurmountable force again.
But as much as Ethan campaigned for the award, James refused make a promise before the formal hearing.
Now, on the dais where they’d supped the night before, sat one solitary chair occupied by his half-brother. Two Garter knight sentries stood on either side of the long trestle table that served as a land court bench.
The room buzzed with conversation between Highlanders, wearing matching clan plaids, as they stood in small groups. Families of fathers and sons consorting over their claim.
Whispers among the Highlanders became more noticeable. Curious, Ethan shifted his gaze to the back of the hall for his own edification.
To his surprise, a sizable group of servants, led by a woman, walked straight up to the front of the hall. James nodded to the woman and stood. Clapping his hands together, the buzz in the hall subsided.
“Take your seats,” James instructed, and he did the same. “Will those making a claim raise their hands?”
Immediately, the arm of a woman servant shot up at the table in front of him, making Ethan let out a loud harrumph. The woman turned around and let her mouth flap open. He laughed at her reaction as did most of the others.
Her face turned beet red and she spun around giving James her full attention while Ethan made a quick calculation that as many as six, including himself were here to ask for control of Fyvie.
James took a gavel from the table and rapped on it three times. “Welcome clansmen, nobles, and servants. Although I usually start with the proceedings in the order of attendance, I will break with that decorum and allow the lady to go first out of courtesy.”
One of the Highlanders stood. “Donna waste all of our precious time, Sir James. You cannae be serious about hearing a servant woman’s claim to Fyvie, can ye now?”
The servant woman walked forward and stood in front of James. After raising her hands and clapping them above her head, an army of servants filed in behind her. Cooks, stable boys, farmers, serving maids, more than fifty. When they couldn’t stand directly behind her, they filed in around the rest of the contenders.
James stood to address the group.
“Good people. This is quite unusual. As members of the serving class, you are well aware you may not own land. What claim do you make this morn?”
By the time James finished addressing the servants, the rest in the great hall were on their feet and had moved toward the front to witness the claim. Ethan followed suit.
The leader of the group, the servant woman before James, stood at an angle so Ethan could see her face. She was tall in stature and wore a simple gray shift that matched her aging appearance. She wore her silver hair drawn back in a tight knot at the nape of her neck, and no adornments. Even though she appeared to have little significance to those in the room, it was apparent she was empowered by someone. No servants were this bold on their own. James had already made the point. They could never be landholders.
While Ethan considered the servants who stood behind her, he was grateful they were unarmed. Otherwise, they would have been a formidable group, a potential tyranny in the making.
He’d expected the Highlanders to cause some ruckus, but assumed the clans to be more boastful than baleful. Now he was grateful all would abide by his brother’s decision, for the Garter knights were revered and operated with the granted authority of the king of England.
Ethan studied his half-brother’s face as the servants finished taking their places. His patience was running short.
“Speak,” he commanded.
The woman blinked quickly. She took a half-step back, but stood steady.
“Good sir,” she began in a clear voice, surprising Ethan. “I am here to represent Rosalyn Macpherson, daughter of Dengas Macpherson, who was laird of this castle and whose family has held the only Scottish rule over Aberdeen since I’ve been alive. She’s of age now and deserves her rightful place.”
A low murmur of voices swept through the hall, but no one challenged her claim. When the modest disturbance settled, Ethan noticed the woman take the half-step forward she’d relinquished moments before.
Brimming with more confidence, she continued, “Unfortunately, neither my mistress nor her husband are available to appear here due to illness. The rest of her family has been in hiding.”
The room erupted this time in a louder conversation among groups of family members, no doubt over speculation as to why so many of the Macphersons were absent.
James pounded the gavel on table and took command of the proceedings again.
“Good woman, if I understand you, there is no one from the former laird’s family who can attend this hearing and you have been asked to make the claim on their behalf?” James asked with as much respect as Ethan imagined he could, but his half-brother did not keep the sound of disbelief from his voice.
When the servant woman hesitated, a man standing directly behind her stepped up to join her. “Good sir, my name is Simon Rothberg and I am the castle’s steward. Greta is a woman of her word and we,” he gestured to the impressive group of servants gathered, “are here to support her plea for Lady Rosalyn.” He bowed slightly, then faced James again. “May I speak freely, my lord?”
James nodded but did not relax his stance nor could Ethan. He was pleased his plan had worked so far, but he hadn’t expected advocates for the family to rally on its behalf.
Simon appeared to be close in age to the woman he stood next to, with graying hair at his temples and a slightly stooped stance, as if his years of working had taken a toll on his posture. The man shuffled a little forward and clasped his hands together in front of his heart.
“Sir James, I was born in this castle. So was my father and my father’s father. As far back as our family can recall, we’ve served the Macphersons. The lairds of this clan have always been fair to their servants and have cultivated our loyalty. For that I am forever grateful.” He paused for a moment as if collecting his thoughts, then he grinned broadly. “Lady Rosalyn. Have you met her?”
James nodded.
“Well, when I describe her, you may recall, my lord, she has a fighting spirt and reminds me more of a lad than lass sometimes.”
With that admission, the group of servants began to chuckle and smile. It was clear she was loved by those who served her, making Ethan squirm. He was never comfortable with adoration or gestures of caring.
Simon’s face grew serious. “And because we honor her and support her leadership, we are prepared to die fighting for her,” he said as he raised his fist in the air and those behind him did, too.
James steepled his hands together in front of his chest. “I’m impressed with the loyalty you all share for your lady. No doubt that’s what most leaders strive to achieve. However, if given the need to defend this castle, Lady Rosalyn will need skilled soldiers and knights, not bakers and farmers.”
Now it was the clan groups turn to snicker and smile, making the servants look about and shrink their ranks, shuffling closer together.
The Golden Rose of Scotland (The Ladies of Lore Book 2) Page 22