The dark-haired beauty nodded and finally released her.
“Of course, my Lord,” she said with compliance in her voice. “Let me see what’s needed and then I can bring back the ladies in waiting. She will require at least three to set this right,” Ursula said in a disparaging way, looking Rosalyn up and down.
Ethan grunted. “Very well, but I will be right out here,” he promised.
~ ~ ~
Once she was inside the chamber and the heavy door was closed, Rosalyn collapsed into Ursula. Not wanting her sobs to reach the other side of the door, she sucked in her cries as best she could.
Ursula put her arm around her waist and walked her to the chamber bed. “Come, sister, sit with me for a moment. What has happened? Was that Ethan outside?”
“Aye,” she said between gritted teeth.
Ursula’s eyes narrowed at the news.
“This does not bode well. What of Lachlan?”
“I’d given him the paste, but he was not getting better. When Ethan appeared in the dungeon, I told him his twin brother was dead.”
She shook her head when Ursula’s eyes filled with concern. “I wanted Ethan to think Lachlan was dead so he wouldn’t be tempted to finish him then and there.” She sucked in her sniffles.
Ursula brushed the hair from her eyes in a comforting way and said, “Word in the servants’ quarters is that James made no award this morn. At least we can be certain he’s not banded with Ethan. Sir James demanded a Macpherson be present even though the servants stood in your place, led by Greta.”
“Greta’s dead. I fear for my mother and sister. Ethan will spill blood to get what he wants,” Rosalyn said through her tears.
Ursula appeared shocked by the news. “Greta was killed at the hands of Ethan?”
“I saw the blood on his hands myself. Now, he has my mother and sister. They could be next,” she choked out, her voice thick with emotion.
“Your mother and sister are not in danger,” Ursula said, looking straight into her eyes. “They are in my chamber. I just left them moments ago.” She leaned in closer. “He’s lying again,” Ursula stated plainly.
Rosalyn collapsed with relief against her friend’s shoulder.
“Of course he’s lying. That’s the language he speaks,” Rosalyn mumbled into the sleeve of Ursula’s gown, grateful that the reason she’d left with Ethan was no longer valid. She straightened and began wiping her tears with the edge of her skirt.
“What about Fyvie and the hearing?”
“I donna give a damn about Fyvie. I must fight for my family, they are what matter most,” Rosalyn said, her Macpherson spirit coming back. “Lachlan, first,” she said while rummaging around in her skirt for her pouch.
A big grin marked her success. Then as fast as her trembling fingers would allow, Rosalyn opened the pouch and withdrew the precious Philosopher’s Stone.
“Och! You are willing to sacrifice it?” Ursula asked, shaking her head like it was a sin.
“Yes, Lachlan is worth the sacrifice,” she replied with all the conviction she could muster. “Now you must help me. Use your power of persuasion on Ethan. Send back the ladies in waiting, but convince him you’ve been called by the bishop, or another lie. Somehow you must get to Lachlan.”
Then she gave Ursula a quick hug and pushed the stone into her hand. “You know what to do with this?”
Ursula nodded, her friend’s eyes gleaming like the gem in her hand. Then she held her fist high above the stone.
“Smash it,” her friend said with earnest and the motion to match.
Chapter 40
The sound of the cell door creaking open reminded Lachlan of where his head rested, on the cold stone floor of the dungeon. He opened his eyes to a stream of light coming in from the loophole window above and squinted against the tiny but brilliant glow.
His eyes needed adjusting, so he closed them again, too tired to care about who had entered. The fever, chills and gut-wrenching pain had continued to plague him, but he had not always been awake. He actually hoped that someone had come to kill him now and put him out of this misery.
“No greeting for an old friend?” said a familiar woman’s voice. Ursula? No, she would not call him friend.
“You are not looking well, but I’m here to help,” said the voice again in an all-too-chipper manner for Ursula.
Lachlan grunted. That was all he could muster from his throat. He couldn’t speak, but he ventured to open his eyes again while he turned on his side to face the voice.
Ursula.
There she sat gathering items on the floor next to a ceramic bowl as if she was sitting at the high table selecting food stuffs for her trencher.
She was focused, not even giving him a glance while she worked. He watched her select from tiny bottles and dry herbs. But when she unwrapped a red gem from a fine cloth, Lachlan was certain he’d seen it before.
Ursula must have finally noticed his gaze, because she gave him a sidewise glance. “‘Tis the Philosopher’s Stone,” she said, answering part of the question his mind was working so hard to solve.
Lachlan’s brows and nose crunched closer together.
“Belongs to your wife,” she said while shaking a few liquid drops into the bowl. “‘Tis more precious than any stone you will ever find.” Adding a dash of this and a bit of that from the miniature bottles about her, the healer did not look up while she worked.
How he wished his voice was not evading him, for he wanted to know what she was doing and where his wife was, and why she was missing and why Ursula was here with him instead.
“Save your strength. What she gave you afore wasnae strong enough,” she answered one of his unspoken questions.
When Ursula dug into the satchel at her side, Lachlan’s brows arched high and he blinked in disbelief after she pulled out a petite hammer and chisel.
“You are probably wondering what I’m doing,” she finally said, looking up from her work for a moment. If his eyes spoke, they must have pleaded for some truth, because she nodded as if she understood.
“Ne’er forget, some healers can read your mind,” she warned with a slight smile, “so be careful of your thoughts when you are in the presence of one.” Then she tossed him a wry grin.
Lachlan had forgotten. His wife never said she could read his thoughts, but he was certain Ursula could. For now, he was grateful for that.
As if she’d forgotten him, she put the chisel on the stone’s surface, then raised the hammer and let it hover high above the chisel. Lachlan’s heart lurched for a moment. Did she mean to destroy something so precious?
Without battling an eye, Ursula let the hammer fall hard on her mark and the stone shattered into a fine powder. While Lachlan studied the broken pieces, he realized the stone had not been a gem after all, but a container made of glass to house the reddish powder that lay among the broken shards of its faux housing on the golden silk cloth.
Watching Ursula work reminded him of a sorceress at an occult altar. If she’d come to make a final poison Rosalyn had commissioned so she could have Fyvie for herself and put the blame of his death on his brother, so be it. That would be at least a fitting end to his life and put him out of his misery.
“‘Tis not poison, Lachlan,” she said softly. “Despite your deranged thoughts, your wife loves you and is doing everything in her power to save you. But she’s in danger now. That’s why I’m here, so once I save you, you can save her.” She took her attention from the powder before her and focused her intense gaze on Lachlan.
His heart began beating stronger. If saving himself meant saving Rose, then nothing would stop him from getting out of this dungeon with Ursula’s help.
“Good, you understand now and your will to live is stronger. I can sense it in you and see it in your eyes
.” Ursula studied him closely. “You do love her,” she said with conviction.
His eyes closed momentarily and nodded with all the strength he had. When he opened them again, she was carefully adding the fine red powder to the bowl.
“Because I can sense you have no knowledge of the power of this powder, I am going to tell you how your wife is making the most generous of sacrifices,” she promised, starting to pummel the paste with the pestle.
“To some, the Philosopher’s Stone is a myth, going back at least as far as William the Conqueror’s time. For hundreds, maybe thousands of years, many have sought to possess one.” She stopped and looked up at him. “And many have died seeking the stone for the unusual powers it would grant them.”
He blinked rapidly, his excitement growing and his heart grateful that for once in his life someone cared enough for him to make an ultimate sacrifice.
“Those with no knowledge of alchemy would not know how to use it or even understand the power of what they possessed. This stone,” Ursula gestured to the broken remnants, “had been in Rosalyn’s family for hundreds of years. It was one of a handful her great-grandfather was given when he was initiated as an alchemist. At the time, even the well-educated did not know how to harness its powers.
“It’s been said, having the power of the Philosopher’s Stone is like having the power to create miracles, to be God-like. Throughout history, those who’ve had this stone and the skill, have either saved a life, extended a life or,” she paused dramatically, “granted eternal life.”
Lachlan’s eyes widened, but Ursula anticipated his thoughts before he formed them. “Nay, you will not be given eternal life, but this potion will cure you. I can promise you that,” she said with conviction, then her focus returned to the mortar and she began her work again in earnest.
“When alchemists discovered this stone also had the power to alter metals,” she glanced up from her work, “like turn iron into gold. Not only was this power so coveted by the wealthy and the noble, it was also sought by the ignorant and the poor,” she said, shaking her head as if all men were idiots.
“Once the full powers of the stone were known, alchemists took a noble oath, promising to protect the stone from mankind, and to be the keeper of the knowledge and the power,” she told him, her attention going back to her work.
“As a secret society, they kept their skills and knowledge from anyone who was not a member, so they were able to protect the precious stones, as well as use them sparingly until the circumstances were dire enough.”
Ursula stopped pounding the powder with her pestle. “Dire, like they are now,” she said, scooting closer to where he lay.
She reached her arm behind his head to prop him up. “You will need to drink this. Here, let me help you.”
Lachlan gathered all the strength he could muster. If he were to get out of this cell and save Rosalyn, he needed to hold his head up high. As if already partially cured, he even propped himself up on his elbows to Ursula’s shocked expression.
He grinned. “The power of love and positive thinking,” he mumbled softly, even surprising himself that his voice was returning, and she put the bowl to his lips.
“Then think of this red liquid as your love potion. Bottom’s up,” she said as she tipped the bowl forward and the cool concoction trickled down the back of his throat, smooth, a little like a fine mead.
~ ~ ~
Rosalyn had to assume Ursula was successful escaping Ethan, for three serving maids had arrived before Rosalyn’s eyes had even dried from her tears.
As she watched one of her favorite young handmaidens, a girl of no more than ten and four named Devin, braid her hair, Rosalyn thought hard about what was at stake.
Gazing at her reflection in the mirror, she remembered her da’s visit and his blessing for a union of English and Scot. Clearly, history was riddled with pairings of the two bitter rivals, and her choice of Lachlan was no more controversial than most, and even blessed by the King of Scots.
When her journey had begun weeks ago with her uncle and a few hired servants, she’d dreamed of ending back here at home—a home she’d been barred from since her da’s death over four years ago. Then she was only ten and seven.
Now that she was of age, even if the King of Scots did not agree, she was ready to fulfill the promise she made to her da.
That purpose had been foremost in her thoughts when she arrived in Berwickshire. She’d been prepared to lie, cheat, and even die to return the rights of Fyvie to the Macpherson family.
Perhaps that’s why she’d never had she thought much beyond that. Of marriage, of having her own children, until she’d found Lachlan.
Blind ambition could be deadly, she’d learned, and if anything, she was no longer that naïve, hell-bent activist who thought nothing of charging headlong into questioning traditions and challenging the laws of the times.
Her biggest threat lay ahead, but if she had to choose between her home and her heart, she knew which way she would go.
But fate would be a part of what happened next. Were her mother and sister safe? Would Ursula save Lachlan? Could she figure out a way to outsmart Ethan at the hearing?
When a sharp knock on the chamber door made her jump and Devin drop her hair comb, Rosalyn knew the time had come to get the answers.
The chamber door opened abruptly and Ethan strode into the room as if it was the great hall, taking little courtesy to see if Rosalyn was ready or not. Clearly, he’d take her there in either state.
“It’s time,” he said like an executioner, then he turned on his heel, not even offering her a hand from her chair or an arm for escort.
She made a harrumph sound only Devin could hear, and they exchanged glances. “You look lovely, my lady, and courageous.” The girl served the compliment with a bow and a blush.
“Thank you, Devin. Now I must go to meet my fate,” Rosalyn said more to herself than the girl, who nodded and adjusted Rosalyn’s dress once she stood.
After entering the corridor, Rosalyn found Ethan waiting at the cross section of the halls ready to descend the stairs to the great hall.
“Come.”
She was already walking toward him. His demeanor was commanding. Once she reached his side, he started down the stairs ahead of her without offering assistance.
What a brute, she thought. “Clearly, your mother never taught you manners,” she said over his head while he continued to descend. “Oh, yes, I forgot, you killed her before she could teach you any,” she snapped, not concerned about the consequences at this point.
Once Ethan reached the landing, he gave her a cold stare and then continued toward the great hall.
Without any ceremony, Rosalyn followed him into the room where many of the memorable moments of her life had taken place. Birthdays, anniversaries, visits with family and dignitaries, even King Henry III had supped with the family on a peace-treaty mission. Now, one of the most important moments of her life awaited her in this very room.
But she felt quite alone. Greta was gone, Da was gone, the rest of the family absent. She searched the faces in the room, realizing quickly that most of the eyes were on her.
Devin had helped her choose a dark-red gown in velvet brocade with an underlay pattern of silver, reminiscent of her family’s favorite tartan colors. Rosalyn felt her face heat but she held her head high. Without hesitation, she made a direct line to the dais. The nobles and clansmen who’d gathered in small groups about the crowded hall parted to let her pass.
Rosalyn moved as if the decision had already been made in her favor and the proceedings a ceremonious matter. Walking through the groups of families, she recognized all of them. And instead of being greeted with innocuous stares, she was welcomed with warm smiles and occasional off-the-brow salutes.
As she took her place in fro
nt of the temporary court bench, Ethan filed in right behind her.
Chapter 41
As James made his way toward the great hall, he weighed the options of awarding Fyvie. Although he’d expected to have made the final decision by now, he was more conflicted than before.
Last night, while he lay awake alone in his chamber bed, missing his feisty new wife, James was reminded why the decision was so important.
Yes, he’d killed his father Nicholas, not out of spite, or anger, or for personal gain. He’d killed him to protect his own. His mother, Victoria, and wife, Elena. Both women’s lives had been threatened by his deceitful and malicious father. A man who did not raise him. A man who defamed his mother and stole Fyvie from her. Both women had been pawns in Nicholas’s plan to regain his earldom, the castles he’d lost when King Richard III had taken the throne.
But because his father’s cousin, King Henry VII, had reinstated the Luttrell family’s holdings before Nicholas’s death, his half-brothers now coveted the Scottish castle that had been in his mother’s family for generations.
It had all started when Victoria’ father, Sir Brodie, banished Nicholas to Fyvie castle many years ago and James was told his real father was dead. It wasn’t until King Henry’s coronation and his mother’s kidnapping that James met Nicholas in a battle to the death. Oddly enough, that wasn’t when he’d killed him, though the joust was the impetus to unraveling his family’s story—that Nicholas was his real father, and uncovering his mother’s ties to Fyvie.
Now from what he’d been told by Lachlan, his mother, Victoria, was related to the woman named Rosalyn. No doubt if his mother had a say in the matter, she’d insist that Fyvie Castle be awarded to the Scottish lass.
Yet, the word from his half-brother Ethan claimed King James III refused to award the castle’s title to a woman and had forced Lachlan’s marriage to the young Macpherson lass to solve the issue. Now, not only did she covet the award, but so did her brother-in-law, Ethan.
The Golden Rose of Scotland (The Ladies of Lore Book 2) Page 24