A Temptress in Tartan

by Gerri Russell

  “I’ll have a tub sent up so you can clean yourselves before our evening meal,” Cameron said with a bow, and closing the room’s door, leaving them to themselves. At the sudden thought of being alone with her husband while he bathed, Elizabeth clasped her arms tightly around herself, hugging her suddenly shivering body.

  Lachlan did not miss her response. His smile turned stiff. “Why are you still afraid of me? I’ve vowed not to harm you.” Something flickered in his eyes. “I am a man of my word, Elizabeth.”

  “And why should I trust you? I am surrounded by strangers. I have no idea who I can trust except myself.”

  “I’ve assured you that you are safe. Now stop this nonsense and get yourself ready for first your bath and then supper.”

  Elizabeth backed up a step. “It was obvious upon our arrival that just as you said . . . they all hate me—a Ruthven. I have no intention of subjecting myself to more of their hostility by attending a supper tonight.”

  Lachlan’s featured darkened. “You are my wife, and as such I insist you accompany me. I will make certain no one abuses you in any way.” His expression softened. “I’m sure you will feel better once you’ve had something to eat.”

  She squared her shoulders. “I’m not hungry. Besides, I do not feel well enough to eat.”

  His brow arched. “Well then, if you are ill, it is my husbandly duty to remain here with you and see that you sustain no further hardship.”

  “After a bath, I plan to go to bed.”

  A gleam came into his eyes. “I would be delighted to join you.”

  “You are a swine.” She frowned. “I am not so feverish that I’d think to want to bed you.”

  He folded his arms over his chest, his features growing darker once more. “Then you’ll come to supper with me.”

  “You cannot force me.”

  He took a step toward her. “Is that a challenge I hear, my dear wife?”

  “If you touch me, I’ll scream.”

  He shrugged. “Do so. As you so elegantly pointed out, we are surrounded by people who know me far better than they know you.”

  Elizabeth felt the blood drain from her face. “You are not a swine. You are the Devil himself.”

  Lachlan grabbed her and wrenched her forward into a crushing embrace. “If that is what you wish me to be, then so be it. I was trying to give you time to adjust to your new position as my wife. But if you will only think of me as a beast or worse, then perhaps I should become just that and take what is rightfully mine.”

  She had no time to protest as his mouth claimed hers. His lips were hot and possessive. He gave her only a heartbeat to adjust before he demanded more, probing her lips with his tongue until, on a gasp, she let him in.

  He plunged and stroked, sending mindless reverberations through her limbs. Her knees quivered and threatened to give way as his hand came up to twist in the length of her hair, ensuring she could not pull away or avoid his relentless plundering. His other hand moved to the back of her gown and fumbled with the lacings, loosening them enough that he slid his hand inside the fabric of her gown and above her chemise. Her smothered cry was ignored as he splayed his hand against the thin cotton that did little to protect her from his velvet touch.

  Her protest became a groan as his roving fingers sent waves of sensation across her flesh. This time her knees did give way, but he held her up, deepening his kiss, teasing her flesh until she could scarcely breathe, scarcely think as waves and waves of glorious delight rippled through her.

  He pulled back, but not away. “Shall we stop playing games, Elizabeth? I want this. You want this. Forget who we are and just give in to what you feel.” His lips traced a trail of fire from her lips to the slender arch of her throat and back again.

  “Nay,” she gasped. “I cannot take anything from you.” Her mind was fighting the pleasure but her body reveled in his possession as he traced a line of kisses across her chin and neck. She shuddered with raw desire as his lips trailed across her hungry flesh. Everywhere he touched, she burned and longed for more, never knowing, never dreaming such intimacy was possible with a man she should despise.

  She’d said she wasn’t hungry, but that was a lie. She was suddenly starving for more of what Lachlan offered her as his lips stroked the flesh above her bodice. A soft groan filled the air. She startled when she realized it came from her own throat. Her eyes fluttered open to find him staring down at her, studying her with an intense stillness as his heart thundered in his chest. She could see in the blue depths of his eyes that he wanted her, that he was fighting his own hunger every bit as much as she wanted to fight her own. That fact should have frightened her, but it did not. Instead, it made her smile.

  She’d thought she was weaponless against Lachlan, but she was not. A kiss could render him more vulnerable than any dagger ever could. Testing her theory, she brought her hand up to his cheek. Instantly, he pressed into her touch as a shudder racked his body.

  Lachlan Douglas might be a warrior and her enemy, but she had power over him. He would be lost to her touch anytime she chose to wield her new weapon.

  As though sensing the direction of her thoughts, he grasped her hand and pulled it away from his cheek. Every muscle in his body tense, he took a measured step back. “Accompany me to supper this evening.”

  Knowing she had no other choice, Elizabeth nodded. “You really are a loathsome creature, you know.”

  Lachlan stared at her for a long moment. “Only you can change the way you see others, Elizabeth. They will be exactly what you want them to be. Consider that while you bathe.”

  “You’re not staying?”

  His hands clenched at his sides. “Take the tub for yourself. I will bathe with the men in the barracks. I shall see you at supper.” With a bow of his head, he left.

  She felt suddenly cold, and an unfamiliar pain settled in her stomach as she turned away from the door. For a long while, she stared at the bed in the center of the chamber, not seeing the golden bedcover or fine silk drapes that surrounded the bed, but the unknown emotion in a pair of blue eyes framed by golden lashes. She now had a new weapon to use against him. But using it would come with a price—a price that would reduce her to little more than what she’d claimed him to be: the most loathsome of creatures.

  *

  Lachlan strode with angry footsteps down the hallway. His blood still pounded in his veins as the scent of Elizabeth lingered on his skin. He’d come close to simply throwing her on the bed and getting her out of his system.

  Was that the answer? Would physically possessing her body finally ease the frustration he felt every time they were in close proximity to each other? Or would such an act only make matters worse? He wanted her to come to him willingly, and he was prepared to wait for such a moment, but just when he thought he had himself under control, she would bait him with her words—cut him as deeply as any edged weapon might.

  He released a growl of frustration.

  “Trouble already?”

  Lachlan paused, as his gaze connected with his host’s. Cameron Sinclair arched his brows as he leaned against the doorjamb of a chamber farther down the hallway. “Nothing I cannot handle.”

  Cameron angled his head inside the chamber. “Come, indulge in a dram of whisky. You look downright miserable for a man who is so newly wed.”

  Lachlan sighed and raked a hand through his hair. “It shows?”

  “Aye.” Cameron headed toward a table positioned between two chairs that held a full bottle of whisky. He poured two glasses and handed one to Lachlan. “What are you going to do about your pretty little wife?”

  He took the offered glass and sank into one of the chairs. “I wasn’t aware I needed to do anything about her.” Silence stretched between them until Lachlan finally added, “You don’t understand.”

  Cameron sat opposite him. His dark eyes narrowed. “You’re right. I don’t understand.”

  “She is my wife.”

  “She’s certainly not taking up
that role with any seriousness or you would be in the bedchamber with her now.”

  “She feels unwanted and threatened.”

  “By you?”

  “Nay,” Lachlan said, unable to keep the cold edge from his voice. “Perhaps. It would help if everyone stopped looking at Elizabeth as though she were the enemy.”

  Cameron’s features darkened. “The Ruthvens started this whole feud thirty years ago when they kidnapped, abused, then murdered Rosie Douglas. It’s been a constant battle since then with the Douglases striking back followed by a Ruthven retaliation until fourteen years ago they murdered your parents. Ruthvens have been our enemy—the Sinclairs and the Douglases alike. How can your marriage to one slip of a girl change all that?”

  “Elizabeth wasn’t involved in any of that personally.” Lachlan hesitated for a moment, then pushed his anger aside. “I cannot change the past. However, I can change the course of my future with Elizabeth. Not as enemies but as something more.”

  “Judging by what I saw of the girl, that is a battle you might not win,” Cameron said, then finished the contents of his glass in one final gulp.

  Lachlan’s anger flared as he set his glass aside. “I would not be a Douglas if I didn’t at least try.”

  Cameron’s lips pulled up in a half grin. “You are becoming more like your cousins Reid and Quinn every day.”

  Lachlan suddenly frowned. “I shall take that as a compliment.”

  “’Tis how it is meant.” Cameron stood. “I’ve not seen this side of you before, my friend. You are becoming your own man, following your own counsel instead of staying in the shadows cast by your more famous cousins.”

  Lachlan stood, matching Cameron’s gaze with his own steady one. “I am more determined than ever to move beyond the past.”

  “I hope she is worthy of you.”

  As Lachlan’s anger ebbed, a tiny bud of hope unfolded within. “Elizabeth is definitely spirited. Life with her will never be predictable. You said you were willing to give her a second chance, despite her name. And if that doesn’t work, perhaps you could give her a third as well.”

  Cameron angled his head as he grinned. “I cannot decide if you are the most optimistic man I’ve even known, or a fool.”

  Lachlan shrugged. “Perhaps both. Time will reveal all, I suppose.”

  Cameron reached for the whisky bottle once more and poured a splash into both their glasses before handing Lachlan’s back to him. “Here’s to whatever your future brings.” Cameron lifted his own glass in salute. “Slàinte mhath.”

  Lachlan joined his friend in a toast. “Good health to you as well.”

  When their glasses were empty, Cameron said, “Since it appears you are not welcome in your own chamber at the moment, should I have a bath brought up for you here?”

  “Nay,” Lachlan replied. “I had intended to bathe in the barracks.”

  Cameron shook his head. “What kind of host would I be if I allowed that? I insist you clean up here.”

  Lachlan nodded his gratitude. “Thank you, my friend.”

  “No thanks are necessary. But just be forewarned, I do intend to keep an eye on your . . . what did you call her? Your unpredictable wife.”

  Lachlan released his breath in a rush. “That makes two of us.”

  Chapter Four

  After Elizabeth had bathed and changed her clothing, she stood by the fire drying her hair. As she combed her fingers through the damp tendrils, she stared at her reflection in the looking glass, not liking what she saw. She couldn’t help but compare herself to the women belowstairs who seemed so refined, serene, and in control. Whereas her own face was pale and strained. Dark shadows appeared beneath her eyes from a lack of sleep over the past week. She did not recognize the woman looking back at her.

  When did I turn into a stranger to myself? She’d done so many things in the past few days she wasn’t proud of. She’d almost taken her own life, had attempted to slit her husband’s throat, and her snappish behavior toward Lachlan was entirely out of character. A wave of self-loathing washed through her and she closed her eyes, fighting it. Her whole life had become a tumultuous mess. She didn’t know who she could trust or what to believe. Had her father and her clan told her the truth about their activities or their reputation? Or were the Douglases controlling the narrative by placing her in situations and around people supportive to them? Or did any of that really matter?

  For the first time in her life she was free from the constraints of her clan. She could judge for herself what was real, what was the truth. She had to stop thinking of herself as a victim in this marriage and start taking charge of her own life, thoughts, and actions. She might be surrounded by strangers, but she was not alone, for she knew without a doubt that Lachlan would not abandon her despite how badly she’d treated him up to this point.

  She looked down at her palm. The evidence of their pact had already started to heal. Was it time to at least give Lachlan a chance to prove her clan wrong as well?

  When her hair was finally dried, Elizabeth paused. She should restrain her hair in a snood or in a knot at the back of her head as was the custom for married women, but she resisted the urge to do so. Was it because she didn’t want to acknowledge the fact that she truly was married? Or was it because she didn’t feel married? She frowned as she considered her options. In the end, she opted to place a lace veil over the top of her hair.

  When she was done, she straightened. Her anxieties had settled and her fears had been tucked away for now. The ghost of her old self seemed to creep back into her skin as she made her way toward the door. Lachlan had said she was to meet him in the great hall. She knew if she stayed in the chamber much longer, he would no doubt come up to get her.

  Without anything else to delay her, Elizabeth left the bedchamber and made her way along the corridor to the stairs. She started to descend then stopped when a movement at the bottom caught her attention. Lachlan stepped from the shadows and into the light.

  At the sight of him, her breath caught. He had cleaned up from their travels as well. And while he still wore a length of blue and green tartan that was pleated into a kilt and held in place by a polished leather belt, he also wore a formal coat in a rich shade of midnight blue, the cuffs of which were turned back and trimmed in wide gold braid. The coat was open to reveal a snowy-white shirt beneath with a neck scarf edged in lace. The end of his tartan was brought up over his shoulder and pinned to the coat with a silver brooch in a trinity Celtic knot. His face was shaved clean and his hair curled as it had dried against his temples and at his nape.

  For a long moment Elizabeth held her breath as she took in the sight. He was the same man she had traveled here with and yet in this moment he looked so different and powerful—as though he could lift or lower his hand and make the tides rise and fall at will. Despite the change in his appearance, his eyes remained the same. Startling blue eyes studied her as she once again strode forward. She kept her hand on the railing to steady herself until she stood before him at the bottom of the stairs.

  “You look lovely,” Lachlan said as his eyes drifted over her face, then traveled lower over the swell of her bosom rising above the neckline of her forest-green gown. Did he see the turmoil she had seen in her own face? If he did, he gave no indication as he slipped his hand under her elbow. “Shall we?”

  He steered her into the great hall. The roar of conversation came to her as she took comfort in Lachlan’s touch. Beneath the glittering candles, splashes of multi-colored tartan could be seen in every corner of the room. As soon as the two of them entered the chamber, all conversation ceased and all eyes turned their way. Heat warmed her as she noted the looks were not ones of welcome. Some looks were leery. Some were outright hostile and followed by whispered responses that left no doubt the anger was directed at her and her alone.

  “So it is true. Lachlan Douglas did indeed marry a Ruthven,” came a whisper off to her right.

  “Even that beautiful dress cannot hide the
blackness of her soul,” came another whisper from the left.

  The woman Lachlan had greeted as Mariam stepped before them. She wore a beautiful rust brocade gown that highlighted the fiery red of her hair. She looked at the two of them for a heartbeat before her gaze narrowed. “A Judas in our very midst. Whatever shall we do with her?”

  “That’s unfair, Mariam.” Lachlan pulled Elizabeth infinitesimally closer. “You do not even know Elizabeth yet. Just as you are more than your clan name, allow my wife the same courtesy.” He stepped past Mariam and deftly guided Elizabeth through the crowd until she saw Cameron Sinclair sitting among several elegantly dressed men and women.

  “I hope we did not keep you waiting while we shook off our travel dirt,” Lachlan greeted. From somewhere two goblets were thrust into their hands.

  Cameron raised the glass he held. “To the newlyweds. Having you here with us now was worth the wait. Here’s to a joining of two noble families for the betterment of all of Scotland.” And as if in defiance to those around him, Cameron narrowed his gaze on those closest to him. “To Lachlan and Elizabeth!”

  “Lachlan and Elizabeth,” the crowd responded as they tilted their glasses back, draining the golden liquid in a single swallow.

  All eyes turned to Elizabeth, as though challenging her to do the same. She took a deep breath, then tossed back the golden liquor. Instantly a ball of fire spread down her throat and into her chest, sucking the air from her lungs. In spite of the flames that ravaged her insides, Elizabeth held herself upright as she tried not to react. She could hardly breathe, and her knees threatened to buckle, but still she held herself rigid. No one here would see her as weak.

  Tears came to her eyes, threatening to spill onto her cheeks. She managed to keep them from betraying her through sheer force of will. She continued to take short, shallow breaths until the embers inside her died down. Who had given her such a strong drink? Usually at these occasions, women were given nothing stronger than hippocras, a drink made from wine, sugar, and spices.