Chapter 17
“Rules? No, not now, not ever,” Lachlan said, still grinning. “I never live by the rules and I’ll be damned if I start as a married man.”
“You shall start married life as a damned fool if you donna, Lockie Macpherson.”
The look in Rosalyn’s eyes was as intimidating as any warrior. He leaned back against the pew and studied his betrothed. Marriage? Another device to get what he wanted. No doubt she was thinking the same.
“The bishop blessed me. I can’t be damned, whether I follow your rules or not.”
“You are not marrying the bishop.”
Lachlan laughed, diffusing his discomfort and his initial resistance to being restrained. “God’s teeth, let me hear the rules, then I shall decide if I’ll abide by them.”
Rosalyn scooted a little further from him on the pew bench and crossed her arms defensively over her chest. “First rule, you abide by all my rules.” She cocked her head to one side and waited for his reaction.
Lachlan couldn’t help but release a loud grunt, but kept his mouth shut, for now, while he waited for the rest.
“Second rule, separate sleeping chambers.”
She paused, allowing him to respond. Lachlan knew that as her husband, he had the right to visit her bed anytime he liked, giving him a workaround to get what he wanted.
“Agreed,” he said stoically.
Her right eyebrow raised in response as she kept her gaze steady. “Next rule, no one in my family or anyone in Aberdeen should be told of our . . . this . . .”
“Arrangement?” he suggested.
“Yes, that’s it. Our arrangement.”
“‘Tis an arranged marriage, after all. Isn’t that what they call it?” He snorted loudly.
“Shh!”
“Only God can hear us in here.”
“I don’t want God to hear that.”
“Then you should have picked another spot.”
It was her turn to snort.
“I will agree to keep our marriage a secret, but I don’t think that qualifies as a rule.”
Sobering quickly, she ignored his comment and squared her shoulders. “And finally, I will remain a virgin as long as I wish.”
He straightened. “The king will require consummation of our marriage, and proof. I’m sorry, Rosalyn, but you can’t make that rule.”
She bristled, her pale, creamy skin turning a light pinkish-red. While Rosalyn held his gaze, she smoldered with ire.
He wanted to tell her she couldn’t get angry for something that he had no control over, wanting to explain the laws of marriage, but he didn’t. Because he had no intention of abiding by that rule, even if the king agreed. He planned to take her as quickly as he could woo her. And frankly, he would take her virginity right now if he could. The law would be in his favor, Lachlan rationalized, as he waited for her backlash.
Even before Rosalyn spoke again, her entire body shook. “I will speak with the king about that,” she said in a huff, standing, then coming close to stare down at him. “Do I have your agreement?”
Lachlan reflected for a moment. Damn her rules. Yet he was certain the marriage would solve the land dispute and keep his father’s wrath at bay until the senior Luttrell discovered Lachlan had abandoned the family’s surname. But that was another battle. For now, Lachlan needed to tie the knot.
“If the king agrees, then so shall I,” he promised, standing and taking her hands in his. Now it was his turn to stare down at her. “Any arrangement calls for sacrifice, and I’m sure we’ll both make concessions for Fyvie.”
“For Fyvie?” she whispered.
“For our future,” he corrected. Then he wrapped his arms around her and nestled her hips up against his groin. He slid his hands down her sides and with a gentle rocking motion, ground her body across his bulging cock.
When her eyes widened as big as teacup saucers, he bent to kiss her neck below her ear and chuckled into her skin. “Are you certain you want separate beds?”
~ ~ ~
Rosalyn took in a sharp breath, feeling lightheaded and in need of air, like the day she’d fainted at Berwick Castle. But before her head began to spin, she ducked out from under Lachlan’s embrace. Taking quick steps, she hurried toward the chapel door.
Tossing back her head and forcing a cheery countenance, she said, “See you at the wedding tomorrow.” Then she slipped through the door, leaving Lachlan at the altar.
Her heart wouldn’t stop fluttering as she rushed down the corridor wanting to get away from Lachlan and find Ursula. Rosalyn had so much to tell her. And then she’d need to talk to the king.
As she continued on her way from the chapel, the magnitude of marriage weighed heavy on her. What would her da think of her marrying an Englishman? Was he turning in his grave?
“Oh, my!” Rosalyn stopped in her tracks.
“Where are you going in such a mad hurry, lass?” the bishop asked.
She realized that her breath was heavy and she was perspiring. Had she run this far unaware?
“My dear, has someone threatened you? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Rosalyn nervously smoothed a few stray strands from her forehead and forced her lips into a smile. “Your Excellency, oh my, no. I was just in the chapel.”
The bishop chuckled. “Are you sure the ghost wasn’t a holy one?”
The quip caught her off guard and made her laugh along with him, allowing her to slow her heart and her mind.
“Bishop, I-I-I am to be married,” she finally said, not knowing any other plain way to tell him.
His eyes widened as well as his grin. He clasped his hands together with gleeful acceptance. “Wonderful, yet surprising news, my dear.” Then he paused as if waiting for her to tell him more.
She hesitated.
He turned his head slightly, raising both brows. “Who’s the lucky fellow? Do I know him?” the bishop prompted.
“Yes, well, it’s Lachlan,” she said, flustered. “He volunteered.”
Scratching his beard, the always-jovial bishop sobered for a moment at her revelation. “Let me understand, lass. A man you hate, an English man who’s been after your land, volunteered to marry you. And you accepted?”
She nodded rapidly, trying to blink away the tears that were welling up. It sounded crazy, she knew, but it had all made sense a little while ago.
“It was the king’s idea,” she offered, as if that would make it all sound more right than wrong.
“Oh, of course,” the bishop nodded as if he was still in a fog over the situation she’d just described. “It was the king’s decree.”
She blushed. “Not his decree, but his, well—” she stopped and wrung her hands. “He ordered our marriage in court as a solution to the dispute over Fyvie.”
The bishop stilled her hands with his gentle touch. “My dear, even in my home country of Italy, I would interpret the king’s insistence on your marriage a decree.”
She shrugged. “‘Tis a solution, your Excellency,” she said, hoping she sounded happy.
“God’s will and the king’s will are often the same,” he said, then brightened. “Congratulations are in order. I would be honored if you’d allow me officiate,” he said with a slight bow. “Of course, with both yours and the king’s permission. For an English and Scottish union, perhaps a neutral party will be best.”
Rosalyn bowed over the top of their joined hands. “I couldn’t be happier.” She raised her head and grinned at him. “Thank you.”
He squeezed her hands. “I shall be off to the king to discuss it.” When the bishop released her hands, Rosalyn hung on and gave him a tug.
“Your Excellency, I have one more favor,” she said, feeling her cheeks heating up. “I need a promise from the king that I remain a virgin after my vows.” She paused, embarrassed by her frankness. “You understand,” she added with a shrug.
It was the bishop’s turn for his cheeks to flush. “Lass, I’m an influential man, but that is an unusual request. I shall promise to do my best.”
Rosalyn smiled shyly when she finally released his hands. It was the best she could hope for and no doubt he’d have more influence over the king than she could. At least that’s what she hoped for.
Getting her bearings first in the corridor, then Rosalyn rushed down the hallway and soon made the turn toward the women’s chambers. In a matter of moments, she was briskly knocking on Ursula’s door, anxious to ask the herbalist to stand with her on the morrow.
A cautious Ursula cracked the door open far enough only a fly could navigate. When she recognized Rosalyn, the cautious healer opened the door enough to draw her in before the door snapped shut like a trap.
“Is it true?” the healer asked, her black eyes bulging like a bug’s.
“Is what true?”
“That you’ve abandoned our plan. What will I do now?”
“I, um, the plan has simply changed. You are still a part of it.”
“As the fool who will stand by and watch you throw your life away and marry your enemy?” She put both hands on her hips.
Of course Ursula was upset. The woman was reactionary before logic set in.
“Let me make a soothing concoction for you,” Rosalyn offered, gliding past Ursula, who looked more sorceress than advocate, toward the potion-filled cabinet.
But when Rosalyn reached into the cupboard, Ursula caught her elbow and spun her back around.
“I donna need a soothing concoction. I need a potion to bring you back to your senses. What are you thinking to marry Lachlan de Leverton?”
Rosalyn sighed inwardly, not wanting to tell her friend who the real Lachlan was. That would make her head spin even faster.
Then she remembered the bishop’s words. “‘Tis the king’s decree. I cannae fight our ruler.” When Ursula gave her a look she was unconvinced, Rosalyn defended her decision further. “The bishop told me ‘twas God’s will to be done.”
That made the healer laugh, and she released Rosalyn. “Go ahead and make that concoction. I am sure I will need it after all.”