Chapter 19
Lachlan stood at his chamber washbowl splashing water on his face, grateful it was cold. Ruminating about his circumstances, he cupped another handful and tossed on more, slapping his cheeks.
Five days ago, life was simple. Today, it was damn complicated. He stared into the tinted mirror above the bowl while the water dripped down his face. Shaking his head like a horse, he blinked through the dripping water.
“Feeling more like an ass than a horse today, Lachlan?” he asked himself, then grinned at his reflection.
Marriage. He’d always thought of it like a sentence to the gallows. But not today. Had he finally found his match? Someone who didn’t swoon at his every advance? A woman who did not agree with him?
Ever?
But as he was getting comfortable with the idea, he was reminded why this wasn’t right either.
The bride didn’t want him. He was marrying a woman who hated the English, and worst of all, a woman who did not want to consummate the marriage. If that didn’t make this Sunday black, he was suspected of stealing Fyvie Castle and the Golden Rose from the Scots.
As he reached for a rag to wipe the rest of the water from his face, he thought back to what the bishop had said to him in his chamber. “I will deliver you from evil.”
No doubt, considering the evil nature of both his brother and father, Bishop Passarelli’s words were more gospel than gossip.
Yes, Lachlan thought, the chance to free himself of the Luttrell name was worth almost any sacrifice, for it would be legal and his documents would be signed by a king. The idea of hiding away with a fiery redhead in the Highlands of Scotland become more appealing as he thought more on it.
Whack! Whack! Whack! A fist pounded on the door. When Lachlan spun around, the unexpected guest had already burst into the chamber, like a charging runaway bull.
“There you are. Is it true?”
“Get out,” Lachlan replied calmly, turning toward the mirror, still able to keep an eye on his unwelcome guest in its reflection.
“Well if it’s true, then I’m staying for the wedding. You need a witness, do you not?”
“If I kill you now, there will be no witness to your death.”
“Kill your own flesh and blood?”
“Only one of us would have the honor. I’d rather it be me.”
His brother’s laugh followed, reminding him it was the last sound he’d heard before his mother’s final breath. It was a sound that pained Lachlan like his cheek being slapped by the hand of a haughty courtesan wearing one of those oversized jeweled rings.
“Not welcome at my own brother’s betrothal? What would father say?”
“I don’t give a devil’s damnation what father would say. Frankly, I’m getting rid of the lot of you.”
“Rid of us? Your family? Pray tell, man, has the idea of marriage made you mad?”
“Actually, quite sane.” He squared his shoulders in the mirror.
“Brother, sanity can’t be measured by the one claiming it, you understand?”
“Nor can a family bond be honored by the one breaking it,” Lachlan declared, turning to face his twin.
“But family is about blood, not bond. Heraldry, not heart. Legacy, not love,” Ethan said.
Lachlan flung the wet rag toward his brother, but the bastard ducked just before it would have stung his face.
“I would expect a friendly gesture like that from a wench,” Ethan said, holding out his hand and taunting him with a flick of his fingers as an invitation to take him on. “Is that your best shot, Brother? Or has the impending wedding made you soft?”
Ethan should have seen it coming, but his face still wore a shocked expression long after Lachlan slammed him down on the chamber floor and the two began to wrestle on the king’s fine rug, Ethan taking wild swings at Lachlan’s head, but missing every time.
Lachlan laughed at Ethan’s feeble attempts. “Would you be giving your brother a bloody nose before his betrothal?”
Ethan growled after he pinned Lachlan on his back, reminding him of the days when they were bairns, before mother died. She’d have separated the two by now.
“A black eye would be even better,” Ethan grunted out as his right fist swung close to Lachlan’s cheek. But Lachlan arched his back at the right time and ducked away from Ethan’s flailing arm.
“Fitting, from the Luttrell twin with a black heart,” Lachlan retaliated. And in an instant, he managed to roll Ethan to his back. Straddling his brother’s chest gave him control now, but Ethan didn’t let up and swung his fists, punching at Lachlan’s stomach.
Finally, Lachlan caught his brother’s right wrist after an awkward swing, then flipped him onto his stomach, pinning him to the fancy flooring.
A little winded, but pleased with himself, Lachlan was grinning over the small victory when a knock came at the door.
In less than a heartbeat, the bishop strode into the room, taking a shocked step back after discovering the melee on the king’s floor.
“The guards heard some unusual noises coming from here. They suggested a fight. But I waved them off and told them they were wrong.”
The bishop stared at their awkward positions and after a long pause asked, “Were they wrong?”
Lachlan gave the bishop a sheepish grin as he released his brother and climbed to standing. He extended his hand to help Ethan up, but the idiot slapped his hand away and rolled up to sitting.
“What do you think, Father?” Ethan asked, groaning as he climbed to his feet on his own.
“A man of God never judges, he leaves that to the Almighty,” the bishop answered, his eyes twinkling. If there was anything Lachlan could count on in the days since he left Berwick-upon-Tweed, it was the almost perfect nature of Bishop Passarelli.
“Let us pray,” the bishop suggested, tenting his hands and closing his eyes.
Lachlan complied with an inward sigh, wishing he’d had a chance to cause his brother some physical pain. Instead, he hung his head and closed his eyes, anticipating the bishop’s efforts to try to make them a functioning family.
“Dear Lord, I have before me identical twin brothers, Ethan and Lachlan. Even though I have not known them long, I know them well. Both proud, ambitious young men, competitive to a fault, but brothers in the eyes of their countrymen and in the house of God.”
As the bishop continued with good intentions, one moment Lachlan was struggling to focus on the prayer and the next he was biting his tongue to keep from screaming out loud while his black-hearted brother ground the heel of his boot into the top of Lachlan’s bare foot.
Now, with eyes wide open and a heart filled with fury, Lachlan shoved his brother hard. Laughing when Ethan landed with a thud back on the floor. But the bishop did not falter. With a serene expression and eyes still closed, he soldiered on.
“And Lord. Even though they struggle with mutual respect, and don’t show any outward signs of affection toward each other, I know you can help them regain their family loyalty and honor.”
When the bishop opened his eyes, Lachlan plastered a serene and compliant expression on his face. After glancing sideways at Ethan, he wondered what his brother would do now that he’d regained his footing.
Relief filled him when he was greeted by a similar sideways calm expression from his brother. As if rehearsed, they both tipped forward in a bow, with their hands clasped together in prayer.
Lachlan spoke first. “Thank you, Bishop, for your blessings and prayers.”
“Yes,” Ethan chimed in, “if any day we should put our differences aside, it should be on my brother’s wedding day.”
The bishop appeared pleased as if he’d ended one of England greatest battles, clasping his hands in joyous celebration, his eyes bright. “Then my work is done here and God will continue to watch over you both.” The holy man turned to leave. “Next I see you, Lachlan, will be in the chapel. God be with you.”
“And also with you,” both men replied in unison.
When the door closed softly behind him, Lachlan spun to face his brother. “Truce for today then,” he said, extending his hand toward Ethan.
Not that he expected an embrace with a handshake, but Ethan turned away from him and walked toward the open window instead.
“Give you a leg up,” Lachlan offered without jest, “right out that window.”
“Do not act hastily, Brother, for I am not of that mind right now.”
“Are you out of your mind, then?” Lachlan strode half way across the room, then stopped with arms crossed over his chest, trying to control his rage. “You most certainly should be, for showing up on my wedding day expecting to be welcomed, especially after your actions at Berwick with Ursula.”
His brother tossed his head back with a haughty laugh. “Oh, you mean when I pretended to be you in Ursula’s bed? Your ego cannot be that fragile, Brother. I was aiming to win a wager.”
“At all costs?”
“Life should be lived at all costs, that’s what father would say.”
“And that’s another reason why we differ on just about everything.” Lachlan walked closer to Ethan. “What do you gain, Brother, by waiting around?”
“To see that Fyvie is finally in our family’s holdings once more.”
“With this marriage it will be. Don’t you think I’ll go through with it?”
“It’s not you I’m worried about.”
Lachlan grunted. “I will send you a missive with a copy of the deed.” He narrowed his eyes on his brother. “I thought you left yesterday. Your horse was missing.”
“Do you track all my moments?”
“When you are suspected of stealing something. The Golden Rose is missing.”
Ethan appeared unaffected by his words and shrugged. “I’m suspected of many things.”
“That you are,” Lachlan said before curling his mouth into a wicked smile when he realized he had a solution to Ethan’s insistence on attending the wedding.
Later that afternoon, Lachlan found the perfect opportunity to get back at his brother. When Ethan agreed to meet him at the stables, it was a stroke of good luck. Lachlan had promised to let his twin borrow his destrier.
After Lachlan wound the rope around one more time, he finished with a double knot.
“I cannot believe you are going through with this,” Ethan grumbled.
“The wedding?”
“No, tying me up in here.”
“Because of the company?” Lachlan laughed, but then his smugness disappeared. “I have my reasons,” Lachlan admitted, “and one of them is trust. I’m sure you aren’t surprised.”
“Do you think I’ll put an arrow in Rosalyn’s heart at the service?”
“I wouldn’t put it past you to put one in mine,” Lachlan snapped back, then frowned and gave his brother a deadly glare. “But you poisoned the only other woman I ever loved.”
“You know that was an accident, I—wait, you’re in love?”
“You blamed it on me,” Lachlan said, losing patience and ignoring his brother’s question.
There was an awkward silence until Lachlan responded. “Ethan, you’ve always blamed your bad deeds on your good brother. With this marriage, I plan to start a new life, free of the Luttrells.”
His twin clenched his jaw before he spoke. “I promised father I’d see this through,” he grunted. “If marrying the lass wins the castle, I need only witness the ceremony before the King of Scots.”
He checked the knots around Ethan’s feet and hands. “You’ll just have to trust that I won’t get cold feet,” Lachlan said with a tinge of amusement. Then he closed the gate to the pigsty and laughed when the sound of snorting mixed with Ethan’s cries for help.