Chapter 26
While Lachlan paced in the maid’s cubbyhole, his mood matched the darkness. His stomach told him it was well past breakfast and he was not only starving for food, he was hungry for his wife. Patience had progressed to provoked anger. How could it be that not a single maid had come to retrieve the fresh linens and threshes for the morning duties?
Lachlan was about to pound on the door once more, when it was thrust open instead. Fortunately, he stopped or he would have punched the frightened woman on the other side. That did not seem to matter, for she started screaming like a banshee and the soiled bedding flew up and out of her arms.
He tried to make apologies, but it didn’t matter. The maid wouldn’t stay for pleasantries, nor did she collect items she’d come for. Instead, she ran past the dirty pile of linens without another word.
Lachlan wasn’t concerned about any of this at the moment. He raced down the empty castle passageway toward the wedding chamber. Bursting through the door like a barbarian, he came to a screeching halt just inside the door, startling yet another maid into a screaming frenzy.
“Now, now,” Lachlan said in his best soothing voice. “I’m Lord Macpherson, and this is my chamber.”
The frightened woman didn’t look any more assured that he wasn’t there to murder her. He could imagine how he appeared, with straw threshes sticking to his normally meticulous beard and hair.
As he began tossing off the straw, he tried to keep his voice soft and his demeanor calm. “Have you seen Lady Macpherson?”
The maid shook her head and gripped the linens in her hands like a protective shield against her chest.
“Well, then,” Lachlan said as he backed out of the room. “Carry on.” He spun on his heel and headed to the great hall. Surely, someone there would be able to direct him to Rosalyn.
When he entered the gathering room, he found a few courtesans at the trestle tables. Because it was late morning, only a couple unassigned knights and squires were there, too.
As he took a seat at the empty dais table, a serving maid approached with a trencher of hard-boiled eggs, ham, fresh bread, and a goblet of ale. “Bless, you, woman,” he said after she set the foodstuffs in front of him. She gave him an odd look, making him think he could still be wearing a stray straw or two, but he didn’t care at the moment.
After a few bites of the food, followed by a good wash of ale, Lachlan sensed someone approaching from behind and stiffened. A friendly pat on the back assured him there was no threat.
“What are you doing back at Edinburgh, my lord?” asked a familiar voice from behind him. “Where you not off for Fyvie this morn with your new bride?”
Lachlan spun from his chair to his feet, knocking it over as he turned to find a startled Bishop Passarelli.
“My bride off to Fyvie?” Lachlan asked, almost choking on the morsel of bread he’d been chewing. “What say you, bishop? I do not understand.”
The bishop’s calm demeanor returned, along with his complementary placid smile. “My son,” he said in a steady voice, placing a hand on Lachlan’s arm to steer him back to his seat, “let’s discuss this civilly and I promise I will help you.”
Lachlan drew in a deep breath, then reluctantly righted the overturned chair and returned to his seat. As the holy man took up one beside him, Lachlan downed the remaining contents of his goblet, then waved the server over to refill it.
“Start from the beginning, bishop,” Lachlan said, trying to keep his voice calm. “When I searched for my wife this morn, after being locked in the servant’s closet all night, thanks to my brother, she was not there, and you say she left with me this morn for Fyvie?”
Damnation. Lachlan felt the tension in the air grow. Ethan was pretending to be him and he had already deceived everyone, including Rosalyn. Although he didn’t expect she was in any immediate danger, he was ready to saddle up and chase after them when the bishop put his hand back on Lachlan’s arm.
“Si, your wife is with your brother, but she is also traveling with the healer, four Garter knights, and their squires. She is not alone with him.”
Lachlan yanked away from the bishop and pounded his fists on the head table. His chair knocked backward for the second time as he stood. “Bishop, I don’t want my brother anywhere near my wife. He killed my mother, the only other woman I’ve loved, and I’ll not let him do it again.”
The bishop nodded grimly. “I gave Rosalyn my blessing and God’s. That should provide some protection. Even if you are not a deeply religious man, Lachlan, you must take some comfort in that.” He gestured for Lachlan to sit and after he complied by retaking his seat, the holy man closed his eyes. “Let us pray,” he said in a firm voice.
“Dear Father, my son Lachlan is distressed over a deceptive act by his brother, Ethan, against his new wife, Rosalyn. Please keep her safe from harm until Lachlan is able to come to her aid. And Lord, please protect Lachlan from his brother. Amen”
“Amen,” Lachlan echoed, opening his eyes. “Thank you, Bishop. I will make haste, but cautiously and with God’s guidance. Now, I bid you arrivederci.”
Lachlan began to rise, but the bishop’s hand remained firmly on his arm. “Not so fast, young man, I’m going with you.”
Lachlan wasn’t about to yank his arm away from the bishop, but his renewed calm was starting to fray. The last thing he wanted was an elderly bishop and his entourage of holy men holding him back on the trail.
“With all due respect, I must refuse your assistance. You understand a posse of priests would slow my progress.”
The bishop grinned and his eyes danced with merriment. “No, my son, not a posse of priests, just me and more of the English knights. Remember, I’m an accomplished horseman and a trained swordsman. Besides, I have vowed to return to the king the missing Golden Rose of Scotland and I believe I can accomplish your goal and mine at the same time.”
Lachlan had forgotten he’d lost the challenge to the bishop on the trip to Edinburgh and weighed his offer. Perhaps the bishop would be a good negotiator when he joined his brother, but what was this about the Golden Rose?
“All right, bishop, you may join me and I thank you for your generosity, but please, pray tell, what news do you have of the Rose?”
“My spies have it under good authority that it is your brother who has taken the Rose. Someone who fits his description is suspect.”
That made Lachlan pause. “Someone who looks just like me, you mean?”
“I’m inclined to think, based on what I know about you, Lachlan, that it is your brother who may be guilty.”
“But many know, including the king, that I was the last to see the Rose.”
“True, but an innocent man would never volunteer that information,” the bishop said with knowing nod.
Lachlan was grateful for the holy man’s belief in his innocence. The bishop was proving more conniving than Lachlan had given him credit for.
He had spies.
~ ~ ~
Edinburgh to Aberdeen was a five-day journey. Rosalyn knew it well, having traveled it many times alongside her da. With only girls in the family, her father did not hesitate to help them learn the wool trade and she’d built up a tolerance for life on the trail.
Ursula, on the other hand, was struggling with the rigors of hours in the saddle. Her saving grace was her vast resources of herbs at the ready to help with everything from saddle sores to bee stings.
Luckily for Rosalyn, the first two days of travel had passed pleasantly enough. She had bunked with Ursula and avoided any intimate contact with Lachlan. She was grateful she’d hardly even spoken to her new husband.
And with Ursula at her side, the friendship grew as they had much to debate when it came to the foliage at their daily stops and campsites. Coming from different clans, each woman had her own secrets and antidotes for many of the same common herbs and everyday plants.
At first, Rosalyn had questioned the trail Lachlan had chosen, knowing it wasn’t the most popular with the merchants, but he’d insisted, although more rugged, it was more direct and would cut the normal travel time in half, allowing them to reach Fyvie before nightfall.
Now that she was within miles of the castle, the fringe of Aberdeen’s territory, she began to worry about being accepted back into the clan after having married English. Having married a Luttrell.
It had been four long years working the wool trade with her Uncle Angus out of a tidy manor in the hamlet of Blackdog, not far from Fyvie’s gates, biding her time ‘til this month, when she’d come of age.
Not that Rosalyn was any wiser now than she’d been at seven and ten, but the law was the law. For even though her da had bequeathed the castle and lairdship to Rosalyn at his death, Nicholas Luttrell had kept her away.
And that’s why after her twenty-first birthday and Nicholas’s sudden disappearance from Aberdeen, she’d risked everything with a stolen king’s seal and papers forged at Berwick. What judge would take the word of a lass even when she’d come of age?
Now with Nicholas dead and his sons, Lachlan and Ethan, warring over castle and the clan, was there even a Luttrell on guard?
Wild warrior-like cries, though, startled Rosalyn out of her worries.
The clan?
She screamed as a band of kilted Highlanders with mud-smeared faces charged them, hand axes high and swords drawn.
When three of the attackers came toward her, she screamed louder, hoping to startle them. Steering her horse with her knees, she freed her hands to ready her bow, arming it with an arrow from her quiver.
As she held her aim, the three Highland warriors stopped immediately and lowered their weapons.
That made Rosalyn grin with pride until the noise of horses behind her made her glance over her shoulder. To her chagrin, it was more than just her might that had slowed the attackers. Four knights had formed a line behind her with their longswords dawn and shields held high.
No doubt the Highlanders expected a surprise attack to be in their favor and had underestimated the strength of the party, for almost all but one man drew up short before making contact with the English knights.
That one brave warrior ran head-on with his sword to parlay, stroke for stroke, with the Gartner knight called Red.
It wasn’t long, though, before the aggressor was laid to the ground by Red’s sword and Lachlan dismounted to join them.
“Donna let me bleed to death, English,” the injured Highlander shouted. “Put me to death and be quick about it.”
Red hesitated with his sword. “What say you, Lachlan?” The knight was under oath to follow the orders of his leader, and in this case it was Rosalyn’s husband’s decision.
Rosalyn looked about the group and then a shrill scream came from behind her. “No! No! Do not kill Joshua.”
Shocked by the outburst, Rosalyn spun in her saddle to find Ursula shoving her way between the horses to reach the fallen Highlander.
“Spare him, he means no harm to clan Macpherson or to our group.”
When Lachlan hesitated, Rosalyn spoke up. She recognized the colors of these men. “‘Tis true. This man and his companions are from Clan Fraser, friends of the Macphersons who rule these lands. I am Rosalyn Macpherson, daughter of Dengas Macpherson. These men should be spared. No doubt they thought the English were invading their neighboring lands and rushed into protect what belongs to my family.”
When Lachlan stayed silent, the Garter knights followed her lead, reaching down to help the fallen man to his feet. By that time, Rosalyn had dismounted and joined Ursula, who provided a blanket from her saddle. Then the healer led the three of them to a small clearing.
Rosalyn didn’t linger long. Once she was certain the injured clan member was tended to by Ursula with the proper care, she turned to address the two groups.
The Highlanders were gathered on the far side of the trail talking in whispers, while the knights, squires, and Lachlan sat mounted waiting for direction.
For Rosalyn, it was a defining moment. One that gave her courage and the confirmation that she could lead men.
“Highlanders, knights, squires, and those of noble of birth, we prevented loss of life over a misunderstanding of alliances. Thanks to the quick reactions from both sides, we can be grateful that potential foes can become friends. Ursula and Joshua intended to meet in Aberdeen, not over his wounds, but in the woods. Who would like to accompany our party to Fyvie Castle, the home of my clan?”
The huddled Highlanders gave one quick glance at their injured friend, then spread out into a long line. With weapons overhead, they cheered. Then the leader stepped forward, “We all follow you, Lady Rosalyn.”
With her heart full and her confidence soaring, Rosalyn searched her group for Lachlan, but he was busy digging into his satchel for something. Fair enough, if he didn’t question her leadership, she would snatch it from his grasp.
“Welcome, men. Let’s build a transport for Joshua and we’ll be on our way. If we work quickly, we can make it to the gates of Fyvie by nightfall.”
And quickly they worked. It wasn’t long before the knights and Highlanders had created a strong bed of sorts that could be dragged along the back of a horse like a sled.
As the band of men fell into a caravan, she followed behind Lachlan. He appeared uninterested in the goings on of the group, or her, for that matter. While she decided it wasn’t worth her worry, her gaze was drawn to his oversized deerskin satchel.
Funny she hadn’t noticed it before.
Big enough to pack a weeks’ worth of clothing, perhaps a thick blanket, or even the stolen Golden Rose of Scotland?
As the bag bounced against the horse’s rump, Rosalyn studied its movements. There was definitely something heavy and bulky inside. Now she’d have to find a way to snag it before it disappeared.
Settling into her saddle and squaring her shoulders, she sat taller than before. Surely, her marriage was one of convenience and a gamble with her future, but she’d never been one to make safe decisions.
The more she thought on it, the more she was able to distance the emotional entanglement she’d had with Lachlan. Even though he’d kept his distance the past two days and hadn’t tried to take her as he’d done on their wedding night, she wasn’t certain his actions toward her were sincere. For in the days since their marriage, he’d spoke mostly of the lairdship and not once of their future.
The future was on her mind through the rest of the ride and as nightfall crept in over the rolling hills of Aberdeen. Rosalyn heaved a sigh when Fyvie Castle finally came into view. Her heart began to beat faster. What type of welcome would she receive?
Approaching the massive entrance with their winding caravan, Rosalyn scanned the familiar parapets, filled with at least a dozen guards. When they started to cross the drawbridge, the main gate opened and a group of four knights started toward them.
Lachlan held up his hand and called out to halt the horses. The other party stopped, too. One knight from each group dismounted and met in the middle of the drawbridge.
To Rosalyn’s relief, happy recognition replaced guarded scrutiny. No doubt these were some of the original Garter knights they’d expected in Berwick-upon-Tweed. Their leader addressed Rosalyn’s group.
“Lords and Ladies, I am Sir James Luttrell, future Duke of Somerset, a Garter knight, and guardian of this castle.”
A Luttrell? Her happiness faded. Had another Luttrell already laid claim to the lairdship?
While she fretted, Sir James continued to address their group, introducing the other knights in his party. When she found Lachlan unexpectedly at her side, he leaned over slightly so only she could hear his words.
“Say nothing, Wife, you may regret.”