Chapter 31
Rosalyn staggered back. Stars circled before her eyes. She went limp in Lachlan’s arms, her legs buckled, and she gingerly touched the spot on her face where he’d struck her.
The pain in her jaw was excruciating, and she tried to move it a little to make sure it wasn’t broken. Closing her eyes in reaction to the pain, she dared not open them. She hung limp against him, hoping he’d think she’d passed out.
Through the fog of her pain, and fighting a rising nausea, she could not imagine what she’d done to prompt his anger. Had he found out it was she who had stolen his satchel?
Lachlan said nothing now as he lifted her into his arms. But instead of walking toward the bed, where she had imagined he would rape her, he walked toward the chamber door instead.
“Say a word or voice an objection, and I’ll break your neck,” Lachlan said in a harsh whisper.
Although she was only half-conscious, she understood his threat and kept still, her head lay across his forearm.
Through tiny slits in her eyelids, she watched the ceiling of her chamber pass by as they entered the corridor. Lachlan strode quickly while she squinted through her lashes, recognizing every turn he took. But as much as she hoped they’d encounter someone, anyone, no one crossed their path.
But her panic began to rise when he started down the stairs to the dungeons. Even if she wasn’t dazed from the slap to her face, she couldn’t do much to fight him, and there was nothing to prevent him from hitting her again.
As her mind spun in the pain and agony of her current state, a tiny cloud of reason began to emerge. Of course, she thought, he wanted her out of the way for the hearing in the morning. It would be Lachlan standing before Sir James as either Macpherson or Luttrell, whatever surname gave him best advantage. And he would consort with his brothers for the sole right to Fyvie.
As much as she believed a woman could walk in a man’s path, she needed to accept that no titled man would support her claim to be laird.
Rosalyn fought back tears, still wanting Lachlan to believe she’d passed out from his blow, while he fumbled with a key in the cell door until it clicked.
Somehow, he managed to kick the ancient door open, and it groaned as if speaking for her pain.
Rosalyn was grateful that he didn’t just drop her on the floor once they were in inside. Instead, he lay her down on the cool stone floor which provided some relief to her damaged cheek.
She almost held her breath, but she remembered she wasn’t playing dead, just helpless, while she listened.
Finally, she let out her breath when the key turned in the lock and his footsteps faded away.
The tears began to fall as she sat up and hugged her knees. Tucked tightly into a ball, she opened her eyes and assessed her surroundings. Even though she wasn’t happy about where she was, Rosalyn was grateful she’d only been slapped, not a beaten or raped.
To her relief, the dungeon was not as bad as she’d imagined. A sconce burned in the outer hallway, confirming that Lachlan had planned this all along.
But when Rosalyn turned to inspect the cell behind her, she almost screamed. There, in the corner, lay two women huddled together, unmoving.
Surely, if they were sleeping, they would have been disturbed when Lachlan had entered the cell, but she hadn’t noticed any sound or movement coming from the corner.
Moving slowly as not to threaten or startle the women, she rose to her feet and began to inch toward them.
Once she was closer, her heart leapt and she fell to her knees before the pile of humanity. A weak hand reached toward her. “Do not trouble yourself, good princess. We have been prisoners here for as long as we can remember.”
~ ~ ~
As Ethan walked up the circular stone stairs from the dungeon, he was pleased at how easy it had been to lock Rosalyn away. At least the first part of his plan was complete.
Next, Lachlan.
After that, there was the business of finding the Rose. That idiot stable boy he sent to retrieve his satchel never returned. The lad was so nondescript, Ethan couldn’t even find him to levy punishment.
Fortunately for Ethan, he’d befriended a young squire at Edinburgh who’d agreed to be his apprentice. Like him in spirit, the boy had already helped procure Fyvie’s dungeon key, and had spied on the bishop and Lachlan for him, so he was certain he could count on his loyalty to help with his brother as he made his way toward Lachlan’s chamber.
When his spies told him Lachlan and bishop had arrived today, Ethan had to assume that Lachlan had followed him here to find Rosalyn. With time now ticking away and very little of it left to accomplish his plan, Ethan decided that he’d need to take extreme measures to keep both Rosalyn and Lachlan from the hearing tomorrow.
He had just rounded the corner of the corridor that would bring him to Lachlan’s door when he came within inches of colliding with Bishop Passarelli.
They both took a step back. The bishop seemed startled. “There you are, Lachlan,” the holy man said, taking his arm, “I was hoping to talk to you before dinner.”
Ethan had to think quickly before they arrived at Lachlan’s chamber. “Good Bishop.” Ethan spoke to mimic Lachlan as he had with Rosalyn. “I was looking for you as well, but my chamber is being cleaned.” He shrugged helplessly. “It is full of servants.”
Ethan steered them around in the corridor and nodded to his squire as they rounded about to head the other direction.
With the subtleness of a spy, the squire nodded back.
“Si, Lachlan. We can talk here as long as there’s no one to listen in,” the holy man said, lowering his voice and glancing over his shoulder where the squire had been.
When he looked the other way and all was clear, the bishop leaned in toward him. “Lachlan, as I promised earlier, I will find Rosalyn and tell her what has happened. Surely, she must think Ethan is you and may take a pledge before Sir James tomorrow for Fyvie Castle. Once that happens, it will be difficult to reverse the judgment.” He paused and swept his gaze up and down the corridor again.
When he was certain they were still alone, the bishop continued. “You said yourself, you wouldn’t put it past Ethan to do something irrational if he found out you were here, too. I thought you had agreed to stay in hiding . . .” he said with concern, peering up at him.
Ethan nodded. “Yes, Bishop, I will have my evening meal in my chambers like we discussed. But you don’t know the extent of the wagging tongues of the servant maids. As soon as they are finished, I’ll be back in hiding.” Ethan shrugged again and the bishop patted his back.
“Scusami for my overprotectiveness. I understand how much your brother’s deviant ways disturb you and I will continue to keep my promise to do everything in my power to help you, as you’ve promised to help me find the missing Golden Rose.”
Just then, a group of servants came around the corner. Bawdy laugher bounced down the once quiet hall. Shortly after spotting Ethan and the bishop, the rowdy servant’s hushed whispers replaced their bad manners.
Then the holy man turned to Ethan and said, “God be with you.” And without further circumstance, the bishop followed the servants around the corner. Ethan spun on his heel and headed back to Lachlan’s chamber.
Cracking the door slightly, Ethan set his eye to the tiny opening and peered in. As he’d hoped, the squire sat on watch in a chair while Lachlan appeared to be asleep in the chamber bed.
Ethan eased himself inside, then closed and bolted the door behind him.
“Did it work?” Ethan asked the squire named Benjamin.
“Aye, sir, the work is done,” the boy answered, pointing to the tray on the chest across the room. A good portion of the food had been eaten, but not all.
“Does he have a fever?” Ethan asked, walking closer to the bed to peer down on his brother, whose face was clammy and pale.
The boy shrugged. “He has been moaning while I have been at his side.”
For a moment, Ethan found himself wracked with a terrible sense of dread, as if staring at his mother burning with fever from the berries he’d given her before she died.
He tried to shake the memory, but it hung on, like a witch to her wicked spell. Ethan had few regrets, and unfortunately, killing his mother was one of them.
Yes, he’d tried to lie and place the blame on his twin brother. Ethan had been destroyed by her death. All he wanted was the pain to go away and it to be someone else’s fault. That time he’d been innocent. Lachlan’s groan shook the nightmares from his thoughts, reminding him that was another time and place.
Focused on what he had to do, Ethan reached out to his brother’s brow and found it burning. Satisfied with the poison’s work so far he said, “We can move him now. But first, you’ll need to dress him in my clothes,” he said as he stripped off his tunic. “Have you found a discrete path to the dungeons?”
“I located a tunnel the servants use to drop bedding to the lower level. The opening is down the hall.”
The boy had promise.