Chapter 32
“Mother, ‘tis me, Rosalyn,” she whispered. Both the women were rail thin and it appeared they had not bathed in weeks.
“Nay, you cannae be my Rosalyn,” her mother said softly, “she is in Berwick-upon-Tweed with my brother, Angus, securing Fyvie Castle for us.”
Rosalyn wanted to weep for the dream of coming back to Fyvie in full glory that had been dashed because she’d married an Englishman. A man she had hoped would learn to love her and she him. Now, that would never come to be, for she hated him with all her heart, like an enemy.
Rosalyn hung her head and sobbed before them. How could she claim to be family when she’d let them down? She would not blame them if they wanted to disown her and make her take the Luttrell name rather than the other way around.
Rosalyn continued to cry, unsure if either of them were coherent enough to communicate with her. She wished there was something she could have done to change the course of events.
A gentle touch on her forehead made her pause for a moment. The feeble fingers weren’t firm, but the gentle gesture of sweeping her bangs off her brow was genuine enough for her eyes to open.
There, gazing at her, was her mother’s sweet face, full of recognition and love. Rosalyn grinned through her tears and glanced over to her sister, Rowen, who threw her arms around Rosalyn.
Her mother put her arms around them both. Being reunited with her family made her heart soar and her disappointment disappear.
After a few moments of sheer happiness, Rosalyn drew back and took a closer look at the two women. “How are you? Have you been here since I left for England?”
Her sister and mother looked at each other as if uncertain where to begin.
“You tell her, Mother,” Rowen instructed.
Rosalyn let out a grateful sigh. Even though she’d barley recognized her mother and sister at first, now that they were sitting side by side, the two appeared more tired than traumatized.
Her sister grabbed her hands and squeezed them tightly. “Wasnae long after you left for Berwick-upon-Tweed that we came back to Fyvie thinking it was safe again, but a sennight later, Nicholas Luttrell had returned.”
“The servants are very loyal and it wasnae long before his plans were shared with mother and I. Our original instincts were to leave as soon as we could, but then we reconsidered, thinking we could hide out of his way until he left again.”
“He was distracted by a Knight of the Garter. Wasnae interested in finding us at the moment, but getting revenge against this knight.”
Rowen threw a cautionary glance toward their mother. “But then I was too bold and snuck into my chamber to sleep one night rather than in the servants’ quarters, and he caught me in the hallway.”
Her mother put her both hands across her heart. “I donna blame Rowen for the two of us being thrown in the dungeon. First, he put her down here, but I was caught trying to help her escape,” her mother explained, “but we havnae see him in weeks. I am not sure what has happened, but the servants donna know we are here. British sentries, with ugly dispositions, are sent twice a day with bad food. When this new one entered with you, we just wanted to be invisible here in the corner.”
Even though they were all prisoners at the moment, Rosalyn was happy. Her mother reached over to brush the bangs out of in her face again like she had when she was a little girl.
With the corners of her eyes crinkling into soft lines, her mother cocked her head to the side. “Now, darling Rosalyn, how is it that you have fallen into the same fate? What of my brother, Angus?”
Rosalyn let out a long sigh. “Well, we arenae leaving here anytime soon, so I have plenty of time to tell my tale. While you were dealing with one Luttrell, I was dealing with another.”
The time passed quickly and after a few more tears, Rosalyn had explained how Angus had gotten sick en route to Berwickshire and she’d left him in a monastery to recover. And most importantly, how and why she’d agreed to be married to an Englishman.
“So you see why I despise the Luttrells even more than before?” Rosalyn asked, her story finished. And none too soon, for footsteps echoed down the corridor, and fear grabbed at her heart again.
“Shh,” her mother warned.
Rosalyn pointed toward the darkest corner of the cell. Her mother and sister moved quickly and silently. As they huddled in the shadows, Rosalyn couldn’t help but hold her breath when she laid back down on the cold floor where Lachlan had left her, hoping all he was doing was checking to see if she was still unconscious, or better yet, that it was the sentry with food.
But as her heart slammed against the floor, the cool, hard surface easing the last of the burning pain in her cheek, Rosalyn was not prepared for the sound of more than one pair of boots.
As she lay facing away from the cell door, the way she’d been left by Lachlan, Rosalyn fought the urge to turn and follow what was happening in the corridor. Her common sense—no, fear—won over. Instead, she lay as still as possible, straining to hear more of what was going on outside the cell.
The echoing footsteps grew louder and closer. Then the cadence turned to scuffling just a few feet from where she lay. The cell door opened across from hers.
“This one here. I have the key,” a voice mumbled in a hushed tone. More shuffling followed, then the cell door opened and shut. A loud groan surprised her. Clearly, this was not a sentry with food.
Another groan sounded from across the dungeon. That ignited a second round of swearing. Then silence. “What’s going on?” a groggy male voice questioned.
The only response was a loud thwack. It sounded more serious than the slap she’d received. Could it be Lachlan with another victim? Bishop Passarelli? Then the footsteps retreated.
Silence ensued, and she wanted desperately to know what was happening. Were there two, three, or more involved in the punishment of another Fyvie guest?
Without wasting another moment, she risked her safety and rolled quietly across her back to her other side.
Lachlan? He lay curled in a ball on the ground facing her. She almost jumped up to protest her treatment and that of her family until she realized he was unconscious. For a moment, her stomach turned sour and she remembered the time in the bishop’s wagon when he’d fallen ill and she’d done everything in her power to save him. Now, she regretted it.
Why was Lachlan here? Could he and his brother James have had a falling out over Fyvie, and this is how Ethan and his Garter knight brother planned to take the castle from the new Macpherson bride and groom?
Yes, Lachlan was still alive, for his chest rose and fell. Instead of thinking how much she hated him at the moment, she wanted to rush over to help him.
He groaned again and clutched his gut, like he’d eaten something vile. As she studied him more closely, she noticed he had an ugly red ring around his right eye on its way to black.
Rosalyn flinched when she was tapped on the shoulder. So consumed by what was going on across the corridor, she’d forgotten about her mother and sister in the corner behind her. They’d both gotten brave and joined her on the floor.
“Do you know the bloke, Rosalyn?” her mother asked with a quiver in her voice. No doubt after weeks in this hell, she’d gotten sensitive to anything happening in the dungeon.
“Aye, Mother, that is my English husband.”