Chapter 33
Lachlan moaned as he drifted in and out of a strange dream. As much as he wanted to remember the events of the day, he could not quite keep them in order.
One of the images that seemed so out of place was the one before him now. The more he tried to focus, the harder it became to do so. And when he did have a moment of clarity, it was Rosalyn’s face he saw on three different women. They stared at him as if he were dead.
The eerie feeling was nothing compared to the rest of what was going on inside him. Until he’d accepted the platter of food in his chamber and downed a big portion of it, he’d been fine. Although he’d eaten his fair share of undercooked meat and near-raw vegetables, he’d never been this ill afterward. He’d been so miserable he’d contemplated ignoring Bishop Passarelli’s warning to stay in his chamber and scour Fyvie for Rosalyn.
Yes, he really needed her attention right now, and that partially explained why he was having visions of her. Three different versions of her. One with fiery-red hair, one with dark-brown hair, and one with gray-white hair.
Even though it hurt to move, he was close enough to find out if they were real or an illusion.
Reaching out, he was surprised when his fingers touched cold iron. At the same time he touched the bar, a united gasp came from the three Rosalyns.
How human they appeared. Not ghostly or ethereal as he’d imagined an illusion to appear. Nor did he expect to have the imaginary figures speak or interact with him. But he’d never had encountered anything like this before, even when he’d been too drunk to get out of his chamber bed.
“Lachlan?” one of the Rosalyns called out.
He wanted to answer, but his lips would not cooperate. He felt as if a warhorse had trampled him. He could not even part his lips to give a response. All he could manage was a nod.
“What happened to you?” the same Rosalyn asked, the one with the red hair. The woman he’d married. The healer he’d been searching for. The one he needed now.
Whispering among the Rosalyns began when he could not respond. They huddled together like a tribe and it occurred to him if there weren’t three women behind the bars, he would not see them so distinctly. They continued to focus on him in an agitated way. Could these women not see he meant them no harm?
While he was working to gain the strength to answer, all that came out was a loud, agonizing groan. It sounded to him as if his heart was trying to speak to his wife through this torment. He hoped in some way she would understand and give him some encouragement. He waited, drifting in and out of the horrible pain that consumed him.
“Well, I must thank whoever is responsible, because you are no honorable man. I hope they hang you for what you’ve done,” was the last thing he heard from Rosalyn before he passed out.
~ ~ ~
As he readied for the great hall, Ethan stared into the mirror. Smiling at his reflection, he tallied up the score. Both Lachlan and Rosalyn were out of contention and he expected them to stay that way. Gloating, Ethan turned from the mirror and strode to the door. Once in the hallway, he found his faithful squire, Benjamin, waiting and ready for orders.
“What can you tell me?” Ethan asked in a whisper.
“‘Twas only moments ago I arrived at your door from my visit to the dungeons. Both the woman and the man were unmoving. You can rest assured they will be in that state for some time,” the lad finished with a confident nod.
“Good. Then guard the door here and do not let anyone in and tell them Lachlan’s asked not to be disturbed.”
The boy nodded.
“Good, lad, you will be rewarded handsomely for your loyalty. Now keep your post and I will return to you after I have supped in the great hall.”
With that promise, Ethan spun on his heel and in a short time was striding into the great hall anxious to find his half-brother James. His hope was to make a direct appeal at dinner and have his brother agree tonight to his award of Fyvie, and ultimately, making it unnecessary for a hearing in the morning. After the castle was secured, he’d figure out what to do with the prisoners in the dungeon.
Ethan thumbed his beard thoughtfully. As new laird and clan leader he could let his brother rot in the dungeon. Then after Lachlan’s death, his grieving widow would have to finally agree to his demands. That would suit him.
Walking toward the dais now, Ethan spotted James climbing the steps. His half-brother took his place behind a chair in the center of the head table.
A number of other wealthy lords began to gather on the dais. One big brute of a man wearing a kilt, no doubt a Macpherson or near-enough cousin, took a seat before James took his, ignoring customary courtesies.
Finally, Ethan reached the dais just as another kilted, red-faced Scot approached James. But Ethan managed to maneuver around the Scot to embrace James first. “Good to see you, Brother. Thank you for holding my place by your side.”
Following the current decorum and not waiting for a response, Ethan slammed his arse into the wooden high-backed chair just as the snubbed Highlander let out a defensive growl.
“Now, sir,” James addressed the ruffled Highlander, “there are plenty of seats here for distinguished guests.” He pointed to the two empty chairs next to Ethan, although there were five men standing on the podium.
When that didn’t appear to placate the man, Ethan tried another tactic. “Here, you may have my wine tonight. I am abstaining.” Then he lifted his full goblet from the high table and offered it to the brute hoping to diffuse his anger.
The man assessed Ethan as if he’d gone mad, but snatched the pewter cup without hesitation, spilling some of the dark, red wine in his haste. The offer of double the alcohol must have helped the Highlander get over his initial displeasure, for he then headed to where James had pointed.
But just as one scuffle was resolved, another problem surfaced. Ethan bit back a groan when he spotted the bishop climbing the dais steps. The holy man excused his way past the others to take the final empty spot. At least there was another man between them.
As James raised his goblet, the other disgruntled guest stomped off toward another trestle table nearby.
Highlanders were an unruly lot. Ethan had learned much about the Scottish clans in the four years his father had ruled over Aberdeen and his family had occupied the castle.
James waited with his goblet raised until all were seated. “Nobles, knights, ladies, and distinguished guests, welcome to Fyvie Castle. As the reigning heir to the Luttrell holdings, I invite you to dine with me tonight on the last evening of my custodianship.” He raised his mead high. “For tomorrow, Fyvie will have a new laird and ruler.”
While hushed whispers mixed with rowdy cries of huzzah, James waited for the room to stop buzzing, then continued. “Many of you have come to make a claim. Whether of Highland birth, Aberdeen clan leader, or British royalty, the most worthy will be chosen.” A loud cheer arose from the crowd, but as Ethan’s gaze roamed the room, he noticed many did not join in the revelry.
“To the new laird of Fyvie,” James shouted.
“Huzzah!” rallied the enthusiastic guests in the great hall as James took his seat between Ethan and the giant Highlander. His brother gave a nod to those at his table and the trenchers, laden with venison, pork, lamb, and turkey, began moving among the guests. Servants streamed into the great hall filling cups with mead. No doubt many where unaccustomed to the spread before them.
The Highlander to Ethan’s right, the one who had accepted his goblet, did not seem embarrassed in the least that he was two-fisting the king’s mead—perhaps celebrating a victory Ethan would never allow.
Once the other men began to eat and engage in conversation, James turned to Ethan.
“Lachlan, I assume you’ll be among those at the hearing tomorrow.”
“The name’s Ethan.”
James grunted. “So father did not name you both Lachlan after all?”
Then his brother paused and gave Ethan an eerie stare, as if looking straight through him when he said, “I killed him by the way. He deserved to die, and I shall never regret my actions.”
Ethan did not know how to answer that. And even more disturbing, his ruse was up.