Chapter 43
Even though he deserved to die, Lachlan had resisted killing his twin. When Ethan molested his wife, he’d come unhinged. Given the opportunity again, without Rosalyn as witness, he would have pummeled his brother to death with one of the castle’s ancient weapons. There had been plenty to choose from and he’d had the provocation.
Now that he thought back on yesterday, he was still angry. Ethan had laughed off the whole affair after he’d begged Rosalyn for the Rose, saying he’d never been serious about any of it.
After the Garter knights found the three of them in the war room, Ethan had surrendered. He’d been escorted to the dungeon where he belonged, to protect others from a madness Lachlan could never understand.
But fortunately for Ethan, his half-brother James had been the voice of reason when they’d met this morn to sort out their family affairs.
It was decided each would have a hand in maintaining the family castles. Nunnery and Cadbury belonged to James’s mother, Victoria, and the Garter knight was satisfied with that. Ethan would reside at Dunster, but Lachlan would retain the title of earl, for Rosalyn would have Fyvie. Even James promised Rosalyn his mother, Victoria, would visit.
But Lachlan swore to himself he’d never forgive Ethan for all the pain he’d caused. The death of their mother, stealing Rosalyn from his wedding bed, poisoning him. And it was a relief when he and James finally escorted Ethan out of the gates of Fyvie.
Word circulated rapidly among the servants that Ethan was gone and a celebration was promised to be ready in a few short hours.
Lachlan recruited Greta in helping him plan a feast that would honor his wife and see Bishop Passarelli off to Edinburgh with the Garter knights.
When the time arrived and Lachlan walked into the great hall with his beautiful wife, a loud applause welcomed them and well-wishers rushed forward.
Lachlan navigated the crowd, grinning politely until he was able seat her at the head table next to Sir James and he took the seat to her left.
All the important people were there: her mother, sister, Ursula, Bishop Passarelli, Greta and even her Uncle Angus.
Once all were settled, Bishop Passarelli stood and motioned James and Ursula to join him. When the healer came forward, she carried a large object covered in a purple silk cloth.
“Good people,” he said with a modest bow. “Scumasi, although I am an Italian guest, I am also a man of God, your brother first.”
When the room erupted in applause, he raised his hand. “Hold your adulation and respect for the man next to me, Lachlan Macpherson. He is one who has earned it.”
The bishop turned to Ursula and with one dramatic gesture, he lifted off the purple cloth to reveal the stunning Golden Rose of Scotland.
The bishop put one of his arms around Lachlan’s shoulders, even though he had to stand on his toes to reach him.
“In this great hall of Scotland, let the record show that it is not Lachlan Macpherson who was guilty of stealing the Golden Rose, holding Rosalyn hostage in her own dungeon, or trying to trick the Highland nation of Aberdeen into awarding him lairdship, it was his twin brother, Ethan.”
He turned to Rosalyn. “And you, my dear, have won a king’s ransom.”
She smiled shyly. “Bishop, I’ve already won what my heart desires,” she said, gazing at Lachlan.
After the ceremony was complete and the guests had eaten all the food that had been prepared, Lachlan took his wife by the hand and led her back to his chamber. She’d chatted with him about the meal, how she’d miss the bishop, but more importantly, how she was ready what lay ahead.
And it wasn’t long before Lachlan had her unencumbered on his bed. It had been more than a week since he’d gone looking for a feather to seduce her a second time on their wedding day.
“We have some unfished business to attend to, my sweet Rose,” he said, realizing only after he said those words, he’d forgotten his promise not to call her by that name.
It must have been the look of dread on his face as he gazed down on her perfect naked form that made her laugh.
“Oh, Husband, you may call me Rose.” She batted her lashes. “But only when we are alone,” she added with a wicked grin.
He reached for her taut nipple and rolled the delicate nub between his fingers, making it harder than before. “Wife, I cannae think of a better way to celebrate the day.”
When his gaze met hers again, she was looking at him curiously. “Did you hear yourself?” she asked with a surprised grin.
“What?”
“You said cannae?”
“I donna,” he said, goading her.
“Are you making fun of the way I talk?”
“Nay, woman, everyone talks that like here at Fyvie.” He shrugged. “Donna be keeping me from my purpose.” He paused and blew out the tapered candle by the bedside. Now only the embers from the fire showed him where his hands should go. No, he didn’t need light to follow the path his body wanted to travel.
Although he’d had the experience of pleasing Rose once, he was as nervous as a first-timer when he pressed his lips to hers, wanting nothing more than to show her she was the most important thing to him other than land.
Damn the property. She was more precious than land, surname, or title.
When had it happened? He could not recount. Perhaps it was when he found out she hadn’t run away, but that his brother had stolen her. And fortunately, not forever.
Rosalyn had assured him that Ethan hadn’t hurt her or taken her virginity. He trusted her of course, but he was about to find out.
“Remember, love, a little pain and then pleasure,” he promised.
“Let me start the pleasure,” she suggested, shoving him down to the featherbed. He closed his eyes and the sensation of her hard nipples rubbing against his skin started at his thighs and traveled up toward his groin, her long, luscious hair trailing behind like soft silk.
He almost jumped up from where he lay when her soft stomach pressed over his shaft. After her lips locked with his, it was she who started the tongue repartee. Darting in and around his own. Then she pressed her warm and moist channel to his hardened cock, the sensation had him clawing at the covers.
When she released his lips for a moment, he seized the opportunity to move her higher up on his stomach.
“Pleasure, is mine, m’dear,” he said. “You are a quick study but let me show you the way.”
He moved her about his chest until he had her right where he wanted her. “Now, my love, you are good at riding horses, yes?” he asked softly.
“Well, yes, husband, you’ve watched me,” she said, taking in a huge breath as if to go on, so he put a finger to her lips.
“Yes, I have and now I want to watch you ride me.”
He heard her suck in another deep breath, but it was different this time.
“Reach behind your arse and place my shaft where it was before,” he instructed.
After a little awkwardness, like grabbing on to a horse’s rein, she took hold of him and followed his lead.
Once she was in the right spot, his insides felt like they were churning with a fire that couldn’t be extinguished. When she let out a loud groan, he knew she’d found her sweet spot.
“Now, I’ll grab your waist and help you ride. Just hang on.”
And ride she did. Rosalyn tossed her head back and her hair flew behind her as if caught up by the wind. Lachlan held on to her narrow waist and brought her up and down as if she was cantering on a saddle.
The sweat formed between her breasts and glistened as it dripped down her body.
He was working to control his movements. He hadn’t pushed forward through the final gate, but his wife appeared ready to jump through.
“Hold on, here we go,” he warned, and with one last thrust, he passed the final barrier.
When she let out a tiny shout, he slowed his movements, waiting.
“Donna stop now,” she demanded. “You cannae be finished,” she said in a reprimanding voice.
He chuckled against her neck. “No, my darling, the ride has just begun.”
So it was that night, after years of loneliness, loathing, and loss, that Lachlan had finally found the love of his life. The trappings of land, a noble title, and purse, were no longer of purpose.
As their pleasure began to escalate, he waited until she had her release, then he gave her his. After a pleasure-filled gasp, she collapsed against his chest.
With a gentle embrace first and a deep sigh, he moved her to his side. “My lovely Rose, how rude of me not to thank you,” he said, turning to face her. Gently brushing the falling bangs from her brow, he smiled at her.
“Well, husband, I didnae think it rude to thank me before taking my virginity, but if you are now, then you are most welcome.”
She answered him with such sincerity, he burst out laughing at her misunderstanding and began to speak through his amusement. “No, wife, although I do thank you for the mating ritual, I had forgotten to thank you for saving my life, for your sacrifice of the stone.”
She blinked hard a few times.
“I love you, Lachlan. Once I realized it, I couldnae let you die. Even if Bishop Passarelli says I will go to hell playing God, it will be worth it,” she promised.
He gathered her into his arms and kissed the top of her head. “If that’s where you go, I’ll go, too.”
The both laughed. “But you are the chosen one, Rose, and I believe you’ve only used your healing for good. If you’d taken it yourself, well then you might have to answer to God for your actions.”
She moved toward him and gave him a seductive kiss. “You could have left me in the dungeon at Berwick-upon-Tweed.”
“And you could have left me in the dungeon, here at Fyvie.”
She snuggled up in the space between his chest and arm, fitting perfectly. “If it is time for confessions and if we donna live to see the dawn—”
“Do not jest, Rose,” he cut her off, rising up and giving her a serious look, then his expression softened. He did have questions that needed answers.
“I’ll go first,” he volunteered. “Confession. You were beautiful and in distress. I was cocky, but not heartless. I couldn’t tell the judge my name in an English court and considered I would have better chances in Scotland.” His words made her smile. “You go.”
“Why did you nae use the king’s seal against me in the court at Edinburgh?”
“You are supposed to confess, not ask a question.”
“My rules.”
“Confession. I didn’t trust myself not to use it, so I left it at Berwick Castle.”
When her eyes scrutinized him, he shrugged and asked the question he’d been stewing over since they’d met, “Was it a forgery?”
“Nay, it was stolen.” She laughed at his smirk.
“You would have kept your pretty head after all.”
She ignored him. “Was yours a forgery?”
“It was,” he admitted, “but it was nae of the kings seal.”
“Nae?”
“Not.” He gave her a peck on the lips.
“Why did you continue to insist than I needed a guardian, even to the judge?”
“Confession. I believed I could charm you into my bed and win the land.”
She laughed loudly at that. “You charm me in bed?”
He ignored her. “Now ‘tis my go.”
She nodded reluctantly.
“Even though your first attempt failed, because Ethan was pretending to be me, why did you want to poison me?”
The brightness in her eyes faded. “I would like to say it was all Ursula’s idea, but it wasnae. I didnae have enough poison to kill you, just to keep you from following us.”
“How could you have ever been fooled into thinking Ethan was me?”
She frowned. “Your brother James asked me if I really knew my husband not long before Ethan locked me in the dungeon. I should have asked him for an explanation instead of being blinded by my anger.”
Lachlan wasn’t surprised by her comment. “When the bishop and I first met James, he knew we were related.”
“How?”
“His mother Victoria warned James about us and she expected one or both of us to claim Fyvie.”
“Do you fear James?” Rosalyn asked, appearing overly concerned, but he understood, considering the family’s murderous history.
“Nay, he’s a good man and he put me at ease right away. We are more alike than I expected. We equally despise the Luttrell name.”
Rosalyn snuggled even closer, making him want to love her all over again, but he needed one more confession first. “Did you believe I’d stolen the Golden Rose?”
She giggled and the light returned to her gaze. “At first, yes. I thought you might use it as a bargaining piece to take Fyvie from me.”
Lachlan mimicked an arrow going into his heart. “Me take Fyvie from you?”
She narrowed her gaze on him.
“Do you love me as you’ve professed?”
She held his gaze and her pupils almost danced with mischief. “Let me prove it to you,” she said in the softest whisper.
Then he groaned, happy he’d asked the question.