Chapter 9
Rosalyn breathed a sigh of relief. What had seemed so simple had gone so very wrong. She was grateful to Lachlan for rescuing her. Inside, she was still rattled to the core, wanting nothing more than to hightail it back to Berwick Castle. Even the dungeon appeared safer now than the highway.
But as they walked back to retrieve the horses, she put up a brave front, chatting about how she had been searching for a river or stream, not realizing she’d strayed so far from the safety of the group. It was an all-out lie, of course, because Ursula had planned to meet her at the short cut, and together, they’d intended to sneak off from the group to join Ursula’s beau, Joshua, somewhere on the trail.
Still reeling from the attack, Rosalyn reviewed their plan and realized escaping had been a horrible idea.
When Lachlan and Rosalyn walked back into the impromptu camp, a few travelers waved, but no one seemed suspicious of their return from the woods. Lachlan’s handiwork kept her torn dress well-hidden. He offered to help her find another dress, but she declined, assuring him she was fine and promised to find Ursula.
After securing her horse to a tree, she nearly jumped out of her skin wen Ursula appeared at her side.
“God’s teeth, you startled me.”
“Shh, keep your voice low,” the healer warned. “What happened? Why did you return with Lachlan? Did he follow you and force you to come back?” Ursula’s litany of questions sounded like an inquisition, but Rosalyn could sympathize with her friend’s anxiety as she stood waiting for answers with her hands on her hips and eyes bulging.
“Wasnae anything like that. He saved me from being raped and left for dead.”
Ursula covered her mouth in horror, her eyes filling with tears. “My sweet girl. I shall kill the bastard myself if he hurt you.”
“Nay.” Rosalyn blew out the word as if it had been blocking her throat, the emotions gushing out. “It was horrible. After the attacker ripped my dress down to my waist, Lachlan shot one of my arrows through the man’s heart. He fell dead on top of me.”
Ursula gasped. “Come, we must get you changed. I’ll ask the bishop’s guard if we can borrow the wagon. Tell him it’s women’s business. I’m sure he’ll agree.” Ursula turned her head in the direction of the man-at-arms as he made the final call. “Let’s hurry,” she said, looking wild-eyed and ready to run.
Holding her arm tightly, Ursula ushered Rosalyn across the gathering space. Then, after negotiating with the guard at the wagon, she herded Rosalyn into the back of the cart like the last sheep, clicking her tongue and pushing her arse.
“You spent too much time on your father’s sheep farm. Stop prodding me,” Rosalyn complained as she gathered her skirts and stepped into the bishop’s inner sanctum of the grand covered wagon.
Rosalyn gasped in awe as she gazed at the various books, soft gold-and-white floor pillows, and assorted rosaries within the room. Her eyes were drawn to the ceiling as the healer pointed above.
“Lavender, fenugreek, and sage,” Ursula said with a tinge of surprise in her voice. “Fenugreek is not found in England or Scotland.” Ursula sounded impressed and appeared ready to poke through the bishop’s belongings if Rosalyn didn’t get the healer back to the task at hand.
“Mayhap when we settle in for the night, you can ask more about these concoctions, but for now—”
“Oh, lass, I shouldnae been so distracted,” Ursula said, refocusing her gaze on Rosalyn’s makeshift coat. “I’ll be back in a moment with a new dress for you,” her friend promised and rushed past Rosalyn in a fury and out the back of the wagon.
Feeling safe again, Rosalyn thought back to the moment the attacker ripped her dress. She slid down to her knees among the soft pillows and rested her head on one without realizing it.
Content in the bishop’s sanctum, she fought back tears. She knew if Lachlan had not been there to save her, she would have been raped. How lucky she was that he had followed her, no matter what his reason. Even if it was to spy on her, or who knows what else, he was an honorable and brave man to have killed the attacker. In the Macpherson family, when someone saves your life, you are indebted to them until you return the gesture. That would complicate things, for the very man she had attempted to poison had saved her life.
“Comfortable?”
Rosalyn yelped when she looked up and found Lachlan peering at her.
“Ursula said you’d be decent.” He paused. “I’m not being perverted,” he said, color rising on his cheeks for the first time in her memory. “She asked me to deliver this.” He pitched a soft bundle over the gate to Rosalyn.
She caught it and tossed him a grateful grin.
Lachlan gave Rosalyn a long, thoughtful look and said, “Happy to see you smiling after that attack.”
“Thank you for being my guardian.” Rosalyn choked back the emotion that nearly bubbled to the surface.
He nodded, turned to go, then whipped around just as quickly. “Almost forgot,” he said, looking a bit embarrassed. “Bishop Passarelli heard that you took a tumble in the brush,” he said, winking, “and he insists you ride in the wagon for the rest of the day.”
When Rosalyn protested, Lachlan held up his hand. “Disagree all you want with me, but the bishop insisted. He’s a man of God and you can’t argue with God’s will.”
She contemplated that for a moment, then shrugged her shoulders. “Then I cannae refuse.”
Lachlan chuckled, nodded in agreement, turned and left.
Rosalyn heaved a grateful sigh as she removed the makeshift cape Lachlan had fashioned into a coat, then stepped out of the torn dress. Grateful for a change of clothes, Rosalyn slipped a comfortable linen shift over her head.
God’s will. What did he have in store for her? Life with Lachlan was getting complicated. Damn. Somehow, she hated him less than yesterday.
~ ~ ~
As Lachlan strutted across the clearing toward Rosalyn’s palfrey, he hummed a little tune. The redhead was no longer angry with him. In the bishop’s wagon, she’d behaved like coy cat, seemingly approachable. But as Lachlan considered the comparison further, his cocky grin disappeared when he remembered cats are also unpredictable, capable of clawing your eyes out.
Reaching her palfrey, Lachlan came to a reasonable conclusion, deciding it would be prudent to keep a good distance between them the next time they spoke. That anger of hers could spark at the slightest provocation and she also was dangerous with her dirk.
As he pondered her redeeming qualities and readied her mount for the bishop, Lachlan noticed Rosalyn’s flask dangling from the saddle. Because he had followed her into the woods and not eaten or drank for hours, he was famished.
“Well, at least I could have a drink while I wait,” Lachlan muttered.
Tugging at the ties, Lachlan easily released it from the saddle and popped off its cork. With a long swig, he guzzled the liquid. “Hmm. Not mead at all. Perhaps it’s wine from northern Scotland,” he whispered as he secured the flask to Rosalyn’s saddle.
“Bene! Eccoti,” came a familiar voice from behind. “E l’eroe!”
Lachlan spun around to greet the bishop. Did he just call him a hero?
“You are doing God’s work,” the holy man said, switching back to English. “The lass is lucky to have had you as her savior,” Bishop Passarelli continued, walking up to receive the palfrey’s reins. “A chi bene crede, Dio provvede.”
As Lachlan struggled to understand, the bishop offered the translation. “He who serves God has a good master.”
Lachlan nodded and grinned at the smiling bishop. He was cherub-like except for the graying hair.
“Are you feeling bene?”
There was that mix of English and Italian again. Lachlan had studied Latin in school, yet he was not as familiar with the Roman language. But it was the look of concern on the bishop’s face, not the snippet of Italian, that prompted Lachlan to scratch his beard.
“This morn, after I gave you the blessing, you drank the wine and not long after started to shiver and broke out in a sweat. Then you left to rest,” the bishop said, still eyeing him with concern.
Ethan. He’d been the one at the table that morning for the blessing with Rosalyn. Now it made sense. No doubt his conniving brother did nothing to correct the misunderstanding.
Lachlan cleared his throat and squared his shoulders before he responded. “But of course I’m well. Here I am,” Lachlan replied in a cherry tone. Although now that he thought about it, he did not feel well. His skin felt clammy and his mouth dry, as if he had grabbed some trail dirt and eaten that instead.
The wine?
“If you are insistere, let’s ride together. As I told you before, it’s rare my position allows me a moment in the saddle.” The holy man shook his head. “Such a waste. My father sent me to a prestigious riding academy and now I’m told to ride like an old man in a woman’s wagon.”
The bishop stopped for a moment and looked at Lachlan, who saw a glint of mischief in the bishop’s eyes. “Let’s have a race,” the bishop said with childlike enthusiasm.
Wanting to give the bishop a chance to relive his youth, Lachlan nodded as they mounted their horses.
“To the fallen tree,” Lachlan challenged, pointing to the toppled oak about two hundred paces off the trail.
“And back,” the bishop responded.
Lachlan turned around in his saddle and quickly surveyed the camp, grateful to find most of the men still laughing and drinking near the supply wagon. He nudged his war horse into a canter and led the way to the trail’s edge.
“On my mark,” the bishop said barely loud enough for Lachlan to hear. “Ready, set, race!”
Lachlan dug his heels into his horse. The destrier shot forward. But the bishop beat Lachlan at the start and led by a length. Lachlan kicked his mount again and the horse surged.
They raced toward the tree, the wind whipping Lachlan’s cape wildly behind him. He hadn’t been challenged in a long while. It felt exhilarating.
They reached the fallen tree and the bishop rounded the old oak first with Lachlan close behind.
As they approached the camp, cheers and shouts filled the air. The race had become a public spectacle.
Lachlan kicked his warhorse’s flanks again and drew head-to-head with the bishop, his mount snorting with competitive zeal.
The riders rushed toward the finish line with Lachlan in the lead. But just as Lachlan anticipated victory, his vision blurred and his mind spun.
He grabbed the beast’s mane and dug his fingers into the coarse tufts to anchor himself.
They were almost there. Closer, closer.
Then everything went black.