Page 11 of A Temptress in Tartan

Instead, in the time she had known Lachlan Douglas in particular, he had talked her out of taking her own life, had vowed to her father to keep her safe, and hadn’t retaliated against her for trying to slit his throat. Leaving her to wonder yet again what truth to believe about him and his clan. Was Lachlan a saint, a sinner, or somewhere in between?

She took a deep breath to steady her nerves as she and Lachlan headed for the kitchen. How could she determine for herself exactly who the man she had married was? Would more time together reveal his true self? Should she stay with him and find out or leave right now?

Her clan could extract her from her current circumstances this very morning if she wanted them to. After Lachlan had left their bedchamber, she’d pushed the shutters back in order to breathe the morning air with the hopes it would clear her head. Instead of clearing her thoughts, they became conflicted when she saw a small army had made camp in the distance, appearing like a blight on the gently sloping hills. Smoke from their campfires came to her like a specter, and the wind carried their voices through the silence of the dawn.

Elizabeth was convinced it was her father and his men. The thought should have filled her with joy, and yet fear filled her instead. The fresh cut on her palm stung as she remembered her vow to keep Lachlan safe from harm. Which is why she had asked him to change his plans for their travel. Her clan would expect them to take the shortest path along the coast. They would never expect Lachlan to head in the opposite direction, adding miles to their journey.

Because of her suggestion, both she and Lachlan would be safe for a few hours at least, until her father figured out their deception and pursued them once more. Perhaps in that time she could finally determine what to believe about the man she had married. Was he her nemesis or something else entirely? And if she decided he might not be what she’d always been told, she would have to ask him to trust her once more when she asked him to leave the carriage behind and travel on horseback to escape her own clan’s deadly plans. For she knew her father would kill Lachlan if they caught up to them. Then the Douglases would retaliate, and the feud would continue even though the king had demanded they put an end to it all.

With a sigh of frustration that she and Lachlan were stuck in the middle of the strife between the two clans, Elizabeth remained at the kitchen doorway while Lachlan negotiated with the young woman about breakfast fare that would travel well. He stood near the hearth, his big body cast in hues of red and gold by the flames. His blond hair held a slight wave that brushed the nape of his neck, and a few errant curls caressed his brow and temples. Despite the fact he had slept in his clothing from the day before, his snowy-white shirt still looked pristine as did the blue and green fabric of his kilt.

Even in their less than perfect circumstances, he appeared refined and elegant. With a soft brogue in his voice, he spoke to the young women with both authority and respect. He certainly did not give the impression of someone who was overbearing and ruthless. Or was all this an act to lull her into his web?

With a start she realized his blue eyes were upon her. He was frowning slightly, no doubt curious to know why she scrutinized him so. Instead of giving in to the desire to look away, she continued to hold his gaze. Who are you, Lachlan Douglas? What will I gain by remaining your wife?

Chapter Three

The sky turned a purplish gray as the sun’s rays sank below the horizon. Even in the hazy light, Elizabeth could see the road they followed skirted the banks of the Firth of Forth, until suddenly they turned and started to make their way up a long, winding road.

The last several hours had been a test not just to her nerves, but also to her endurance as she worried about what lay ahead. Until now she and Lachlan had been alone for the most part. At Ravenscraig Castle, they would be surrounded by many—so many whom she did not know. What kind of reception would she receive at the home of his friend? Would the residents there stare at her and sneer contemptuously just like her kin always did when they spoke of the Douglases?

They continued climbing the road ahead for what seemed like forever until suddenly the castle was before them, rising from the sheer edge of a bluff. The gray-colored stones stood tall and stark against the dying shades of twilight. The castle had twin round towers joined by saw-toothed battlements. Ravenscraig was not simply a castle. It was a fortress.

The closer they came, the faster her heart beat in her chest. They passed through the gatehouse, beneath the portcullis, and across a planked bridge before entering the main castle. Its entrance was marked by a torch on either side of double black doors that were opened wide in greeting. As the carriage came to a stop, Elizabeth could hear the murmur of excited voices from beyond the vehicle. When the carriage door opened, she saw several men and women rushing out the castle’s main entrance to greet their guests.

Elizabeth straightened. “It appears we have arrived.”

Lachlan looked at her for the first time in hours. “And now that we are here, I need a promise from you.”

She regarded him coldly. “We already promised to do no harm to each other through the oath we took this morning. What more do you want from me?”

His jaw tightened. He shifted his gaze from her to the men—draped in tartan cloth dyed in red, green, and blue—who gathered outside the carriage door. Some carried torches, others lanterns, casting the courtyard in both bright yellow-gold light and deep shadow. “I want your promise that you’ll not show if you’ve taken offense to anything that is said here. These people are my friends, and as such, they know my history. Some of them were with me after the death of my parents. Others have grown to hate the Ruthvens because of their many crimes against the king and this country.”

He turned to face her once again, his blue eyes picking up the shimmering light of the lanterns. “I will see you are safe.”

The silence between them grew until she was certain he could hear the frantic beating of her heart. She had no idea her clan was loathed by so many in Scotland. “Hate? Crimes?”

Lachlan frowned. “Aye. They are often reviled.”

There was something in his simple claim that rocked her. He made her hear a veracity in the words. There had been times she’d wondered when she’d heard whispered conversations that stopped the moment she appeared, and situations that didn’t quite align with what she’d been told . . .

Her father and her clan had kept her sheltered from the outside world all her life. Everything she knew about the world came from the stories her father or other members of the clan recounted for her. Her perspective about society and the way the world worked had come to her not from her own experience, but filtered through others. Had they told her the truth?

Elizabeth crossed her arms over her chest in a futile attempt to comfort herself. Even while she’d waited at the palace for her wedding to Lachlan, she’d started to notice a different perspective. Her father had always told her the king adored the Ruthven clan and granted them the highest of privileges within his court. But what she’d observed was that even though two of the queen’s ladies-in-waiting were Ruthvens, the king did not approve of them attending his wife. He wanted them gone from the palace and his life. That truth aligned with what Lachlan had told her just now.

At her hesitation, Lachlan frowned. “’Tis but a simple aye or nay, Elizabeth. What is it to be? Will you promise not to react to any perceived slights?”

What was the truth and what was a lie? Though her thoughts still spun, she said, “I promise.”

At her agreement, Lachlan took her hand in his and helped her from the carriage. Immediately upon their descent, they were engulfed by those gathered. The men offered Lachlan handshakes and claps upon the back, while the women hugged him with smiles and laughter. One woman with red hair tugged him farther into the crowd and toward the entrance of the castle, forcing Elizabeth to release Lachlan’s hand until she stood alone outside the gathered group.

He kept looking back at her with an apology in his eyes.

She straightened and clasped her hands together, refusing to let anyone see how alone she felt.

At the entrance, a tall, elegant man stood patiently, bathed in the light that spilled from within the castle. The light revealed a face of stunning comeliness. Every feature on his face came close to perfection and his body brimmed with strength. He wore tan breeches and a dark surcoat with a pristine white shirt beneath. Without even an introduction, Elizabeth surmised this was Cameron Sinclair, the laird of Ravenscraig Castle. Lachlan approached him.

Slowly the gathered crowd grew silent and turned, watching the reunion of the two men.