Page 25 of A Temptress in Tartan

The cat gratefully followed beside her out of the stable. As she moved to join the others, her smile faded as the fishermen’s gazes passed between herself and the black cat. Their faces blanched. “Go bhfóire dia orainn!” Thomas exclaimed, calling upon God to help them as he turned and chattered excitedly to the others.

As the cat continued to rub against her legs, Elizabeth clenched her fingers. A shiver went up her spine. “What’s wrong, Thomas?”

He turned to her, his eyes dark and unfathomable. “We’re leaving, regardless of the dangers. None of us will be beholden tae one such as yer husband.” His voice quivered with fear. He and the men did not walk, they ran back to the beach.

“Thomas, wait—” Before she could finish her words, they disappeared down the path. Unaffected by the men’s odd behavior, the cat continued to purr and stroked its own back against the skirt of her gown. “What got into them?” she asked the beast, bending down to rub its neck. The men were scared, but of what? A cat? Her? The fear that their families might assume they were all dead? She was still pondering the situation, when Lachlan joined her outside.

“Where are Thomas and the others?” Lachlan asked with a frown.

She stood. “Something frightened them when I came out of the stable with this cat. They decided to make their own way back across the channel now instead of waiting for the wind to settle.”

“Black cats are an omen of doom for fishermen. Many will not travel by boat for an entire day when a black cat crosses their path.” He shrugged though his features were tight as he gazed at the choppy water in the distance. “We cannot stop them if they choose to return home tonight. They know the dangers, not from the presence of a black cat, but from the weather.” After a long moment he said, “Come, let us eat so we can be on our way ourselves.” He looked down, then bent and scratched the affectionate cat behind the ears. “Looks like you have a friend.”

“I cannot believe the men would be so frightened of a cat.”

“’Tis superstitious nonsense.” Lachlan stood. “Since King James set up his witch tribunals there are many men and women who suddenly believe a black cat is either a servant of a witch or a witch themselves in familiar form.”

“’Tis only a barn cat,” Elizabeth replied.

“To you and me, aye. But again, we cannot control what others believe.” Lachlan started toward the inn. Elizabeth and the black cat both followed. With the cat at her side, Elizabeth felt her steps lighten. If she were honest, she was eager—almost excited—to get on with the final leg of their journey. Was she more relaxed now because her father and his men were no longer on their heels? Or because Roland, the man she had once hoped to be her future, had left her and all of his empty promises behind? He had betrayed her before. She would not give him an opportunity to do so again.

Elizabeth lifted her skirts and ran to catch up with Lachlan. Now that she had parted ways both mentally and physically with Roland, she could move on with her future. Perhaps she could think of this moment as a fresh start. At the door of the small inn, Lachlan stepped back, allowing her to enter before him. The interior was clean and a cheerful fire burned in the stone fireplace in the common room. The delicious aroma of roasting hare drifted to Elizabeth from a spit over the fire that was turned by a serving maid.

The innkeeper hurried forward, a toothless grin lighting his round face. “Welcome, m’laird, milady.” He bowed then asked, “How might I be of service today?”

“I left two horses in your stable with feed and water, and my good wife and I desire a plate of the roasted hare, if you please. I’ll pay extra for a scrap or two to be placed outside for the cat.”

“Of course,” he said, nodding. “Come, sit here and we will serve you at once, m’laird.” The innkeeper showed them to a table near the fire, then snapped his fingers, gaining the maid’s attention. The young woman left the spit and hurried toward them with two mugs of wine she set before them, then returned with two plates of meat, mashed turnips, and a slice of rustic bread slathered in butter.

Elizabeth had not realized how hungry she had become until the food was before her. Her mouth watered at the sight of meat, roasted to perfection. With her fork in her left hand and knife in her right, she cut off a small bite and placed it on her tongue. With an effort, she held back a groan of pleasure. Elizabeth could feel Lachlan’s gaze on her face but avoided looking up to meet his eyes. The common room buzzed with the hum of conversation between others who had stopped for a meal, yet silence stretched between herself and Lachlan.

Why did he not speak? It was obvious he had questions about Roland. When the silence stretched on, she realized she would have to be the one to break it. “You have nothing to worry about with regards to Roland. He is an old friend, but anything between us is over.”

“Are you so certain of that? Roland appears to have differing thoughts on that matter.”

A frown furrowed her brow. “It matters not what he thinks. I am your wife. We can hardly change that fact.”

He smiled cynically. “For some men, even that is no obstacle.” His wooden chair creaked as he leaned back and stretched his long legs out before him, his gaze on the fire.

“Roland goes to Edinburgh to study to be a minister.”

Lachlan’s lips tightened. “That makes him even more dangerous given the current political climate. Ministers are encouraged by King James to rid their kirks of those who are seen as disturbers of the status quo.”

“I don’t understand what that has to do with anything.”

“Don’t you?” he asked with a bitter tone in his voice. “Anyone whom the ministers want to be rid of may be charged as a witch or a warlock, and few who are charged escape a painful death.”

Elizabeth did not have to ask the nature of their deaths. She’d heard about the ruthless burnings of both men and women all over Scotland since the Berwick witch trials began. The old, infirm, and those touched by madness had been preyed upon the most because of their inability to resist the horrific torture they’d had to endure. “Roland would never accuse an innocent person,” she argued.

“From what I saw of him in the last few hours, that young man looked like he would do anything to get you away from a Douglas.”

At his words, she drank the last of her wine before setting the wooden goblet down on the table. “I still do not believe Roland could be so cruel, but just to be certain we had best be on our way and get you to Whittingehame Castle’s protection before nightfall.”

He smiled crookedly. “Wife, you sound as if you care.”

She pushed back her chair and stood. She did care, but she would never tell him that. “I already have a husband. I would be very put out if I had to find myself another.”

He stood and took a step toward her and she caught the scent of the sea and the summer sunshine that clung to his skin. He brought his fingers up to caress her cheek and jawline. “I’m going to pretend it is because you care for me more than you are willing to say.” His smile was purely sensual.