Page 35 of A Temptress in Tartan

He took her elbow. “You’ll come with me or I’ll carry you out of here, tied up if need be.”

She twisted free, scorched by his touch. “Oh, nay,” she exploded, her body shaking with wrath. “The only reason you wish me to leave this place is so you will have more leverage over the Douglases.”

“Elizabeth,” her father growled.

Elizabeth backed up, avoiding his reach. “I’m tired of not knowing what is truth and what is a lie. From now on, I only want the truth from you and everyone else.”

“The truth is your husband is a warlock, and that he will be put to death. When he is gone, do you really want to remain here surrounded by the very people who hate and despise you?”

Determined to stand up not only for herself, but also for a man she believed was innocent, Elizabeth hurried from the great hall. She would not give in to the demands of her father or the sense of impending doom she’d been struggling to contain since she and Lachlan had taken their vows.

Her father chased after her. “Returning to the clan is the only possible solution to your problem,” he called.

She wheeled around, confronting her father once more. “Don’t you dare suggest the clan would be a refuge for me when it has always been more like a prison. Only once I left did I finally catch a glimmer of what my life might hold. And now you’re trying to take that away from me as well.”

“I’ve taken nothing from you, girl. But that bastard you call husband has.”

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. “Another lie, Father?”

“You decide,” he said, his gaze fixed on her.

“I’m listening.”

“You were only a young girl when your mother died, and I let you think her death was due to natural causes because you were mired in grief. But that is not the whole truth.”

Her heart rose in her throat. “Go on.”

“Lachlan Douglas blamed our clan for his parents’ deaths. One night, when he was only a lad of seven, he infiltrated Ruthven Castle and entered my and your mother’s bedchamber. Under the cover of the night, he cursed us both then fled before he could be apprehended. The next day your mother was dead. The wise woman said her heart simply stopped beating.”

Elizabeth heard whimpers come from her own throat as the memory of holding her mother’s lifeless body in her arms came back to her. She remembered stroking her mother’s hair and rocking her gently, begging her to wake up. Yet she had not.

Another memory came to her just as suddenly—a memory she’d tucked deep inside—that of a young boy not coming into her parents’ bedchamber, but her own. He hadn’t been armed. He hadn’t demanded anything. He’d simply stared at her with the most soulful eyes she had ever seen. Blue eyes. Lachlan’s eyes.

Her father spoke the truth, at least in part. Lachlan had come to them. But why? Had he sought revenge; he could have taken it that night. Yet, she clearly remembered him with no weapon in his hands. But sorcery needed no blade. The spoken word—be it enchantment or curse—could have done just as much damage.

Nay! Elizabeth closed her eyes, breathing raggedly, as she struggled to push those memories away. Her father was trying to sow doubt in her mind, to make her fear the man she’d been forced to marry but had begun to trust.

She had to believe Lachlan was innocent. At least for now. When she felt more in control, she opened her eyes, and despite the heaviness that weighed her down, she shook her head. “That doesn’t prove anything. If you and Mother had been killed by the Douglases, I might have vented my anger in the same way.”

Her father’s face was colorless now, and pain reflected in his eyes. “’Twas a curse, I tell you.”

Her fingernails dug into the palms of her hands as she tried to force the memories and her father’s accusations away. “I don’t believe you,” she said before turning away and heading out the door. She needed to find someone to help her get to Haddington before the entire world threatened to turn upside down.

*

That night and early into the following morning passed in darkness for Lachlan as he sat upon the cold stone floor with mice scurrying about his feet. Despite the fact it was summer, only cold seemed to seep through the thick stone walls of the tolbooth in Haddington. He’d been given a cell with a small window that looked out onto the main street. No doubt his position with the king was the reason why he had this indulgence. While his captors might fear his magical abilities, they feared retribution by the king more for abusing one of his warriors. Yet even so, the air in the cell was stale with the stench of decay.

Word must have reached the king by now, and yet Lachlan was still a prisoner. Were his accusers waiting for him to be weary from anxiety and exhaustion until they questioned him? He’d heard rumors of such tactics—keeping the prisoners awake, feeding them little, and then torturing them for hours on end in order to gain confessions, attesting to all manner of untrue sorcery and sin.

An hour later, when the sun finally cast a long shadow into his cell, Lachlan heard footsteps on the flagstone outside his door. A moment later a loud scraping sounded as the iron bolt slid back. The door creaked open, revealing a tall, lean man with dark hair and, if not kind, at least a friendly face. In his hands he held a tray, which he came forward with and set on the floor beside Lachlan. “Lachlan Douglas,” he greeted. “I am the Lord Chancellor, John Maitland. I was sent by the king to make certain you were well tended.”

Lachlan allowed hope to blossom. “I am to be released then.”

At the Lord Chancellor’s expression, any hope Lachlan held died.

“The king is intent upon ridding his kingdom of all evil. He has proclaimed he is appointed by God himself to accomplish that task, and will not rest until the deed is done. The Privy Council and the ministers of this great land have worked tirelessly to uncover the Devil’s work and all those who wreak havoc on his behalf. Your arrest was necessary in order to demonstrate our commitment to seeing the king’s orders executed. No one is above suspicion, whether they be laird, lady, or peasant.”

Lachlan scoffed. “You make an example of an innocent man?”