Page 6 of A Temptress in Tartan

Elizabeth jerked her hand from his. “Where will we sleep? On the floor?”

“I assure you, we will have a clean room.”

Elizabeth paused. “A room together?”

“Aye. We are newlywed and must keep up appearances. However, as I stated before, there will be nothing between us until you desire such.” He extended his hand once more.

She stared down at it, trying to decide what to do. She must have hesitated too long, for he stepped forward and his arm came about her waist. He lifted her off her feet before pulling her against his chest. “You will come with me into the inn. It is your choice whether I carry you inside like a sack of grain, or you maintain your dignity and walk inside on your own two feet.” He paused as his determined gaze connected with her angry one. “What is your choice?”

Elizabeth relaxed at the mention of a choice, the tension leaving her body.

Lachlan must have read her response as capitulation for he set her on her feet though he held tight to her hand. “Shall we?”

“Since that is the only option I have,” she replied tartly. “But only for one night.” Her gaze clashed with his as she stepped toward the sagging door.

Inside the inn the smell of smoke lingered, but Elizabeth had to admit the room, while dilapidated and rundown as the rest of the place, was clean. A cheerful fire glowed in the hearth and the wooden tables nearby had a bright bouquet of wildflowers at the center of each that were comprised of pink, yellow, and red blooms.

The gray-haired innkeeper bowed his head upon their entrance and the innkeeper’s wife curtsied before coming to greet them. “Welcome, m’laird, milady. We have our best room awaiting ye. Go abovestairs and tae the right.” Her curly red hair had streaks of gray and her face was lined with age. But a friendly smile lit her features as she waved them toward a narrow flight of stairs that rose from the center of the room.

“Thank you, Mistress Broun,” Lachlan replied as he accepted a candlestick the woman offered, then guided Elizabeth toward the staircase.

“I’ll have my son see tae yer bags shortly and in the meanwhile, I’ll send up some mutton pasties, cheese, and apples tae fill yer bellies.”

“That would be most appreciated.” At Elizabeth’s hesitation, Lachlan nudged her from behind, forcing her to climb the stairs.

“Will ye be wanting a bath?” Mistress Broun called from below when they had reached the landing above.

At Lachlan’s questioning gaze, Elizabeth replied, “Do not trouble yourself, Mistress. We have all we need for the night. But thank you for your kindness.”

Mistress Broun offered the pair another curtsey from below before she disappeared from view. With no other distraction, Elizabeth followed Lachlan inside the first room off to their right. Expecting the worst, she was pleasantly surprised when the candlelight revealed a small but tidy bedchamber. The air was not nearly as smoky as belowstairs, and Mistress Broun had obviously put time and effort into sewing matching bedcurtains and a coverlet. A vase of pink, yellow, and red wildflowers—like those below—stood on the nightstand, adding a touch of cheer.

Lachlan lit the brace of candles near the bedside before turning to face her. “Are things better than you feared?”

Elizabeth wrapped her fingers around the bedpost, putting the shaped column of wood between herself and her new husband. “I admit I was wrong.”

Lachlan straightened as a shocked expression came to his face. “I did not know a Ruthven could admit such a thing.”

Elizabeth frowned. “Then you know very little about Ruthvens,” she said sharply.

He did not respond to her barb. Instead, his features became thoughtful. “Neither of us knows the other very well, do we?”

“Nay,” she admitted. In the pale wash of the candlelight he looked sincere, but could she trust him? She’d always been told as a Douglas, Lachlan was a barbaric, primitive rogue who was only capable of deception, cheating, and murder. And even though he had not revealed those sides of himself to her yet, he could at any time.

Perhaps this whole thing was an elaborate scheme concocted by him to be rid of her on this, their wedding night. Had he lied about their carriage breaking down and brought her here to this remote and isolated inn under false pretenses so he could kill her in her sleep, then dispose of her body before they ever reached his home?

Lachlan frowned. “Why are you looking at me in that manner?”

“I’m trying to figure out if everything I’ve ever been told about the Douglases is true.”

“And what have you been told? I’m sure it is nothing but lies.”

Her gaze narrowed. “Then you can say the Douglases didn’t murder Harlan and Helen Ruthven thirty years ago while they slept in their beds, starting this whole feud? Or that a few years later they didn’t steal our sheep, killing several clan members who went without food that winter?” While she listed off a few of the offenses committed by his clan she’d been told about, his face turned stony.

“And you can say with a clear conscience that the Ruthvens did not kidnap and impregnate Rosie Douglas? Then, when she was about to give birth, stab her twenty-six times and leave her for dead? When the Douglases found her, she told of the nights of endless abuse by your clansmen. Both she and the baby died.”

He came closer and her heart pounded wildly as the room suddenly seemed too small to hold them both. Elizabeth was too frightened to gasp, too frightened to speak, too frightened to do anything but hide behind the sliver of wood separating the two of them.

“Or how about when the Ruthvens poisoned our well, killing several clansmen before they determined what the cause of the illness was. Do you deny these accusations?”