Page 8 of A Temptress in Tartan

Lachlan bent down and withdrew his sgian-dubh from his boot, then he reached for the Bible the king and queen had given them as a gift.

“What are you doing?” Her voice sounded frightened even to her own ears.

He set the Bible on the bed beside them, then with his weapon in his right hand he pierced the palm of his left hand, drawing a thin trickle of blood. “Now give me your left hand.”

She stepped farther away. “I don’t understand.”

“I’ll not live all my days with dread of each other. Swear to God you’ll not kill me or cause my death and I will swear the same to you.”

When she didn’t respond, he stood there, waiting until finally she offered her hand. He held her gently as the knife’s edge bit into her flesh and the warmth of her own blood trailed across her palm.

“Take my left hand in yours and place your other hand atop mine on this Bible.”

She’d always been told the Douglases were oath-breakers, yet he wanted to place their hands on a Bible and as such she could honestly believe that he meant to keep this one promise to her. She drew a long breath, then settled her right hand over his and extended her left hand toward him. He wrapped his larger fingers around her smaller ones. The warmth of his blood merged with her own.

In the intimate silence he said, “I, Lachlan, solemnly swear never to harm you, Elizabeth. I will protect you and keep you all the days of my life.”

As though compelled by a force outside of herself, Elizabeth replied, “I, Elizabeth, solemnly swear never to harm you. I will honor you and keep you all the days of my life.” As soon as she said the words, a strange warmth moved through her. The pledge they offered each other somehow seemed far more binding and intimate than the marriage vows they had said only yesterday.

“Our blood oath is unbreakable. It was not given as a Douglas to a Ruthven, but as a man to a woman. Are we agreed?”

“Aye. And you agree?”

“Aye,” he echoed. “We shall both bear a scar on our palms to remind us of our promise.”

His voice was hoarse, but she thought she heard something in his tone—respect, perhaps, or even admiration. She held on to his hand a moment longer, then slipped her fingers from his and reached for the cloth atop the washstand next to the basin and pitcher. She ripped the cloth lengthwise to create two small strips before dipping the remainder of the cloth in the water in the basin. She wiped the blood from her hand before taking Lachlan’s hand in hers and doing the same.

Once that was complete, she set the remains of the bloody cloth next to the washbasin and picked up one of the clean strips of linen. She wound it around Lachlan’s hand then tied the ends in a knot. She held the second strip out to him, beckoning him without words to do the same for her.

As he tied the knot, the crowing of a rooster in the yard below heralded the arrival of dawn. “How do we proceed from here?” Elizabeth asked.

“We do exactly that. We proceed on our journey.” His lips pulled up at the corners as he gazed down at his bandaged hand.

A flutter came to her stomach that had nothing to do with hunger. He appeared pleased with this new commitment between them. Was she? A moment later, her stomach grumbled loudly. Perhaps it was her hunger speaking after all and not her nerves.

A concerned look came to Lachlan’s face at the odd sound. “When was the last time you ate something?”

“I had a small amount at our wedding breakfast, but nothing since,” she admitted as her stomach growled again.

“Why don’t you dress and pack your things. I will go find us some food,” he said, then left her alone in the bedchamber.

Elizabeth moved to the bed. Struggling for control, she balanced carefully on the edge of the mattress, listening to the soft nickering of a horse followed by the crowing of a rooster in the yard below. She glanced down at her bandaged hand. What had she done? She had willingly agreed not to harm her enemy. And if she went back on her part of the oath, she would be without honor, which was worse than betraying her clan.

It was well enough, she told herself. She could honor the oath and still keep herself apart from Lachlan Douglas. She had agreed not to kill him, but that didn’t make her his friend. She clenched her teeth, staring stonily into the growing light of the morning.

Even though she was surrounded by light, a dark loneliness settled inside her as it had so many times before. She would be alone in this new life of hers just as she had been alone even among her own clan. Yet, as always, she would make the best of the situation. She’d learned long ago not to rely on others for her happiness. In the past, that had only ended in disappointment. She would make the best of her new life in the days, months, and years ahead.

“I’ll shape a future,” she said, trying to convince herself. Elizabeth took a deep breath and slowly released it. Perhaps if she said the words often enough, she might actually start to believe them.

*

In the common room belowstairs Lachlan found Mistress Broun with her head resting on one of the wooden tables. Her eyes were open, but she gazed off into the distance as though seeing into the otherworld. He stopped beside her and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. Heat radiated from beneath his hand. She was feverish. “Mistress? Are you well?”

Slowly the older woman lifted her head and turned her glassy gaze on him. Her body wavered and her eyes were large, her pupils dilated in the gauntness of her face.

“You should be in bed, my good woman. Where is your husband? Do you have any maids who can see you to your bed?” The woman was definitely ill. He had seen that same look in others’ eyes when they had been in the thrall of a fever for several hours. Lachlan straightened, thinking back to when not long ago he had helped his cousin Vivian heal those who were ill at Redhouse Castle. The herbalist had given her patients some kind of potion—what herbs had it contained? He recalled something about elderflowers and peppermint.

Instead of standing over the innkeeper’s wife, Lachlan sat down, gazing more directly at the woman. She stared at him, and despite her fever, he suddenly felt as though she saw every vulnerable part of him—the part that was not quite equal to his famous cousins, the part that feared being abandoned, the part that hated feeling a loss of control. An overwhelming urge to turn away from her knowing eyes came over him, but he resisted, falling back into anger instead.