*It was close to midnight when the guards returned Lachlan to his cell. Elizabeth had waited there in the shadows since they’d taken him away hours ago. She’d paid one of the guards to bring fresh straw from the slaughterhouse, which after she’d swept the rotting straw into a corner, she’d spread out across the floor. And she’d traded her mother’s pearl ring for fresh water and linen to be delivered upon Lachlan’s return to his cell.
Reid and Lucy had left shortly after Lachlan and with the intent to head to the Nungate Inn at the edge of Berwick. They promised to send word to the other four of the king’s elite guard, claiming that together they might hold some sway over the king.
Elizabeth could only hope they were right.
The tolbooth clock struck twelve when the guards dragged a naked Lachlan into the cell and tossed him on the floor face down. A pile of clothing was hurled next to him.
Elizabeth dropped to her knees beside him. She swayed, trying to fight back the tears and darkness that threatened to consume her. She had to be strong for Lachlan’s sake. “Where is my water and linen?” she called, drawing strength from the act of doing something to help him.
“Coming,” a deep voice replied from the doorway.
Sweet Mary, he was barely breathing.
The young guard she had bribed entered and set down a basin of water, several lengths of white linen, and a candle that cast a soft yellow glow over the small cell. “Help me roll him over,” Elizabeth demanded. When the guard did, she gasped at the sight of his welted and pierced flesh. Her stomach pitched.
“What did they do to him?” Terrible things. Cruel and senseless things. “I thought he was seeing the pricker?”
The guard nodded. “That was afore he decided tae rescue two other women who were bein’ tortured there.”
The tears she’d been trying to stop spilled past her lashes. “Thank you for these things,” she said to the guard, “and for the time alone with my husband.”
The guard looked down at the ring on his little finger. “My wife’ll thank me fer this fer years tae come.” He stood and exited the cell, locking the door behind him.
Looking at the man before her, Elizabeth felt utter despair. “We promised to keep each other from harm.” She expelled a shattered breath. “At the first test of that promise, I failed. I’m so sorry. I’ll figure a way out of this mess that my father has brought down on us both. I’ll find a way.” A swift jolt of agony shook Elizabeth.
Only a short time ago she had thought of this man as her enemy. But over the past few days they had built a bridge that was spanning the gap between enemies and friends. She had actually been eager to see where things led after they had arrived at his castle . . . but would they even get a chance to move forward?
Heaviness settled in her chest as she dipped one of the pieces of linen into the water and began wiping the blood first from his forehead, then his cheeks and neck. She could feel a pulse beneath her fingertips that was thready, but strong.
She dipped her linen in the water, turning the liquid pink as she continued to gently clean his shoulders, his chest. When she reached the most male part of him, she cleaned him quickly before moving on to his legs.
He let out an occasional moan, but did not wake up, for which she was grateful.
When she was done cleansing the multitude of wounds, she secured linen around the worst ones in an effort to keep them from turning putrid, before she attempted to pull on his breeches and shirt in order to keep his wounds from further contamination due to the filthy conditions.
Elizabeth had to keep herself busy with his care so she couldn’t think about the pain he must be feeling or how many deaths had occurred in this very place to those who were tortured like Lachlan had been.
She steeled herself to keep back the tears as she settled on the floor and cradled Lachlan’s head in her lap. They needed a plan, and fast, before he was forced to endure anything more. Yet the harder she tried to assess the situation and make plans, the more jumbled her thoughts became.
With a sigh of capitulation, she leaned her head back against the cold, stone wall, appreciative of the fact they were both still alive. And until either she could see a clear path ahead, or the king’s warriors could find a way out of this situation, neither of them would have any sort of future—separate or together.
*
“Elizabeth.”
The candle had long since sputtered itself out when Lachlan opened his eyes. He stared up at Elizabeth who drowsily opened her eyes.
“Elizabeth,” he whispered again.
Instantly alert, she looked down at him. “You are awake.”
“How did you get in here?”
Her brow furrowed. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It does to me.” He shifted in her lap and pain fired through him. He gasped at the force of it even as he willed himself to relax.
“I bribed the guard.” She reached down but refrained from stroking his cheek. “How do you feel?”
“Bruised. Pained.” He lifted his head for a moment before settling it in her lap once more. “Weak.” He frowned. “Have you been here all night?”
She nodded. “Lachlan—”
“This was not your fault,” he interrupted.
“That is kind of you to say.”
“It’s the truth,” he said as he struggled to a sitting position.
“What are you doing? Your wounds—”
“Hurt like hell,” he said between clenched teeth.
“You were tortured to within an inch of your life less than six hours ago, and now you’re behaving as if nothing happened! I thought you were dead when they brought you in here last night. There was so much blood . . .”
The sadness in her eyes made his throat tighten. “It takes more than that to kill a Douglas.” He reached down and gently stroked a lock of hair away from her temple. “I’ll never confess to the charges before me, no matter what they do. But I do need to think . . . to devise a plan . . .”
“I’ve been trying to think of a way out of this all night and I can think of nothing.” Her words were barely above a whisper.
“Then I’ll fight.”
The sadness vanished and fire lit her eyes once more. “Fight what? Superstition? The king? Those are battles you cannot win.” She stood and glared at him. “At least not alone.”
“Nay.” His frown deepened. “You aren’t going to help me with anything.”
His thoughts moved back to the two women who’d been with him in the chamber of tortures. The younger of the two was around Elizabeth’s age. “No one is safe from an accusation of witchcraft. You need to leave here, now, while you still can. I can endure whatever they do to me as long as I know you are safe.”
Elizabeth planted her hands on her hips. “You saved my life not so many days ago,” she said with an intensity that caused her voice to tremble. “It is my turn to save yours.”
God’s teeth, she was stubborn, Lachlan thought, trying to smother a spark of admiration tempering his feeling of annoyance. “Is this about our slates being wiped clean? A life for a life? Or is there more?”
Something flickered in her eyes a heartbeat before it vanished. “It’s about saving your life. Once we get past that, we can look to other things.”
Lachlan frowned, then flinched from the pain. He hadn’t known her long enough to know every little expression that crossed her face, but if he had to guess he would say that brief flicker had been fear. Perhaps she was trying to save him to soothe her own soul, but deep inside she still believed he was all the things they said about him. The thought sent a chill down his spine. “Elizabeth—”
“Wait!” she said, her face suddenly alight in the semi-darkness. “It is not the tribunal we need to convince of your innocence. It is King James.” She paced the confines of the small cell. “Would you say King James is a learned man? A logical man?”
Lachlan’s frown deepened. “Aye. He is.”
“Then we need to appeal to the logical side of him. Make him see through the preposterous charges my father and others have brought up against you.”
“And how do you suppose we do that?” Lachlan asked.
“With counter evidence.” She smiled. “I will dispel every charge, one by one by finding those who have given evidence against you and reversing their claims. Starting with myself.”
“You did not testify against me.”
“Not yet, but that moment will come and soon. Mark my words.”
He stood and shuttered as pain rippled through him. “I don’t understand.”
“They say you tried to sacrifice me at Ravenscraig Castle. I intend to submit to an examination by someone who can confirm that I am still a maid.”
“Nay, Elizabeth. I will not have you humble yourself in that way for me.”
He saw the shimmer of tears in her eyes. “Do you wish to live?”
“Aye.”
She stared at him, and the bleakness in her gaze was almost too much to bear. “I don’t know what else to do. If it helps you to be freed from this place, then it will be worthwhile.” She drew a deep breath as if to maintain her composure. “I do not want you to die, not in this way.”
“Elizabeth,” he said, and ignoring the pain, he took her into his arms. She tensed for a heartbeat before she relaxed. “I have no intention of dying.”
“Finally, we agree on something.” Despite her attempt at humor, her eyes still held fear as she touched his rough, unshaven jaw then pushed up on her toes and kissed him tenderly.
He gathered her closer, and much to his surprise, she deepened the kiss and molded her body to his. He blocked out the pain, focusing instead on the feel of her, the taste of her. The moment stretched before them. He seized it, used it to show her what she meant to him, in case he never got the chance to tell her anything more. He wanted her to know how much he needed her, wanted her, desired her. He reveled in the heat, allowing the warmth to heal his skin. He wanted so much more, but it was the wrong time, the wrong place.
Easing back from the kiss, he lifted his head and looked down into dazed brown eyes filled with desire. He knew a moment of intense satisfaction that he would hold dear in the minutes, hours, and days ahead to give him strength.
The sound of a throat clearing hauled his mind from his thoughts. Looking up, he saw the younger of his guards at the door neither of them had heard open.
“’Tis time fer ye tae leave, milady. The others will be arrivin’ soon and I dinna want tae lose my job.”
Elizabeth stepped back. Chill morning air filled the space between them and Lachlan shivered involuntarily. He wanted nothing more than to kiss her again, but he knew he had to let her go. “Whatever you decide to do, you must proceed carefully. Speak with Reid. He will know how to help. Promise you will.”
She nodded. “I promise.”
He watched her go. Watched the door close slowly behind her. As soon as the latch slid home, he sagged against the wall for support. While in Elizabeth’s presence it had taken everything inside him to be strong, brave, unshaken.
He’d thought he’d known what fear was before—the shiver down his spine, the knot in his stomach, the metallic taste on his tongue. But those old experiences were nothing.
The fear inside him now was a living, breathing thing, which crept into every cell of his being like a macabre specter threatening to plunge him into eternal darkness.
He curled his hand at his sides, fighting the fear, willing it away. He dragged in a breath past the constriction in his chest. He was going to die, here and now, either in the torture chamber as John Swinton crushed his bones to gain a confession, or at the end of a noose. All that stood between him and death was Elizabeth.
Lachlan swallowed a lump in his throat. To survive the next few days he needed internal strength and faith and hope. He squeezed his eyes shut, battling the pain with everything inside him. Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the Lord your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you. The thought came out of nowhere, reminding him that he wasn’t alone, and that faith was his for the asking.
“Help me,” he whispered, wishing God would hear his simple prayer, but not expecting him to. God never answered his prayers. Why would he start now?