*The candle had long since burnt down and a hazy gray darkness filled the bedchamber. Elizabeth’s hands were shaking as she bent over her husband’s sleeping form. Lachlan slept in his kilt and boots on the floor in front of the door. She tensed when she heard his even breathing falter. Did he sense her presence near him?
A moment later, his slow, even breathing resumed and she released a hitched breath. He was still asleep. Silently, she reached for the sgian-dubh he kept tucked into his boot. She would have only a second to grab the weapon and strike. Her aim for his throat must be true despite the fact she’d never taken a life before.
There was no other choice. She had to do this. This man was her enemy. She reached for the sgian-dubh.
“Touch that and you’ll wish you were dead.” Lachlan’s hand snaked around her wrist before she had even touched the weapon.
Elizabeth’s blood ran cold. She tried to wrench away, but he was too strong. “Let me go.”
“Why?” He held tight as he sat up, watching her with an intensity that made her stomach tighten. “So you can try again to kill me with my own weapon?”
Her blood pounded in her ears. “It’s not what you think.”
“It’s not?” He stood, pulling her up with him. Pain shot through her wrist at the motion. “’Tis obvious to me that you intended to slit my throat. I thought we had moved past all this.”
“You were planning to kill me, so I thought I’d kill you first.”
He stared at her in stunned amazement. “You thought I would kill you? Whatever gave you that idea?”
“How could you not? We are who we are. How can our marriage change anything?” she replied, starting to feel a little light-headed as she locked her knees to keep herself upright.
He turned her in his arms until they fully faced each other. She drew a breath.
As he loosened his grip, he gazed down at her. “Why would I hurt you? You are my wife.”
She stepped back, suddenly noticing the darkness of the bedchamber had given way to the pinkish light of dawn. “We stopped for the night in the middle of nowhere. It would be easy for you to murder me here and hide my body where no one would ever find it.”
Lachlan frowned. “We were forced to stop here because of the wheel. There was nothing sinister in my motives, I assure you. But we cannot continue our journey with this distrust between us.”
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.
“Clearly something is wrong, Mistress. What would you have me do?”
Something flickered in her eyes. “Ale. If you would be so kind.” Her fingers were white where they grasped the corner of the table as she tried to remain upright.
Instantly, Lachlan regretted his outburst as he stood and turned to grab a pitcher of ale and a mug from the table behind them. He poured a mugful and offered it to the woman.
She drained the mug, then collapsed against the table, sending the pewter vessel to the floor with a clang. At the noise, a young maid hastened into the chamber.
“Mistress?” the blonde-haired girl stopped short at the sight of Lachlan. She was no more than thirteen or possibly fourteen years of age. “Beg pardon, m’laird.” She turned around and made to leave again.
“Nay. Do not go, please. I need your help.”
The girl came forward again. The fear vanished from her expression as she offered him a hesitant smile.
“How long has Mistress Broun been like this?” Lachlan asked.
“I dinna ken. I’ve just now arrived. I heard a noise and came runnin’.”
“Can you tell me where she sleeps?”
The maid nodded. “There’s a bed in the back where she and the master sleep.”
Lachlan lifted the feverish woman into his arms. “Show me.”
The maid led him to the back of the inn where a curtain hung, separating the bedchamber from the common room. Lachlan pushed the fabric aside and entered the darkened space. He set the innkeeper’s wife on the bed, propping her head up with pillows, then turned to the girl. “Can you take me to your kitchen?”
Her face was shadowed but he could see the slightest bob of her head. He followed her down a hallway until they came to a doorway on the right. She stopped outside. “My sister, Meg, helps the mistress cook.”
Lachlan entered the room to find a slightly taller blonde-haired girl who was only a few years older than her sister. She stirred a pot of porridge, and tended a pan of blood sausage on a grate over the flames. The beginnings of the morning fare for the inn, no doubt. “Good morrow,” Lachlan greeted when the girl looked from him to her sister and back again.
Her eyes went wide. “Jane, ye know the mistress hates it when ye bring visitors into her kitchen.”
“Do not blame your sister,” Lachlan said, coming forward. “I asked her to bring me here. Your mistress is in the grip of a fever. I came to see if you might have some dried elderflowers and peppermint that I can make into a tisane.”
The girl’s features became troubled—from his request or the news that her mistress was ill, he was not certain. “Ye ken about herbs?”
“Not myself, nay, but my cousin-in-law is quite knowledgeable and I have watched her use that combination many times to ease a fever.”
“What if mistress dies from the brew?” Meg asked hesitantly.
“The herbs are harmless enough. I assure you she will not die if you help me quickly. Where are those herbs?”
She must have sensed his growing frustration because she moved quickly to a shelf on the opposite side of the room and took down two clay jars, which she handed to him. “These are what you need.”
To the younger woman who still hovered near the door he said, “Will you help me get some boiling water so your sister can return to her duties for the inn?”
With a look of relief, Meg returned to her cooking and Jane hastened to the hearth. After wrapping the handle in a cloth, she retrieved the kettle hanging on a hook above the flames. She brought the boiling water to him along with a bowl. “Will ye teach me how tae brew the herbs?”
“Are you interested in healing?” Lachlan asked as he measured out equal parts of both the elderflower and peppermint, adding them to the bowl.
Jane nodded. “It has always been of interest tae me.”
Lachlan showed her how Vivian had taught him to steep the herbs and strain them. They poured some of the golden liquid into a mug for Mistress Broun. “If you are truly interested in studying the art of healing, I can write to my cousin when I am home and ask her if she would consider taking you on as an apprentice.”
Her eyes flew wide. “Ye would do that fer me?”
“If that is what you wish, then, aye.”
“I wish it with all my heart.” The girl was all smiles as they left the kitchen and returned to the ailing woman’s bedside. Lachlan set the candlestick he carried next to the bedside, casting her face in mottled shades of gray. Mistress Broun’s eyes were closed and her breathing shallow. “Where is her husband?”
“He always hunts at this time in the mornin’. Whatever he catches becomes the special meal fer the day.”
“I hope he returns soon,” Lachlan said as he helped to prop the sleepy woman up on her pillows, then instructed Jane how to spoon the cooling liquid into the older woman’s mouth.
“How will we know if it worked?” Jane looked questioningly at him.
Lachlan shrugged. “I’m no healer. I only imitated what I saw a real healer do, but I imagine she will be better when her fever breaks and her skin resumes its normal pink tone instead of her current gray pallor.”
Jane warily placed the back of her fingers against Mistress Broun’s forehead. “She feels less warm to the touch and she looks better to me already.”
Lachlan studied the woman’s unresponsive face. “I suppose she does.”
“What are you doing?” a female voice interrupted.
Lachlan lifted his gaze to see Elizabeth standing inside the curtain, assessing both him and Jane. He inhaled sharply, clenching his hands into fists at his sides. There was something different about the way she was looking at him. No longer was her gaze filled with antagonism and annoyance. Instead, there was a catlike watchfulness, as though she were trying to determine something about him, or was it the beginning of a connection between them? “The innkeeper’s wife took ill.”
“I thought you were in a hurry to leave this place?”
Annoyance flared, forcing any connection he might have imagined away. “The woman was alone in the common room. She was helpless. I felt it was my duty to assist her.”
Elizabeth’s face clouded. “You seem to be very good at helping women in distress.”
He held Elizabeth’s gaze for a few heartbeats while he tried to discern if she was being sarcastic or serious. Uncertain, he turned to Jane. “I shall leave this good woman in your care since my wife and I must now depart.”
Jane offered him a hesitant smile. “I’ll do what I can tae help her.”
“And I will write to my cousin on your behalf.”
“Thank you, m’laird.”
He held the curtain aside for Elizabeth to pass through before joining her on the other side. “Come with me to the kitchen. We can break our fast, then be on our way if the wheel is fixed.”
“Can we not depart immediately?”
He turned and looked at her in surprise. “Abovestairs you said you were hungry. Famished even.”
She clasped her hands around her upper arms. A slight shiver moved through her. “I’d rather we be on our way.”
“You are a very confusing woman.” He blew out a soft, frustrated breath. “I must insist we at least stop by the kitchen and gather a few things we can eat on our way. Will that be acceptable?”
She looked away but not before he saw a shadow of fear in her eyes. “If you must.”
“What is wrong, Elizabeth? I know we do not know each other well yet, but you can trust me.”
“Will you trust me as well?”
He gave her a soft smile. “That’s usually how this works. I trust you. You trust me.”
“Then I need you to trust me now and promise not to ask why when I suggest a change to our travel plans.”
He hesitated. What was she up to? Finally, he nodded. “I am not unreasonable. What do you suggest?”
“Instead of heading southwest to Kirkcaldy and Ravenscraig Castle, would you head due west for several miles and then turn to the south?”
The question as to why burned upon his tongue, but he clenched his teeth to keep himself from asking it. He’d told her he trusted her. Now was the time to prove that. He nodded. “If that is what you wish, then that will be the route we take.”
*
Elizabeth hugged herself all the harder, trying to still the trembling of her hands. Lachlan had agreed with her plan without question. She had not expected that. Yet he once again disproved what she’d been told about him her whole life: that the entire Douglas clan was unreasonable, diabolical, and cruel.
Instead, in the time she had known Lachlan Douglas in particular, he had talked her out of taking her own life, had vowed to her father to keep her safe, and hadn’t retaliated against her for trying to slit his throat. Leaving her to wonder yet again what truth to believe about him and his clan. Was Lachlan a saint, a sinner, or somewhere in between?
She took a deep breath to steady her nerves as she and Lachlan headed for the kitchen. How could she determine for herself exactly who the man she had married was? Would more time together reveal his true self? Should she stay with him and find out or leave right now?
Her clan could extract her from her current circumstances this very morning if she wanted them to. After Lachlan had left their bedchamber, she’d pushed the shutters back in order to breathe the morning air with the hopes it would clear her head. Instead of clearing her thoughts, they became conflicted when she saw a small army had made camp in the distance, appearing like a blight on the gently sloping hills. Smoke from their campfires came to her like a specter, and the wind carried their voices through the silence of the dawn.
Elizabeth was convinced it was her father and his men. The thought should have filled her with joy, and yet fear filled her instead. The fresh cut on her palm stung as she remembered her vow to keep Lachlan safe from harm. Which is why she had asked him to change his plans for their travel. Her clan would expect them to take the shortest path along the coast. They would never expect Lachlan to head in the opposite direction, adding miles to their journey.
Because of her suggestion, both she and Lachlan would be safe for a few hours at least, until her father figured out their deception and pursued them once more. Perhaps in that time she could finally determine what to believe about the man she had married. Was he her nemesis or something else entirely? And if she decided he might not be what she’d always been told, she would have to ask him to trust her once more when she asked him to leave the carriage behind and travel on horseback to escape her own clan’s deadly plans. For she knew her father would kill Lachlan if they caught up to them. Then the Douglases would retaliate, and the feud would continue even though the king had demanded they put an end to it all.
With a sigh of frustration that she and Lachlan were stuck in the middle of the strife between the two clans, Elizabeth remained at the kitchen doorway while Lachlan negotiated with the young woman about breakfast fare that would travel well. He stood near the hearth, his big body cast in hues of red and gold by the flames. His blond hair held a slight wave that brushed the nape of his neck, and a few errant curls caressed his brow and temples. Despite the fact he had slept in his clothing from the day before, his snowy-white shirt still looked pristine as did the blue and green fabric of his kilt.
Even in their less than perfect circumstances, he appeared refined and elegant. With a soft brogue in his voice, he spoke to the young women with both authority and respect. He certainly did not give the impression of someone who was overbearing and ruthless. Or was all this an act to lull her into his web?
With a start she realized his blue eyes were upon her. He was frowning slightly, no doubt curious to know why she scrutinized him so. Instead of giving in to the desire to look away, she continued to hold his gaze. Who are you, Lachlan Douglas? What will I gain by remaining your wife?