After Elizabeth had bathed and changed her clothing, she stood by the fire drying her hair. As she combed her fingers through the damp tendrils, she stared at her reflection in the looking glass, not liking what she saw. She couldn’t help but compare herself to the women belowstairs who seemed so refined, serene, and in control. Whereas her own face was pale and strained. Dark shadows appeared beneath her eyes from a lack of sleep over the past week. She did not recognize the woman looking back at her.
When did I turn into a stranger to myself? She’d done so many things in the past few days she wasn’t proud of. She’d almost taken her own life, had attempted to slit her husband’s throat, and her snappish behavior toward Lachlan was entirely out of character. A wave of self-loathing washed through her and she closed her eyes, fighting it. Her whole life had become a tumultuous mess. She didn’t know who she could trust or what to believe. Had her father and her clan told her the truth about their activities or their reputation? Or were the Douglases controlling the narrative by placing her in situations and around people supportive to them? Or did any of that really matter?
For the first time in her life she was free from the constraints of her clan. She could judge for herself what was real, what was the truth. She had to stop thinking of herself as a victim in this marriage and start taking charge of her own life, thoughts, and actions. She might be surrounded by strangers, but she was not alone, for she knew without a doubt that Lachlan would not abandon her despite how badly she’d treated him up to this point.
She looked down at her palm. The evidence of their pact had already started to heal. Was it time to at least give Lachlan a chance to prove her clan wrong as well?
When her hair was finally dried, Elizabeth paused. She should restrain her hair in a snood or in a knot at the back of her head as was the custom for married women, but she resisted the urge to do so. Was it because she didn’t want to acknowledge the fact that she truly was married? Or was it because she didn’t feel married? She frowned as she considered her options. In the end, she opted to place a lace veil over the top of her hair.
When she was done, she straightened. Her anxieties had settled and her fears had been tucked away for now. The ghost of her old self seemed to creep back into her skin as she made her way toward the door. Lachlan had said she was to meet him in the great hall. She knew if she stayed in the chamber much longer, he would no doubt come up to get her.
Without anything else to delay her, Elizabeth left the bedchamber and made her way along the corridor to the stairs. She started to descend then stopped when a movement at the bottom caught her attention. Lachlan stepped from the shadows and into the light.
At the sight of him, her breath caught. He had cleaned up from their travels as well. And while he still wore a length of blue and green tartan that was pleated into a kilt and held in place by a polished leather belt, he also wore a formal coat in a rich shade of midnight blue, the cuffs of which were turned back and trimmed in wide gold braid. The coat was open to reveal a snowy-white shirt beneath with a neck scarf edged in lace. The end of his tartan was brought up over his shoulder and pinned to the coat with a silver brooch in a trinity Celtic knot. His face was shaved clean and his hair curled as it had dried against his temples and at his nape.
For a long moment Elizabeth held her breath as she took in the sight. He was the same man she had traveled here with and yet in this moment he looked so different and powerful—as though he could lift or lower his hand and make the tides rise and fall at will. Despite the change in his appearance, his eyes remained the same. Startling blue eyes studied her as she once again strode forward. She kept her hand on the railing to steady herself until she stood before him at the bottom of the stairs.
“You look lovely,” Lachlan said as his eyes drifted over her face, then traveled lower over the swell of her bosom rising above the neckline of her forest-green gown. Did he see the turmoil she had seen in her own face? If he did, he gave no indication as he slipped his hand under her elbow. “Shall we?”
He steered her into the great hall. The roar of conversation came to her as she took comfort in Lachlan’s touch. Beneath the glittering candles, splashes of multi-colored tartan could be seen in every corner of the room. As soon as the two of them entered the chamber, all conversation ceased and all eyes turned their way. Heat warmed her as she noted the looks were not ones of welcome. Some looks were leery. Some were outright hostile and followed by whispered responses that left no doubt the anger was directed at her and her alone.
“So it is true. Lachlan Douglas did indeed marry a Ruthven,” came a whisper off to her right.
“Even that beautiful dress cannot hide the blackness of her soul,” came another whisper from the left.
The woman Lachlan had greeted as Mariam stepped before them. She wore a beautiful rust brocade gown that highlighted the fiery red of her hair. She looked at the two of them for a heartbeat before her gaze narrowed. “A Judas in our very midst. Whatever shall we do with her?”
“That’s unfair, Mariam.” Lachlan pulled Elizabeth infinitesimally closer. “You do not even know Elizabeth yet. Just as you are more than your clan name, allow my wife the same courtesy.” He stepped past Mariam and deftly guided Elizabeth through the crowd until she saw Cameron Sinclair sitting among several elegantly dressed men and women.
“I hope we did not keep you waiting while we shook off our travel dirt,” Lachlan greeted. From somewhere two goblets were thrust into their hands.
Cameron raised the glass he held. “To the newlyweds. Having you here with us now was worth the wait. Here’s to a joining of two noble families for the betterment of all of Scotland.” And as if in defiance to those around him, Cameron narrowed his gaze on those closest to him. “To Lachlan and Elizabeth!”
“Lachlan and Elizabeth,” the crowd responded as they tilted their glasses back, draining the golden liquid in a single swallow.
All eyes turned to Elizabeth, as though challenging her to do the same. She took a deep breath, then tossed back the golden liquor. Instantly a ball of fire spread down her throat and into her chest, sucking the air from her lungs. In spite of the flames that ravaged her insides, Elizabeth held herself upright as she tried not to react. She could hardly breathe, and her knees threatened to buckle, but still she held herself rigid. No one here would see her as weak.
Tears came to her eyes, threatening to spill onto her cheeks. She managed to keep them from betraying her through sheer force of will. She continued to take short, shallow breaths until the embers inside her died down. Who had given her such a strong drink? Usually at these occasions, women were given nothing stronger than hippocras, a drink made from wine, sugar, and spices.
When she could focus on something else besides her own response, Elizabeth looked at the group gathered around. Her gaze caught on Mariam. A satisfied smile tugged at the woman’s lips. Elizabeth held that gaze with a challenge in her own. “Thank you for the welcome. Lachlan and I apologize if we kept you waiting for your supper. We’ve only been married for a few days and have had very little time to ourselves due to travel.”
Her eyes narrowing, Mariam stepped forward. “Aye, the newlyweds. You say you’ve been traveling since you declared yourselves to each other? Perhaps tonight you can have a proper wedding night.”
Cheers rose up around them, sending a shiver down Elizabeth’s spine. She held herself in check, trying not to let anyone see her response. Lachlan reached for her hand. He held her tight.
“I can take care of my bride, Mariam. Never you mind about that,” Lachlan replied.
“If I were your wife,” Mariam pressed on, “I would—”
“Fortunately for Lachlan, you are not,” Cameron interjected. “Do me a favor, Mariam, and tell Mistress MacInnes we are ready for supper to be served.”
Mariam threw Cameron a cold glance before she moved away, her chopines clacking sharply on the floor as she left.
When the others drifted away to take their seats for the meal, Lachlan held Elizabeth back. “Do not pay any heed to Mariam.”
“Were the two of you something more than friends at one point?” Elizabeth boldly asked. She recognized the green eyes of jealousy when she saw them. “That would explain a lot.”
He looked surprised. “Nay. Never.” When he recovered, he added, “You handled Mariam’s taunts and the whisky very well.”
Elizabeth shrugged. “I was teased mercilessly by the boys in my clan while growing up. I’m used to being tormented by others.”
“That is unacceptable.” There was something akin to sympathy in Lachlan’s voice. He looked as though he wanted to say more, but Elizabeth quickly changed the subject.
“Why is Mariam here at Ravenscraig Castle? Is she betrothed to Cameron?”
“Nay,” Lachlan said. “He was appointed as her guardian when her father was summoned to Edinburgh to become the king’s official witch pricker.”
“A pricker?” she asked, confused by the odd term.
“He helps identify witches using a special technique called pricking.”
Elizabeth shivered. “The witch-hunting that is raging through this country frightens me.”
“It should frighten all of us.”
Elizabeth clenched her fists, wanting desperately to turn the conversation to other things. “Shall we take our seats as well? We’ve kept them from their meal long enough.”
Lachlan nodded and guided her toward the seats reserved for them at the head table beside Cameron and his men. Mariam sat at the opposite end of the long table, but that did not stop her from glancing their way time and again while the meal was served.
The meal was an affair of roast stag, three roasted swans, turnips and boiled carrots, onions, leeks, and an assortment of tarts and fresh apples to finish the meal. When they were satiated, the tables were removed and the evening’s entertainment began, first with a piper, then with two musicians carrying a flute and a lute, followed by madrigal singers. When the applause and cheers died down, Mariam turned toward Elizabeth and said, “Perhaps Elizabeth could grace us with a song?”
Elizabeth startled and felt a blush come to her cheeks as all eyes once again turned to her. “Nay. I do not like to sing for others.”
Mariam narrowed her gaze. “Then you do sing.”
“Everyone sings, just not around others,” she replied as heat rushed, hotter and brighter, to her cheeks.
“Since you do sing, you should sing for us. After all, this celebration is in your honor. Shouldn’t you give something back to those who are celebrating you?” Mariam asked, looking as innocent as a cat with feathers protruding from its mouth.
A round of passionate “ayes” rose around her and Elizabeth felt herself shrinking into a deeper sense of mortification.
“My bride does not need to perform for you,” Lachlan said in a stilted voice.
“You’re embarrassed for her. How sweet,” Mariam said with a self-satisfied smile.
Despite the shivers of apprehension that traveled through Elizabeth, she stood, then moved to the front of the chamber. She drew a deep breath, closed her eyes, and began to sing a Gaelic song her mother had taught her before she’d died. “A ghaoil, leig dhachaigh gum mhàthair mi.” She started softly at first, until she opened her eyes to find the others now looked at her not with loathing, but surprise. Feeling more confident, she continued the hypnotic and mysterious song that told of a young girl’s encounter with the ‘each-uisge’ or water-horse.
When she was done, silence settled all around her until Cameron stood, looking around and clapping. Soon the entire room stood and applauded, all except Mariam, whose features were thunderous.
Cameron came forward and clasped her hands in his. “That song. Where did you learn it?”
“From my mother who learned it from her mother. For generations the women in my family have passed down that song.”
Cameron nodded. His eyes were bright and twinkling. “It awakens the heart to the ages gone by. Well done, Elizabeth.”
“Thank you,” she stammered, glancing over at Lachlan, more eager than she dared to admit to see his response. But it was a little frightening too, seeing him look at her with confidence in his eyes.
The chairs were removed in preparation for dancing as the piper started to play once more, filling the silence and diverting the attention from her. For that Elizabeth was grateful as she returned to Lachlan’s side.
“You’re a fine singer. The best I’ve ever heard.”
The words, true or not, ran over her like honey. “Liar,” she teased. “But thank you.”
Lachlan chuckled and the sound washed over her in another wave of delight. How long had it been since she’d felt such simple pleasure? Too long. The last time she’d sung in a crowd it had been with her mother when she was a child. She had been happy then and had thought the world would always be like that.
It wasn’t. When her mother died, she’d learned the hard, cruel reality of life. Her father had tried to comfort her in his own way, but things were never the same.
Regardless of how he meant things, only two days in Lachlan’s presence and she’d regained some of the things that had been missing from her life—laughter, belonging, and song. He’d helped guide her back to those things all while she had been nothing but terrible to him. She closed her eyes as a chill replaced her warmth. Then suddenly, she felt a touch against her cheek. She flicked her eyes open.
“Elizabeth?”
“I’m sorry,” she interrupted, needing to get her apology off her chest. “I’ve been horrible to you since the beginning of this journey. That’s not me. That’s not who I am.” She looked around the room at the others who were engaged in conversations and laughing, enjoying themselves. “I was acting as everything they believe a Ruthven to be. But I am not those things. I’m not.” She turned back to him, trying to steady the trembling in her fingers, and the quick, loud pounding of her heart.
“We just need to prove that to everyone else.” His eyes were sharp reflections of color in the candlelight. And yet, there was a spark of something she hadn’t seen in them before—something that pulled at her heart and made her feel warm and shaky again.
He took a half-step toward her. “Elizabeth—”
“Elizabeth.” Cameron was suddenly beside them, his face lit with curiosity as his gaze passed between herself and Lachlan. “The dancing is about to start. I would like the first dance to be with you, my lady.”
Lachlan stepped back. His eyes shielded now. “Of course. You are the laird of the castle.”
Elizabeth felt a stab of regret. Before she could object, Cameron guided her to the middle of the chamber where other dancers had assembled in a line. The musicians were positioned at the back of the chamber, giving the dancers plenty of room to maneuver. The music started and the dance began first with a promenade, then with a twirl of joined hands before they returned to their positions.
She looked for Lachlan. He wasn’t dancing. Instead he leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. Blue eyes watched her spin, then dip.
His attention from afar heated her. Suddenly her palms felt moist, her body hot, and her throat breathlessly tight. She forced her gaze away from Lachlan to focus on the motion of her feet. Cameron was an exquisite dancer. He twirled her about and the room flashed by her until she felt not just light-headed, but overly warm. Finally, the music slowed and came to a stop.
She looked over her shoulder trying to locate Lachlan, but he was no longer against the wall. “Thank you for the dance,” she said.
“Are you well?” Cameron asked, his brows coming together in a frown. “Your cheeks are flushed red.”
“The dancing.” She brought her hands up to cover her cheeks. “I must be more tired than I thought.”
“Of course.” Cameron took her arm and guided her to a chair. He sat her down. “Stay here. I will get you something to drink and find Lachlan.”
“Aye,” she said as she sank back against the chair, watching her host disappear into the crowd.
In the next moment, Lachlan was beside her. “Elizabeth, what is wrong?”
She pushed a loose tendril of hair away from her face. Her hands shook slightly. “I’m fine. Simply tired.”
Lachlan sat beside her, putting his hand to her forehead. “You feel warm.”
“I just need some fresh air and then sleep. It’s been a long day.”
“Aye, it has.” Lachlan stood and offered her his hand. “Come, let’s get you some fresh air.”
She put her hand in his and let him pull her to her feet. Together they left the great hall, walking slowly, silently, until they stepped into the chill night air in the courtyard. Elizabeth took a deep breath, and let the heather-scented air revive her. She could still hear the skirl of the pipes. She closed her eyes, trying to clear her head and contain the emotions that had tried to break free tonight. She could feel her contempt fading for this man who was her husband. But every time she let someone get close to her, they betrayed her. Every time she gave up a piece of her heart, she got hurt.
Elizabeth fought back the tears that threatened. She turned her head away so that Lachlan could not see them slip onto her cheeks as she remembered snippets from her past.
Most of her father’s betrayals had stemmed from the fact she had not been born male. At times, she would think she was finally making headway when he started treating her as his equal, asking for her help in making decisions for the clan. Then, in the next moment, he would call her a know-nothing female, and instead defer to the opinions of other male clan members.
And then there was Roland. He’d fostered with the Ruthvens and been raised as a member of the clan. She and Roland had been inseparable over the past five years and truly devoted to each other, or so she had thought until she learned two of the maids had borne his bastards. Still, she had swallowed her pride and forgave him his indiscretions, hoping someday soon he might ask her father for her hand in marriage. The night she thought he would do just that, he instead told her father he was leaving and had no idea when or if he might return.
The two most important men in her life had betrayed and dismissed her, leaving her feeling alone and unloved.
Forcibly shedding the memories, Elizabeth drew a deep breath, turned her head, and opened her eyes. Lachlan was there in the moonlight, studying her. “If it would help, we can stay here an extra day and let you rest.”
The cool breeze fluttered his hair back from his face. It wasn’t rest she needed. “Nay, let us continue as you had planned.”
He frowned. “If that is what you want.”
“It is,” she said, the words sounding thin and unconvincing.
Lachlan’s frown deepened. “What is it, Elizabeth? What aren’t you telling me?”
She turned back to the castle, before he could ask any further questions, before he could see how vulnerable she felt. For a brief moment tonight, he’d made her feel special, like she was no different than anyone else. But she was. She was a Ruthven. He was a Douglas. She didn’t quite know what all that meant anymore, because something inside her had definitely shifted tonight. She and Lachlan were not friends, exactly. Definitely not lovers. But also, not enemies. Could they continue like this, being friendly toward each other while still harboring feelings of resentment and rivalry that had been present their whole lives?
For the short-term, aye. But soon Elizabeth would have to pick a side. Would she remain true to her clan and their desire to keep the Ruthven-Douglas feud going, or would she be the peacemaker the king and queen wanted her to become?