Page 28 of A Temptress in Tartan

“Sit down, Cousin. Settle yourself,” Lachlan said in a weary voice, suddenly realizing how hard the journey to Whittingehame had been on him as well. He’d been on high alert the entire way, searching for dangers in the shadows. “Donald Ruthven is a brute, but he’s no fool. He knows an attack on us would unite the lowland clans against him now that the king has tried to forge a truce.”

Reid sat, but continued to scowl. “A prudent man might consider striking his enemy down first before he can stab him in the back.”

“That man is my wife’s father, which makes fighting him all the more complicated now.” Lachlan shook his head. “I must be a man of peace in this situation—a diplomat, not a fighter.” He sighed. “The last thing we all want right now is another full-out war between the clans. King James has stirred up enough trouble as it is with his witch trials.”

“You are right. The days where I thought I could take on the world single-handedly are over.” Reid reached for Lucy’s hand and gave it an affectionate squeeze. “I am waging my battles differently now that my heart is engaged elsewhere.”

Lucy’s radiant smile was evidence enough that the married couple before him were truly happy and finding a way past their own troubles. If they could do such a thing, perhaps there was hope for Elizabeth and himself.

“What will you do when Donald Ruthven arrives?” Lucy asked, dragging her gaze away from the man at her side.

Lachlan allowed a wry smile to twist his lips. “I have no other option but to talk with the man.”

“Are your men here prepared in case things do not go as planned?”

“Aye,” Lachlan said. “I must thank you for sending Peter Grayden from your retinue to mine. He has proved himself beyond valuable as my Captain of the Guard. We had three weeks to prepare before my marriage to Elizabeth, and he has worked wonders with the men. They are trained and ready for whatever challenges may arise.”

“Reid and I will try to think of all contingencies that could occur,” Lucy added.

Lachlan nodded. Where Donald Ruthven was concerned, anything was possible—and none of it good.

Chapter Nine

Elizabeth slept for twelve hours straight, waking as the late morning sun shone so brightly into the room, she could no longer ignore its pull against her eyelids. For a peaceful moment all was well until she opened her eyes and glanced at the pale blue canopy overhead, then to the pale gold walls of the chamber Lachlan had led her to yesterday.

She bolted upright in bed and searched the room for her husband with her heart pounding in her ears. He was nowhere in sight and the space next to her remained undisturbed. Where had he slept? His kinsmen would have expected him to sleep beside her. Or had he been unable to rest at the thought of her father’s imminent arrival?

Lachlan seemed to think a negotiation between the two of them could work. Elizabeth wasn’t so certain. Her father was a hard man, and if she were honest, more in line with the lies he had always told her about their rival clan than the Douglases she’d met so far had proven to be. It was becoming harder and harder to believe the worst about the man she had married or his clan.

The more time she and Lachlan were together, the more confused she became until it felt as though she continually floundered in a sea of self-doubt. How would she learn the truth? Or did she truly want to?

Heat rose to her cheeks as her thoughts turned back to the odd stirrings that warmed her when Lachlan had cradled her in his arms last night. She had never felt such things when Roland had touched her. The two men were total opposites. Roland was polished, polite, and proper. Lachlan had shown her he was caring, yet adventurous, slightly reckless, but definitely powerful and enigmatic. She could picture him setting her on the bed as he had last night, then falling back onto the feather bolster with her in his arms, making them both wildly happy and sated in the process.

She buried her face in her hands at the thought. How could she dare to think such a thing—to allow her imagination to take her places where she could not willingly go?

“Good afternoon.”

Elizabeth looked up to see Lachlan’s body filling the doorway of the bedchamber with a small tray balanced in his hands. She’d been so absorbed in her own thoughts she hadn’t heard him enter.

He was fully dressed in buff-colored breeches and a plain white shirt embellished with only a simple white scarf at his neck. His hair was swept back from a face that was clean shaven. “I thought you might be hungry since you slept clear though dinner and breakfast.”

Her stomach answered for her with a noisy growl. “I am rather hungry,” she admitted. “But I also feel gritty with the dirt from our travels still upon me.”

“A bath is coming. But you should eat something first. You were quite weary when we arrived.”

“You should have awakened me sooner. What must your staff think of me, sleeping the day away?”

He shrugged as he set the tray of tea and a scone with butter and jam beside her. “They are undoubtedly thinking you have endured much during your travels here. And while they are eager to meet you, they want that time to come when you are feeling at your best so you might be more pleased with them.”

Her eyes widened. “They care whether or not I like them?”

“Of course, Elizabeth. These are your people now. They want their mistress to look upon them with favor.” His gaze lingered on the soft swell of her breasts as they rose above her bodice before shifting to the length of her hair that spilled over her shoulders in a wild tangle, still mussed from her sleep. She brought up a hand, trying to tame it, but at another grumble from her stomach, she reached for the scone instead and took a bite.

“If you’d like something more substantial, I am certain Mistress Barron, our chatelaine, would be pleased to bring it to you.”

Heat rushed to her cheeks once more. “I am not so fragile that I need to be fed in bed. I do not want anyone to fuss over me.” It would make her feel even more guilty than she already felt about sleeping so long. She shifted her legs to the side of the bed as she took another bite of her scone, intending to start her day, when a shuffling sound came from the doorway.

“Here is Mistress Barron and her serving girls now with a bath and heated water.” The women offered Elizabeth awkward curtsies as they carried their heavy pails over to the coals that still glowed in the fireplace. Once the tub was set, they emptied the water into the bath while Mistress Barron added more wood to the fire.