Page 33 of A Temptress in Tartan

Elizabeth met Lucy’s gaze. “Why did you not say something sooner?”

“Because ten minutes ago you were not ready for an encounter with your father. Now you are not only prepared, you are primed for battle.”

“I’m not so certain of that,” Elizabeth admitted, feeling suddenly heavy. “He hasn’t arrived yet?”

Lucy shook her head. “Not as of ten minutes ago.”

“Where’s Lachlan? I must speak with him.”

“In the great hall with Reid, waiting.”

Elizabeth didn’t hesitate, she hastened through the doorway of the solar that emptied into the great hall. “Lachlan. I must speak with you. ’Tis urgent—” She skidded to a stop. “Father.” Elizabeth was so surprised to see her father standing before her she could do little more than gasp and stare. When she recovered some of her equilibrium she said, “You are already here.”

Only her father and the young man, Keddy, whom her father had taken under his wing, were present from their clan. Yet six other men stood nearby, waiting and watching.

“Lady Elizabeth Douglas.” Keddy’s lips pulled up at the corners and his eyes glittered with malice.

“The Countess of March,” Lachlan corrected.

“I’ve come to take you home, Lizzie,” her father said.

“Nay.” Her heart was pounding like a drum in her chest, and her hands were shaking so badly she balled them into fists at her sides. Her gaze moved beyond her father not to his warriors but to the five older men dressed in their Sunday best. Another man, a minister—dressed in a black robe with a white collar—hugged a parchment scroll to his chest. The look in his eyes was not one of welcome, but a portent that something horrible was about to transpire. When her gaze shifted back to her father, a dangerous smile pulled up the edges of his hard mouth. It was a smile like none she’d ever seen before.

Behind the men stood Reid, Peter Grayden, and Mistress Barron, as well as several of the other servants who had been her students only a few minutes ago. The tension in the chamber was thick, but fury burned away the despair numbing her emotions. “I will not go with you. This is my home.”

“Not for long.”

“I’ve had enough of your blustering, Ruthven. State your purpose.” Lachlan’s features were as hard as stone. “I invited you in so we might negotiate beyond what the king and queen have already done. I’d hoped we might finally put this battle between our two clans to rest, as they wanted.”

“We’ll put the matter to rest all right.” Donald Ruthven laughed as his eyes glinted like the amber flames of a fire. “And there will be no bloodshed but yours.”

Elizabeth felt a chill touch her spine as a commotion came from the doorway. The castle’s warriors suddenly filled the great hall. Their swords were present, but not drawn as they formed a half circle around her father and the other men. “What is this, Father? What are you doing?” Elizabeth asked when the noise settled.

“Battling evil.” The very callousness of her father’s tone made her heart leap in fear.

“There is no evil here.” Her voice was hoarse and oddly broken.

“Oh, but there is, my girl. There is so much evil that you can no longer see clearly through the shadows it casts over you.”

On one side of her, Elizabeth could feel waves of rage rush toward her father and yet Lachlan contained his emotions. She could see the cost to him in the leaping of his pulse at his temple, in the clenching of his jaw, and the coiled tension of his muscles.

On the other side of her, her father smiled craftily, perfectly relaxed. Which was odd. What was he about? Why didn’t he just say what he’d come to say? Because he not only wanted to threaten Lachlan, he also wanted him to suffer. When she could bear no more, she asked, “If you have something to say, Father, say it.”

“There are witches and warlocks in this land, my girl. We are in a battle to save not only ourselves but the very heart of Scotland. We have a responsibility to keep witches and warlocks from roaming freely about this great land of ours, which is why I have come to accuse your husband, Lachlan Douglas, of being a warlock, in league with the Devil to turn you against your own family.” Her father grabbed her arm in an attempt to pull her toward him.

Elizabeth recoiled from his touch as his words landed with the force of thunder. Up until that moment she had always assumed her father was a strict but honorable man, but suddenly, before her eyes it was as if a veil had been dropped and she no longer saw the brave, brawny warrior. In his place stood an ambitious, ruthless man, who had no pleasant mask to hide his inner ugliness now. “Nay, Father. I will not let you do this. Lachlan is no warlock.”

“The evidence against him says he is.” Donald Ruthven bared his teeth.

The whisper of steel sounded all around them as Reid and the other warriors drew their swords. But Lachlan stayed the weapons with a tight shake of his head.

“If you have such evidence, then put it forward,” Lachlan said grimly. “For I know I have no evil upon my soul.”

“Liar!” Keddy erupted as his gaze moved past Lachlan to somewhere behind him. “Begone, you wretched spirit!” He pointed with one finger to something behind Lachlan. “The Devil is in the air. I can see him prancing about this pretender as if he’s on a stage. The Devil whispers to him as he stands beside him now, directing him what to say and what to do.” Keddy spun toward the others in the chamber. “Do you not see the Devil in our midst?”

“There is nothing there,” Elizabeth cried out even as she clutched Lachlan’s arm to keep herself upright as the room swam before her eyes. Would her father really stoop so low as to charge Lachlan with witchcraft in order to wrest him away from her? Those who were arrested, questioned, and then charged were more often than not burned at the stake with very little effort made to seek their innocence.

“Again, I ask, what evidence have you?” Lachlan challenged.