Page 41 of A Temptress in Tartan

“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?

Chapter Fourteen

Clouds filled the morning sky so Elizabeth could not judge the hour as she hurried past the Old Parish church on her way to the Nungate Inn. She’d been told Laird and Lady Douglas had taken a room there. It was urgent she speak to them before Lachlan suffered any more.

The streets had been relatively quiet up until she turned a corner at the market cross and came upon a crowd. Their excited chattering grew louder the closer she got to whatever they were gathering around. She had to shift her steps left and then right, finding gaps in the throng to make any kind of progress forward.

At the next open space, she craned her neck to see what was happening. That’s when she saw it—the gallows with a single long rope dangling down, waiting for its next victim.

The crowd parted then, giving Elizabeth a better view. At the base of the gallows stood two women—one older, and the other about the same age as herself. Both of their faces were nearly as pale as the white linen hoods covering their hair. They wore brown dresses made from coarse wool with a white collar and cuffs. The executioner on the platform walked slowly back and forth before the crowd, raising his arms, inciting them to cheer all the louder as another man below forced the older woman up a ladder, making her climb toward a platform above.

The first woman’s legs were visibly trembling, no doubt with fear, as she tried to hoist herself up. Without warning, the man below pushed the old woman upward so violently she stumbled onto the platform. Unable to stop herself from falling, she slammed against the wood with a cry of pain.

Elizabeth stood motionless, and her breath caught as the crowd laughed and jeered in response. The poor woman had obviously been accused as a witch. From the bruises on her face and neck, she had clearly suffered some kind of torture as well, just as Lachlan had. And now that she’d been found guilty, she would be hanged.

The executioner on the platform jabbed at the old woman with his boot. “Get up, Witch!”

With considerable effort, the gray-haired woman finally gained her feet only to be jerked forward until she was forced up on to a stool and the noose was slipped over her head.

A row of dignitaries was seated on the right side of the platform, and the old woman’s gaze shifted to them, searching their faces before moving on to the crowd. There was no malice in her expression, only surrender, and perhaps a touch of serenity at the realization that all her suffering would soon be at an end.

When the woman’s gaze landed on Elizabeth, her heart stumbled. Never in her life had she felt so powerless as in that moment. There was not a thing she could do to help the woman without great cost to herself. Elizabeth returned her gaze, hoping the woman could read the sympathy she felt.