Page 5 of A Temptress in Tartan

“Aye,” the king agreed. “That it will.”

“With your permission, Your Grace,” Lachlan said. “I believe it is best if Elizabeth and I depart for Whittingehame Castle with all due haste. We have much to discuss and many issues to settle between us that would be better handled in private.”

“Agreed. I do not envy you that task,” the king replied as his gaze narrowed on Elizabeth. “You have our blessing to depart, but before you do, I have something for the two of you. Perhaps it might help to guide your lives together.” The king moved back to the queen’s side then returned with a thick book, the pages gilded and bound between a hard leather cover. He held the gift out to Lachlan.

“A Bible?” Elizabeth asked.

Lachlan’s eyes widened. “You can read?”

Elizabeth stiffened. “Of course. My mother taught me when I was young.”

“Good,” the king said. “Then you will both be able to use this. It is a wedding gift from the queen and myself. ’Tis a prototype of a new Bible I am having translated to try and make the word of God more accessible to the common man.”

Lachlan accepted the book then bowed deeply. “I accept this with much gratitude, Your Grace.”

When the king turned to Elizabeth, she curtsied. “Thank you for the gift, Your Grace.” She straightened and forced herself to meet his gaze. “You and the queen have been very kind to me over the last three weeks. I apologize if my words hurt you. They were not truly directed at you, but at my own fate.”

The king nodded brusquely. “Go with your husband, and for once in your life try to be more than your name. Make your king and country proud of the Ruthven clan once more.”

Elizabeth frowned at the comment but said nothing as the king continued.

“You two are the last, best hope for your two clans.”

Elizabeth gaped at the man. “That is entirely unreasonable to put the fate of our clans upon our shoulders.”

The king’s features darkened. “Would you rather I send my ministers to investigate both of your clans, seeking signs of adoration not to your king, but to Satan? For if my men find anything out of the ordinary, you will all be brought up on charges of witchcraft and processed accordingly.” He shifted his gaze to Lachlan. “While I do not question the loyalty of the Douglases, their chosen wives have questionable pasts and family ties. Shall I dig deeper into the Ruthvens’ history to see what can be revealed?”

Elizabeth couldn’t hold back a gasp. The king could easily follow through on his threat and find the simplest reason for anyone to come under suspicion. Her nerves jangling, she took a step away from the king’s malevolence. With her heart pounding in her chest she said, “I’ll need my things before I leave.”

The king smiled grimly. “Your trunk has been packed and is already loaded on Lachlan’s carriage.” At Lachlan’s start of surprise, the king added, “I had thought you might be leaving us soon so I had the carriage brought around to the courtyard. It awaits you there.”

Lachlan bowed again. “Many thanks to both you and the queen.” After those gathered went back to their meal, Lachlan turned to Elizabeth. He bent close to her ear and said, “I do not rut. I am not an animal. When you do join your body with mine, Elizabeth, it will be because you want me to be there. It will be because you cannot do otherwise. There will be a day very soon when your every thought, breath, and heartbeat will be focused on the two of us coming together as one.”

The warmth of his breath and his very nearness were doing strange things to her nerves, and still she pushed him away. “Never.”

“Be prepared to eat those words, Wife. For you shall before the month is through.” Elizabeth’s gasp of denial was lost as Lachlan turned her toward the doorway. “Shall we depart?”

As they went, Elizabeth stole a peek at the man beside her. Despite her intense dislike of him, she had to admit he was strikingly handsome in his blue-and-green tartan that showed his muscular physique to perfection: strong shoulders, a broad well-muscled chest, and muscular thighs. There was also an indefinable air of self-assurance about him, as if he knew exactly how to handle the situation they now found themselves in. Whereas, she had absolutely no idea of how to proceed now that they would be on their own.

The late morning sky was clear and the day just starting to warm as the carriage rolled through the gatehouse of Falkland Palace and to the south. “You said it would take us four days to reach Whittingehame Castle?”

“Aye,” Lachlan said. “We will travel as far as Kirkcaldy tonight.”

“Where will we stay?”

“Another of the king’s elite guards, one of his Magnificent Seven, Sir Cameron Sinclair, has agreed to shelter us for the night at Ravenscraig Castle. Have no fear. We’ll be among friends.”

“Your friends. They are not mine.” She meant it as a quip, but the truth stung her tongue. “I shall never have friends again now that my family has tossed me away like a worn shoe into our enemy’s hands.”

If she had hoped for a measure of sympathy from her new husband, she was sadly disappointed. Lachlan’s features were grim as the coach rumbled along and their journey began. “I am only your enemy if you make me such.” His words hung between them as they raced along the road. The swaying of the carriage, along with the repetitive sounds of the horses’ hooves against the hard-packed earth and the vibration of the wheels, soon had Elizabeth nodding off. She’d had very little sleep last night in anticipation of her wedding. Now that the event was behind her, she had a hard time keeping her eyelids from drooping down.

When next she woke, it was to find the carriage had stopped and the door was open, allowing the warm, early evening air inside. The scent of heather floated on the breeze as she moved to step outside the vehicle. As she emerged, Lachlan looked up from where he was stroking the neck of one of the matched bays while the coachman released the other from the carriage harness. “Have we arrived at Kirkcaldy?”

“Nay,” Lachlan replied as he reached out his hand to assist her in stepping down. “We had to stop short of our goal because we broke a shaft on one of the wheels. The coachman assures me he can have it repaired before the morning. In the meanwhile, we will stay at Buckhaven Inn for the night.”

She accepted his hand and placed one foot on the coach steps but stopped before stepping down as she gaped in horror at the inn before her. The “inn” he mentioned was no more than a rundown country cottage. The mud and mortar walls lurched drunkenly to the right. The thatched roof rippled like the waves she’d see at the Firth of Forth, and smoke escaped from the chimney overhead, but also through the shuttered windows. “This is where we’ll be staying?”

“Aye,” Lachlan affirmed. “It doesn’t look like much, but they have the best meat pasties in the shire.”