Lion Heart (Hearts of the Highlands Book 4)

by Paula Quinn

  Elias could almost hear Simon admonishing him for being so reckless.

  He caught a movement at the end of the path to Clare’s cottage. He turned to see a man coming toward him.

  He readied his sword.

  The man held his own blade in his hands but he did not hurry his steps.

  His eyes were dark, matching his slicked back hair. He looked to be living in his late thirties or early forties. His skin was weathered and rough looking, like leather.

  “I have heard nothing about you stranger,” he corrected Elias’ earlier presumption.

  Elias quirked his mouth to one side. “Perfect. ‘Tis more merciful that way. Ye dinna know what is aboot to befall ye.”

  “Where is the boy?”

  Elias offered a fake pout as they reached each other. “I was hopin’ ye wouldna ask that.” He swung his sword high over his head then brought it down hard above Parrock. The commander blocked and then parried, driving Elias back on his feet.

  “I have no quarrel with you.” He changed position and took a step back.

  “The boy is my son,” Elias told him.

  “No, he is the bishop’s son.”

  “The bishop has no more right to him. He lost it all when I adopted the boy and discovered the bishop wanted him dead. Imagine how I will protect him now that he is mine. I will no longer sleep if I must. I will kill ye, and I will kill yer bishop.” He swung and swiped and slammed his sword down hard, again and again on Parrock’s arm. The commander might be experienced, but the wear on his arm was now showing.

  One more colossal chop and Parrock’s sword fell.

  Elias held his blade across the commander’s throat and closed his eyes. He didn’t want to kill this man. He’d seen enough needless death, including the villagers and their children dying of the pestilence. Enough!

  He stepped away. Then leaped back when an arrow came flying and landed in Parrock’s throat.

  What now?

  Elias picked up Parrock and used him as a shield as he ran for cover around the side of Clare’s cottage.

  He heard footsteps running and readied his sword. He was ready to swing when he saw his cousin. His cousin? What the hell was Tristan doing here?

  “Eli! Are ye well?” Tristan grabbed him by the front of his plaid.

  “What the hell are ye doin’ here, Tristan?”

  “I’m after the bishop. I hadna planned on killin’ Parrock—and that bastard cousin of his hit me in the—”

  “Cousin? D’ye mean Bertram Chisholm?”

  “Aye,” Tristan answered, “yer friend, accordin’ to him.”

  “He is no friend of mine,” Elias told him. Damn it to hell, the bastard was still alive. “Ye said ye had him, Cousin. Where? Where is Chisholm?”

  “I dinna know,” Tristan told him, his expression going darker at the horror on Elias’ face while he spoke. “He smashed me over the head with a rock. What? What is it?”

  Elias didn’t answer but ran for the church.

  “Who is the woman he wants to kill?” his cousin asked, racing on foot to catch up.

  “My wife,” Elias told him and sprinted forward. He reached the church door first. He ran inside and looked at the door at the bottom of the stairs. It was open. Bertram stood against the wall with Charlie under his arm and his knife at the lad’s throat. Elias was going to kill him.

  Seeing him and his cousin, Bertram moved with Charlie along the wall. The lad saw him and made a move to fight his captor. Elias held him still with a subtle shake of his head. As long as that knife was against his throat, any kind of heroics could cost Charlie his life.

  “Bertram, I will do whatever you want from this moment forward if you let the boy go unharmed,” Lily told him. “If not, I will set his father free upon you to rip you to pieces and beat you to death. He is barely restrained right now.” She pointed to Elias.

  What was she doing? Did she think he, her beloved husband, would use her as a pawn?

  “Swear it to me before God,” Bertram demanded, knowing her. Knowing, as Elias did, that she would not go back on such a vow.

  But Elias also knew, thanks to Simon’s constant teaching while he hovered about him, much about God’s laws. Since Elias was her husband, he could reject her vow and God would forgive her.

  He rejected it.

  He waited for her to agree to Bertram’s demand. When she did, Bertram set Charlie free, pushing him toward her. Elias kept one eye on Bertram and one on his son arriving safely into the arms of his wife.

  One of her hands slipped under her skirts. When it came back out, it held the blade of a knife.

  She pushed Charlie away and pointed the handle at Bertram. “Do not tempt me.” Her voice shook on a low warning. “Do not.”

  “Lass! I’m Tristan MacPherson. I need this bastard alive to get to the bishop.”

  Elias didn’t want his son, Eddie, growing up in a world with the bishop. If Tristan could get close to him, then he was for it. Even if it meant letting Bertram live. Yet again.

  She lowered her knife and turned to them. “Tristan MacPherson?”

  “Aye, lass,” his most handsome of cousins said, smiling at her.

  While they became acquainted, and the others broke apart from the huddling mass they were—behind Norman, Alan, and Father Benedict, Elias went to Bertram and yanked his arms behind his back. He ignored Bertram’s howls about the pain in his arm and a few of them, like Estrid, told Elias to pull his arm harder.

  “I’m goin’ to come back fer her. I’m goin’ to heal and raise an army and—”

  “Who wants to cut oot this man’s tongue?” Elias called out. All the men, including Tristan and Charlie, held up their hands to be seen.

  “See it done,” Elias ordered, waving his hand. He set his gaze on Bertram and smiled. “Let us see what kind of army ye will raise without the use of yer words.”

  He watched as the men carried him away. Soon, no one would have to listen to him.

  “I trust he can show ye the way to the bishop without his tongue,” Elias said to his cousin, standing beside him.

  “’Tis how I found this place,” his cousin murmured, watching them take him away. “He didna want to tell me what the village was called, only that everyone here suffered the plague. Includin’ ye.”

  “That much is true,” Elias told him. “I have recovered. Many didna.”

  Tristan stared at him and shook his head. “Any advice to avoid gettin’ it?”

  “Wash yer hands often and eat the rind of a lemon every day,” Lily told him. She was still smiling.

  “Stay away from people who have it.” Elias told him, not smiling,

  When his wife giggled, his heart went soft and he smiled at her. He put his hand to her flat belly and swept it around to her back. He encircled her waist with his fingers and laid claim to her with a kiss to her neck, just below her earlobe.

  She blushed and slapped him away, then hurried to the children.

  “Ye wed the hellcat,” Tristan remarked with a wide, understanding eye. “She is bonny. And surrounded by the love of the village children, she appears more like a dove.”

  Elias nodded, fastening his gaze to her. She was fast and fearless, and she had enough passion against Bertram in her to kill him. She was brave, giving herself up for Charlie. She was merciful, doing as Tristan asked and letting her former master live.

  When she looked at him over her shoulder, he winked and she smiled.

  #

  Tristan stayed for supper and to help bury the fallen soldiers and Parrock—without his head—that part was put into a sack filled with herbs and leaves that Lily had supplied. They would keep it fresh for a few days, and tied to Bertram’s horse.

  As much as it sickened Lily, she accepted that it had been best to kill at least one of them…and render the other almost completely helpless.

  With Bertram tied up in the shed, a rag stuffed into his tongueless mouth, Tristan stood over Brother Simon’s grave and prayed, and then
they ate and shared stories beneath the setting sun.

  “Did ye cultivate this abundant garden?” Tristan asked Lily after a supper of tasty turnip and cabbage stew.

  She nodded and then shook her head. How was any woman who didn’t have someone in their life like Elias supposed to resist Tristan’s emerald eyes and curious smile?

  “He is pretty, my love, but ‘tis the sight of you, the scent of you that intoxicates me,” she told Elias later that night while she straddled him and took him fully.

  She looked into his eyes and revealed all she was to him—and then took in everything he was. The good and the bad. She would take him any way he came.

  “You are everything to me,” she whispered against his neck, grinding up and down. “You are my hope. You become my hope more each day. You stand utterly immovable against everything that comes against you.” She pushed down to his hilt then rose up like an empress awakening from her nap “There is just one thing—”

  “What is that?” he asked skeptically and gave her a push until she sat up, impaled on him. He slipped his hands behind her and gave her bottom a sharp little slap. He took her by her bottom and by her nape and thrust himself deep inside her over and over until her untamed passion spent itself upon him.

  She was mortified by the sounds she made in her ecstasy, high-pitched, and grunts, and unintelligible words that should not pass from any lady’s lips. Though Elias seemed to like it.

  After, she pulled him to the brink of complete surrender, when he emptied his seed into her with a few sounds of his own.

  “You do not believe in how much I love and adore you,” she whispered, holding him. “That no one could ever have my heart after you have had it. ‘Tis yours, Elias.”

  For a moment, she thought he might have fallen asleep. But then he spoke, “Forgive me fer not appreciatin’ what I have been given. I never thought I would have this. I never thought I needed it. Fer a long time, I thought I would never recover from the ghosts of war,” he said softly, quietly, trusting her with everything, every part of who he was. “But then I met ye, lass, and the more my mind becomes filled with ye, the less filled it is with those ghosts. I find myself well in the midst of darkness and death. I find the me who once was, better because of who I have become, and excited again to see who I will be.

  “Ye are…” He paused to let his dusky blue gaze stare into her eyes. “Ye are the most beautiful lass my eyes have ever seen.”

  “Elias,” she laughed, blushing. “No.”

  “Aye.” He pulled her close. “My eyes will never stray from ye, my lady. My heart is yers. Always.”

  She finally felt safe and fell into a deep, restful sleep.

  And so did Elias.

  The village of Sevenoaks, England

  Late Spring

  The Year of Our Lord 1349

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “Good morning, Lily,” Father Benedict greeted her merrily when she strolled by him on her way to the shop with a basket piled with herbs looped through one arm. She waved at him with the other.

  “Good morning to you, as well, Father.”

  “’Tis cold, child,” the priest admonished. ”You should wear your cloak. I know you have that fur-lined mantle Richard purchased for you last winter.”

  “Father, ‘tis a perfect day. The sun is shining and warm—but I shall wear it tomorrow if it gets colder,” she promised when his scowl grew darker, and then she kept walking.

  She didn’t mind the crisp air. It awakened her body…and she needed it. She was exhausted every single day no matter what time it was and also sick to her stomach. Eleanor, Hild, and Helen assured her that all was well. Lily was heavy with child, due in just a month. The last stages were difficult, according to her older, more experienced friends, because everything in the body was stretched to its limit, preparing for the birth. That kind of talk didn’t make Lily feel any better.

  Lily knew a few remedies for nausea but she didn’t take them. She didn’t mind being ill with Elias’ babe. She wanted to enjoy every moment of it. She was alive. Elias was alive. Charlie, Annabelle, and Eddie were alive. And now she and Elias were bringing another life into the world. It truly amazed her and as she had heard Elias and dear Brother Simon do, she gave thanks to God.

  As she neared the shop, she saw Annabelle and Terrick playing together in front of Eleanor’s house. She didn’t remember them being such close friends before the pestilence came. Tragedy brings people together. They’d gone through terrible days. Just like her and Elias.

  She waved at the children and at Charlie, carrying sacks of seed to the shed.

  Elias had awakened the children early, as he had every morning to let her sleep more. The children didn’t mind. They loved doing things with or for him.

  She tried to pick up her steps to get to the shop faster, but the babe kicked in response and made her feel ill, so she slowed.

  She finally reached the shop and stepped inside. Elias was behind the table speaking with Alan on the other side. Eddie sat on top of the table, swinging his legs over the side.

  When he saw Lily, he leaped off and was caught in mid-air by Elias’ quick hands. He set him down and the boy ran on chubby legs to her. “Mama!”

  She bent with a wide smile to pick him up in her arms. She loved Clare and she promised her every night that she would love Eddie with all her heart. And she did. She planted kisses on his face and laughed with him.

  “Oh!” She opened her eyes wide on Elias and placed her hand on her huge belly.

  Elias ran around the table to her. “What is it? Is it time?” he asked with a frantic note in his tone. “Ye are early—”

  “The babe kicked me very hard,” she told him. “He or she must be jealous of my little darling Eddie.” She kissed him again and again the babe kicked her. She grabbed Elias’ hand and set his palm on her belly, in the place where the kicks were happening.

  She kissed Eddie and he squealed with laughter, so she did it again and again.

  With his hand on her belly, Elias looked amazed and laughed. “This one has a temper!”

  The babe kicked against his hand and then stretched its leg and pressed its tiny foot to Lily’s belly. She told Elias what his bairn was doing and he chased Alan out, pulled her and Eddie to the back room, and lifted her skirts over her belly to see the outline of the babe’s foot.

  Elias made a small sound in the back of his throat and then fell before her on his knees. He placed his hands on her bare belly, on the foot, and let her skirts fall back down over his arms.

  “Good mornin’, babe,” he whispered close. “‘Tis I, yer father.”

  Eddie squirmed in Lily’s arms and reached down, almost hanging upside-down, to touch her belly, too.

  They fussed over both of their children and then continued on with the day.

  No one had fallen ill with the pestilence again after Brother Simon had died. It was over. For them.

  Elias’ cousin, Tristan, had returned a few months back and let them know that the plague was still rampaging through some cities. He’d killed the bishop, but Bertram had escaped him.

  Tristan had vowed to hunt him down and kill him, and Elias promised to kill him the instant he showed his face here.

  But he hadn’t shown up. Perhaps he had finally given up trying to ruin her life. She didn’t know, but she always carried her knives with her.

  Elias straightened and dipped his head to kiss her. “Did ye sleep well, my love?”

  “I would have if our babe had slept,” she told him with a little laugh.

  “Good morning,” Eleanor called out from the front of the shop.

  Lily hurried around to see her and they spoke about the children and about food, and sewing. Elias smiled every once in awhile when he caught her eyes.

  He finished mashing up some coriander and put it into a square piece of cloth, then wrapped it up with twine. “Alan wanted this and I forgot to give it to him after my bairn interrupted me. I will go take it to h
im.”

  Lily nodded and continued talking to Eleanor for another quarter of an hour. She didn’t see two mounted riders passing the other houses and coming toward the shop.

  When she did, she grabbed Eddie and ran outside for Annabelle and Terrick.

  “Pardon us,” said the first rider, an old man beneath a dark brown hood. He sat upon an older mare. The rider behind him also wore a hooded mantle but Lily could see a hint of a chestnut braid falling over a delicate shoulder.

  “What do you want?” Lily didn’t care about being polite. She’d been through too much to trust anyone she didn’t know.

  “We are looking for the village of Sevenoaks,” said the old man. “We received a letter several months ago claiming my daughter, Lily, lived here. I have not seen her in nine years. Please, Miss, if you know of her, tell me where I might find her. We have been traveling for a while now and I hope we are finally in the right place.”

  Lily’s knees shook beneath her. Was it…? She drew in a deep gasp and took a step forward. She held her hand up to her brow for shade against the sun and gave the old man a more careful looking over. It was her father. Was it possible?

  “Aye. You have the right place, Papa.”

  The woman with him pulled back her hood and leaped from her saddle. “Lily?”

  Her half-sister. “Sarah?”

  They both began to cry but Lily reached for her father as he dismounted. She never dared to dream of seeing him again.

  “Lily?” his weak voice called out as he pushed back his hood. “Is that you, my sweet Lily of the valley?”

  “Papa, you are alive. ‘Tis you. ‘Tis you!” She fell into his arms and wept into his shoulder.

  Then she stepped back and drew her half-sister in for a long, tearful embrace.

  When she withdrew, she saw that Eleanor had been joined by Father Benedict, Norman and Hild. They had all come out of their homes to see who the riders were.

  “Look everyone!” she called out to them in tears. “’Tis my father and my half-sister, Sarah!” She looked at her. “Where are Mary and Eva?”