Highland Hearts 03 - Crimson Heart

by Heather McCollum

  “I found fresh water near the stables.” He picked up one of the shirts. In a swoop, he pulled his semi-clean shirt over his head and turned with the new one in his hands.

  Elena’s gaze halted him. She stared at his naked chest for a moment before reaching his eyes. Her cheeks burned, and she looked down at the belt fastened at her waist. “Not a scar on you. I would like to meet your mother someday.”

  “That may happen, lass.” He re-tied the kilt around his waist with the clean shirt tucked under. “Roger Lyngfield isn’t a safe relation. He certainly didn’t look at ye like a cousin.”

  Elena sighed softly and sunk down onto a small bench, her skirts fanning out around her. “That’s because I’m not his cousin.”

  How was he not surprised? “Well then, I’m certainly not leaving ye to the clutches of a strange man who looked at ye like ye were a lush, sweet bun he’d just been given.”

  Her eyes snapped up to his. “He did not.”

  Searc raised one eyebrow in challenge. “The man nearly salivated in anticipation.”

  “Is that why you said we are wed?”

  He rubbed at an ache in his forehead and felt the slight bruise from Elena’s rock the night before. “Och, Elena, I couldn’t leave ye alone and follow Marie into the palace without ye, even if Roger Lyngfield hadn’t been devouring ye. And after I called ye my woman, well I wasn’t sure if you’d be allowed to leave without every blackguard within hearing range following ye. It seemed the only choice.”

  A little furrow deepened along her brow. “A logical solution.” She folded her hands in her lap. “So you think I should go to the Highlands then?”

  Searc walked to the narrow, glass-paned window but hardly saw the manicured garden below. “They are beautiful, the mountains of green with purple heather, waterfalls and clear streams of the best tasting water I’ve ever drunk, though the weather is harsh. But ye would get used to it. My mother weaves the warmest, softest wool. And the people are loyal and kind.”

  “Sounds like you love your home.”

  “Aye.”

  “Why then did you ever leave?”

  His lips pressed together and he turned to look at her, innocent curiosity hiding that determined wheedling at which Elena seemed expert. Bloody hell but he’d fallen right into that. He could lie, but somehow, under her scrutiny, he felt like she’d know with the first word. So he didn’t say anything. They’d had this conversation before and she wasn’t forthcoming, either.

  “Something happened,” she prodded and glanced at his hands fisted on the coverlet. “Something to do with your magic.” Her innocent look narrowed. “You told everyone that we were married. You lied to the most powerful woman in Scotland. I think you need to tell me why my husband felt a need to leave the land he loved.”

  No more casual questions. The lass’s claws had come out and had attacked the one thing that weakened his resolve—guilt. “’Twas easier for me to leave.”

  She cocked her head to the side and a damp curl slid along the side of her neck. “You don’t strike me as a man to take the easy way out by running away.”

  Searc moved to the hearth. Was he a coward then too? “Ye don’t know what it is like to grow up always hiding who ye are, your sins, a darkness ye are born with. It can eat at a person’s soul.”

  She laughed darkly, and he turned to see her shaking her head. “In that case my soul is in jeopardy of being entirely consumed by now.”

  A knock at the door made him remember his blades were by the bed. “Master Searc,” came a voice from the hall. “The evening meal will commence shortly. You and Mistress Elena have been summoned.”

  Elena stood and breathed deeply. “Shall we go to dine, then, before either of us are found out?”

  …

  Elena stepped in her lovely new slippers along the corridor on Searc’s strong arm. Her heart thumped wildly inside, but on the outside her smile and demeanor were confident though humble. To dine with royalty was always risky. She would need all her wits about her, so she forced the embarrassment over the bath out of her mind. And then there was the embarrassment about the kiss, the secret about Searc’s escape, the lie about her cousin Lyngfield, her own deadly secret. She sighed, her smile faltering.

  Thomas Seymour had taken her to King Henry’s court once when she was a child, to see the great man who was married to his sister at the time. Then, as an older maid, Thomas had taken her to King Edward’s court several times when his serious brother was regent. That had all stopped suddenly when Thomas was taken to the Tower on charges of treason.

  The familiar ache of sorrow pressed behind Elena’s eyes. She breathed deeply and slid her focus across richly framed paintings displaying saints and Scottish landscapes. She trailed her hand along the plastered wall of the circular staircase as they followed a servant toward a large, open archway.

  Searc’s low voice reached her ear. “Speak in English tonight. I am at great disadvantage if I cannot make sense of the dark emotions I feel.” She nodded and they stopped before entering the dining hall. “What was it you said to Marie de Guise earlier? There was pity in her tone along with amusement.”

  Elena patted his arm. “She wants you in her bed.” He must know that but she waited for his nod which he didn’t give. He just stared. She shrugged slightly. “I told her you are impotent.”

  “Master Searc Munro of the Western Highlands and Mistress Elena,” the servant announced and all eyes in the room turned to where they stood.

  “Impotent?” he whispered. “Bloody hell, Elena. Ye know, it is an act of treason to lie to a queen regent. Impotent?”

  They stepped into the room. “The woman was planning your seduction.” She smiled tightly. “A wife must protect her husband.” She curtsied low to Marie, who sat at the far end of the long room filled with ladies and gentlemen of the court.

  The central table held platters of fowl, fish, and venison and various types of white bread, butter, and cheese. Grapes, dried figs, and apricots sat in silver bowls. Pitchers, probably of cider or ale, sat about, as well as dusty wine bottles which servants carried around to fill goblets. Despite the rich feast Elena’s stomach rolled tightly as her fuming Highlander escorted her toward the queen regent.

  “Come in, Monsieur Highlander and Madam.” Marie waved them to her. “You will talk with me, oui?” Her eyes shifted swiftly from Searc to Elena.

  “Aye,” Searc answered.

  “Not you.” She gave Searc a smile that bordered on the saucy side. Either she didn’t believe Elena’s claim about his problem or she thought she was woman enough to cure him. Both possibilities annoyed Elena, and she had a difficult time maintaining her serene expression.

  “I will talk to your bride this time, Monsieur Searc.”

  Why should Elena care if the Frenchwoman liked Searc? Despite the ruse, they were not attached. She needed to concentrate on the chasm of problems before her. Like what she should say to Marie. What if Searc had already told Marie de Guise how they supposedly met and fell in love and married?

  Elena lifted the wine before her and stopped under the regent’s piercing stare. She inhaled the aroma of the fine amber liquid and sipped a small amount, letting it glide on her tongue and finally down her throat. “’Tis a refreshing bouquet, your grace,” Elena praised and Marie’s ironic smile turned genuine.

  “You know wine, Madam Elena?”

  “Enough to know that this is exceptional.”

  Marie’s chin tipped up with calm pride. “It comes from my father’s Joinville estate in France.”

  Elena might not know much about wine, but she knew enough about the French to know that they were quite proud of their grapes and fermenting practices. Elena followed Marie’s lead in sipping the cool wine and they smiled together over the goblets. She watched covertly how Marie folded her hands, tilted her head, and spoke in a mix of English and French. Thomas had taught Elena how to imitate the person you wished to calm or befriend. Thomas had used the technique expertly,
finding allies and influencing kings. Unfortunately his own brother was immune to his maneuvers.

  A small chime rang and the lords and ladies of the court found seats about the table. Searc seemed to enjoy all the fare, eating with slow but solid gusto. It took a lot of food to fuel a man as large as a Highlander. His leg pressed against her thigh under the table. Somehow the constant physical reminder that he was there quelled Elena’s unease and she relaxed into polite small talk with the regent, some in French but mostly in English.

  Marie did not like the rough weather in Scotland and missed her little daughter dearly. “But mon enfant is safer in France until she reaches her maturity.” She tipped her head closer as if she were sharing a confidence.

  “Queen Mary is very fortunate to have such a strong mother looking out for her,” Elena replied with heartfelt honesty.

  Marie reached over and patted her hand on the table. “One day you will see just how much you would do to keep your own child safe.” She smiled and glanced at Searc. “I’m certain Monsieur Searc will recover his health.” Elena watched Searc’s jaw tighten. “Although,” Marie continued in French, “he certainly looks healthy as a stallion right now.”

  The regent queen took up her wine goblet again. “Tell me,” she began, her tone turning slightly from the familiar, enough to make Elena’s instincts sharpen. “What was your surname, Elena?” She tapped her lip with a long finger. “It took me some time this day to remember where it was that I met you the first time. Grimsthorpe Castle, oui?”

  Elena opened and shut her mouth, then began. “Forgive me, Madam, I did not know if you remembered me.” The woman had come for a night on her progress from London to Scotland after meeting with King Edward. “We met but briefly.”

  Surname? Elena needed a last name. Should she make one up entirely or go with her guardian’s last name? Would Seymour get her into more trouble? Thoughts swirled inside her head.

  Searc’s hand rested on Elena’s shoulder. “My wife is an orphan.”

  Marie pursed her lips, her smile falling with it. “I am sorry, madam, but it seems you have found a strong husband even without parents to make a match. Did they leave you a dowry?”

  Elena’s mother had only passed monies through Thomas to be used for her care early on, which had been used up in the early years of her life. Since Thomas had been executed as a traitor, all of his belongings and money had gone to the crown. So she was quite penniless.

  “Ours was a love match.” Searc took a sip of wine. He looked at Elena in affection. Even though it was an imitation of the emotion, it did flippy things to her stomach. “I met her on the road as she traveled to a convent since her father, William Wyatt, had recently died. He had no estate and she had nowhere to go. When she told me of her cousin here in Edinburgh we felt it hospitable to pay a visit.”

  Marie frowned. “And you had never met Roger Lyngfield, before this day?”

  “No, your grace,” Elena answered. Wyatt, Wyatt, she’d have to remember that name. But Roger possibly had a letter from Lady Suffolk that wouldn’t mention a William Wyatt.

  “Though perhaps not a traitor,” Marie continued, “the man is lazy and lacks the caution needed around royalty. When there is a crown in contention, traitors are everywhere.” Her sharp gaze roamed through the hall, taking in the measure of those nobles talking quietly along the table.

  Marie looked back at Elena. “And for what abbey were you headed?”

  Searc opened his mouth again, but Marie held up her hand to halt him without transferring her gaze away from Elena. “Elena Wyatt Munro, where were you headed when this gallant Highlander convinced you to surrender?”

  Elena blushed. “Since the only name I have connection with lives in Edinburgh, I thought perhaps I should journey here to live with Master Roger and hire myself out as a seamstress.”

  Marie nodded and popped a grape into her mouth. “If I remember correctly and I always do, Grimsthorpe was as Protestant as Edward Tudor himself, was it not?”

  The woman had a keen memory and could interrogate her with a calm, luring demeanor. She wasn’t one to easily dupe, but to give herself away that she was Protestant could mark Elena as the one Queen Mary sought. Elena lowered her eyes as she said, “My father was of the true faith, Madam, though I was required to be housed at Grimsthorpe to care for Lady Suffolk’s children.”

  She looked back up to give an air of sincerity with a direct meeting of the regent’s gaze. “When he died and my position ended, I felt free to seek the guidance and comfort of the Catholic Church.” She continued to look at Marie though blinked as naturally as she could. God’s teeth! She’d been running from English royalty to now find herself face to face with Scottish royalty.

  “Hmmm…” Marie steeped her fingers together. “And just when the Protestant boy king makes way for his Catholic sister.”

  Elena swallowed against the dryness in her throat while Marie considered her words and took another sip off her wine. The queen regent looked at Searc. “And you found your love on the journey.” She laughed a little. “A destiny of the heart. Oui, oui. ’Tis a romantic tale.”

  Elena smiled to match Marie’s casually accepting air. Had they fooled the wise regent or was she just giving them time to forget the details? Wyatt, William Wyatt, was now her father’s name, groundskeeper at Grimsthorpe Castle. William Wyatt.

  Searc’s thigh pressed against hers in support. Did he think she’d played her part well? There’d been plenty of practice at speaking half-truths at Grimsthorpe and, of course, when visiting court.

  Marie turned to Searc. “I would strategize with you and learn about the different clans in the Highlands, who wars with who, who supports Arran and his English ways.” She spoke with large gestures, but stopped when a priest strode into the room. Marie waited until he reached her and bowed his head in greeting. “Father Renard?”

  “Another girl has been found, your grace. Tortured and dead. And a third has been reported missing.”

  Elena’s stomach clenched so hard she worried her food would reverse. Ladies around her gasped, several of them translating for the French-speaking attendees.

  “Mon Dieu,” Marie whispered. “Two found dead in less than two days?”

  The priest’s lips thinned. “One found in Culross and then one just found under a mound of stone used in building our great wall, although this one’s death seems some time ago.” Father Renard’s gaze strayed to Searc. “Only God knows when the third will be found.” Had word come from Culross of a Highlander’s escape? Elena’s heart pounded in her chest.

  “Henri.” Marie turned to her advisor, speaking in even French. “Send several of the guards to investigate. See if anyone saw someone around the stones, and have someone talk to the constable in Culross.”

  Marie glanced down the table and Elena followed her gaze. Pale faces and grim expressions had ruined the meal. She flapped her hand. “If you wish to go, do so before you swoon.”

  Elena placed her hand on Searc’s arm. “Merci, your grace,” she whispered as he helped her rise.

  Marie tsked but did not stop her. “We will talk more, ambassador to the Highlands.” The statement sounded like a threat and sent a shiver along Elena’s spine.

  …

  Searc matched Elena’s slow steps as they walked the halls to their room. Exhaustion and worry seemed to lay across her like a sopping, woolen blanket.

  She stumbled on a raised cobble. “We are nearly to our room,” he said close to her ear as he supported her arm.

  “What are we to do?” Her words were soft with an edge of fear.

  “Carry on here, but be prepared to depart quickly.” He would keep his gear near Dearg. If they must leave in a hurry, he’d hide Elena up in the mountains. He glanced down at her pale features. “And ye are not to go anywhere alone.”

  “No one should.” She glanced along the corridor as if looking for fiends in the shadows.

  Searc held her behind his back as he opened their door and
made a quick inspection inside. The room was empty.

  Elena sat on the end of the curtained bed. Someone had started a fire in the hearth. It spat low and Searc added a small lump of peat from the basket on the side. He crossed and locked the door with the large, iron key that had been supplied. It added some security but he was certain that the maids and pages had duplicates.

  “William Wyatt?” she asked and he noticed that her gaze was following him about the room.

  “A friend of mine. One of the few honorable Englishmen I know, though he’s more of a pirate than an Englishman.”

  Elena blinked at him. “My father is a pirate?”

  “Actually I don’t think he’s an Englishman, come to think of it. Ye’ll meet him in the Highlands when I take ye there. He lives with the Macbains at Druim, the clan that borders Munro land. ’Twas the first name I could think of and one I won’t forget.” He crossed and sat next to her on the bed barely big enough for two. He clasped her hand in her lap. It was so small in his large palm, fragile. “We will play our part and journey to the Highlands.” If he was not responsible for her, he’d stay and try to find the fiend, but right now he needed to see Elena safely away.

  Elena’s face turned to him and she gently pulled off the French hood, revealing the red-gold strands to him again. “I wasn’t counting on a murderer in Edinburgh.”

  ’Tis true, the regular thieves and leeches would have prayed on her, but with a sadistic killer stalking the lasses, she’d never have survived. “Once ye are safe at Druim, I will return to help find the sadistic bastard.”

  Her eyes widened. “You will return?”

  “If the killings continue.”

  “Then we should stop the villain now, before we go. You will lose a month traveling back and forth. More girls will die.”

  He caught a tawny curl along her shoulder, lifting its feather-weight. “I will not put ye in jeopardy by remaining here.”

  Her lips tightened. “And I will not have ye sleeping in the forest two extra weeks because of me,” she said with a terrible Scottish accent. “We will find the killer before we leave.” She nodded as if that was the end of the conversation and turned her back on him. Glancing over her shoulder she sighed. “The lady Marie assigned to me looked rather ill. I don’t think she’s coming. The buttons?”