Highland Hearts 03 - Crimson Heart (18 page)

“I think ye are quite the grand lady.” He held the reins loosely in one hand, his other on the lass’s narrow waist. “Plus ye can defend a queen from a tree with lethal talent.”

Elena chuckled lightly. “I suppose everyone has their gifts.” She turned in the seat, her one eye catching his gaze. “Even if they don’t see them as gifts.”

His jaw tightened. “I suppose the power to wield death so swiftly would be a gift to a devil.”

She made a frustrated snorting sound and turned forward again. “Are all Highlanders like you?”

“Nay, I know no others who have my curse.”

“I meant stubborn.”

“Aye, we are all stubborn. We are a strong people.” He stared at the back of her head where bits of tree clung to the red-gold highlights reflecting the sun through her hair. He purposely moved his eyes over her head to where the rest of the bedraggled group rode. His senses detected no further danger in the vicinity.

“Stubbornness is different from strength,” she continued. “Contemplated reason is wise. Blind stubbornness for its own sake will lead to downfall.”

“Ye sound like my mother. English and wise. Quite uncommon.”

He slowed Dearg as they caught up with the group. Elena sat in the gentle sway. Straight back, easy yet strong shoulders, her head held high with natural elegance and confidence. Her disastrous escape over three weeks hadn’t dissolved years of upbringing and natural majesty.

“It is too bad ye are not England’s queen, Elena. Certainly ye would lead that bloody country down a much wiser path.”

Elena’s back stiffened at the same time Dearg took a slight jump over a stretch of low bush. She yelped and slid, headed straight toward the prickly blackthorn and Dearg’s heavy hooves.

Searc’s arms wrapped instantly around her as his legs held tightly to Dearg until the horse settled back into its brisk walk. He kept her close until he felt her frantic panic ebb and her heart slow, though it kept up a quick tempo to match his own. “Perhaps some riding lessons would be of use to ye, lass.” He felt the shiver run through her as his lips grazed her temple. He loosened his hold but she stayed pressed back into him instead of instantly straightening. He breathed in her light floral smell again and groaned inwardly. The rest of the ride would be torture.

…

By the time they arrived back in Edinburgh, Elena was completely flushed, not from the sun that had poked out from behind the clouds, but from riding up against the hard chest of Searc Munro. After nearly falling off the man’s horse when he casually spoke her most guarded secret out loud, she’d remained in his arms, needing the feel of strength around her.

They entered the side gates into Edinburgh, and Searc turned Dearg to trot rapidly up the steep Royal Mile toward the craggy hill where Edinburgh Castle had been built of the same stone. Gray, stark, and jagged, it was difficult to tell where the natural stone ended and the castle began. Its appearance alone spoke of war and the raw strength of the Scottish people. It reminded her of the infamous Tower of London. Above them the standards of Scotland and Marie de Guise snapped in the once again cloud-heavy sky.

“Open for the regent,” Henri yelled and the iron points of the portcullis began to rise, the heavy chains clanking as they wound around the guardhouse wheel.

A guard jogged out, his expression full of concern. “What has happened? Ye were traveling to Linlithgow today.”

“Apparently Lord Arran knew of that too, or at least his bastardly supporters.” Henri looked back at them as if to ascertain they were all present.

“We were attacked,” Marie intoned. The guard’s mouth tightened and he nodded, running off to issue orders. Henri, blood streaked and disheveled, rode proudly next to Marie as they led the way across the wooden bridge.

Thomas had taken Elena to The Tower once to see where Anne Boleyn had been beheaded. She still remembered the strong bars of Traitor’s Gate lifting to allow in a boat from the Thames. Elena stared upward at the gate mechanisms of Edinburgh Castle’s portcullis as they rode through the chiseled stone archway, and couldn’t help the feeling that she was riding into the giant, stone maw of a beast.

“Why are ye so frightened?” Searc asked and she let him draw her back into the warmth of his arms.

“It reminds me of the Tower of London.” She jumped slightly as several ravens cawed loudly to one another across the top of two towers. “Down to the devil’s own birds.”

“Ye are no prisoner here, Elena. And this place isn’t tainted with despair like the London Tower. Plus, it smells much better.” He inhaled and looked down at her, giving her a slight grin. Somehow that tilt of his lips relaxed the tiny twisted stitches in her gut.

“You’ve been to London’s Tower?” Elena held tight to Dearg’s mane as he continued to climb the circular stone road up to the top of the castle structure. Searc’s firm hold kept her centered on the horse’s increasingly sloped back as the hill steepened.

“Aye, though not as a prisoner myself. A close friend has that dark tale to tell.”

“And he lived?”

“Aye, he did though the English crown tried hard to the contrary. Ewan can tell the tale better than I when ye meet him in the Highlands.”

Elena stared out over Dearg’s ears. The Highlands. Could she find a secure life there? The thought didn’t seem so absurd with Searc’s warmth at her back.

They halted in the cobblestone bailey, squared in by solid rock buildings. Searc swung down and lifted her to the hard ground. They followed Marie, Henri, Lord Randolph and Father Renard inside. Elena blinked at the low light, broken only by the narrow flames of sconces placed evenly along the stone walls. They clipped along a hall into the main room of what looked like a great hall. Arched wooden beams towered over them. As her sight adjusted, Elena could see animals carved into the beams where they met the walls: unicorns, lions, hares.

A lad built a fire in a hearth large enough to fit ten men standing upright. A long table of heavy, polished wood ran down the middle of the room. Marie strode to the end where her chair waited. She snapped around, skirts flaring out, and sat, yanking her riding gloves off her small hands. Her look showed no fear, only fury.

“I’m surprised Lord Arran isn’t here warming my seat.” Her voice echoed in the cold room. “Lord Randolph,” Marie waved him forward. “What do you know of this thorn in my side? Has your queen sent him again to try and take back my daughter’s throne?”

Lord Randolph strode up the length of the hall. They all migrated along the table to be closer to the woman. There were two of Marie’s ladies who had come running when they’d heard she’d entered the castle grounds, along with six guards and a few nobles who may be in residence.

“Your grace.” Lord Randolph used the artificially reassuring tone of a practiced diplomat. “I can assure you that Queen Mary Tudor only supports the rightful heir to this realm, which is your daughter, your Catholic daughter. She has no interest in Lord Arran and his confused faith that resembles a fish flopping on the shore.”

Marie stared hard at him for a long moment then flipped her hand and turned to look at Searc. Her glance moved between Searc and Elena. “Seeing that you both fought to protect me, I can only assume you did not plan this ambush.”

“And a Highlander would never willingly support the English,” Searc reminded. “Your daughter is a Scot, sired by a Scot. I wouldn’t look toward the west for traitors, your grace.”

She snorted but looked like she respected his words. Her sharp eyes scanned the small group.

“How secure is the information about your daily plans?” Searc led Elena to a chair closer to the hearth. The heat from the growing fire pushed back the coolness in the hall.

Marie looked to Henri. His face was grim. “There have been no sanctions on our plans. Even the maids and boys in the stables knew of our sojourn this day.”

“Then there is no reason to suspect only those on the journey, your grace. The attack could have been planned by anyone,” Lord Randolph defended.

Marie rattled off a string of French so fast and under her breath that Elena couldn’t hear more than a few curses. Eyes widened on the ladies standing closer to her chair, so the curses must have been intriguingly rotten.

“The queen regent will reside within the safe stone walls of this castle until we can secure Holyrood Palace,” Henri announced. Marie seemed to be grinding her teeth but she nodded in agreement.

“Elena and I are in no danger,” Searc spoke up, “and as the number of residential rooms are much reduced here, Elena and I volunteer to take our chances at Holyrood.” He bowed slightly to Marie. “If it suits your grace.” Such deference. Searc Munro did know something of courtly manners.

“
Non
, it does not suit me, Highlander.” Marie’s back straightened in brittle agitation. “I would have some wit about me besides Henri if I am to be ensconced in this rock. Your wife may return to Holyrood, but you must stay.”

“We stay together,” Searc said calmly.

“I would be happy to keep watch of her.” Father Renard perched on a seat and rubbed his hands together as if to warm them. “The abbey is a sanctuary.”

Searc didn’t move his eyes from Marie. “There is still a murderer loose in Edinburgh. Elena stays with me.”

Tension seemed to mire the air within the hall. Marie’s annoyance held them all suspended, waiting. Elena opened her mouth to say something, anything, rather like someone standing on the edge of a precipice and suddenly jumping. “We can plan my wedding here, your grace.”

All eyes turned to Elena and widened as if she’d said that the queen of England was dancing naked out in the bailey. She flushed but ignored the stares. “It will give us something to keep our minds on happier things for a short time, at least while we are stuck here in this rock.”

Using her own words for the castle seemed to strike a chord with the woman. “
Oui
, I will not let these English pigs rot me from the inside with my anger.”

“I must contest,” Lord Randolph interjected from his spot behind Elena. “There is no evidence that the Scottish bandits were incited by English, and certainly not by my queen.” His indignant voice turned up at the end like the tip of his pointed beard.

Marie’s small eyes narrowed even further as she turned her focus to the ambassador. “I do not give their lands away nor burn their churches. I allow them to worship as they wish and I do not send them to war. It is summer and we’ve had a good growing season. If hunger does not gnaw at common sense, I see only English gold and false promises that could sway my people. Unless the little island of Ireland has decided to wage war against me.” She scoffed. “If your queen is not responsible for this ambush, she would do well to rein in Lord Arran before he prompts us to retaliate.”

Lord Randolph bowed in practiced diplomatic deference. “I will write to her now of this attack.” He backed his way from the room. Marie watched him until his boots clipping down the hall was the only remaining evidence of the man. The outer door opened and he was gone.

Marie turned her gaze back to Elena, her eyes softening. “We will plan your wedding,
enfant
, here in this rock.”

“The small chapel could be used,” Henri suggested in a low voice, as if the idea was ludicrous but that he would placate his queen.

“
Oui
, St. Margaret’s chapel, a lovely idea.” Marie spoke with her ladies in French and shooed them away to lead a detail to freshen the small church within the walls of Edinburgh Castle. She looked back at Elena. “It is tiny, but well preserved for being four hundred years old. The stained windows allow in splashes of colored light.” She nodded. “It will be a perfect little gathering.”

“
Merci
, your grace.” Elena curtsied low, her skirts pooling around her on the rush-less floor.

“And since you two will not be parted,” she continued with an indulgent frown, “Father Renard will marry you with the church’s blessing as soon as the chapel can be made ready. Until then you will be given a room to share since my Highlander refuses to leave your side.” Searc nodded his thanks.

“
Merci
.” Elena curtsied again though her legs wobbled beneath her skirts. Her heart flipped with relief and a new nervousness. She would be safe but she’d be alone with him again. She steeled herself against her ridiculous virgin’s fear. Her virtue made her more of a target for political strategists. And hopefully if she gave into this carnal torture his touches and kisses elicited, she wouldn’t be so distracted by the man’s presence.

“Madeline,” Marie called and the petit Frenchwoman, who had screamed over the mouse in their rooms at Holyrood Palace, stepped on silent slippers up to her. “Show
Madam
Munro to one of the rooms in the residential wing,” she ordered in French and then switched to English, her gaze moving to Searc. “I would have my Highlander here to plan our defense with Henri. Father Renard, you may return to your abbey.”

“I will come in the morning to deliver mass here at the castle.” The priest, his lips tight, bowed and left the room.

Marie shooed Elena with a flap of her hand. Elena met Searc’s strong gaze. He frowned but didn’t stop her from leaving to follow the Frenchwoman. If she was with him every minute of the day she’d be even more of a thorn in his side. The two of them crossed the bailey. The wind whipped at Elena’s loose hair. Certainly by now it must resemble a squirrel’s nest. She turned her face into the wind to clear her view. Father Renard strode across to his monk, Peter, near a gate next to the shut portcullis. The priest talked with a stern face near Peter’s ear as the man nodded, taking in all his master said. Their eyes fell on Elena, and a shiver brought goose bumps up both sides of her body.