Highland Hearts 03 - Crimson Heart (3 page)

He dipped his head, trying to catch her eyes. “Did someone cut it?”

She nodded and blinked past the increasing rain. “Yes.”

Searc Munro’s face hardened. “Who cut yer hair, lass?”

Elena pulled the blanket up the back of her head, holding it over her face like the overhang of a cave. “I did.”

…

The woman before Searc was more mud than lass, but her form through the thin scrap of clothing would catch any man’s eye. Despite her fear, she spoke with much spirit. Even with her
Sasannach
accent, she reminded him more of a strong Highland lass than an Englishwoman. She seemed to teeter between panic and annoyance. He’d rather tip the balance to the later.

“Why would ye cut yer hair?” He raised one eyebrow. “Ye are not an idiot,” he said, referring to her earlier outburst, “but perhaps ye are daft.”

“What?” She glanced up, the muted light played in her greenish eyes.

“Daft. Not altogether sane. Did spirits tell ye to cut one side of yer hair? My da’s mother saw spirits. She was quite daft.”

The woman’s brow wrinkled, her pink lips puckered half in shock and half in annoyance. He felt her fear ebb a bit. ’Twas like coaxing a barn cat out to get some milk.

“I know what it means, and I am not daft.” Her pert nose tipped upward for the briefest moment before she looked back down at her folded hands. “I had sap in my hair, a whole lot of it. I had no choice but to cut it.”

“Sap from a tree?” He leaned against a tall birch.

“Where else would sap come from?” She sank deeper into the blanket over her head. Only her face was visible. A perfect oval, slender nose, large eyes, and lips. How soft would they be if he kissed them?

She sighed. “I slept against a tree one night, not knowing the sap was running down it. By morning I was rather stuck.”

“Stuck?” He stifled his laugh, “to a tree?”

“Aye, my gown ripped while pulling myself off the blasted trunk. And it was so stuck in my hair that I had to saw part of it off with my blade.”

“So that’s how ye lost yer gown?” Searc retrieved all of his weapons, wiping them in the wet ferns.

“Mostly,” she murmured.

He much preferred her being ravished by an oak to a scoundrel. He remembered the singed edges of the back of her shift. “There was also a fire?”

“I believe I mentioned that it has been a long journey.”

He looked out into the forest, spying a few medium width trees. “Ye’ve not had an easy time of it.”

A dark laugh whispered out of her. “I’m thinking of changing my name to Job.”

He retrieved his hatchet and a leather strap off Dearg. “A coach and inns along the journey would have made things easier.”

“Oh my!” she snapped with obvious sarcasm. “I hadn’t thought of that. Maybe I’m an idiot
and
daft.” She draped the blanket completely over her face. Aye, the lass had reached her limit.

The increasing rain had become a roar through the leaves. His kilt slapped against his calves as he strode to one of the pine trees. His hatchet tucked in his belt, he lashed the strap around and grabbed the trunk. The thick bark fell away from under his hands. In an effortless hand-over-hand motion, he climbed partway up the pine. He pulled his hatchet free and chopped, the blade slicing halfway through in one hit. The life force he’d stolen from the two men made the task nearly effortless. He pulled the ax free, glanced down where the lass sat out of the way, and pushed the top of the tree over. The mighty pine cracked, the top heading for the leaf-littered ground.

Elena scrambled up, but she was still safely out of range of the trees. “What are you doing?”

“Making a shelter since ye don’t sound like ye wish to sit in the rain.” Searc jumped down, his kilt flying up. Elena gasped, but it couldn’t be helped. Searc repeated the process with a second tree standing nearby, its top half falling over the bent apex of the first, creating a frame of tree trunks. He hadn’t even broken a sweat and jumped back to the springy ground. At least this blasted magic had its uses.

Ferns sat about in large patches. He ripped handfuls and scattered them against the outside of the logs, part way up the sides, stuffing them together in and out of the frame. Elena watched silently as he retrieved a second wool blanket and tossed it over the pointed top where the splintered bend of the trees held it up like a tent.

“It may be less sturdy than an inn, but it probably has less bugs in the bed.”

“How did you do that?” Elena leaned against a tree, her weight still on only one foot.

Would she let him help her? He moved forward as she took a step. Her immediate grimace made him scoop her up. She didn’t protest and he maneuvered her through the doorway.

“’Tis the strength of that thief and the one who fled. It will fade in a day’s time, and I will have the normal strength of a Highlander again.” He set her down along one wall and tucked the blanket back up around her.

“You can take a person’s strength with their life?” Her words were soft, her attention on his face rather than the shelter. “It makes you stronger?”

“Actually, it gives me much more than another’s strength, it multiplies the strength when it transfers to me.” She didn’t say anything, just stared. He’d had his whole life to get used to his unnatural abilities and it still sounded like a tall tale to his own ears. She surely wouldn’t have believed him if she hadn’t witnessed it.

He threw their satchels inside. “Stay in here. I will find some dry wood.” Though in this sodden world, it might prove impossible.

He jogged into the woods. The cool rain and wind helped him breathe fully against the tightness in his chest. The trees swayed in the storm around him, as if they mourned his unchanging fate. Would he always be the cursed monster?
Lord, no.
He let the rain wash his face and turned to dig under some fallen trees to find something that might burn. The lass would be getting cold.

They ate on opposite sides of a small fire, the smoke rising out through a hole at the top. The lass stared at the flames as she chewed, her eyelids drooping in long blinks. Finally she lay on her side, her back to him and the fire. Just when he thought she was asleep she rolled half way over, her eyes finding his.

“Thank you,” she whispered across the fire and turned back around.

…

“You are a warrior.” Elena watched him shake out his dry shirt in the low light that filtered into the tent. The rain had stopped overnight and they had woken with the dawn. “How is it you have no scars?” Her gaze glided over his broad, perfectly smooth back and followed the sinewy lines of his shoulders down his sculpted arms. She was a maid and knew little about large, naked men, and Searc Munro made her flush. Even without the stolen strength, he could probably lift boulders. His biceps were large, probably from hours of swinging his heavy sword. The only mark on him snaked around his forearm like the thin tail of a dragon. “Except for that mark. Is it from birth?”

“Aye.”

Her gaze slid across his chest. “You are able to wield a sword as if it were as easy as breathing. You are brave enough to come to a lady’s defense. Yet not a single scar to mar your skin. Do you just use your magic in battle?”

“Nay, I do not.” His jaw looked hard as if he clenched his teeth. “My mother is a healer.”

“The one who doesn’t wish to be called a witch?”

He stopped, his eyes narrowing as if he wished to smile, yet he didn’t. “I have but one, aye.” He brought her more bee balm so she could change her poultice. “She’s cared for every slice of my skin so that no scars remain. She steals the proof of my battle tales despite my complaints.”

“Would you like me to maim you here where she can’t heal you? I am quite good with a bow.”

A small grin finally broke through, and her breath caught at the transformation. How could Searc Munro be a demon? Humor and brightness lit his beautiful blue eyes.

“I will keep yer offer in mind, Elena.” Her name rolled with his brogue across his tongue, making it sound exotic. “But we have food to find today and possibly an inn for tonight, so I’m afraid I need my health.”

“We?” she snapped. Her newly wrapped foot felt better but still looked swollen. The sting on her arm itched. Walking today would certainly hurt, but she hadn’t planned on accompanying him.

“I will not leave ye out in the forest where thieves and bees can harm ye.” Humor still marked his voice.

“I will not be a burden.” She clasped her hands, twisting them. “You could leave me here to rest for another day. I will continue on tomorrow.” Her voice had grown soft as she contemplated her rash plan. What if the thieves returned? How could she escape with an injured foot? It had been horribly difficult to climb the tree with two good feet.

“I will see ye to Edinburgh.” His voice lost its humor. Yes, he did consider her an encumbrance. She’d lived her whole life as a burden and had sworn to never be one again. Her stomach tightened with resolve. Somehow she’d manage without him.

“If I am close and you can point me in the right direction, I will do well on my own,” she countered firmly.

“I disagree.” Searc looked pointedly at her foot with one eyebrow raised.

She frowned. “You disagree?”

“Aye, ye won’t do well on yer own. The closer ye travel to Edinburgh, the more disreputable bastards ye will encounter. Without my help, ye may lose the rest of yer clothes and yer virtue and very possibly yer life.”

Elena stared at his rigid stance where he filled up the shelter’s space to the very top. He had the look of an unmovable mountain, but his insistence made her stomach unclench. Maybe it would be best to take his help. If he’d wanted to harm her, he could have easily done so last night. “Very well.” She paused. “Thank you.”

He nodded in response and picked up his satchel. “Where does yer cousin live?”

“I’m not certain. I only have his name. Roger Lyngfield
.
” She watched him. Would he recognize the family name, know about the scandal of Queen Katherine Parr’s brother being cuckolded? Lyngfield was his wife’s bastard. Elena followed him outside.

“Ye left in a hurry,” Searc continued without any hesitation.

Lord, how she’d left! In the middle of night with nary an hour’s notice. Toppled from her bed by a panicky housekeeper, soldiers from London at the manor door. The housekeeper had thrown a gown on her and barely let her grab her satchel. Elena had shoved her feet in flimsy slippers, grabbed a quickly packed meal and her bow, and fled on the distant chance of finding Katherine Parr’s bastard nephew. That was all she had when she’d climbed on a gentle mare’s back in disorienting fear.
But,
she thought,
I’m still alive
.

Elena righted her damp clothes as Searc retrieved her arrow from the pile of ash that had once been a man. She shivered and looked instead toward the warrior’s proud charger, standing patiently in the clearing. Perhaps the good Lord had sent the Highlander to help her. Cursed or not, he could certainly get her to Edinburgh.

…

It was well after noon when they found a road in the forest that led to a small village. A church, a general merchant, and several other buildings sat around a central square. Thatched houses ran along several side lanes radiating out from the village center. The chiseled sign at the edge of town named it Culross.

“The Wild Boar Inn,” the lass read above the open door of a two-story building as Searc wrapped Dearg’s reins around a post. So, she could read. An odd talent.

A small flower garden flanked the pebbled walkway. “Praise God if they have a warm bath,” she added. The lilt of her voice sounded refined despite her looking like a wood nymph draped across the back of his horse. She sounded almost royal. Did she usually wear fine gowns and dance at court balls?

“I will procure rooms.” Searc helped her down.

“I have coins.”

“Ye will need them for a gown and slippers. One needs shoes to travel.”

“I started out with them,” she murmured while fixing what was left of her skirt around her.

He gave her his arm and escorted her into the cool interior. Even in rags, wearing his plaid wrapped around her for modesty, she was lovely. She leaned into his arm whenever her weight moved to her stung foot. Bloody hell. It’s a wonder she survived.

The air smelled of stale cider and yeasty bread. A thin man wiped a long table and straightened when he heard Searc’s boots on the wood floor.

“I would like to hire two rooms for the night and a bath in each.” Searc drew out his bag of coins.

“From the west, are ye now?” The man’s accent was different from Searc’s. “The Highlands.”

“Aye.”

The man tipped his head to Elena, though his gaze took in her rags down to her bare toes. “Milady.”

“Who ye talking to?” came a woman’s shrill voice from the back.

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.” His loud voice made Elena start. “Two rooms, ye say?”

“Do we have a guest?” A roundish woman waddled out, wiping her hands on a stained apron. Her face flushed red, and perspiration ran along her hairline. “I need to make up the room.” She stopped when she saw them, her gaze focusing in on Searc as if she were a hawk after a snake. “Well now.”

“Two rooms,” Searc repeated. “The lady in one, and I in the other.” Not that it was any of their business. The woman patted her hair and wiped a sleeve across her face.

“Whew, he’s a big one,” the woman purred, and the innkeeper gave her a fierce look.

“Keep yer skirts down, Maude,” he grumbled and turned back to study Searc. “And where be ye headed?”

Searc stared hard at the man for a moment, ignoring the obvious perusal of the hefty lady. He tossed two coins on the table. “This should be enough for the rooms, baths, and a good meal.”