Highland Hearts 03 - Crimson Heart (6 page)

Apparently the plan was to leave him locked up for a good space of time. And that did not fit with Searc’s plan. What if Elena tried to leave without him? Even with Dearg, she’d certainly lose her way to Edinburgh.

The village was large enough to have a two-celled jail. The constable, a fairly large fellow with a flop of brown hair, held open the rusty iron door for Searc to walk into. So far the man had treated him fairly. The thought of sucking years of life from him sat heavy in Searc’s chest. He’d wait.

“I’ll bring food and water for ye at dawn.” The constable looked through the bars at Searc. “Ye coming along peacefully made this night easier than I thought.” The man nodded but never thanked him. Would he if he knew that Searc had spared his life so he could go home to his family?

Searc tipped his head back to stare at the dark ceiling. Why did he have such a dark magic? It wasn’t natural for a man to have the power of a god. He’d understood the good of his mother’s blue magic as a gift from God, but what type of god would give him the red magic of death? Rather, could it be a gift from Satan?

His mind moved from the familiar unanswerable question to his predicament. He needed to escape before Elena got into any more trouble. Left to her own defenses, she’d likely lose her new gown and the rest of her hair.

An hour passed, maybe two, as he listened to the skitter of rodents in his cell and the rustle of leaves outside the window. The moon rose high in the slice of late summer sky he could see. Even without bars, his large frame wouldn’t fit through the window. A wolf howled, and he stood, stretching. Aye, ’twas time to leave.

Could Cheò break in through the front door with his heavy frame? He knew his friend was nearby, had seen him among the trees when he bathed. Searc hadn’t heard the click of a lock turn on the front door when the constable had left him. Perhaps he expected the bars to keep Searc contained for the night.

Searc gripped the rusty iron bars before him and shook. They wobbled but didn’t break as he’d hoped. If he could escape during the night, then he wouldn’t be responsible for another’s death. He should have killed Geoff for trying to take Elena in the forest. The bloody bastard would have raped her, possibly killed her, treated her like a slave and sold her off as one. Searc’s magic churned at the thought of killing the man, his hands casting a red glow in the darkness.

“Searc?” came a whisper beyond the window bars and he pivoted, reining in the churning magic. “Are you there?” Elena.

In one stride he was at the window.
Wack!
A stone hit him in his forehead, making him grunt. “I’m here, lass.” He rubbed the spot where a knot would appear. “No more stones.”

“Sorry,” she whispered.

“What are ye doing here?”

“Breaking you out.”

His frown relaxed at her proud tone. “Ye should be sleeping back in the inn, safe and snug, lass.”

“I won’t let them arrest you for something you didn’t do. I know you didn’t harm that girl and the man, well, ’twas my fault you killed him.” Her voice had grown small, but then rallied with purpose. “So I’ve come to free you. I have your horse in the woods with our satchels attached. I left money in the room to pay Finny and Maude.”

He spied her outside the window, the moon shining down on her hair. She tipped her head back and the picture of her lovely face tugged something in him. “It sounds like ye thought of everything. I’m lucky to have ye here, lass.” The words seemed to absorb into her, changing her face from perfect to exquisite with her gentle smile. Her eyes shone merry to match her curved lips.

The lass had already incriminated herself by leaving during the night. She seemed gloriously happy at the thought of helping, and she was damn beautiful when she was happy. So he’d take her help. “If ye’re bent on rescuing me, ye could see if there is a key to my cell near the door.”

She nodded and slid into the shadows. Just as Searc thought, she pushed easily into the corridor from outside. The constable hadn’t locked the front door. Inky darkness made it hard for her to find the key. She gasped and stomped as a squeaking beastie scurried away from her. Hopefully she was wearing the boots she’d commissioned.

“It should be just beside the door,” Searc advised and heard the clink of iron on the stone floor followed by “God’s teeth”. A shuffling of straw was followed by her heels tapping toward him. The light from the window sent stripes across to the opposite wall, painting her black and pearl.

“I’ve got it.” She thrust the key into the lock, turning the iron with two hands.

“Now ye’ve done it.” Searc waited as she pushed the door in, making the hinges squeak.

“Done what?” She walked close, her concerned face tipped up to his.

He looked down into her eyes, the moonlight playing so beautifully against her skin there in the darkness, as if they stood alone by a window of his small bedroom at home. “Ye’ve broken a law, helping a criminal escape.” He let his grin cover the intensity gripping him at her nearness. “There’s no going back now.”

The furrow in her brow smoothed. “I have nowhere to go back to. Forward only.”

He raised his thumb to her cheek, hesitating, but then let it touch along her skin. So soft and creamy white in the splash of moon and her entire body was made of it. Would she welcome another kiss when her head was clear of wine?

A slight movement outside the window caught his ear. Most likely Cheò. Elena turned her head and he let his hand drop. The lass was risking her life helping him. He wouldn’t keep her in the jail longer than necessary and he wouldn’t take advantage of her need for help. Where the bloody hell was his honor?

“Well then, let us go.” He pulled her along the corridor, careful to hang the key on its nail. Perhaps the constable would blame himself for not locking the cell.

The lass’s knot in his horse’s reins had fallen out, but Dearg stood patiently, waiting in the dark woods. Elena huffed and shook her head. “I can tie a knot in a thread, but not in thick leather.”

“No matter. Dearg doesn’t stray.” He helped her onto the charger’s back, noticing that she’d changed into her plainer green gown, and climbed up behind her. She didn’t seem to mind his touch like before.

He let Dearg pick his way through the trees and bushes as they headed south. They rode in silence for some time. Searc spotted Cheò’s eyes in the moonlight. He kept pace with them, though several yards off in the woods.

“He follows you.” Elena’s soft voice came from the blanket she’d nestled into before him. He thought she’d fallen asleep. “How did you first find him?”

She let the wool fall from her head and the smell of roses came from her hair. “His grandsire was a great wolf named Nickum who lived near a clan bordering Munro land. I came upon Cheò when he was a yearling. The leader of another pack was about to kill him, but I intervened. He’s followed me ever since.”

“He follows your orders.” She apparently remembered Cheò’s retreat in the clearing.

“I’ve become his pack leader in a way.” Searc felt her straighten in his lap. The leaves twitched in a breeze, adding a gentle song to the stillness. Dearg’s gait was so smooth it was almost like they slid through the forest. “Animals can sense my power.” His words sounded too loud to his ears even though he spoke just above a whisper. “They either stay well away from me or they bow to my leadership.”

“Oh.” Her spine was so straight now that she wasn’t touching him. “I suppose they can tell that you’re the most powerful beast in the forest.” She stared forward, as did he, over her head at the dark shadows made by the full trees.

Beast? He supposed he was. “I don’t use my magic unless it is to save a life.” He’d never defended himself before. The words sounded like a weak excuse to his ears.

“Yes.” Her head brushed his chin as she nodded. “Of course, like when you were saving my life. So…you don’t use it against enemies? I mean, not unless you think they will kill you?”

She wanted information. He understood that. He’d craved it his whole life. Where did the magic come from? Could he truly control it? Did it make him evil?

“I’ve only used the red magic a few times in my life,” he said. “Like when my father was about to be killed.” That was the easier memory. “That was when my clan found out about my abilities.”

“You’ve hidden it from them?”

“Aye.” He kept one arm around her trim waist as they rode. “I hid the power while growing up and stayed mostly in the woods away from my clan.”

“That sounds…lonely.” She relaxed enough that her back grazed his stomach.

“I had Cheò and Dearg.” He reached past her leg to pat the charger’s neck, nearly burying his face in her soft hair in the process. He guided Dearg around a fallen log though the horse would have done so himself. He felt the low undertones of unease from the hidden deer off to the left as Cheò passed with him, but none from Elena. She seemed to…trust him.

“Why did you leave the Highlands?” Her question came out as conversational. Mild curiosity deserving of an easy answer. But it wasn’t an easy answer. What would she think of him if she’d seen the shock on his da’s face, the mix of disgust and fear in his eyes, when Searc had crumbled his enemy to dust? And the awkwardness afterward when whispers rippled through the village and the keep. His father and mother arguing behind their bedroom door. The memories twisted his gut. It was not something he wished to talk about.

“And why have ye left Lincolnshire, Elena?”

He knew she wouldn’t answer, but she didn’t push for him to supply one either. They rode in silence for several long minutes.

“I’ve decided something.” She raised the blanket back over her head and around her face as if she were settling down to sleep.

“And what might that be, lass?”

She breathed fully and exhaled. “You are not a demon.”

Searc swayed with Dearg’s gait, his arms easily resting around the lass, and let his eyes close momentarily. The conviction in her voice made him wonder if her statement were true. Either way, his magic was dark and deadly. There was no way it could be good.

…

Just before dawn broke, the outskirts of a town came into view. It had to be Edinburgh. As if sensing the end of a long journey, Dearg picked up his stride, moving with practiced grace through the already bustling streets.

Searc lowered his mouth to the blanket. “Elena.”

“Searc,” she mumbled back, her voice breathy with sleep. The sound of his name from her drowsy lips hardened him behind her. His body could only handle so much of the lass rubbing against him as they rode.

He pushed back on Dearg, giving himself some distance. “We’ve arrived.”

She straightened, lowering the blanket. “In Edinburgh?”

He pointed through the close set houses toward thick walls spiraling up around a jutting, sprawling castle that seemed to grow out of a rocky crag. “That would be Edinburgh Castle.” He turned to point down the hill. “And at the bottom would be Holyrood Palace and Abbey where Marie of Guise resides.”

“’Tis huge.” She glanced around, twisting slightly in her seat. “How will I find my cousin?”

“Sleep and food first. Then we will figure it out.”

Searc recognized the Netherbow Port towers from Father Daughtry’s tales of his travels to the city. The pale granite stones composing the towers loomed on either side of an arched gate through which the townspeople moved under the watchful eye of castle guards. Flodden wall, which was still under construction after fifty years of work, surrounded much of the city. Several gates led into it, but Netherbow Port was the central gateway that led straight to the main road, which would take them to Holyrood.

One of the guards took note of them as they rode under the archway, his eyes following them. Searc felt the man’s gaze on his back but did not turn. He guided Dearg to follow a cart of sheep through the increasing crowd of vendors and turned left at the main thoroughfare to take them downhill toward the palace. All along High Street wool farmers from the surrounding countryside vied for space with fishmongers, flocks of chickens, and peddlers of candles and tin. Searc looped the reins over the saddle and jumped down from Dearg’s back to lead them. He spotted a woman hawking bread.

“A penny for a sweet bun for yer miss.” The woman smiled, showing brown tinged teeth.

“Is there an inn about?” He set a penny in her palm. She tucked his coin away and handed him a bun. He broke off part and handed the other to Elena.

“A place suitable for a lady now.” The woman stared upward as if running through her vast knowledge of shelters in the city.

“The Swan and Wolf.” She pointed down the long road. “Near the Abbey.” He thanked her and bought another bun after giving the rest of his to Elena. He led Dearg with Elena on his back and devoured the bread.

“Does yer cousin know to expect ye?”

“Lady Suffolk sent a missive to Edinburgh with his name on it. We hoped it would get to him.” She shook her head as she looked at the people. “How shall I find him?”

“After we sleep,” he reminded her and wove among the carts and people.

The Swan and Wolf sat solidly flanked by squat houses, its door open wide to catch the faint breeze that blew the stench of garbage out of the narrow side streets. Searc paid a lad to water and find food and a stall for Dearg before escorting Elena into the inn. She’d taken off the blanket and smoothed her green gown around her.

Several men lingered in the main room over their morning meal. Shifty eyes and more than casual interest showed they could easily be persuaded to no good. He couldn’t fathom the idea of her arriving to this city without an escort. She’d have been an easy target for every pickpocket and scoundrel who laid eyes on her.

“A room,” Searc requested.

“Two,” Elena followed.