Highland Hearts 03 - Crimson Heart (8 page)

She nodded but her stomach clenched. Of course it wouldn’t make sense for Searc to stay at Lyngfield’s house. Tall and broad? That was how the man at the inn had described Lady Katherine Parr’s illegitimate nephew, son of Katherine’s scandalous sister-in-law. Elena had been hoping for a thin or sickly young man, someone she could be a help to, especially since the man would know she wasn’t his real cousin. Once again, Elena would be dependent on the charity of others.

She breathed through her nose and tried to ignore the tang of animal dung as they approached the stables. Horses stood tied to posts, being washed and curried. One groom held a hoof between his knees while he cleaned and inspected the horse’s foot. Could he be Roger?

Off in a green courtyard near a brace of wooden stables, a white stallion pawed the ground while a woman stood back warily. A groom held the reins and seemed to argue with the horse as the beast shook its head.

Elena felt Searc’s arm stiffen under her hand. He muttered something in his guttural Gaelic and steered them toward the small group standing in the cropped clover.

The white horse was beautiful, a nearly pure, snowy coat, a mane curried until it lay like silk along the proud beast’s neck. But the horse’s eyes were frantic, wild-looking, its nostrils flared as it tossed its head.

“Be still,” the groom yelled and tried to inch his way up the leather lead, closer to the animal’s head.

“Stay put,” Searc ordered. Elena wasn’t sure if he meant her or Dearg, but they both stayed as Searc strode forward across the lawn. As he neared the white horse, he pulled a small apple from his pocket and held it before him. The horse eyed it, letting him closer.

“Keep away!” the groom ordered. “She’s acting wild.”

Searc put the apple out, and the horse quickly lipped it up. Searc’s words were slow, calm, but carried throughout the courtyard. “She is in pain,” he said simply and stepped back.

“Who are ye?” The groom paced around the horse.

The royal-looking woman watched from several steps away. The horse had a sidesaddle over its back. Elena gripped her hands together as she watched the woman. Her clothes alone marked her as an aristocrat, but as she turned, Elena recognized her from descriptions down in England. A slender nose slid down her face from between almond-shaped eyes. Perfectly arched wisps of brows sat over them on her rather high forehead. The tight bow of her lips showed her displeasure.

“Step back.” Searc braced his arm out to halt the groom. “The mare is in pain and not fit to ride.”

“Not fit?” the woman asked in a heavy French accent. Searc’s gaze ran all along the snorting animal.

“Not while in pain.” Searc held both hands out before him, palms up in a non-threatening gesture.

“She’s a wild one, yer grace,” the groom repeated and shook his head.

“Let him close,” the woman commanded.

“It’s his neck.” The groom backed away.

Searc took the one lead loosely in his hand with the other one still out. The horse snorted and lowered its ears, eyes wide on Searc. Searc looked all over the horse as if trying to locate the place that was hurting the beast.

“Why is she in pain?” The woman clasped her skirts, her eyes traveling over the horse. Searc must know she was royal from her dress and her accent.

Searc kept his eyes on the mare. “That is what I am trying to figure out.” Searc worked his fingers over her soft muzzle. The mare allowed him to lay his open palm under her nose. He murmured something in Gaelic and the animal seemed to gentle. He ran a strong hand down its neck. The horse quivered and danced to the side, its powerful hooves clomping hard on the ground. Searc narrowed the space between them again, all the while talking softly and running his hands down the horse’s body. Everyone else stood still, watching, even the other grooms and the few nearby guards.

“Who is he?” a woman who’d walked up asked Elena in accented English. “Is he working magic?”

Elena frowned at the woman. “No, he just has a way with animals. They trust him.”

A little chuckle came from the courtly dressed woman as she eyed him. “
Mon Dieu
. I believe I’d trust him too if he ran his hands down my flanks like that.”

Elena glared at her but the woman was busy watching Searc with everyone else. Fit in, he’d said. Well he wasn’t even trying now. Elena gritted her teeth and waited.

The mare tossed her head as Searc touched the saddle, her feet kicking up in the back, making the crowd murmur. Still the beautifully dressed French woman didn’t step back. Brave or foolish? There was a fine line between the two, and monarchs walked it with ease.

Searc reached underneath the horse’s belly. He unbuckled the girth strap and the balance strap that kept the side saddle in place.

“What are ye doing, man?” The groom shook his head, his hawkish nose wagging back and forth.

“There is something wrong with her back.” Searc held his palms out before him.

“How would ye know that?”

While speaking in a constant low murmur to the horse, Searc lifted the saddle directly off the mare’s back. The animal rolled its thick lips back and snorted. Searc lowered the heavy seat to the ground and drew his dagger. Three guards stepped closer but the royal lady held up a gloved hand and they stopped. Searc ran the blade gently along the horse’s back as it twitched its skin. The mare’s tail swished like a white fringed whip.

“Someone set stinging nettles under the saddle.” Searc flicked the crushed green plant pieces off the horse’s skin.

“
Mon Dieu
,” the woman hissed, her glance taking in the man responsible for her horse. “Who saddled Neige? I would know the traitor in my stables.”

Guards grabbed the man while he sputtered. “She was already saddled in her stall when I came to retrieve her.” The hawk-nosed man’s face burned. “I thought ye had already taken her out this morning and the stable boy hadn’t unhitched her yet.”

She spoke in rapid French about the vipers around her. Searc calmly wiped across the horse’s back. “Elena, the bee balm. She is still in pain.”

Elena found the folded parchment of leaves he’d used on her foot. Searc looked at the royal woman. “Neige” —he used the horse’s name— “will be fine, but the nettles have sorely irritated the skin along her back. This poultice will calm it, but ye’ll have to ride another mount today.”

The woman stroked a white-gloved hand down the horse’s nose. She whispered to the animal and shook her perfectly coiffed head capped with a fine, snuggly-fit riding hood. Elena was close enough to hear Searc’s words to the woman. “The nettles were placed there. If ye’d tried to seat her, she’d have thrown ye, madam.”

“Arran,” she said the name like a curse, turned and started issuing orders for the horse to be taken away as she yanked off her riding gloves. “
Je marche parmi des meurtriers.
” Elena knew French from years of tutors at Grimsthorpe Castle. It was obvious that the woman didn’t feel safe, although she didn’t appear frightened by the treachery, only angry. She turned to the groomsman who was being held. “Who paid you to put my life in jeopardy? Lord Arran,
oui
?”

“Nay, yer grace.” The groom steadily met her eyes. “I would never allow harm to come to ye or yer horse.”

“What is your name?” She walked close to the large, young man. Her glare pierced him where he stood.

“I see ye’ve found yer cousin,” the guard from the front gate whispered to Elena and tipped his head toward the one the French woman now stood before. “That be…” And the guilty groom gave his name at the same instant as the guard, “Roger Lyngfield.”

To Meg Macbain, Lady of Druim Castle

Dearest Meg,

Upon hearing the news about Kincaid, Alec is leaving this morning to find Searc in Edinburgh. I have convinced him to let me journey with him though he says I will slow him down. I dare not be left behind again in case there is a need for my healing. Please keep in touch with Fiona as she will be taking charge of any healing here at Munro Castle in my absence, yet she does not have our gift from God.

May God lead us to our son so that he can come home, for our sake and for yours.

Rachel Munro

Searc listened to the French woman curse at the groom in the flowing tongue of her native country. With such strong and regal bearing, she could only be Mary Lorraine, Duchess of Guise, or as she was known in French, Marie de Guise, who ruled as regent for her daughter. She remained in Scotland to persuade the people to support her daughter’s rule and alliance with France. The woman was known for her sharp political sense and had managed to wrestle the regency away from Lord Arran, who pressed for an alliance with England.

Searc had instantly felt the anxiety boil in Elena as they heard the name of the groom. This would not be a simple introduction of family members. Searc moved to Elena’s side behind the furious woman. “Don’t say anything,” he whispered near her ear.

“Highlander!” the woman yelled and he stepped in front of Elena, blocking her from view.

“Aye, yer grace?”

“Is there any way those nettles could have accidentally found their way under my saddle?” She glared at the groom flanked now by several guards.

“Nay, yer grace, but it would be more than foolish for the one responsible to actually attempt to publically seat ye on the mare,” Searc responded evenly. “I believe this man would be the least likely suspect.” The woman turned her blazing eyes upon him, but he could see his logic clear the fury in her steely gaze. She exhaled slowly, silently gaining control of her temper.

“You know who I am,
oui
?”

Searc bowed and then stood tall. “Marie of the great house of Guise, mother of our Queen Mary Stewart.”

“Who are you?” One eyebrow raised in obvious interest as she let her gaze take him in. No one moved, not wanting to miss a single word or gesture which they could likely tell later over ale.

“I am Searc Munro of Munro Castle in the western Highlands, yer grace.”

“How did you know about the nettles?” a smartly dressed man, who’d come to stand near Marie, asked in a thick French accent.

“I didn’t,” Searc said with a casual shrug. “But I know horses and could tell the mare was in pain. Her ears flattened when I placed my hand on the saddle and she kicked.”

The silence remained thick with unease as the courtyard waited. “Do my people of the western mountains support Arran’s rule of their land?” she asked without preamble.

Since she knew he must answer nay to her face, he spoke slowly, genuinely. “I have lived all my life in the vast Highlands, your grace, and we have always supported King James’s rule and therefore the rule of his daughter, the rightful heir. Ye are her mother, and therefore the one who would look best after her interests above all others. Lord Arran has not proved to me nor my father, chief of the Munros, that he does so.”

She considered his words and then a slow smile lit her face.

“
Tres bien
, Highlander.” Her eyes narrowed into slits. “Come with me. I have need of a Master of the Horse and an ambassador for the proud people of my western lands.”

Bloody hell!
The woman meant to suck him into court. And the dark look of Roger Lyngfield made him wonder if he’d just taken the man’s position as head of the regent’s stables.

“Thank ye, but I am just a visitor to Edinburgh, yer grace.”

She frowned and snapped her fingers, which brought several guards and two other ladies close behind her.

“Then you can visit with me,
non
?” She gave him an enticing smile, her rouged lips pulled up over white teeth. She began to walk toward the palace doors, obviously expecting him to follow.

Searc wouldn’t leave Elena standing in the bailey with her angry cousin, especially with a murderer about and a traitor close by.

“Yer grace,” Searc called and hesitated. “I have my…my…uh…my woman with me.”

“
Tu femme?
Your woman?” Marie pivoted, her snapping gaze fastening on the only person she didn’t know in the courtyard—Elena. Elena lowered with a flowing grace to the ground in a curtsey that rivaled those of English princesses before their king. One would never believe just how many disasters the lass could find in the forest with the evidence of such grace before them.

“What is your name, child?” Marie gestured for Elena to come closer.

“I am Elena…of Lincolnshire, England.”

The guard beside Elena was the one from the gate. He took a step forward, his chin raised as if to proclaim he had vastly important information. “She came to Edinburgh to find her cousin, Roger Lyngfield, your grace,” he intoned.

Mo Chreach
! “With whom we have just now met for the first time,” Searc finished and glanced at the groom. A look of mild confusion washed over Lyngfield’s angry features, and he turned to take in Elena. Blast but the bastard’s gaze slaked over her, measuring her worth. His small grin made it rather obvious that the man liked what he saw.

“And you are traveling as this Highlander’s woman?” she stressed, her gaze running along Searc, the cat-like smile returning. “We have many women here at court. You needn’t bring your own.”

Och! It was obvious the woman wanted him in her bed. Elena’s face had turned red as a harvest apple. Damn, the lass’s options were falling apart. Her cousin had more the look of a lecherous rake than a safe relation. And it was Searc’s own fault that everyone was looking at her like she was a whore instead of an innocent in his care.

He turned back to Marie. “She is my wife,” blew from Searc’s lips on an exhale. “We have recently wed and wished to see her relation in Edinburgh as we journey.”

Marie of Guise snorted with a tip of her head in a very French, nasally way. “Rather queer that she would show up at the very moment her cousin is being accused of treason.” She let the suspicion sit amongst them like a dead bird on the ground. No one moved and no one could seem to take their eyes away. “Very well, bring your English wife with you, but keep her close, as I’m certain now there is a traitor in my midst.” She looked pointedly at Elena. “And the English are friends of Lord Arran.”

Elena lowered once more into a perfect puff of petticoats. “I have no interest in the politics of my misguided people, your grace, but rely completely on the guidance of my husband and new family.”

“Can a woman so easily turn her back on her upbringing? I think
non
, or else I would be speaking nothing but English and Gaelic and eating Haggis,
madam
,” she said with a clear intonation of skepticism as her hands slapped against her skirts.

She glanced back at Searc, where he stood. “Come. She can meet her cousin later after he is questioned and released from his position here.”

Bloody hell!
Now Elena’s cousin had no livelihood, and his glare showed that he blamed Searc. Would he take his anger out on Elena? This day was quickly going from frustrating to dangerous.

…

Searc fought the urge to tuck Elena against him and promise her circumstances would smooth out. She moved numbly on his arm, as they followed the small entourage through an arched doorway cut into the side of the palace and down a long gallery. Their boots tapped on the rush-less floor, skirts brushing as the ladies moved with them under the vaulted, ornate ceiling. Windows lined the inner side of the gallery, showing a manicured center garden. He made note of all the exits he noticed. Marie led them into a room where a throne-like chair sat at one end, flanked by gold-threaded tapestries depicting battles and victories.

Marie turned and sat on the throne, slapping her riding gloves against one hand. “I want the remaining grooms of the stable questioned.” She grabbed a goblet of wine one of her ladies brought to her on a silver platter. The Frenchman from the courtyard hovered nearby, looking grim.

“Sit, sit.” She pointed to seats at the table Elena and Searc. “Henri, the wine has been tasted and there are no frantic horses about. You can step down.”

The man, Henri, cast a dubious look at them as if he didn’t believe Marie was safe. His hand twitched near the handle of his sword at his side. His cropped hair and elegant clothes gave him a snobbish air, and he glanced at Elena with obvious appreciation over her beauty. The man didn’t know the danger he was in. Searc’s jaw tightened.

He led Elena to a wooden chair at the rectangular table and waited for her to settle before standing behind her. He preferred to stay on his feet. Marie waved for wine to be brought to them. “It has been checked.” The regal woman nodded to Elena to encourage her to drink.

“Has someone been poisoned?” Searc’s gaze moved to the guards flanking the regent.

Marie’s lips tightened. “One of my pages tasting my wine several weeks ago. Lord Arran and his English dogs think to scare me off. Ha!” She took another large swallow as if to show just how unaffected she was by their attempts on her life.

“I had heard of Arran’s visit to England,” Searc said, “but I didn’t know he was a traitor.”

Marie set her goblet down. “Nothing can be linked to him, but he still covets this throne. He is next in line if
mon petit
Mary dies. While he prays for angels to take her, he tried to play regent and rule in her name. But Arran sides with the English and this country hates the English more than they hate the French, so the Scots are backing me. Which is why I am officially regent of this land. I will bring order here before my daughter takes over as queen.”

A superior smile lit her eyes as she leaned back in her chair. “Though” —she tapped a manicured fingernail against her lip— “I have not heard much from my westernmost people.” She raised an eyebrow in a delicate arch. “Tell me, Searc Munro of Munro Castle, do the Highlanders trust that I am strong enough to hold this land for the little queen?”

“I do not know the thoughts of all my countrymen, yer grace, but as I stated before, my father and I, along with the Macbains who border our land and the Macleods along the sea, all supported King James and will continue to support his rightful offspring.” Searc forced his jaw to relax in the closest he could get to a smile. “And we will support anyone who wants to keep English dogs out of our lands.”

Marie leaned forward and laughed, a chilly flutter that made her black eyes dance. “
Oui, oui!
I will never give your lands to English prigs.” She nodded as if his words relieved her. Her smile remained. “You are a friend of my court then, Searc Munro.” She cast a heavy glance down his body, assessing him. She said something slowly in French, her tone thick with sensuality. One of her ladies giggled. He raised an eyebrow at her open perusal.

Elena’s voice broke the stare as she responded in French, her words soft and respectful. Several ladies smothered their laughter. Searc frowned. Whatever she’d said caused Marie to lift her eyebrows in question and she quipped something else, making him wish like hell that he’d taken French when his mother had suggested.

“Poor bride.” Marie
tsked
. “You too are welcome here, Elena Munro, even though your relations are a curse on you. Your cousin’s laziness may have led to my broken neck
and
you are English.”

“I am very sorry, your grace.” Elena bowed her head.

Marie waved her regret away. “Apologies mean guilt, Elena Munro. And since you say you’ve never met your cousin before this day, you cannot be guilty.” Her eyes narrowed. “Though I will not be played a fool.”

Elena met her strong gaze with courage. She did not tremble or stutter in her words. “I have known fools, your grace, and you are absolutely not a fool. I admire your strength and cleverness to rule this mighty land. I apologize that any one of my new countrymen would be so lax in their care of your person.”

Marie of Guise blinked several times and sat back in her seat. She folded her hands in her lap. “Well now. Your bride has a mind.” She looked at Searc and raised one eyebrow briefly with her grin. “Beware, Highlander, of a woman with a mind. We can be dangerous creatures, don’t you agree, Henri?”

The man, who must be Henri Cleutin, the Frenchman who watched Scotland for Marie while she visited her daughter in France, nodded. “
Oui
, you are most dangerous, your grace, to anyone trying to steal these lands from our queen, your daughter.”

She smiled at him, amused by his flattery, but Searc could plainly see that she still considered the ambassador’s tone, not one to be fooled by words. Aye, Marie of Guise was a force as strong as a Highland wind. With the backing of the Scottish people and France, she could surely keep the English south of their border.

She looked back to Searc. “You will join us for dinner,
oui
? Then we can discuss how you can best serve me on your return to the Highlands.”

She didn’t know his people in the Highlands saw him as cursed. But he couldn’t see any Highlander siding with Arran if he was backed by England. Maybe the Davidsons. They had harbored the English bastard, Rowland Boswell, years ago.

“
Merci, ta grâce,
” Elena said with a practiced French accent and then continued to speak in the sliding syllables of the French language. Her tongue trilled and ran smoothly, making the language, so different from his own, sound almost like a song. He frowned over his ignorance.

Marie smiled and tittered back in rapid French.

“
Merci.
” Elena bowed her head again.

Marie looked to him and tilted her head to the side. “Do you not speak my language like your bride?”

“Nay.”

She laughed.

“I can see you don’t like it.” Marie smiled conspiratorially at Elena. “Our own secret language, eh?” She waved her hand and a lady in full court dress came forward. “Find Elena Munro a costume for supper as she is without proper court dress. And a clean shirt and jacket for my new ambassador to the Highlands.”

“
Oui, ta grâce.
” The woman bowed before striding off on her errand.

“There now, you will both be properly dressed though I assume you won’t abandon your kilt,” Marie said, eyeing Searc’s plaid wrap.