The Daring Heart (The Highland Heather and Hearts Scottish Romance Series) (34 page)

“I must be gone from here,” Orazio said, grabbing the belt. “I have words that must be said to Antonio!”

“Then I’ll be coming with ye,” Julian inserted in a voice threaded with steel. Stripping the belt from Orazio’s grasp and stuffed it back into his sporran. “I’ll be keeping this until I have what
I
want.”

They glared at one another yet again, but this time it did not last long. With a curt nod, Julian sprinted down the stairs and out into the streets. Orazio fell into step beside him, matching him stride for stride.

They had scarcely arrived at the Salt Merchants’ shop when they were met by several men on horseback gathered before the door.

“Magno Duce!” one of them gasped. “Liselle has taken the Electus as hostage to the Saluzzi in Linlithgow!”

With a curse upon his lips, Julian grabbed the nearest man by the belt and pulled him down from his horse. Ignoring the man’s protests, he vaulted into the saddle.

“The Electus?” Orazio replied in astonishment. “The Electus is here? In Scotland?”

“Aye, ye know the Electus intimately,” Julian informed him. “And if ye wish him to survive, follow me now with haste!”

Orazio did not have to be told twice, and moments later, he was galloping at Julian’s side, headed for the city gates.

At full speed, Julian left the city of Edinburgh behind him, riding low over the neck of the horse as he streaked towards the royal burgh of Linlithgow with Orazio and his men close behind him.

Dark clouds rushed across the morning sky as they rode through the soft rolling hills of the lowlands, across rivers and burns, and around hamlets and kirks.

He knew right well where they were headed. The secretive brotherhood of the Carmelites farmed the land near Linlithgow Palace. And Julian was quite familiar with the secret passageways running beneath the fields near the friary. He’d hidden there on more than one occasion himself.

A few miles shy of Linlithgow, the clouds above their heads unleashed a torrent of rain that slowed their progress. Thunder raged across the sky, frightening the horses as they slipped in the mud.

Cursing under his breath, Julian urged his horse on.

It was almost noon when they finally galloped down the grassy hillside, past the formidable towers of Linlithgow Palace and across the empty fields to the Carmelite friary nearby.

Maintaining a breakneck pace until he had reached the line of trees on the far end of the field near the friary, Julian pulled his mount up short, its
sides heaving and its muzzle lathered with foam.

“There!” Julian said, pointing to a small mark of a “V” carved in the trunk of a tree. “The mark of the Electus! Pascal was safe then, at least until this point.”

Shock registered upon Orazio’s face.

“Aye,” Julian said, “Your young cousin has been har
boring a secret, Orazio.”

But the man could say nothing in response, so great was his surprise.

And then d
ismounting, Julian led them through the trees to a small hillock where a granite ledge thick with moss and lichen covered a gaping maw leading into darkness.

It was the entrance to the catacombs of the Carmelite monks.

Julian frowned.

The monks were not ones to leave the place unguarded. Peering into the dark hole, he listened for any sound, but only heard the light patter of the rain striking the leaves above their heads. Making up his mind, he unsheathed his dirk, and motioning the others to follow, led them into the gloomy network of hiding places and escape tunnels.

The passageway was arched, made of hand-hewn stone, and ran straight ahead for quite some time before veering sharply to the left to branch in several directions. Pausing to allow his eyes to adjust to the darkness, Julian was about to step forward when a torch moved in the blackness ahead.

Silently, he altered course and they crept forward, following the torch until the distinct buzz of voices could be heard, and rounding a corner, he could see the
torchlight reflecting off of a barrel-vaulted ceiling.

They had arrived at the secret meeting chamber, the largest room in the catacombs. Torches burned in iron sconces embedded upon the wall, and at the far side stood a large doorway with stairs winding upwards into the darkness.

Moving closer, Julian peered from the shadows to see the place filled with monks and men in dark cloaks sitting at a long wooden table. Around the neck of each, monk and man alike, hung a length of wooden beads.

“The monks are Saluzzi!” Orazio whispered in shock from his side.

Julian arched a surprised brow. Was Scotland crawling with foreign assassins? Ach, he’d have to tell Cameron. Something must be done!

It was then that he spied
Pascal a short distance away, leaning against the wall and observing the men in the center of the room intently.

And at his side stood Liselle.

Even in the dim light of the chamber, he could see that she was worried.

Aye, the lass walked a path fraught with danger, but he’d see that she was never placed in such a position again.

“I will wait for Orazio,” a man’s voice rose above the others in the room. “This matter is a puzzling affair, and I would not make so hasty a judgment. I will hear the truth from a man I trust.”

There were protests, among them demands for blood justice.

Julian drew himself up and turned to Orazio. “Let’s get this done, aye?”

Setting his lips into an uncompromising line, Orazio nodded.

Silence blanketed the chamber the moment they entered, and all eyes focused on Julian as he boldly strode to Liselle’s side.

She looked exhausted. Long, sweeping strands of her hair spilled from under her hood, hair so dark with rain that it almost looked black. A streak of grime trailed down her cheek and the dark circles under her eyes announced the decided lack of sleep, but the expression of relief and joy upon her face made his heart sing.

“This will be over soon, lass,” he promised, lowering his head to place a kiss on the delicate slope of her nose.

“True enough!” a harsh voice sounded from beside him.

Julian turned as a fist connected with his jaw, and he reeled back a step from the unexpected impact. Wiping the salty taste of blood from his lips, he peered down at the thick-browed Saluzzo from Fotheringhay in surprise.

The man was covered in mud, apparently he had just arrived.

Several men leapt forward to pull the man back as voices erupted in outrage and accusation, with Orazio’s among the loudest.

And then a tall man stepped forward. Julian could see the outline of his aquiline nose, but the rest of his face remained shrouded in the shadows of his hood.

“Let Orazio speak,” the man ordered in a voice of authority.

As Julian extended the Saluzzi belt, Orazio snatched it from his hand and held it up for all to see.

“This belt reveals treachery!” he announced without preamble. “Treachery of some of your brethren, treachery in the hope of breaking the truce between our families!”

The tall man drew back sharply. “Such accusations are dangerous, Orazio di Franco! But if they are true, I will shed the blood of these traitors myself!”

“Then let us read aloud the words upon this belt!” Pascal demanded, pushing himself away from the wall. “The Vindictam have danced for the Saluzzi like puppets on a string long enough!”

A chorus of Vindictam voices agreed with him even as the Saluzzi objected.

“You do not dance for us!” The tall man’s voice was riddled with disdain. Holding up his hand for silence, he drew back his hood and revealed a distinguished face framed with gray hair. “I am Antonio Saluzzo. Who are
you
to speak for the Vindictam?”

The hatred in Pascal’s eyes burned hot, but Orazio stepped in front of him before he could reply.

“Pray do not let my young cousin distract us from the matter at hand,” Orazio said, skillfully taking control in the obvious attempt to protect the identity of the Electus and Quattuor Gladiis. “I am the Magno Duce here. And I will speak for the Vindictam.”

The look Antonio sent Pascal was a chilling one. “Be wary, arrogant youth,” he warned harshly. And then snatching the belt from Orazio’s grasp, he began to loop it around the sheath of his sword.

As the others crowded close to read the words, Julian saw the thick-browed Saluzzo from Fotheringhay inch towards the stairs leading into the darkness. And as the message on the belt became clear, the outrage of both the Vindictam and the Saluzzi ignited, and the man bolted.

Leaping over the table, Julian was after him in a moment. Aye, he’d not let the man escape justice!

The stairs wound in a tight circle, spiraling to the ground above. Taking the steps two at a time, Julian dashed upwards, but as he neared the top, the stones grew slick, causing him to slip.

Stumbling out of the catacombs, he saw the Saluzzo sprinting for the Carmelite friary a short distance away and quickly set off after him.

The man was short and no match for Julian’s stride, thus by the time he’d neared the chapel, Julian had almost closed the distance between them.

Glancing over his shoulder, the man’s face registered desperation. Abruptly changing course, the Saluzzo ran down the cloister walk, dashed inside a small tower at the corner of the friary, and barred the door shut just as Julian arrived.

Pausing to catch his breath, Julian eyed the tower.

There was no place the man could go. He was trapped. And the tower was a small one that could be easily scaled.

Standing back to eye the jagged stones, Julian glanced up to see the Saluzzo glaring down at him from atop the tower, wiping the sweat off his brow with his forearm.

“Be gone!” the man shouted from above. “Do not even step upon my shadow if you wish to live!”

Julian snorted at the empty threat, but at the sound of approaching feet from behind, he cocked a brow and turned to see Pascal, Orazio, and the gray-haired Antonio arriving at a run.

Exchanging silent looks, Orazio and Antonio skirted the tower as Pascal joined Julian to address the treacherous Saluzzo above them.

“Prepare to die!” Pascal thundered.

Lifting an amused brow at the youth, Julian then looked up at the man and warned sharply, “Tread carefully lest ye find yourself beyond prayer! Come down at once. There is no place for ye to hide, ye daft fool!”

But the man’s attention had focused on Pascal, and the anger in his voice was unmistakable as he shouted in reply, “Have a care, Pascal da Vilardino! I will see your blood stain the ground, and I will extinguish the cousins of your cousins—”

Pascal’s chilling laugh cut him short. “Whoever dies this day, Saluzzo, you will certainly be amongst them,” retorted the youth.

The Saluzzo roared, “
Ah sì?
! You are naught but the walking dead!”

And then shouts were heard, and Orazio appeared at the top of the tower next to the man, and a struggle ensued.

“Ah, they must have gained entry from the other side! I must join them!” exclaimed Pascal, and he set off at a run

And then without warning, a knee slammed into Julian’s spine, and as he pitched forward, a blade whizzed past his ear.

Rolling to the ground, he drew his dirk in a fluid motion and twisted around to face his attacker.

It was the
other
Saluzzo he’d fought in Edinburgh.

Angling his dirk, Julian blocked the vicious blows of his attacker and sparks flew from the force of the clashing blades. They struggled for a time, neither able to gain the advantage.

And then, seeing his opportunity, Julian lunged, and it was over.

The man let out a cry like a wounded animal as Julian’s dirk struck home, and with a gasping gurgle, his assailant sank into the grass, dead.

Scanning the grounds for any more attackers, Julian held his dirk at the ready, but when no more appeared, he turned his attention to voices now shouting from the chapel.

The thick-browed Saluzzo had managed to escape the tower. Having eluded Orazio and Pascal, he’d taken up a stance near a section of wall surrounding the chapel. Armed now with a crossbow and a quiver of bolts, he’d taken Antonio as hostage.

“His blood will be upon your hands!” the Saluzzo threatened, aiming the crossbow mere inches from the man’s head.

Pascal laughed. “And why would I care if the Saluzzo should kill one of their own? It simply means one less problem for us is walking the earth!”

Even Orazio seemed nonchalant to the threat.

Suddenly, the Saluzzo hitched his shoulder and grinned. Shoving his hostage aside, he dove over the wall even as the stilettos of both Orazio and Pascal bounced harmlessly off the stones, missing him by a mere hair’s breadth.

And then with a maniacal laugh, the Saluzzo reappeared on the wall, standing with his feet braced wide apart, and a bolt notched on his crossbow.

But he was aiming over the heads of Orazio and Pascal.

In confusion, they turned to follow his aim, and as horror spread across their faces, Julian slowed his approach and turned himself to look.

And then his heart stopped.

It was Liselle.

The shaft was pointed straight at her.

Pascal roared and dove for the Saluzzo, but with a sickening realization, Julian knew the youth would be too late to stop the bolt on its flight.

There was only one way to ensure Liselle’s safety.

And t
he decision was a simple one.

In three large strides, Julian threw himself into the bolt’s path, spreading his arms wide. He heard it whistle, and he closed his eyes, praying that it would meet him.

A breath of wind kissed his cheek.

And then his prayers were answered.

The bolt struck him in the chest with such force that he was knocked backwards into the wet grass.

But he felt nothing. He only heard Liselle’s screams.