Lion Heart (Hearts of the Highlands Book 4)

by Paula Quinn

  She liked that he took it upon himself to protect her. She liked it too much. “What are the things that once haunted you? Would you tell them to me?” She didn’t want to know what had kept him awake tonight. No matter what it was, it wasn’t good for her.

  “Nae, lass. They arena fit fer yer ears.”

  She smiled as she reached the shop and stepped inside with him. “My ears and your eyes, and yet you saw them. Besides,” she added while she went about the shop lighting several lanterns, “you forget I am the wife of an apothecary. You would be stunned and horrified to learn what I have heard people say.”

  “I havena forgotten, lass,” he told her in voice as deep at the shadows.

  She turned to him as he hung his cloak on a peg near the door. In the soft golden glow of the lantern light, he looked more like an angel than a man of war. She haunted him now. Brother Simon didn’t have to tell her that Elias cared for her for her to know. She wanted to tell him he haunted her as well, but she couldn’t. Her heart and her belly ached with the need. She would have to find a way to speak with Brother Simon tomorrow while they traveled.

  For now though, all she could do was try to help Elias. “You saw many men die?”

  “Aye,” he said, nodding, and then saying nothing more.

  “And women and children?”

  He nodded again and picked an empty jar up off a shelf and looked inside.

  “’Tis a difficult thing to forget,” she thought out loud.

  “There is no forgettin’,” he told her quietly while the wind howled outside and light around them flickered and danced with the shadows. “Ye must learn to live with it.”

  “How do you do that?” she asked and went behind her table and began crushing some coriander.

  “I havena figured that oot yet.” He dragged a stool to the opposite side of the table and smiled at her as he sat.

  “What is the worst thing that haunts you?” she probed. He most likely never spoke of the horrors he’d seen. Mayhap he needed to. She wasn’t here to heal him. She was here to help him. “I can tell you the most horrific thing someone once told me about their foot if you prefer. You will discover that you do not always have to see a thing with your eyes to have it affect you.”

  He laughed with a soft mocking tone. “I already have things I wish to forget and ye wish to burden me with more?”

  “What do you want to forget most?”

  His laughter subsided into a remorseful smile. “That Richard is yer husband.”

  She brought the pestle down on the coriander and her finger.

  “Owwww!” she squeaked and pulled her finger away to shake it. He took hold of her hand in one of his hands and covered it with the other.

  “It could be broken, lass. Dinna shake it. Let me have a look.” He leaned over the table and pulled a lantern closer.

  Her blood pumped loudly in her ears while she watched him examine her in the light. His much bigger hands were gentle moving her finger, testing the bone. She almost forgot the pain staring at him, breathing in the scent of him. “I dinna think ‘tis broken,” he said and his breath fell warm on her hand. “Just bruised.”

  He lingered a moment longer as if he had more to say, but didn’t.

  Finally, he let her go and straightened again on the stool. He closed his callused hands around the mortar and pestle and took it with him as he went.

  “You do not have to—”

  “I said I would help.”

  “I am not usually so ungraceful,” she laughed at herself.

  “My lady,” he said, slowing his work with the mortar and pestle and looking at her across the table, “every single thing aboot ye is graceful.”

  She was glad he wasn’t holding her hand anymore because it was shaking. She lowered both hands under the table. She didn’t want him to see how he affected her. She was ashamed that he did.

  Seeming to sense her sudden unease, he resumed pulverizing coriander, even adding more leaves to the bowl. “What is this good fer?” he asked, lightening her mood. She loved talking about her herbs.

  “Fever.” Their eyes met again, knowing fever was one symptom of the pestilence. There were many others.

  “And that?” He pointed the pestle to a tied bunch of stalks and leaves on the window.

  It broke Lily’s heart that she could not take everything.

  “’Tis hemlock. When mixed with henbane ‘tis applied to aching joints.”

  He smiled at her. “Is this yer passion?”

  “Aye.” She felt her mouth smiling, wider. She couldn’t stop it. “Though the pestilence is terrifying, I love what we were doing—mixing, testing this herb with that.”

  “Ye will continue such work in the stronghold. More, everything ye and Richard need will be provided.”

  She wanted to ask him how when it was difficult enough in Sevenoaks to get herbs from faraway places. Invergarry was far north. But she didn’t want to sound or feel hopeless. This likely was the last night she would spend under the cover of a roof. She wanted to enjoy it, with him and with her herbs.

  “Why are you called Lion Heart?” she asked, turning the conversation to him. Elias was quickly becoming her other passion. “What have you done to earn such a name?”

  He laughed softly and returned the mortar to her. The leaves inside were mashed perfectly. He shrugged his broad shoulders. “I have a habit of fightin’ the ones everyone else is afraid to fight.”

  She raised an eyebrow at him and pulled a stool closer so she could sit, forgetting her shaking hands, her coriander, and everything else. “Oh?” she asked, resting her elbow on the table and putting her chin in her hand. “Tell me who everyone was afraid to fight.”

  “Hmm, let me see.” Light and shadows from his lashes made his eyes dance as he thought about it. “There was King Edward’s second in command, Edgar Erickson. He fought the Scots in a different part of France than I. He killed many. Most were afraid of him, nicknamed Skull Smasher, he stood almost seven feet tall, with shoulders as wide as the length of a claymore. I was told he was of Vikin’ heritage. He had a nasty habit of huntin’ oot Scots and smashin’ in their skulls with his mace.

  “Finally, I was sent into battle at Crécy, where Dunbar John, a friend of mine, had recently been killed by Erickson. I knew he had to die and I wanted to be the one to do it, whether we won the battle or lost.

  “I fought him on the field. Both of us were bloody and weary—him, more than me because of his size, which became his disadvantage. I knew where I had to strike him. I had to bring him down as quickly as possible. I blocked his terrible blows a few times and then ducked and ran around him. Quickly, I swiped my blade across the backs of his ankles and then simply waited fer him to go down. When he did, I cracked open his skull with my axe and then retreated with my men.”

  She stared at him for a moment, shocked by his words and the merciless way he spoke them. He was no innocent beauty. He was deadly, clever, and brave, she spoke out loud and then blinked.

  He gave her a crooked smile and shrugged again.

  “Who else?”

  “A bear.”

  “You fought a bear?” she asked with skepticism tainting her brow.

  “I had no choice,” he defended. “It took a swipe at Simon that would have taken Simon’s head clean off. We were all in danger.”

  “No!” She held up her hands to stop him from speaking. “Do not tell me how you did it. I believe you.”

  She got up to bring them two cups then sat back down and reached under the table to produce a small jug of ale.

  “How did you become so courageous?” she asked him, pulling on the cork and pouring the liquid.

  “I dinna know. Simon tells me I was afraid of my own father when I was a babe.”

  “Why would you be afraid of your own father?” she asked.

  “He was verra hairy.”

  They laughed then spoke a little more about Elias’ father.

  “He was orphaned and sold as a slave f
rom the age of two,” Elias told her.

  She loved the deep pitch of his voice, the musical inflections. She wanted to listen to it for the rest of her life.

  “He fell in love with his lord’s daughter, my stepmother. He was nineteen when he finally kissed her and was beaten and tossed out of the city gates of Berwick a few hours before the Scots besieged the castle and massacred everyone. My stepmother also escaped and was brought to safety by my uncle.”

  Lily had to remember to close her mouth. “How did she become your stepmother? Did she love your father? But he was a servant!” she gasped when Elias nodded.

  “They had grown up in the same house, one in the privileged quarters and one in the servants’ quarters. After the conquest of Berwick, they became separated.”

  “But they found each other again,” Lily finished breathlessly.

  “Aye,” he said with a smile, “they did. Even after he wed my mother and she died givin’ birth to me, he still longed fer Julianna. They were designed to be together.”

  She narrowed her eyes on him and cocked her mouth slightly to one side.

  “Do you believe that, Elias?”

  He nodded without hesitancy. “Sometimes folks are brought together under the most difficult of circumstances. They survive because of each other.”

  Aye, she thought, mayhap he was correct. Some were designed to be together. But that didn’t mean she and Elias were. “I believe it for Richard and me.”

  “Aye,” he said with a sincere smile. “I believe it as well. He saved yer life, lass. I believe it as well.”

  Lily was surprised and thankful he did. He wouldn’t be bold with her because he respected her marriage vows. She straightened before her heart melted all over the table.

  She reached for a piece of cloth and scooped the coriander into it. “’Tis always good to carry some herbs with you.”

  “I will carry some, too,” Elias told her while she tied the small pouch with twine. “What shall we crush next?”

  “Balm!” she said excitedly. “One can never have enough balm.” She laughed at herself and wondered if she was drunk on ale…or on him.

  And what was she doing to keep herself from falling for him? Nothing! Her mood quickly changed as she began pulverizing her herbs.

  If they were designed to be together, why had he arrived two years too late? She wanted to punch him and then put balm on his wound. Not that she could inflict much pain on him.

  “What troubles ye suddenly, lass?

  And why, when he called her lass did her knees shake and almost crumble? It didn’t have the same effect when Brother Simon called her lass.

  It was because Elias said it with indulgence and tenderness and the deep baritone that resonated through her bones.

  She shook her head and was careful not to crush her finger again. “The unknown.”

  “The unknown could be yer greatest adventure.”

  Would he be in the unknown? She wanted to ask him. “We should go to bed.” Her face went pale, her eyes wide at how what had just come from her mouth sounded. “I mean home. We should go home and go to our separate beds.”

  His smile turned to soft laughter that drew her from her seat.

  He feigned seriousness. “I thought I would teach ye a wee bit of defense.”

  She came around the narrow table and stood near him. “Aye, then. Teach me.”

  “All right.” He sobered and produced a dagger from his left boot. He crooked his finger at her. She came closer to him. He handed the hilt of the dagger to her and hurried to the back room. He retuned a few moments later with a piece of coal from her small trivet, went to the opposite wall and drew a square within a square on it.

  When he was done, he went back to her and stood a little bit behind her. “It doesna matter where ye hold the dagger, by the blade or by the handle. What matters is distance. I will show ye.”

  He held her wrist and at one point, her waist—until they both realized it and separated. They practiced for another hour, forgetting the time.

  When they finally did end their practice, she put her balm in a pouch, tied it, and carried it and the coriander to the door. Elias was there, behind her. His fingers brushed her shoulder as he put his cloak around her, sending fire through her veins.

  “Let me keep ye warm.”

  His fathomless whisper set her hands to shaking.

  He wrapped her in the soft wool and, leaning in, inhaled her scent. She hoped she smelled pleasant and not like the dozens of onions she’d chopped for Joan today.

  He didn’t speak but moved his head an inch or two downward, toward her nape and breathed in again. She felt like a living flame, ready to set everything to ash. She wanted to turn around and stand so close that their bodies touched while they breathed against each other. She wanted to feel those strong, muscular arms she’d seen carrying four heavy sacks at a time close around her. She wanted to stare into his eyes while he prepared to kiss her…

  She stepped forward and left the shop instead.

  Chapter Nine

  Lily was up at dawn, as was everyone else in the house with the red roof. Sitting together at the table, they broke their fast on bread, butter seasoned with rosemary and garlic, two apples each, and ale.

  She listened to the men talk about the landscape and how some parts of the journey would be harder than others. But her thoughts were solely on Elias, sitting across from her, and the hours they’d spent in the shop last eve. Talking, laughing, practicing. He made her feel happy and hopeful. And she was able to forget her shame for a little while.

  She turned her gaze on Richard while he spoke. She was certain he’d been quite a handsome man in his youth. His eyes were dark sable brown, his nose was straight and his chin, beneath his long gray beard was still strong.

  He caught her gaze and smiled at her. She smiled back and felt her eyes begin to burn. Being with him was like having her father back. There was no sexual interaction of any kind between them, just gentleness and patience. She loved him and she hated herself for betraying it.

  She tried to think of anything to get her mind off Elias and the touch of his hands when he took hers after she’d smashed her finger. The way his indomitable strength covered her when he stood behind her and helped her toss his dagger and then wrapped her in his cloak and pressed his nose to her hair, and the back of her neck. Fire had crackled her bones and turned to liquid in her blood. It was happening now, just thinking of him. He’d walked her to bed and bid her good sleep.

  She hadn’t gotten any.

  She wanted to fall at Richard’s feet and beg his forgiveness for enjoying her time with someone else so much.

  One of them said something that made the others smile and look at her.

  “I must fetch Pip before we go,” she told them and rose from her seat. Brother Simon nearly jumped out of his when she went near him.

  She went to him and tried to comfort him. “Dear Brother, I do not have her in my hands. Does even the talk of cats frighten you?”

  He nodded sheepishly.

  “Will you tell me why sometime?” she asked, genuinely interested.

  “Of course, lass,” the brother replied. “Mayhap on the way home.”

  “Aye,” she grinned at him and then went off to find her cat.

  She found Pip inside the shop. Before she left, she looked around at the bare shelves and the few pots of herbs hanging from the rafters. It made her belly knot and her heart break. She didn’t want to leave her life here, but she wiped her nose, grabbed her cat, and left the shop.

  It took another hour and a half for everyone to be ready to go with his or her belongings. Most carried sacks. Some laid their sacks and goods on makeshift wooden sleds. They’d gone through everything they had and were forced to choose only the bare basics of what they needed.

  “I do not know how my daughter, Deirdre, is going to hold up.” Martin Miller found her and filled her ear with concern over his daughter. “She is due to have her child any ti
me now.”

  Walter the butcher and his wife, Eleanor, hurried toward her. “Lily, I need to see Richard,” Walter pleaded. “I did not sleep last eve and now my head is splitting.”

  Lily was moved with compassion for him, for she knew what he was feeling. “Forgive me, Walter, but I do hope you will understand how scarce the herbs are going to be. We must endure some things and preserve what we have.”

  “Aye,” he said, looking disappointed, and walked away rubbing his head.

  She turned back to Martin. “Where were we? Oh, aye. Deirdre. Fear not, she will ride on Brother Simon’s horse.”

  His face transformed and he offered her a radiant smile. “Bless you, Lily.”

  She found Clare next. She and Elias helped Clare secure her two sacks to the donkey. “I’m frightened, Lily,” Clare confided. “I’m frightened for my child. What if the pestilence follows us?”

  “We will keep eyes on it through Osbert’s friends and keep moving if we have to. But we will not die.”

  Clare sniffed and nodded, but she didn’t look convinced. She smiled at Elias, though, when he lifted little Eddie over his head and set him down on his shoulders.

  A thought flashed across Lily’s mind. What if she died? Would Elias marry Clare? What was stopping him from pursuing little Eddie’s mother now?

  She hated her thoughts and tried to outrun them by going to Richard and helping him mount Elias’ horse. The stallion was enormous. It took Lily, Father Benedict, Simon, and Osbert to help.

  She didn’t want to ride. She wanted to walk, to be among her friends as they set out on this new adventure. She saw Elias and little Eddie and went to them, drawn to him, stirred from some primitive part of her by the sight of him with the two-year-old boy, to have his children.

  Before she had time to feel guilty over her thoughts, she heard someone scream and stopped in her tracks just before she reached them. Her heart felt as if it were about to leap from her throat and wither up. What was it? Her mind thought the worst. No! No, not now when they were just about to escape it! Had the pestilence come?

  Worse. It was Bertram. He’d returned, a bit slumped over on his horse. His shoulder where Elias’ dagger had landed, was wrapped in dirty bandages. He brought with him six mounted men. They surrounded the group of villagers and two of the men expelled the contents of their bellies, spreading their disease they carried to the four winds.