Lion Heart (Hearts of the Highlands Book 4)

by Paula Quinn

  She looked over at Cecily sleeping and said a prayer for them all, and for Joan’s dear soul.

  Before long, her thoughts switched back to Elias. What he did last eve was one of the most thoughtful things anyone had ever done for her. Not to mention, he’d cooked a very elegant supper and provided her and Richard with the most wonderful company in him, Simon, and Charlie. She remembered how his lips pursed when he said the name of the French sauce, Poivre Jaunet. She would like to learn more French words from him.

  She hated herself for feeling the way she did about Elias when she was a married woman. She loved Richard. But…had he told her the truth? Were they not truly bound until their marriage was consummated? Wasn’t there more to love than helping and cooking and cleaning?

  She didn’t know. According to women of the village, marriage wasn’t any better than slavery. It reminded her that she had to hurry and get to Eleanor’s home to give Walter his morning dose of herbs.

  Joan, Walter and Bertram had all been given different herbs. She wished she’d given Joan Bertram’s blend first, for Richard had told her that Bertram seemed to be improving a little more each day.

  A rooster crowed.

  She sat up and stretched then quietly left the bed. She washed and dressed without making a sound. She wore a pale blue kirtle with long sleeves and full skirts over a white chemise. She slipped her feet into her boots and crept down the stairs. She didn’t know if Elias or Simon was still asleep but she tiptoed past their shadowy blankets so as not to make too much noise.

  She prepared her mixture for Walter and left the house, thinking about how the silver shards in Elias’ eyes glistened like stars across the midnight sky. The way his dark hair fell over his forehead in thick, dark locks that he often dragged his fingers through. She didn’t want to think about those things, but she couldn’t stop. Besides, it helped keep her mind off the pestilence.

  She found herself smiling on her way out the front door, thinking about sitting in her garden, listening to the birds’ delightful calls to one another before the night fell…and the men’s voices around her like a favored blanket on a cold night. For a little while, she had forgotten the cruel world she lived in and laughed instead, as if she hadn’t a care in the—

  “Morning, my lady,” Elias said, about to cross her path with a pile of wood under each arm.

  Lord, help her, she thought, unable to take her eyes off his handsome, chiseled face. “Sir, were you chopping wood?” Truly? Was that obvious fact truly what she just asked him? “I did not hear your axe.” There.

  He gave her an indulgent half-smile that made his eyes appear bluer, his gaze, softer. “I went ootside the village. I didna want to wake everyone.”

  “Aye,” she barely breathed out. “That was very considerate of you.”

  He shrugged one shoulder and his bundle of wood scraped together.

  “That must be heavy.” She did her best to sound and look unaffected by his presence. “You should be going.”

  “’Tis not so heavy,” he quickly corrected, and lifted his knee to support the pile for a moment. “Are ye off to see Walter?”

  She nodded, wishing everything was normal here. “Aye. I will see you after—when we attend to Joan.”

  She stepped around him and closed her eyes, trying to keep her emotions inside. She had to be strong. This was likely going to get worse. She took a deep breath and found the strength to keep walking.

  She refused to think of him as he hurried toward the house and she climbed the hill and reached the church. But she failed and thought about nothing but him for the next few minutes.

  “I thought it best if I accompanied ye.”

  She turned to Elias, his arms empty, and knew she was in trouble by the way her heart thrashed wildly in her chest. “Why is that? Will you protect me from the sickness, Elias?”

  He nodded, his expression, serious. “If I can.”

  The mad thing about it was that she believed he would, if there was any way he could. She smiled at him. “Walk with me then. ‘Twill give me a chance to thank you for last eve.”

  “I need no thanks, my lady,” he said, keeping pace with her.

  “It made me forget.”

  “’Tis what I wished,” he said with a smile.

  It was what he wished. Why? Why was he so concerned with her…and with Richard? “Where were you two years ago, sir?” she asked, pulling boldness from within.

  “Hmm, let me think.” He was quiet for a few moments, giving her time to appreciate his size next to her. She barely reached his neck. He smelled like pine. She wanted to move closer, mayhap tilt her face to his neck and smell him.

  “I was returnin’ home from Edinburgh.”

  “Did you have a lover, a wife?” She swallowed, wishing there was a door on her mouth and she could bolt it.

  “Nae,” he told her, making her want to smile again. “I have been fightin’ wars fer a long time. ‘Twould be selfish of me to drag someone else there with me.”

  “You speak of your night terrors?”

  “Aye, but they have subsided quite a bit.”

  They both smiled at each other.

  “What do you dream about,” she asked him.

  “Fightin’. Killin’. Losin’ friends. Losin’ myself.”

  Her heart broke for him. Like many soldiers of war, he had been wounded. But his wounds were not visible to the eyes. How could she help him? There were no herbs or roots or anything that she knew of that would take nightmarish thoughts from his head.

  “Would you like to talk about it?”

  He began to shake his head and then went a little pale. She lifted her fingers to his shoulder and gave him a little pat.

  “When we returned from the king’s exile in France,” he began, “he ordered many futile raids into England, which got most of my friends killed. But we had sworn fealty to him and couldna abandon him. He’d been a young boy when his father died. He was forced onto the throne, leader of volatile men who hated the English king. He thought he had somethin’ to prove and kept sendin’ us in. I kept fightin’ fer my life. We were massacred, time after time…and I…I saw things…”

  “I’m sorry that you did,” she leaned in and whispered to him.

  “As am I,” he dipped his head to hers and whispered back. “When David was captured,” he continued for her ears only, “and taken prisoner, those of us who were left privately rejoiced.”

  “Oh, Elias,” she said softly, straightening and trying to ignore that part of her that wanted to stay close to him. “I wish you had peace.”

  “I have it now.” He took her hand in both of his and brought it to his chest. He spoke her name and closed his eyes. “From the moment I first saw ye, I knew I would never forget yer face and the way ye smiled at yer patron.” He opened his eyes and stared into hers. “Ye were like healin’ oil to my soul. Since then, ye have come to mean more to me than I intended. I want ye to know that I respect yer husband so much fer all he is doin’ that sometimes my shame overwhelms me.”

  “As does mine,” she told him. She watched him hang his head and she was tempted to lift her fingers to his hair. “But…but I will not leave my husband, in body or in soul.”

  “I willna ask such a thing of ye,” he promised and they picked up their steps again.

  They heard crying when they passed the mill. They looked around at the houses. Lily’s belly sank, along with her heart. She wanted to call out. She heard it again. It was a child. She looked left where Agnes’ cottage was, pulled up her mask, and started running.

  Elias got there first. Annabelle was standing outside her door. Tears were streaming down her cheeks. Her golden curls hung limply around her face. “Mummy is feeling poorly. Will she die like Cecily’s mother and Joan?”

  “No, no, Annabelle,” Lily soothed.

  “I dinna know,” Elias answered truthfully from under his mask and stepped into the cottage.

  “Agnes,” Lily heard him call out and entered the hou
se behind him.

  They found her lying in her bed, curled up and groaning in pain. She had small boils on her neck and under her arms. Her face with flush with fever and her body and her eyes looked to be bleeding.

  “Agnes!” Lily moved to hurry to her but Agnes held up her hand.

  “Stay away, Lily!” Agnes cried out. “Keep Annabelle away from me!”

  Lily stopped and turned to the child, but she wasn’t there. Elias had taken her back outside. “Agnes, my dear, please let me tend to you. I have the herbs Bertram has taken and he is better.”

  But Agnes shook her head. “No. Leave my house.”

  “Come, dearest,” Lily went to her and tried to lift her head, but Agnes smacked her hands away, knocking the herb mixture from Lily’s hands. Everything spilled to the floor.

  Lily refused to cry. She hadn’t cried a single day while she was a slave to Bertram, not even when he took her from her father. She had almost lost herself to tears a few times since learning of the pestilence and after her friends died, but she would not do it. If she started, she feared she would never stop.

  “Lily.”

  She looked up at Elias standing in the doorway with Annabelle in his arms.

  “Come, love,” he beckoned calmly. “Bertram is not in the shed.”

  She took a step toward him and then stopped and looked back at Agnes. Her friend looked worse somehow than she had looked a few moments ago. It wasn’t possible. No illness that she’d ever heard of progressed this quickly.

  “Lily.”

  He’d called her love. She wanted to lower her head and never look up again. Why now? Was she going to die in such guilt and shame after everything? “I will not leave her.”

  “There is nothing ye can do for her.”

  “You do not know that!” she argued. “I will prepare more tea and—”

  “’Tis not workin’, lass,” he said gently, taking a step closer and speaking quietly so that Agnes didn’t hear. “Walter is dead.”

  She clenched her jaw and then smiled at Annabelle. “How would you like to help me wake up Cecily?”

  Annabelle nodded but stared at her mother.

  “Go with Lily now, Annabelle,” her mother ordered.

  The little girl nodded. Lily squeezed her eyes shut and bit her lip. And left Agnes’ house.

  Outside, Elias picked up their pace and pulled her toward home. “When I get ye home, I want ye to take Annabelle inside and bolt the doors. Tell Richard and Simon that Bertram has escaped.”

  “Where are you going?” But she knew. Her heart felt as if it were going to burst from her chest and cling to him.

  “To find him.”

  She didn’t want him to go. She wanted him to be safe, the same as he wanted for her. They hurried toward home and the closer they came, the harder her heart pounded. What if Bertram killed him?

  “Elias,” she pleaded as they slowed at the door and he set Annabelle down. “If anything were to happen to you because of us…because of me, I would never forgive myself.”

  “Nothin’ will happen to me, Lily. He willna know what he is fightin’ when I find him,” Elias replied with a flash of silver in his eyes and an unsheathed sword in his hand. “I will show him no mercy.”

  “Now is not the time for that,” she said, pulling on his sleeve when he started to open the door. “Richard and I need you here. I need you here. Do not go.”

  Heaven help her, he looked like he wanted to kiss her, or hold her, or both. She could feel it radiating from his gaze. Her body tingled and warmed in response, though he did not touch her.

  He opened the door and stepped inside first. He looked around, as did Lily behind him. They both turned to Simon starting for the door to greet them.

  He put up his hands to stop them.

  Lily put one foot forward. She didn’t want to wait to hear.

  “Richard and Charlie are sick.”

  No! She would not believe it. Not Richard. Was she being punished for her adultery? She raced toward the stairs and stopped when she came to Charlie sitting up in one of Richard’s most cozy chairs in the sitting room. He didn’t appear too sickly, but when she put her knuckles to his cheek, she almost pulled away at how hot he was.

  “Do not fear, Charlie,” she leaned in and told him. “I will get you something for your fever.” She looked longingly up the stairs then moved to turn away from them to make Charlie his tea.

  She stopped when she faced Elias behind her, moving toward Charlie.

  “Simon,” he said to his friend. “Make Charlie whatever she tells ye. Lily, ye go up and see to yer husband. I will see to Charlie.”

  “You are staying then?” she asked.

  “Aye. I’m stayin’.”

  He’d chosen to remain with her and the sick, rather than to ride off and exact revenge on Bertram. She thanked him and then raced up the stairs and passed her bed to Richard’s, beyond the curtain.

  He looked small and old in his bed.

  “Richard!” she breathed out against his chest. “No! No, you must not have the sickness!”

  “I’m afraid I do, my fairest Lily.”

  “You cannot leave me!” She shook her head against him. “Tell me what I must do to help you? What do you need?”

  He told her what herbs to prepare and how often to feed them to him. Also, what ointment to apply to any boils.

  She listened to him, thinking that in just a day or two she might never hear his voice again. It made her want to weep. “Oh, my dearest of all, I ask forgiveness from you and from God for the things that I think about.”

  “There is nothing to forgive,” her husband said on a husky whisper. “No adultery has ben committed. I release you, child.”

  “No!” she told him, leaning up above him and staring into his eyes. “I do not release you! I made promises I intend to keep. ‘Tis not about my body, but my heart, Husband. Now, you rest while I prepare your medicine.”

  She lowered her mask and kissed his forehead then hurried to the stairs.

  Elias was sitting on the floor of the sitting room in front of Richard’s chair and Charlie’s small body in it. They were talking and Charlie was smiling.

  Lily felt her heart swell with emotion. She smiled at Elias when he looked at her before she left them alone and entered the kitchen. She saw Cecily sitting with Annabelle at the table eating what the brother must have prepared for them. She went to Cecily and felt her skin.

  “How do you feel?” Lily asked her.

  “Well,” Cecily answered, looking alarmed. “Am I sick, too?”

  “No, Sweeting,” Lily assured her gently and then turned to Brother Simon. “Is that Charlie’s tea you are carrying?”

  “Aye,” the brother told her. “Elias wants to give it to him.”

  She looked into the sitting room and let her gaze linger on Elias for just an instant. “Would you bring it to him?” she asked. “I would like to start on tea for my husband.”

  “Of course,” he told her and stepped away.

  “Lily, is my brother going to die?”

  Both girls began to cry.

  Lily didn’t know what to say to them, but Elias had been right in being honest—even if it hurt. “I will do everything I can to help them,” she promised the girls. “You can help, too. Would you like to?”

  They both nodded.

  Good. She wanted to show them how to mix the only two concoctions that Richard had given Bertram—just in case no one else was able to prepare it. She pointed to her jars of herbs and showed them how to measure the blends, what herbs to use, and how long to steep the leaves.

  “I’m going to add lemon rind to the mixture,” she told them, doing so. She allowed the girls to make a pot of the mixture, while she made another. She brought a cup to Richard, and then she went to the door in the kitchen and stood before it.

  “He is oot there.”

  “He might have run away,” she countered and refused to turn around and see Elias standing there behind her.


  “I willna take a chance of him gettin’ to ye,” he vowed.

  “Then I cannot see or help any of my friends in the village?” She turned to stare at him. “Is that what you are telling me?”

  He almost took a step back. “If ye mean to go, I will accompany ye.”

  She blinked. So then he would—she looked around at the people in the house. Would she leave them with only Brother Simon to look after them?

  She exhaled. No. “But I cannot just let them die,” she said on a strangled whisper.

  His gaze softened on her. “Aye, they need ye, lass. But we all need Richard. Tending to yer husband is first and foremost.”

  “Aye,” she agreed with a smile and rushed up the stairs to tend to him.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Richard died two days later, as did Agnes. Other villagers had come down with sickness, and it was these whom Elias and Simon tried to help.

  Elias had tried to comfort Lily in her loss but she would not let him. She mourned her husband in the church. With Simon. For a full day, until Cecily got sick.

  Much of the time she remained at Cecily’s side. When she wasn’t there, Elias was, seeing to Cecily and helping Charlie through it.

  Elias had never witnessed the grief of losing a beloved spouse, or a dear friend. But if he lost Simon…he understood that kind of pain. Lily didn’t expunge her sorrow with tears, or with words. She was keeping all her emotions tied up inside.

  “Eli?” said Annabelle, standing behind him, the tips of her toes on his stool where he sat. She’d cried into his shoulder while Father Benedict prayed over her mother’s body earlier this morning. She leaned across his back with her chin on his shoulder now. “Are you not going out to search for Bertram this morning?”

  “Not today,” he told her. He couldn’t go when Cecily was so sick. He’d been out searching, tracking. Bertram was gone. For now.

  “There you are, Annabelle.” Lily’s satiny, soothing voice washed over him.

  His gaze remained on Cecily in the chair before him.

  “Would you like to come help me pick my herbs for supper?”

  Elias’ blood drained from his head. He forgot to breathe. Was she speaking to him?