“I will see ye to Edinburgh.” His voice lost its humor. Yes, he did consider her an encumbrance. She’d lived her whole life as a burden and had sworn to never be one again. Her stomach tightened with resolve. Somehow she’d manage without him.
“If I am close and you can point me in the right direction, I will do well on my own,” she countered firmly.
“I disagree.” Searc looked pointedly at her foot with one eyebrow raised.
She frowned. “You disagree?”
“Aye, ye won’t do well on yer own. The closer ye travel to Edinburgh, the more disreputable bastards ye will encounter. Without my help, ye may lose the rest of yer clothes and yer virtue and very possibly yer life.”
Elena stared at his rigid stance where he filled up the shelter’s space to the very top. He had the look of an unmovable mountain, but his insistence made her stomach unclench. Maybe it would be best to take his help. If he’d wanted to harm her, he could have easily done so last night. “Very well.” She paused. “Thank you.”
He nodded in response and picked up his satchel. “Where does yer cousin live?”
“I’m not certain. I only have his name. Roger Lyngfield.” She watched him. Would he recognize the family name, know about the scandal of Queen Katherine Parr’s brother being cuckolded? Lyngfield was his wife’s bastard. Elena followed him outside.
“Ye left in a hurry,” Searc continued without any hesitation.
Lord, how she’d left! In the middle of night with nary an hour’s notice. Toppled from her bed by a panicky housekeeper, soldiers from London at the manor door. The housekeeper had thrown a gown on her and barely let her grab her satchel. Elena had shoved her feet in flimsy slippers, grabbed a quickly packed meal and her bow, and fled on the distant chance of finding Katherine Parr’s bastard nephew. That was all she had when she’d climbed on a gentle mare’s back in disorienting fear. But, she thought, I’m still alive.
Elena righted her damp clothes as Searc retrieved her arrow from the pile of ash that had once been a man. She shivered and looked instead toward the warrior’s proud charger, standing patiently in the clearing. Perhaps the good Lord had sent the Highlander to help her. Cursed or not, he could certainly get her to Edinburgh.
…
It was well after noon when they found a road in the forest that led to a small village. A church, a general merchant, and several other buildings sat around a central square. Thatched houses ran along several side lanes radiating out from the village center. The chiseled sign at the edge of town named it Culross.
“The Wild Boar Inn,” the lass read above the open door of a two-story building as Searc wrapped Dearg’s reins around a post. So, she could read. An odd talent.
A small flower garden flanked the pebbled walkway. “Praise God if they have a warm bath,” she added. The lilt of her voice sounded refined despite her looking like a wood nymph draped across the back of his horse. She sounded almost royal. Did she usually wear fine gowns and dance at court balls?
“I will procure rooms.” Searc helped her down.
“I have coins.”
“Ye will need them for a gown and slippers. One needs shoes to travel.”
“I started out with them,” she murmured while fixing what was left of her skirt around her.
He gave her his arm and escorted her into the cool interior. Even in rags, wearing his plaid wrapped around her for modesty, she was lovely. She leaned into his arm whenever her weight moved to her stung foot. Bloody hell. It’s a wonder she survived.
The air smelled of stale cider and yeasty bread. A thin man wiped a long table and straightened when he heard Searc’s boots on the wood floor.
“I would like to hire two rooms for the night and a bath in each.” Searc drew out his bag of coins.
“From the west, are ye now?” The man’s accent was different from Searc’s. “The Highlands.”
“Aye.”
The man tipped his head to Elena, though his gaze took in her rags down to her bare toes. “Milady.”
“Who ye talking to?” came a woman’s shrill voice from the back.
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.” His loud voice made Elena start. “Two rooms, ye say?”
“Do we have a guest?” A roundish woman waddled out, wiping her hands on a stained apron. Her face flushed red, and perspiration ran along her hairline. “I need to make up the room.” She stopped when she saw them, her gaze focusing in on Searc as if she were a hawk after a snake. “Well now.”
“Two rooms,” Searc repeated. “The lady in one, and I in the other.” Not that it was any of their business. The woman patted her hair and wiped a sleeve across her face.
“Whew, he’s a big one,” the woman purred, and the innkeeper gave her a fierce look.
“Keep yer skirts down, Maude,” he grumbled and turned back to study Searc. “And where be ye headed?”
Searc stared hard at the man for a moment, ignoring the obvious perusal of the hefty lady. He tossed two coins on the table. “This should be enough for the rooms, baths, and a good meal.”
“A face of a prince, the body of a warrior, and he’s got gold,” the woman crooned with a wink.
The man’s eyes widened at the gold. “What if I was to say I had no rooms?”
“Then I’d say ye were a bloody fool,” Searc said low. The threat was evident even without a sword in his hand.
“And an arse.” The woman cursed.
The man took them both in as he frowned, his voice shrill. “I needs to know who is sleeping under my roof. Lasses have gone missing of late, disappeared in the middle of the day, taken by someone wily enough to lure them away. The magistrate will question me if a lass goes missing from under my roof. I don’t need no trouble.”
“Aye, but we need coin.” The woman steeped her hands on her plump hips and looked at Elena. “Where, child, did ye lose yer clothes?”
“I’m afraid ’tis a long story.” Strength laced Elena’s words. “But I can assure you that this man has helped me, not stolen nor lured me away from my home.”
“Ye are English,” the innkeeper said as if he were accusing her of some devilish deed. He shifted his eyes to Searc. “And ye a Highlander.” He left the question hanging there.
“My cousin is providing me escort to Edinburgh,” Elena lied lightly. “I am on my way to Holyrood Abby to say my vows.” She crossed herself then.
“Vows to wed?” The man’s bushy eyebrows rose.
“To wed Christ. I will be a sister in the abbey if they will take me.”
Searc’s breath held for a moment. Did the lass plan to pledge her life to the Catholic Church? Take the stringent vows of chastity and servitude?
“I’ll ready the rooms.” The woman shook her head and turned to the stairs. “The girl needs a good cleaning whether ye decide we have open beds or not, Finny.”
“My sister thinks she runs this place.” The man cleared two tankards off a nearby table and sat them on the low bar.
“Lasses have gone missing?” Searc frowned, a quick glance at Elena. What would have happened to the lass if he’d not found her in the woods?
“Aye, two within the last month. One just outside Edinburgh and one near town center. I know the father of the one in town. Good, God-fearing man and a sweet lass, lost in the middle of the day, no sign of her.”
Searc frowned deeply and shook his head, his lips tight. “How far is the city?”
“An hour ride south.”
From above the stairs, loud thumps could be heard as the floorboards creaked.
“A pilgrimage to see this lass to a house of God.” The man nodded, then whisked the coins off the table. It seemed to be a good enough answer for him.
“We will also require some more clothing and a pair of slippers for the lady.”
“Aye. No good bringing her to the abbey dressed in rags. Father Renard won’t take in a beggar.” The man bobbed his head at Elena. “Maude sews for the village.” He turned to Searc. “And
she likes the look of ye. I think she’d do just about anything ye’d like.” He winked and cackled, showing a distinct resemblance to his sister.
…
Elena soaked down into the warm water. She’d already washed her lopsided hair in a second tub, finding another dead bee in the mess. Oh, to get the smell of wood smoke and mud off her!
The jovial maid, sister to the innkeeper, had come up to help. After Elena had assured her Searc hadn’t left the bruises on her neck, the resourceful woman had brought her a fresh shift.
“I was working on a few gowns for the wedding in the village. These didn’t sell,” Maude said. “I have one that might just fit ye.” She nodded to Elena. “Can’t have ye riding off to Edinburgh in yer underclothes.”
“You are an angel.” Elena smiled with open gratitude. Perhaps strangers would be kinder to her than those who whispered rumors of her heritage.
“Angel ye say?” Maude snorted on a laugh. She fanned her fingers out and stuck her hand behind her head in a poor imitation of a halo. “Afraid I don’t fit the part.” Maude pointed to a picture of an angel hanging crooked over a crucifix on the wall. Scotland was quite Catholic, though Marie de Guise, the Scottish regent, wasn’t burning Protestants like the newly crowned Queen Mary of England who’d already been dubbed Bloody Mary by those fleeing her prosecution.
While Maude wielded a brush through her tangled hair, Elena’s gaze shifted to the uneven wall that separated her room from Searc’s. He’d likely be finished with his bath but she didn’t hear anything. The man was as silent as his wolf. And even more deadly. She tried to push the thought aside, but it kept resurfacing like the film of soap bubbles clouding the surface of the water.
A man’s intent was the danger, not his weapon. Some men were cunning and lethal without a sword or bow while others, with genuine hearts, could carry the sharpest of blades without being a hazard. The Highlander’s touch could kill, but his heart seemed noble.
Maude brought some liniment to help the darkened skin on Elena’s neck fade quickly. “And let me even up these shorn locks.” Maude tsked. “But only if I hear the story of how ye got this way.”
Elena sighed. “An even length would be much better.” She smiled back at Maude. “Did you know that trees bled sap down their trunks?”
…
Searc leaned against the inn to watch the gathering in the town square. A melody, played out with fiddles and drums, prompted several lasses to start a dance. A man lifted a maid dressed in blue to parade before the townspeople. A wedding.
I will be wed to Christ. Elena’s plainly spoken words echoed in his head, and he rubbed at the ache starting there. She hadn’t mentioned wanting to take vows of purity before.
He frowned and strode into the inn. Where was she? Who was she?
Locals filled the cramped dining room, mostly men. Searc stopped at the hushed atmosphere, his gaze following everyone else’s. A full skirt made of green lawn lowered, step by step down the stairs. The green fabric led to a slender waist, curving into a display of lovely, concealed breasts. His gaze stroked upward along the creamy pale skin set off by the white fringe of a clean shift ruffled out of the scooped neckline. She had tied a thick ribbon around her slender neck to hide the fading bruises.
Elena’s face stopped his breath, her long-lashed eyes searched the hall until her gaze landed on him. Then her soft, pink lips curved upward into a smile. She walked across the room, each stride full of regal grace. Her deep auburn hair was styled up with loose curls cascading down around her shoulders. She stopped before him and tipped her head in a slanted bow. His gaze slid along her smooth, doe-like skin, all traces of mud and leaf bits washed away.
“Good eve, milord.” Her voice flowed as silky as her hair looked.
“Yer hair is even,” he said and nearly kicked his asinine self when a small frown passed over her features. “’Tis quite bonny, lass,” he added quickly. “Ye look…clean.”
She blinked several times. “I feel clean too.” She glanced down his length. “You’ve bathed also.”
“Aye,” was all he could think to say.
She stepped forward and the slight smell of roses wafted from her. “Everyone seems to be staring at me. Do I still have a bee in my hair? Maude plucked two more out.”
He exhaled on something resembling a chuckle. “Nay, no bees. They’ve most likely never seen such a bonny lass before.” She smiled at his compliment. Had she tricked one out of him? He didn’t know he had any in him. She placed her hand on his arm and he decided he didn’t care if she had. She didn’t know that he’d never given out compliments before.
Searc led her to a small square table near the door. “I’ve ordered a meal for us and thought ye might like to eat indoors for a change.”
She nodded quickly. “Very much so.”
The low pitch of casual conversation resumed as the innkeeper brought over a platter with meat, roasted turnips, fresh butter, and dark bread along with wine and ale.
“Now don’t ye look bonny,” Finny said to Elena.
She blushed, her eyes dipping to her hands. “Thank you.”
“A shame for ye to cover those locks with a black veil lass. They are as bright as old King Henry’s.” He clicked his tongue and walked away.
She lifted her wine, sipping it. Searc took several swallows of ale to chase out the dryness that had slaked his tongue and remembered his mission “Ye didn’t mention before that ye had intentions to join a nunnery.”
She chewed a piece of turnip daintily and set her knife down. “I don’t intend to.” Her voice was lowered, and his gut relaxed. “But if my cousin won’t take me in I have few choices. I won’t be a whore.”
Searc choked on his ale and coughed. She continued. “I have neither the experience nor the carnal inclination to let unwashed men paw me.”
How about a freshly bathed man? Searc banished the thought. “Has someone suggested ye become…”
“A whore?”
“Aye.”
Her lips pinched tight. It was all the answer he needed.
“Who suggested that?” His voice rough. The hellish image of a drunken man throwing her skirts up surged white hot anger through Searc.
Elena looked down at her plate, her face flushing. “No matter. I am not one and never will be.”
Damn right.
“I am handy with a stitching needle.” She raised hopeful eyes to his.
“Aye, there are other options.”
“I will not beg,” she pointed out as if that had been in his mind. He shook his head, agreeing with her. Even in rags she hadn’t come across as a beggar.
“A washerwoman or like ye said, a stitcher.”
“Hardly enough to live alone on, but perhaps my cousin will take me in if I can bring in some coin.”
“Ye need a husband to take care of ye.”
Her lips pinched together. “I will not be a burden.”
“Ye might be able to find a man who doesn’t consider it an affliction to wed ye.” Could she possibly be wed to another?
Instead of replying she stuck her knife into another turnip. He watched her eat for a few moments. “What happened to yer family, Elena? Ye shouldn’t be traveling alone to find a distant relation.”
She stopped mid-chew, but then continued her slow, steady bites until she swallowed. Schooled in proper etiquette. A disastrous journey. Aye, she had spent most of her life indoors rather than playing in streams and forests.
“Both of my parents are dead. I barely knew them, so no sympathy is needed. I have no family.”
He nodded. “So who raised ye, taught ye” —he nodded to her plate— “manners and kept the rain off yer head?” She paused for a long moment until he wondered if she’d answer.
“A gentleman took me to a lady friend. She taught me to be a proper lady.” Her eyes glanced downward at her plate. What wasn’t she telling him?
“Where is she now?”
“She married and I moved to Lincolnshire wi
th her lady friend. Then she died.” Elena’s voice dropped with her eyes as she pushed the turnips around on her plate. “The lady who had charge of me the last few years is leaving England, and I was encouraged to find my cousin.”
Encouraged? What beast sent an unprepared girl out into the forest without escort? Searc’s jaw tightened as he watched the red, gold highlights in the top of Elena’s bowed head.
“Why was she leaving England?” his voice a near whisper.
Elena’s eyes shifted to the door as several towns people meandered in. “She feared for her freedom.”
A Protestant. Someone fearing Queen Mary’s slaughter of reformists.
“What of the gentleman?” he prodded.
“He…is dead.”
“I am sorry.”
She nodded, and looked back to her plate. They ate in silence, she sipping down a full glass of wine. Music came from the open door as night fell around the small town. Searc watched the lass’s finger tap along the table. It was nimble and perfect, the fingernail now clean and shaped.
When her fingers stopped suddenly he looked up and caught her eye. One of her arched brows rose higher. He’d been caught staring.
Abashed, he asked, “Do ye like to dance?” He nodded to her hand. “Ye were tapping to the drum.”
Her fingers curled into her hand. “I enjoy music. I used to sing in my garden when no one was about.”
He stared at her lips as they moved, imagining how they must curve when she sang.
“And I do dance,” she continued. “I know the steps to several, the Galliard, Pavan, the Canary, Torneo.” She kept ticking off dances on those slender fingers. “Yes, I believe I would like to dance.”
Bloody hell! Had he just roped himself into dancing? Och, the lass was muddling his mind. “Doesn’t yer foot still pain ye, from the stings?”
“Not overly much. The bee balm soothed it. The swelling has gone down. And the wine is making me rather merry.”
She looked so expectant, and damnably happy. He exhaled and stood stiffly, willing his fists to relax against his sides. He’d merely wanted to justify his fascination with her fingers. He’d rather face a horde of English on the battlefield than jig his way through a line of dancers.
Highland Hearts 03 - Crimson Heart Page 4