“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.
He braced his legs apart as if in battle. “To fill the role of Highland ambassador one must look like a Highlander.”
Marie grinned and sipped her wine, her gaze once again taking in his height and shoulders. “Vous êtes magnifique, mon Highlander.” Her tone bordered on a purr, and Henri frowned. Marie shook her head and laughed softly. “I didn’t think I could get a Highlander in trews.” She flapped her ringed hand. “No worries.”
She held her hand to the side. “Henri, I’m certain that this palace has a room for our newest friends. ’Tis true I prefer Linlithgow Castle to Holyrood.”
“Oui, ta grâce.” Henri pointed at another man, a page, who scurried off to make a bed or load a hearth with peat.
“Jacqueline,” Marie called out and a comely lady with blond hair stepped forward. Marie spoke in French while the maid nodded and Elena rose to follow her.
“Where are ye going?” Searc turned.
“I may have a warm bath.” Elena gave him a genuine smile. “And then a gown.”
“While you and I” —Marie motioned to the chair across from her— “will discuss the politics of the Highlands. I want to know all your neighboring clans and where their loyalties lie.”
Searc lowered himself into the wooden chair as his gaze followed the gentle waves of Elena’s hair that peaked from under her hood. She turned at the archway to glance back at him. Had she felt his gaze? A brief smile softened her mouth. A sign of forgiveness for lying about them being wed? He dared not think it could mean anything more, not when she’d made it clear her kiss had meant nothing. She turned back and headed into the dim corridor.
“Very well, Searc, mon maladif but handsome, Highlander.” Marie of Guise leaned forward a bit, her eyes searching, her lips softening into a teasing smile. “Tell me all your secrets.”
…
The maid, Jacqueline, spoke in a mix of French and accented English. She’d apparently come back from France with Marie de Guise. Luckily Elena had taken to the lessons Thomas had insisted she be allowed to attend with Lady Suffolk’s sons.
“Merci,” Elena thanked Jacqueline as the woman left to order her a bath and to find an acceptable gown for her to wear to supper. She’d never worn a gown in the stylish French cut. A bath, lovely gown, and a pleasant Frenchwoman to help put her together. Despite the luxury after sleeping for weeks in the forest, Elena still felt trapped. Could it have something to do with suddenly finding herself married to Searc?
She snorted softly and sat on the edge of the blue coverlet draping the bed made for two. Two, as in she and Searc. She unlaced her tight boots, letting the
m drop with a thud. She huffed. He’d lied, said they were married, to the most powerful woman in Scotland. Of course, Elena’s other options had been slipping like water through her fingers, but to say they were wed…
“Mon Dieu,” she whispered and closed her eyes. They would have to keep up the farce, whatever that entailed. And now Katherine Parr’s nephew wouldn’t take her, not with her being wed to the man who’d exposed his laziness. A chill puckered her skin.
How much did that angry man in the courtyard know about her? Would he contrive to buy his silence on her lineage? How much had Lady Suffolk revealed about Elena’s parents? The woman hadn’t told Elena about the letter until after it was sent so there’d been no chance to read it.
Elena sighed and forced herself to stop twisting a strand of her hair. For now, being in a false marriage, to a man who could wield unnatural power, was her only option. A knock sounded on the door and she rose to let in the maids with buckets of water for her bath. The only thing she seemed to be in control of at the moment was how clean she could become.
After the maids left, Elena finished undressing behind a privacy screen set around the tub. She stepped into the overly warm water and sighed. At Grimsthorpe she’d rarely been allowed a hot, leisurely bath though she was held to the same clean standards as Lady Suffolk’s children. But maids didn’t haul water for servants.
Elena sunk to her shoulders. Her knees bobbed on the surface that barely covered her breasts. She rubbed the provided fragrant soap along her limbs, enjoying the aroma. The tingling heat softened the tight muscles of her calves and she thought of Searc massaging her limbs that morning. It had been decadent, and she wondered if she’d ever feel something so incredible again. She let her eyelids lower and rested her head on the curved back of the tub, her hair tumbling over to pool on the wooden floor. It didn’t need washing, so she would just enjoy the luxury of the soak.
Her mind flitted and skimmed along memories. Thomas’s smile as he tossed her high when she still lived with Lady Parr. His charm with the maids always won her extra sweets when he visited. He was the only one who told her she was pretty and a princess. A tear, the same temperature as the hot water, seared a path along her cheek to drip into the tub. She had loved him, no matter what Lady Suffolk’s waspish tongue said of him when he left and Elena was once again relegated to being an encumbrance.
Elena breathed deeply, realizing how tired she still was from her long journey. Embraced by the heat of the clean water, her mind faded into oblivion.
…
Searc opened the door to the room to which he’d been shown and frowned. A murderer on the loose, a poisoner and saboteur in the palace, and the lass hadn’t locked the door. His heart thumped hard when he stepped into the empty room. “Elena?” No answer. Could he have the wrong room?
His eyes fastened on her green gown across the bed. Bloody hell, she was naked somewhere.
The fire spit in the hearth and he saw the reflection of a tub against the screen set before it. He walked around the screen and froze. Elena, in a bath, her head laid back exposing the long column of her throat with her red, golden hair pooling over onto the floor. The water reflected the firelight, a calm surface over her naked body reclined in the deep tub. Her knees poked up like twin islands to match her breasts, the nipples pink peaked and jutting out of the water.
He swallowed hard, unable to drag his eyes away from the amazing loveliness spread out before his gaze. The water cradled her curves, sinking and discovering every inch of her expanse. He took another step closer, his eyes delving into the water to drink in the lovely landscape. She was beautiful, like a sleeping angel carved of pale, smooth stone. He ached to lift her from the water and dry each bit of her. He closed his eyes, trying to regain control.
The dry peat crackled in the hearth and Elena shifted. Searc watched her blink. He should have moved then before she realized that he stood there, but he didn’t, he couldn’t.
She straightened. “Searc?” she murmured and then gasped, her legs kicking up with a splash. She slipped, her head sliding completely under the surface. Her feet lost their grip and shot upward, exposing her legs up to mid-thigh as they fell over the end of the tub. Water sloshed over the sides of the tub. Och, the lass would drown herself.
Searc reached into the fragrant water and grabbed her arms, hauling her upright so that her head surfaced. Half her hair had submerged and lay over her face.
She spit water and struggled against his grip, a hand pushing the wet hair from her eyes. “Searc! I’m in my bath!”
He stepped back, his arms, chest, and boots now soaked. “Ye were asleep. Ye could have drowned.”
“I’m not that lucky! Get out!” She covered her breasts with splayed fingers while glaring at him. She took one hand away long enough to cup water and hurl it, soaking his groin. “Out!” He took several steps back behind the screen, giving her privacy.
“Ye didn’t even lock the door,” he pointed out. “I could have been anyone coming upon ye asleep in yer bath. It is truly amazing, lass, ye’ve managed to stay alive.”
“Errr!” she growled and he felt that lightness again, making him almost smile. Firelight illuminated Elena’s form against the screen as she stood. His slight grin melted with the heat that raced straight down through his body at the curvaceous silhouette displayed. Breasts, perfect mounds, jutted out from a trim waist. Below the inward curve, her hips flared out to taper along shapely legs. His hands ached to anchor onto those hips, guiding them, claiming them.
Too quickly, the dark, perfect form was interrupted with the shadow of a bathing sheet which Elena draped around herself. “You could have said something to wake me, not just stand over me—Good Lord!—stand over me gawking.”
Searc supposed he had been gawking, though it hadn’t seemed nearly long enough. “I was making sure ye were breathing.”
He watched the draped silhouette slip as Elena nearly fell back into the tub. “Be careful, lass.”
“Let me get dressed in privacy,” she snapped.
“Ye are behind a privacy screen.” He clipped to the far end of the room to set his sword and dagger by the bed. Och, the bed. Comfortable, large bed. He frowned, knowing that he’d be anything but comfortable trying to sleep next to Elena in it now that her naked form was etched in his memory.
“My new shift is out there.” He saw the shadow of her slender arm point behind the screen. “I can’t retrieve it with you in the room.”
He saw the white lace undergarment and scooped it up. Her shadow had backed away from the screen, close to the flames. The room felt hot to him, but to a lass in a bath, it probably prevented shivers.
The fire crackled again and he heard the quick intake of Elena’s breath. “Oh no!” she yelled and snapped the sheet. Searc dodged around the screen. She’d edged too close to the hearth and a flame licked up her bath sheet, scorching the dry parts of the linen, feeding on the fibrous fuel. The burning heat neared the delicate skin of her legs as she whipped it back and forth, trying to put it out, but her motion only fed it.
He leapt forward and grabbed the flaming linen. With a flick of his hand, he unwound Elena until she nearly flew off the other end, bumping into the chair by the tub. He stomped on the flames as she righted herself and gasped, naked and frantic, running to find covering. She toppled the screen, lunging for the shift he’d thrown across it. Searc got a clear, luscious view of her perfect, round backside as she bent over to snatch it up and whirl away with it brandished in front of her.
Her eyes were wide saucers and the panic she felt hit Searc hard. Had her fear for the fire turned to fear of him? The thought doused any desire he may have felt, and he pivoted to face the hearth. He would never take an unwilling lass and Elena, after seeing his curse, would never be willing to share herself with him.
“Dress, Elena.” His voice was rough, low. “Before ye catch the ague or fall and break that lovely head, or trip on a dagger and pierce yerself through.” He could have gone on.
The woman found disaster in the most innocuous places.
He heard the whisper of material floating around her form to the floor. He wadded up the charred remains of the bath sheet, dropped it to mop up the water around the tub, and kicked the cinders back into the hearth. The maids would probably wonder about the destruction.
More swishing of petticoats and material followed. After many minutes of staring at the fire and seeing none of it, her voice reached him. She huffed. “Without Jacqueline here, could you tie the back and latch the buttons?”
Searc turned. The dress was cut differently than the one she’d commissioned in the village. The square neckline was bedecked with a line of pearls. The medium blue fabric was lighter in weight than the wool worn in the Highlands and parted down the front to show a decorated fabric of paler blue. The skirt flowed down from a simple flounce around Elena’s hips which sculpted upward into a narrow waist, accentuated by an embroidered corset. He stepped up to her, forgetting to block the assault of her rose garden smell.
“It is a lovely costume,” Elena murmured and turned to give him her back. The slice of pale, soft skin peeked in a vee to reveal her straight back. Och. “I must return it when we leave,” she continued. “It is much too rich if it is a gift, not that I think it is. It’s just Jacqueline didn’t say if it was or wasn’t.” She glanced over her shoulder and clamped her lips shut as if she’d realized she was babbling.
“I do not know.” He wasn’t sure what they were talking about or if there was a question for him to answer. His fingers brushed against her skin, and the warmth drew him closer. Suddenly clumsy, he focused on the ties around her waist. Bloody hell, he could probably span her middle around with his two hands together. She must have practically starved over the three weeks in the forest. He would find her more food.
“Thank you,” she murmured when he was done fastening the last hook. She stepped away and turned, sending the full skirt to bell around her. Exquisite.
Elena turned to him. “Jacqueline brought you two crisp, bleached shirts.” She nodded to the bed. “Your hair is wet?”
Highland Hearts 03 - Crimson Heart Page 9