Blindly, Elena pushed through the arched door of the palace. The corridor was dark compared to the outside and she blinked. The guard hadn’t followed her inside. Perhaps he thought her safe here, although certainly Jacqueline had felt the same.
Elena hurried along the hall, her hand grazing the rough stone wall as her other held up heavy skirts. She heard a footstep behind her and caught her toe on a raised stone at the edge of a rug. God’s teeth! If she ever did have to escape a murderer, how could she run in skirts as heavy as these? A woman’s costume practically tied her up in a pretty little package for any would-be murderer or letch.
A deep cough came from down the corridor, as did the sound of a door shutting. She slowed, breathing deeply to quell her rising panic. Rounding the corner, Elena halted suddenly, rolling up on the toes of her slippers. Before her open doorway stood four castle guards.
“I’ve asked politely, Lord Cleutin; now get the bloody hell out of my way. I must find Elena.” Searc’s low, succinct words held the dark promise of violence.
“I am here.” Elena’s voice echoed along the stone. She rushed forward, the guards parting to let her into the room. Henri Cleutin stood nose to throat with Searc. The thin, aristocratic man stared up into her Highlander’s face. Searc turned his gaze on her, pushing past Henri to grab her shoulders. The feel of his strength released the knot of her stomach. He had not abandoned her. She knew he wouldn’t have.
“Where were you?” She reached for his tunic, her fingers curling into the fabric.
Searc hugged her to him as a loving husband should. Despite knowing it was a farce, Elena relaxed into the imagined security. “I took Dearg for a ride and found ye gone when I returned.”
“The queen regent ordered me to mass. There was no time to find you.”
“So no one was with you on your ride,” Henri stated. The tilt of his head and pursing of his lips made him resemble a scavenging bird sizing up a fresh kill.
Searc spoke without turning around. “I rode alone and then I was in the stables with my mount, feeding him, currying him.” He pulled away from Elena and tucked her next to him as they faced the Frenchman.
“You’ve heard about Jacqueline?” Elena asked.
“Heard?” Henri stomped his boot on the stone, his nasally tone filled with superiority. “He found her mutilated body.”
“Hold yer tongue around my wife,” Searc warned. “I heard the first lass wail upon seeing the woman and came with Roger Lyngfield to investigate.”
“Roger Lyngfield?” Elena whispered.
“Oui, madam,” Henri said. “Your cousin, I believe.”
Elena clasped her hands before her, twisting them nervously. “Actually, he is not my cousin but the nephew of my past guardian. I have need to right this misinformation with the queen regent.”
Henri grabbed at his short beard and cursed in French. “The details are many.” He narrowed his eyes at Searc. “From the state of the woman’s body, she died sometime last night, after she left Roger Lyngfield’s hovel.”
Jacqueline was at Lyngfield’s? Did Marie de Guise have the letter then?
“Where were you last night, Searc Munro?” Henri’s look showed that he’d already condemned Searc to guilt. No, she wouldn’t let this happen.
“He was with me,” Elena said swiftly. “In bed. All night.” Elena knew that Searc had been next to her when she fell asleep but not that he’d stayed the whole night. Perhaps she was exaggerating, but Elena knew Searc was not the killer of these girls.
Elena stared straight into Henri Cleutin’s narrowed eyes. He must believe her. She cleared her throat and plied the most serious face she could. “He loved me well through the night. ’Twas why I was still sleeping when the maid came to rouse me for mass.”
“So.” Henri’s head tilted as if he lured her into a contradiction. “Your husband’s problem has been resolved?”
Elena heard a low growl emanate from Searc. Heat rose in her face. “That is none of your concern, monsieur,” she replied, embarrassment sharpening her voice.
“I believe it is if it concerns murder.”
Searc’s hand moved to the sword strapped to his hip. She couldn’t let him attack the man. She stepped between them until she was right in Henri Cleutin’s face. “Then I’ll have you know, for the investigation, that my husband is again quite virile and loved me all…night…long.”
Several snickers came from the guards at the door. God help her, lying was becoming easier all the time. Elena recalled the raucous boasts of the maids at Grimsthorpe when they bragged about being up all night with a lover. “In fact—” Elena met the French ambassador’s eyes steadily, “—I can barely walk this morning.” She wasn’t certain what that meant but it had usually followed their whispered tales.
The guard who had snickered before doubled over in side-splitting laughter while another joined in. Elena couldn’t bring herself to look at Searc, so she kept her glare settled on Henri. The man weighed her words for a moment, glanced at Searc behind her, then turned on his heel with a wave to the still chuckling guards. “I will continue to look for the missing letter and the killer. Meanwhile, do not travel beyond the walls surrounding the palace.”
“Then we are prisoners here?” Searc’s stance was strong, his hand near the hilt of his sword.
“If you were my prisoner, you would no longer have your weapons.” Henri turned back to the door. “This fiend will be caught.”
…
Searc locked the door after they left. He leaned back against its solid expanse and stared at the woman who’d just lied…again. Elena wore the blue dress she’d commissioned back in the village. Her hair peeked out of the French hood fastened high on her head. Her cheeks were still pink, from her proclamation of his prowess most likely.
“Ye can barely walk?” he quoted and watched her face flame again. Perhaps she wasn’t as innocent as he’d thought.
She didn’t look away though. “You didn’t kill her. The man shouldn’t waste time investigating you when the real murderer is still out there.”
He frowned. “Ye were most convincing. Have ye been loved so well before that ye were nearly crippled?”
Her mouth dropped open as she stared at him in what looked like horror. “No!” she proclaimed and Searc released his breath. “He had to believe me, though.” She sat in a chair by the empty hearth. “Marie called me to mass and had the priest preach about the sins of lying.”
“She suspects—”
“She knows.” Elena wrung her slender hands together like a wet dishrag. “She called me a liar as we were leaving. About Lyngfield being my cousin.”
“That’s why you admitted it to Cleutin.”
“I figured that if Marie knew, he did, but maybe she hasn’t told him yet. Either way I needed to come across as truthful.”
“What did Marie do?”
Elena let out a nervous little laugh. “She sent me to confession.”
“With the priest?”
“Yes, Father Renard. The man smells of the incense and old sweat. Searc,” her voice turned earnest. “He says we must get married again before the church.”
Searc stared at her for a moment. Nothing moved, not even his breath. “Elena, we haven’t married in the first place.”
“I know,” she huffed, “but everyone here thinks we did, but now Father Renard insists that we marry again here, before witnesses.”
“We can decide not to,” Searc said slowly. “Change our minds since it wasn’t official.”
She groaned and covered her eyes. “But he thinks it is official, says the Church of Rome views clandestine weddings as binding.” She peeked at him. “Especially since we fornicated.”
“Ye told the priest we fornicated?”
She leapt up and began to pace. He watched her rub palms against her cheeks as if trying to cool a ferocious blush. “I’m getting everything all tangled up.” She looked at him. “We must have our stories straight.”
“Ye ha
ve an interesting way of living, lass.” Since Searc’s mother was able to tell if someone was lying with her magical ability to sense the changes in the body, he’d learned early on that it was better to avoid questions rather than lie.
Elena’s brow furrowed in annoyance, but she ignored his comment. “We married in the woods and consummated the vows. I am William Wyatt’s daughter but both he and my mother,” she paused as if thinking of a name, “my mother, Mary, are dead.”
“And ye were apparently bloody mistaken about me not being able to perform my husbandly duty,” Searc threw in. “What with all the loving ye had last night.”
“You aren’t taking this seriously.”
“Actually that last part is exceedingly serious.”
She squeezed her pretty face into a glare which only made him want to laugh. The woman had a way of teasing humor out of him when none had existed before. He squelched the smile he felt gathering and nodded solemnly. “Very well. We married in the forest without witnesses and we had a night ye will never forget, damp and dirty amongst the ferns.”
“Searc!”
“Perhaps we should go over those details in case we are questioned,” he pointed out. At her mutinous glare he looked as contrite as he could. “I will just say I don’t tup and tell.”
She shut her eyes as if praying for patience, but the corners of her mouth slipped upward as if her composure was cracking. She shook her head and looked at him. “Really, Searc.” A little chuckle broke through. “This is serious.”
He nodded in agreement. “Is there anything else ye told the priest or that he ordered?”
“Just that we must marry before the church and we must not fornicate any longer.”
“Ye’ll be better able to walk then.”
She threw up her hands and pivoted but not before he caught a glimpse of her little smile. When she turned back, she’d composed her annoyed look. “You are having quite a bit of fun for a warrior.”
“Ye seem to bring out the devil in me.”
Her eyes focused upward. She was worrying again. “Searc. What if they move one of us out of our rooms, split us up until we wed?”
“Then we wed, in haste.” All remnants of his grin disappeared. He would not have her sleeping alone while that fiend hunted for more victims.
Elena looked stricken. Of course the thought terrified her. Who would want to truly wed a monster?
He stepped closer and held her shoulders lightly. “If we do not consummate the union, lass, it is not a true marriage. We will have it annulled when we return to the Highlands, directly with Rome through Father Daughtry, the priest who visits our clans.”
The tips of her delicate fingers turned white and then red as she clutched them. “Lass, ye will make yer hands ache with that.”
“Pardon?”
“Yer hands, twisting them. My mother holds a cloth when my da journeys somewhere dangerous. It gives her something besides flesh to mangle.” He glanced around. “I would give ye a handkerchief.”
Elena thrust a hand between the layers of her skirts and pulled out a cloth. “I have one that I found, though I doubt it’s clean.” She shook out the dusty handkerchief, laying it flat on her lap. She smoothed it so they could see the embroidered purple and yellow flowers edging it. In one corner, in tiny, perfect stitches, was an elaborate letter “J.”
“God’s teeth,” Elena whispered and looked up at him. “It’s Jacqueline’s.”
“Where did ye find it?”
“In the confessional. She must have dropped it there.”
“It could be another lass’s.” Searc held it to his sensitive nose. A faint essence of perfume lay upon it. “But we should give it to Cleutin.”
“He said that the letter wasn’t on her body?” Elena asked.
“Nay, it was not.” Searc returned the handkerchief to Elena.
“I wish I knew for certain what was in it,” she said.
“That is a wish I can grant ye.” Searc pulled the letter from inside his plaid. Elena stared at him, her eyes growing round.
“You…found it.”
The slight hesitation tightened his gut. Could she think him capable—?
“You had it and didn’t mention it?”
“Ye were devising our story.” The heaviness of her worry blackened his light mood. He handed it to her.
“Where did you find it?” Elena examined the seal.
“In our hearth, the edge burnt as if to look like we were trying to dispose of it.”
Elena sucked in a quick inhale. “Who would do that?”
“The murderer most likely, someone trying to incriminate me.” He walked across the room, giving her some distance. “Perhaps they know of my escape in the village.”
“Henri Cleutin? He was right here, ready to pounce on you.”
Searc shook his head. “The man never once looked at the hearth. I watched closely. If he had planted the letter, his gaze would have strayed there. ’Twas someone else who found our room empty.”
“I’d think they’d try to show up now to catch you with it.” Elena unfolded the letter.
“Or they are waiting to see if we turn it over to Marie or try to destroy it.”
“Have you read it?” She looked down at it balanced in her hands.
“Nay.”
Elena gently pressed it open and walked closer to one of the windows where the light was better.
“Will ye read it out loud?” he asked. She glanced at him for a long moment and then nodded.
Chapter Seven
9 June 1554
Master Roger Lyngfield,
For these past years I have kept your cousin, Elena, originally of Sudeley Castle near Winchcombe, here at Grimsthorpe Castle. Your mother’s sister-in-law, the late queen Katherine Parr, raised her for as long as she could before me. Unfortunately my household has need to relocate and we are unable to take Elena with us. I ask of you to take your cousin in and protect her. She is a lovely, levelheaded woman with many attributes including needlework and care of children.
Even though she does not wear the Tudor rose, let me beseech you to take great care with her, as her blood is just as fragrant. Guard her virtue, for her value is more than you could imagine.
With wishes for prosperity,
Catherine Willoughby, Duchess of Suffolk.
Elena stopped reading the letter and gave a little snort. “Value? She valued me only in what I could clean or care for.”
“Even she doesn’t give ye a surname,” Searc pointed out. “Why?”
Elena refolded and pressed the parchment closed, the fun banter from before faded. She lifted her gaze to his, trying to keep away the mist that threatened to turn to tears. ’Twas the same old pain, dulled now like an old wound that ached in damp weather. She sighed. “’Tis because I do not have one.”
Searc didn’t speak, only stared. The man had saved her, refused to abandon her to her fake cousin, and was willing to risk treason charges by lying to the queen regent about her, yet her secrets lay unmoving on her tongue. She must give him something.
“I was born unwanted, Searc, without happy tidings nor name.”
“And yet protected by a queen and then a Duchess,” Searc said without giving her any room to retreat or lighten the sudden tension between them.
“Lady Suffolk did little to protect me. I protected myself.”
He shook his head, his eyes hard. “I wish that I had been there, lass, but I am here now.” He took a step closer. “What are ye hiding from?”
“I am no one of consequence.”
“Yet ye were so desperate to escape England that ye were willing to strike out on yer own, pretending to be Catholic despite yer Protestant upbringing.”
He waited, wanting more, but she held her tongue. “Someone whose blood is as fragrant as a Tudor rose,” he quoted.
“I am no one, Searc, a woman without a family or a home,” she whispered through her teeth. She’d met the man a week ago. She couldn’t trust hi
m with truths she’d been told to hide from birth. “I’m no one,” she repeated her mantra, the one Lady Suffolk had told her daily.
“No one?” He raised one eyebrow in obvious suspicion. The look should have made her want to hold firm, but instead it pulled at her heart. “I,” he continued, “think ye are someone, someone important.”
Unfortunately that’s the same conclusion that the Earl of Huntingdon in England had come to also. He’d been the one to uncover plans for the treasonous rebellion instigated by Lady Jane Grey’s father, thus causing the sixteen-year-old denounced queen, her husband, and her father to be executed by Queen Mary Tudor.
Elena studied the letter again instead of meeting Searc’s eyes. Perhaps…if her virtue was not intact, she’d be less valuable. Certainly she wouldn’t be able to be married off if she were promiscuous, or further yet, with child. Her heart began to pound over her quickly evolving plan.
Rap, rap. The door. Elena held up the letter, her eyes wide. Should they say they found it in the hearth? Would anyone believe them? She also had what could be Jacqueline’s handkerchief on her. She shook her head silently.
Without a word, Searc took the letter from her fingers and shoved it inside his shirt, trapping it at his waist with his kilt. The tapping at the door came louder, more insistent.
“Who is there?” Elena called.
“Mistress Elena, ye and Master Searc are called to take the afternoon meal with the queen regent in her private chambers.”
Searc unlocked the door. Hannah stood there, eyes wide at Searc’s towering frame. In his half undone shirt and kilt, the man was heart stopping. Elena felt giddy as she considered her plan again. Elena waved the maid in.
Hannah made a brief bow to Elena and glanced about the room. “Do ye need help dressing?”
“I do not have many gowns.” Elena glanced at Searc where the letter was hidden, but averted her eyes. “I believe this one will do for the midday meal.”
“Certainly, mistress,” Hannah answered. “I can try to find another day gown for ye. I know that Jacqueline was looking for some.” Her gaze came back to Elena. “Ye have heard?”
Highland Hearts 03 - Crimson Heart Page 13