He nudged Dearg closer to Marie, trampling a man in his path. Henri stabbed at two men at once from where he sat his horse before the regent. Father Renard continued to sidle close to Marie but Neige pranced away. Searc reached Marie and grabbed the mare’s reins.
“Come!” he ordered. “Move!” he yelled to the guards fighting and plunged Dearg through the mass. He pulled the white mare beside him, using the swift force of the two steeds to punch through to the tree where Elena remained balanced. He tossed the reins back to Marie. “Stay here.” He whistled. Cheò lifted a bloody muzzle and sprang toward them. Marie gasped but held her mare. Elena fired down from above at two attackers coming close to their tree.
“Mon Dieu,” Marie swore, looking up. She held Neige’s reins short and hid behind a thick, wooden shield, keeping the horse within the range of Elena’s protective shooting. Cheò ran a wide circle around them. His large paws churned up the dirt and vegetation as he growled and snapped at anyone daring to cross the threshold he’d set. Searc jumped down from Dearg, leaving the horse to better defend the space from the ground. His sword rang against iron and steel as different bandits made their way toward their target behind him. Lord Randolph seemed to have run off and Father Renard yelled occasionally and kept his horse next to Henri.
Despite the original numbers being skewed in favor of the bandits, skill and stamina were winning the day. Between himself, Cheò, and Elena’s archery skill, no one could win the life of the queen regent.
“Bloody Highlander, fighting for the French bitch!” a bandit spat as he swung at Searc. Searc stabbed his blade into the rebel, catching him in his gut and sending him to his knees. Searc swung against another attacker, and another, as the bandits finally realized Marie was no longer in the center of the fray and charged toward their tree. Arrows came less frequently, probably because Elena was running out. Henri managed to ride through the remaining men, to attack them from the back.
“Call off your beast!” Henri yelled. Cheò snapped at him as he tried to pass to get to Marie.
“Best stay where ye are.” Searc lifted his sword and turned in a tight circle, his muscles tightened to swing again with lethal force. But no one was there to meet him. His gaze scanned out across the trampled green ferns to the bodies scattered about. Several bandits ran off through the pass and further into the forest.
“Catch one of them!” Marie ordered and rattled off more in French. Henri tore off, while Searc remained to watch for anyone returning.
“Are ye well, lass?” Searc glanced up the tree where Elena’s boots still perched.
“Quite! And you?”
“Quite.” He scanned the woods for further attack. Two of their guards had managed to survive and were inspecting the slain to see if any lived.
“I am well too,” Marie said with a hint of annoyance. “In case you were worried.”
“Of course ye are well, yer grace, as I stand before ye,” Searc replied.
Marie let out a quick bark of laughter. “Oui! Vous êtes magnifique, Highlander.” Even though Searc didn’t understand French, the tone was obvious approval in more ways than one.
“No one alive to question, your grace,” one of the guards announced as he came close and stopped, his eyes widening as Cheò growled. The wolf’s muzzle was stained with blood, making his white teeth stand out in horrific contrast.
“He is yours?” Marie’s eyes seemed overly large.
“A wild animal belongs to no one.” Searc moved around Dearg to ensure the horse was unharmed. “But we travel together for mutual gain.”
Marie peered up the tree at Elena. “It seems your bride is also an asset, non? You shoot quite well, madam.”
“Merci, your grace,” Elena called down.
Searc raised his sword at the sound of hoof beats coming back through the pass. The other guards held their weapons ready too, but they relaxed when Henri Cleutin flew back into the trampled field of bodies. He spoke furiously in French, spittle flying from his lips.
Marie tisked and shook her head. Henri looked to Searc. “The dogs got away. I think they hide somewhere close. I could not take the time to dig through the ferns to find their trail as I worried some may have regrouped to come back here.”
Searc whistled and threw his arm to one side. Cheò ran off into the forest.
“After we get Marie to safety, I will send guards to search as well as bring back our fallen,” Henri said, watching the wolf disappear.
Searc walked to the base of the tree. “Elena, can ye climb down?”
“Yes.” She lowered her bow and nearly empty quiver. Her boot stepped down to a branch level with Searc’s head and wobbled as she fought for balance with her heavy skirts. For an instant, Searc saw the pale slim line of her inner thigh rising high up into the darkness between her legs. Part of her petticoat caught on one of the smaller branches. He should look away, but couldn’t pull his gaze from the soft flesh.
“God’s teeth,” he heard her whisper just before she yelped and the leaves shook. Her second boot missed the branch and she tried to catch herself with her arms. “Ahhh!”
Layers of skirts and petticoats tangled amongst the branches as Elena fell through, arms flailing, making the branches quake. Her heel hit Searc’s shoulder, and he tried to gauge where she would land through all the chaos of the voluminous fabric. His hand slid up her bare leg, catching her nude hip as she fell completely into him. He couldn’t see as the green material covered his head. Elena struggled in his arms as he lowered her to the ground, her trapped body sliding along his own in the material. His hand slid with it, steadying her. She gasped when his palm found purchase on her nicely rounded, bare backside.
She twisted in his grasp and backed up as soon as her feet met the forest floor. He withdrew his hands and helped her right herself. Flushed, with hair sticking out of her coiled braids, her hood completely lost in the folds of her skirts, Elena huffed. She yanked her skirts down and into place.
“Good Lord.” She glared at him, but all he could do was grin. Her lips pursed in a frown. “For a fiercely grumpy Highlander, you certainly smirk a lot.”
He shrugged. “Ye seem to have a penchant for falling out of trees, lass.” This was certainly no time to be grinning with the forest around them imbued with death and treason. But the edges of Marie’s eyes wrinkled as if she found the display amusing.
“We will return to Edinburgh Castle,” Henri announced.
All humor left the regent’s sharp voice. “Non, I will not let these traitors ruin our sojourn.” Her gaze took in Elena. “We have a wedding to celebrate.”
Henri spoke in low French, each of his words making Marie’s face tighter.
“Your safety is far more important than my wedding,” Elena added in English. “I would not have my happiness put you in jeopardy, your grace.”
Searc let his gaze move through the dense forest. “Whoever planned this knew we were headed to Linlithgow. It is probable that the traitor has further treachery waiting for ye there.”
“Lord Arran.” Henri’s face darkened with hatred. “He must be behind this.”
The sound of a horse moving through the undergrowth made them turn just as Randolph trotted back into the clearing. He looked around and guided his mount around the fallen. “Thank the Lord you are well, your grace.”
“Where did ye run off to?” Searc asked. The man seemed to be handling the bandits quite well one moment and then abandoning them the next.
“I chased one of the scoundrels into the woods in order to capture him for questioning. But he got away, slippery devil.”
“Let us back to Edinburgh,” Henri urged. “I would have the queen regent safely behind the granite walls before dusk.”
…
Searc felt Elena stiffen as Dearg surged into a brisk trot, heading back toward Edinburgh.
“I’ve got ye,” he said close to her ear. “No more falling today.”
“I am very good climbing up trees.” She sounded like an
outraged kitten.
“Aye, ye are.” He guided Dearg forward. “It’s the coming down that ye don’t seem to have the hang of yet. We have a right good number of trees to practice on in the Highlands.”
“You are mocking me.” She frowned at him, her bottom lip extending slightly. It’s pretty pink shade stopped his tongue for a moment.
“Och, nay,” he responded seriously. “Ye could be quite helpful in defense with a bow, lass, though I think some trews might be in order if ye plan to climb above a man’s head.” A blush rose into her cheeks, but before she could retort he asked, “Where did ye learn to shoot?”
She opened those lovely lips, shut them, then opened them again. “My…father, when he came to visit, he would take me out often. Lady Suffolk didn’t approve of him, and he knew it. So we spent a great deal of time outdoors at Grimsthorpe, and there was an archery range in the west field.” She turned back to face the front mostly, but he could see the gentle tilt of her lips. “When we were out there, well he seemed…more at peace. Just the two of us, trying to win the center ring on the target.”
“It is a fond memory.”
“It was the only time when he wasn’t trying to make me into…” she trailed off.
“Into?”
“A lady, a woman of value instead of just a drain on a household.”
“He told ye that? That ye were a drain?”
“No, Lady Suffolk did, often, but I knew Thomas had large plans for me if he could make me into a grand lady.”
She spoke without a drop of self-pity but rather simple reasoning. She’d been told she was an unwelcome onus her whole life. How different Searc’s life had been on Munro land. He’d been told from as young as he could remember that he was special, a proud Munro, a warrior. And after his brothers were killed everyone came to expect him to be the next chief. Expectations of greatness, aye, that he and Elena had in common. But he was never considered an affliction to his family, until the end.
“I think ye are quite the grand lady.” He held the reins loosely in one hand, his other on the lass’s narrow waist. “Plus ye can defend a queen from a tree with lethal talent.”
Elena chuckled lightly. “I suppose everyone has their gifts.” She turned in the seat, her one eye catching his gaze. “Even if they don’t see them as gifts.”
His jaw tightened. “I suppose the power to wield death so swiftly would be a gift to a devil.”
She made a frustrated snorting sound and turned forward again. “Are all Highlanders like you?”
“Nay, I know no others who have my curse.”
“I meant stubborn.”
“Aye, we are all stubborn. We are a strong people.” He stared at the back of her head where bits of tree clung to the red-gold highlights reflecting the sun through her hair. He purposely moved his eyes over her head to where the rest of the bedraggled group rode. His senses detected no further danger in the vicinity.
“Stubbornness is different from strength,” she continued. “Contemplated reason is wise. Blind stubbornness for its own sake will lead to downfall.”
“Ye sound like my mother. English and wise. Quite uncommon.”
He slowed Dearg as they caught up with the group. Elena sat in the gentle sway. Straight back, easy yet strong shoulders, her head held high with natural elegance and confidence. Her disastrous escape over three weeks hadn’t dissolved years of upbringing and natural majesty.
“It is too bad ye are not England’s queen, Elena. Certainly ye would lead that bloody country down a much wiser path.”
Elena’s back stiffened at the same time Dearg took a slight jump over a stretch of low bush. She yelped and slid, headed straight toward the prickly blackthorn and Dearg’s heavy hooves.
Searc’s arms wrapped instantly around her as his legs held tightly to Dearg until the horse settled back into its brisk walk. He kept her close until he felt her frantic panic ebb and her heart slow, though it kept up a quick tempo to match his own. “Perhaps some riding lessons would be of use to ye, lass.” He felt the shiver run through her as his lips grazed her temple. He loosened his hold but she stayed pressed back into him instead of instantly straightening. He breathed in her light floral smell again and groaned inwardly. The rest of the ride would be torture.
…
By the time they arrived back in Edinburgh, Elena was completely flushed, not from the sun that had poked out from behind the clouds, but from riding up against the hard chest of Searc Munro. After nearly falling off the man’s horse when he casually spoke her most guarded secret out loud, she’d remained in his arms, needing the feel of strength around her.
They entered the side gates into Edinburgh, and Searc turned Dearg to trot rapidly up the steep Royal Mile toward the craggy hill where Edinburgh Castle had been built of the same stone. Gray, stark, and jagged, it was difficult to tell where the natural stone ended and the castle began. Its appearance alone spoke of war and the raw strength of the Scottish people. It reminded her of the infamous Tower of London. Above them the standards of Scotland and Marie de Guise snapped in the once again cloud-heavy sky.
“Open for the regent,” Henri yelled and the iron points of the portcullis began to rise, the heavy chains clanking as they wound around the guardhouse wheel.
A guard jogged out, his expression full of concern. “What has happened? Ye were traveling to Linlithgow today.”
“Apparently Lord Arran knew of that too, or at least his bastardly supporters.” Henri looked back at them as if to ascertain they were all present.
“We were attacked,” Marie intoned. The guard’s mouth tightened and he nodded, running off to issue orders. Henri, blood streaked and disheveled, rode proudly next to Marie as they led the way across the wooden bridge.
Thomas had taken Elena to The Tower once to see where Anne Boleyn had been beheaded. She still remembered the strong bars of Traitor’s Gate lifting to allow in a boat from the Thames. Elena stared upward at the gate mechanisms of Edinburgh Castle’s portcullis as they rode through the chiseled stone archway, and couldn’t help the feeling that she was riding into the giant, stone maw of a beast.
“Why are ye so frightened?” Searc asked and she let him draw her back into the warmth of his arms.
“It reminds me of the Tower of London.” She jumped slightly as several ravens cawed loudly to one another across the top of two towers. “Down to the devil’s own birds.”
“Ye are no prisoner here, Elena. And this place isn’t tainted with despair like the London Tower. Plus, it smells much better.” He inhaled and looked down at her, giving her a slight grin. Somehow that tilt of his lips relaxed the tiny twisted stitches in her gut.
“You’ve been to London’s Tower?” Elena held tight to Dearg’s mane as he continued to climb the circular stone road up to the top of the castle structure. Searc’s firm hold kept her centered on the horse’s increasingly sloped back as the hill steepened.
“Aye, though not as a prisoner myself. A close friend has that dark tale to tell.”
“And he lived?”
“Aye, he did though the English crown tried hard to the contrary. Ewan can tell the tale better than I when ye meet him in the Highlands.”
Elena stared out over Dearg’s ears. The Highlands. Could she find a secure life there? The thought didn’t seem so absurd with Searc’s warmth at her back.
They halted in the cobblestone bailey, squared in by solid rock buildings. Searc swung down and lifted her to the hard ground. They followed Marie, Henri, Lord Randolph and Father Renard inside. Elena blinked at the low light, broken only by the narrow flames of sconces placed evenly along the stone walls. They clipped along a hall into the main room of what looked like a great hall. Arched wooden beams towered over them. As her sight adjusted, Elena could see animals carved into the beams where they met the walls: unicorns, lions, hares.
A lad built a fire in a hearth large enough to fit ten men standing upright. A long table of heavy, polished wood ran down the middle of the
room. Marie strode to the end where her chair waited. She snapped around, skirts flaring out, and sat, yanking her riding gloves off her small hands. Her look showed no fear, only fury.
“I’m surprised Lord Arran isn’t here warming my seat.” Her voice echoed in the cold room. “Lord Randolph,” Marie waved him forward. “What do you know of this thorn in my side? Has your queen sent him again to try and take back my daughter’s throne?”
Lord Randolph strode up the length of the hall. They all migrated along the table to be closer to the woman. There were two of Marie’s ladies who had come running when they’d heard she’d entered the castle grounds, along with six guards and a few nobles who may be in residence.
“Your grace.” Lord Randolph used the artificially reassuring tone of a practiced diplomat. “I can assure you that Queen Mary Tudor only supports the rightful heir to this realm, which is your daughter, your Catholic daughter. She has no interest in Lord Arran and his confused faith that resembles a fish flopping on the shore.”
Marie stared hard at him for a long moment then flipped her hand and turned to look at Searc. Her glance moved between Searc and Elena. “Seeing that you both fought to protect me, I can only assume you did not plan this ambush.”
“And a Highlander would never willingly support the English,” Searc reminded. “Your daughter is a Scot, sired by a Scot. I wouldn’t look toward the west for traitors, your grace.”
She snorted but looked like she respected his words. Her sharp eyes scanned the small group.
“How secure is the information about your daily plans?” Searc led Elena to a chair closer to the hearth. The heat from the growing fire pushed back the coolness in the hall.
Marie looked to Henri. His face was grim. “There have been no sanctions on our plans. Even the maids and boys in the stables knew of our sojourn this day.”
“Then there is no reason to suspect only those on the journey, your grace. The attack could have been planned by anyone,” Lord Randolph defended.
Highland Hearts 03 - Crimson Heart Page 17