Marie rattled off a string of French so fast and under her breath that Elena couldn’t hear more than a few curses. Eyes widened on the ladies standing closer to her chair, so the curses must have been intriguingly rotten.
“The queen regent will reside within the safe stone walls of this castle until we can secure Holyrood Palace,” Henri announced. Marie seemed to be grinding her teeth but she nodded in agreement.
“Elena and I are in no danger,” Searc spoke up, “and as the number of residential rooms are much reduced here, Elena and I volunteer to take our chances at Holyrood.” He bowed slightly to Marie. “If it suits your grace.” Such deference. Searc Munro did know something of courtly manners.
“Non, it does not suit me, Highlander.” Marie’s back straightened in brittle agitation. “I would have some wit about me besides Henri if I am to be ensconced in this rock. Your wife may return to Holyrood, but you must stay.”
“We stay together,” Searc said calmly.
“I would be happy to keep watch of her.” Father Renard perched on a seat and rubbed his hands together as if to warm them. “The abbey is a sanctuary.”
Searc didn’t move his eyes from Marie. “There is still a murderer loose in Edinburgh. Elena stays with me.”
Tension seemed to mire the air within the hall. Marie’s annoyance held them all suspended, waiting. Elena opened her mouth to say something, anything, rather like someone standing on the edge of a precipice and suddenly jumping. “We can plan my wedding here, your grace.”
All eyes turned to Elena and widened as if she’d said that the queen of England was dancing naked out in the bailey. She flushed but ignored the stares. “It will give us something to keep our minds on happier things for a short time, at least while we are stuck here in this rock.”
Using her own words for the castle seemed to strike a chord with the woman. “Oui, I will not let these English pigs rot me from the inside with my anger.”
“I must contest,” Lord Randolph interjected from his spot behind Elena. “There is no evidence that the Scottish bandits were incited by English, and certainly not by my queen.” His indignant voice turned up at the end like the tip of his pointed beard.
Marie’s small eyes narrowed even further as she turned her focus to the ambassador. “I do not give their lands away nor burn their churches. I allow them to worship as they wish and I do not send them to war. It is summer and we’ve had a good growing season. If hunger does not gnaw at common sense, I see only English gold and false promises that could sway my people. Unless the little island of Ireland has decided to wage war against me.” She scoffed. “If your queen is not responsible for this ambush, she would do well to rein in Lord Arran before he prompts us to retaliate.”
Lord Randolph bowed in practiced diplomatic deference. “I will write to her now of this attack.” He backed his way from the room. Marie watched him until his boots clipping down the hall was the only remaining evidence of the man. The outer door opened and he was gone.
Marie turned her gaze back to Elena, her eyes softening. “We will plan your wedding, enfant, here in this rock.”
“The small chapel could be used,” Henri suggested in a low voice, as if the idea was ludicrous but that he would placate his queen.
“Oui, St. Margaret’s chapel, a lovely idea.” Marie spoke with her ladies in French and shooed them away to lead a detail to freshen the small church within the walls of Edinburgh Castle. She looked back at Elena. “It is tiny, but well preserved for being four hundred years old. The stained windows allow in splashes of colored light.” She nodded. “It will be a perfect little gathering.”
“Merci, your grace.” Elena curtsied low, her skirts pooling around her on the rush-less floor.
“And since you two will not be parted,” she continued with an indulgent frown, “Father Renard will marry you with the church’s blessing as soon as the chapel can be made ready. Until then you will be given a room to share since my Highlander refuses to leave your side.” Searc nodded his thanks.
“Merci.” Elena curtsied again though her legs wobbled beneath her skirts. Her heart flipped with relief and a new nervousness. She would be safe but she’d be alone with him again. She steeled herself against her ridiculous virgin’s fear. Her virtue made her more of a target for political strategists. And hopefully if she gave into this carnal torture his touches and kisses elicited, she wouldn’t be so distracted by the man’s presence.
“Madeline,” Marie called and the petit Frenchwoman, who had screamed over the mouse in their rooms at Holyrood Palace, stepped on silent slippers up to her. “Show Madam Munro to one of the rooms in the residential wing,” she ordered in French and then switched to English, her gaze moving to Searc. “I would have my Highlander here to plan our defense with Henri. Father Renard, you may return to your abbey.”
“I will come in the morning to deliver mass here at the castle.” The priest, his lips tight, bowed and left the room.
Marie shooed Elena with a flap of her hand. Elena met Searc’s strong gaze. He frowned but didn’t stop her from leaving to follow the Frenchwoman. If she was with him every minute of the day she’d be even more of a thorn in his side. The two of them crossed the bailey. The wind whipped at Elena’s loose hair. Certainly by now it must resemble a squirrel’s nest. She turned her face into the wind to clear her view. Father Renard strode across to his monk, Peter, near a gate next to the shut portcullis. The priest talked with a stern face near Peter’s ear as the man nodded, taking in all his master said. Their eyes fell on Elena, and a shiver brought goose bumps up both sides of her body.
Elena forced her gaze away and saw Madeline disappear into an arched doorway in what must be the residential wing of the fortified castle. Picking up her pace, she followed. Stone and a dark corridor matched the great hall though there were more scattered rugs here to muffle the clip of boots. Madeline stopped to open a door and stood back to let Elena in. If the woman hadn’t handed Elena the heavy iron key on a circular ring, she would have sworn she was being locked into the tower.
A small fire crackled in the cold hearth, apparently just started to heat the unused room. The smell of freshly stirred dust and rosemary tickled Elena’s nose, indicating that someone had recently swept and spread the herb about. A bed jutted out from one of the rock walls, heavy curtains of dark burgundy all around. The two windows were narrow so as not to allow any access from outside if the castle walls were breached. The brightness of day could only penetrate the stone so much through the windows, so the fire in the hearth helped light the room.
“You should rest after your ordeal this morning,” Madeline suggested as she checked the fire.
Perhaps she should. “Merci, Madeline.” Elena sat on the edge of the bed as the woman left. She was exhausted from holding her balance in the tree. She rolled onto the coverlet, allowing her legs to hang over, dangling so her toes just touched the floor. Was her trunk, holding her few gowns, now at Linlithgow? They’d been carted there ahead of them. Perhaps the bandits had robbed the curriers.
She sighed. She’d have to commission another gown then with what little coins she had left or else depend once again on Marie’s charity. Her cheeks heated just thinking of it, and she let her arm flop across her eyes. She yawned. Perhaps just a small rest would help her think clearer. She turned on her side and struggled up the coverlet until her boots rested on the very edge.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Elena jarred awake, her eyes snapping open to view the closed door. She must have fallen instantly to sleep. She planted her hands and pushed up into a seated position on the bed, recalling where she was. Edinburgh Castle.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
“Yes?” she called and realized that she hadn’t turned the key in the lock where it sat now.
“Milady,” a man’s voice called and Elena scooted off the bed, fixing her gown with a tug to her bodice and a snapping of her skirts. “The queen regent requests I take ye to Holyrood to collect yer trunks.”
Elena’s hands went to the heavy mass of half undone braids, raking her fingers through the tangles as the remaining pins plinked against the stone floor. She hurried to the door and opened it. One of the guards from the great hall stood there.
“Thank goodness they were sent back from Linlithgow,” she said. “There is but one of mine, blue with silver buckles and a leather bag with my husband’s shirts, I believe.”
“There are several trunks and similar bags. Ye are requested to come and identify yours.” He stared over her head.
“Why yes, of course.” Elena used a calm tone to cover her flustered grogginess. “I but need a few minutes to right myself.”
He crossed his arms over a barrel chest that led down to a barrel belly, turning his back to wait. Elena closed the door and hurried to a small polished glass on a table near the hearth. She ran her fingers through her hair until they behaved and reattached her rather crumpled French hood. She drank some watered wine in a carafe and headed to the door.
She followed the guard down the dimly lit corridor. “Shall we ride or walk?”
“I have a mount ready for ye,” he answered without looking at her. “We will bring yer trunk back on a cart from Holyrood.”
Elena’s skirts rustled as they brushed the side of the narrow wall. She’d never suffered from the fear of closed-in spaces, but the corridor was so dark and narrow, dungeon-like actually. She would be glad to be outdoors again, even if it were for only a short trip. They burst out into the bailey and she followed him around the edge to a side gate. On the other side of the wall, a horse stood tied to a post. It wasn’t Dearg but another from Marie’s stable.
“I should let my husband know.” She eyed the tall mount.
“We will be quickly there for ye to identify yer belongings and then return.”
“In time for supper tonight?” She could wear the blue gown which had been repaired and packed. She’d look beautiful tonight, so beautiful Searc wouldn’t be able to stay away from her despite his honor. Her cheeks warmed. Ruination certainly required courage.
“Aye.” He let her plant her booted foot in his clasped hands to lift her into the saddle.
Elena glanced around her at the teeming town. “We must return soon, before Lord Munro finds me missing, else he call out the guard to recover me.” God’s teeth, she should have left him a message.
“Word has been sent to him about your whereabouts, mistress.”
Elena tried to relax into the saddle as the guard led her slowly down the hill toward Holyrood. Travelers riding horses talked together and vendors hawked their wares, everything from pots to curative herbs. Carts filled with straw, early fall vegetables and livestock creaked and rolled over the bumpy cobblestone. Lads herded small groups of sheep to pens between narrow buildings. She spotted the lady who had sold Searc hot buns the other morning. The woman offered her a smile showing two broken teeth. Elena smiled back. She would certainly love one of those sweet cakes now, but she hadn’t brought coin.
Elena leaned back in the saddle at the steep descent toward the palace and abbey while she continued to watch the colorful people. Their thick Scottish brogues reminded her of Searc and her hollow stomach fluttered. Marie must be keeping him long or he would have demanded that he accompany her to Holyrood. Hopefully she’d be back before he even found her room empty. Her doing this errand was the least she could do for all he’d done to help her.
Madeline might be able to give her some colorful thread. She’d embroider one of Searc’s collars. She smiled over his request for hearts back at the inn in Culross.
They continued to weave along the uneven streets as she planned to surprise him with the collar. The design must be something fierce but quietly honorable, like Searc. Mountains came instantly to mind, large and imposing yet solid and sheltering. And like his wolf, not given to superfluous speech and showy force yet fierce when required. If only he saw his power that way. She breathed long as she swayed in the animal’s gait.
Looking around she noticed they’d veered off the central rode that led directly to Holyrood. “Is this a different way to the palace?” she asked, but the guard didn’t respond. She waited a few more paces, twisting in her seat to take in the poor huts flanking the side street. “I said, does this road take us to Holyrood?”
“Aye,” he answered without turning.
Elena frowned, feeling a prickle of unease skitter between her shoulder blades. Where the houses along the central thoroughfare were tall and straight with wooden or tile roofs, these houses were squatty with sod or thatched roofs and in need of repair. The thatching looked dark with mold and the smell from the open offal piles between the houses permeated the air. The rocks making up the walls seemed so loose in some places that they may topple into the roadway, much like the teeth of one lady smiling at Elena from a doorway.
“Are you familiar with this way to the palace?” Elena scanned the area, looking for any familiar path.
“Aye.” The guard continued to lead the horse without turning to look at her. Elena huffed. An older child stood silently in a darkened doorway, watching curiously as a small flock of chickens clucked around her, in and out of the house. Two rough-looking men stood talking on another stoop and stopped to watch her ride by, their interest bordering on insolence. A dog barked after the horse until they rounded another corner. Elena continued to watch where she rode, just in case she needed to go back the same way, though she hadn’t been paying attention at the beginning. How many turns had the guard taken while she thought of embroidering? Good Lord!
“I would have your name, if you please,” she insisted, her voice terse with the sense of danger niggling at her.
“Actually, mistress, it doesn’t please me to tell ye.”
“Have you by chance met my husband, Lord Searc Munro?” He didn’t say anything but kept them plodding ahead down another curved street, this one headed upward. “He is an extremely good tracker, and he has a very bad temper. If harm befalls me, he will certainly kill the man responsible, in a tortuously long and painful way.” Years of controlling her outward appearance made her voice steady even though a low trembling seized her. Her fingernails dug into the soft leather of the saddle pommel, but she couldn’t steer the horse without the reins which the guard held.
The man picked up speed until she thought he might break into a run. She looked down at the dirty cobblestone below the horse’s hooves. The horse was tall and clipping along quickly now. If she jumped, she’d surely hurt herself, and the guard would grab her. Although he hadn’t turned around. Perhaps he didn’t want her to remember what he looked like.
Elena needed a soft place to land. Her gaze darted back and forth, but no soft piles of hay sat along the base of the cottages on the street. Perhaps she could cry out to someone for help. She searched, but only saw a few children in torn clothing and tired women who barely looked up from their work, let alone seemed like they would try to halt a guard from the castle.
Perhaps she should just start screaming. Surely someone would help her. She opened her mouth, but before she could suck in proper breath, the guard turned another corner and stopped the horse before a wooden door, rapping hard. Elena held her breath as the door swung inward on squeaky hinges.
“I brought her.” The guard blocked the entrance with his bulk. “Now we are even. I need to get the horse back to the stables.”
Elena swallowed hard to make it past the strain in her throat as the man inside stepped out toward her. He smoothed his unkempt hair and smiled a mouth full of poorly maintained teeth. The hunger she’d had before twisted into nausea.
“Aye, we are even.” The familiar rough voice made Elena’s throat constrict.
“Ye better get her inside before her man comes looking for her.” The guard pivoted around nervously.
Roger Lyngfield smiled at Elena. “Welcome, dear cousin.” He placed his hand on her leg. Even through the skirts, his inappropriate hold sent alarm ricocheting straight into her heart. She jerked he
r foot back ready to kick, but he held firm. Her heart pounded so hard that sparks of light danced in her periphery. She forced herself to breathe the spoiled air. If she swooned now, she’d be lost.
“Return me to the castle, now,” she demanded, her voice loud and filled with lethal conviction. “My husband will kill you.”
“Now, now.” Lyngfield clucked. “I but want to visit with my only family in Scotland.”
Before she could deny being related, Lyngfield grabbed her roughly around the middle and yanked her off the horse. Elena opened her mouth, sucked in a rush of air, and screamed.
Chapter Ten
Le 15 Septembre 1554
To my brother, Francis, Duke of Guise,
I hear only pride from King Henry when he speaks of your military brilliance. I wish that you were here in this dreadfully damp Scotland with me. Certainly you could ferret out the traitorous backers of that slippery Lord Arran. I fear it will never be safe for my Mary to claim her throne, not with him alive. Perhaps I should consider remarriage. Perhaps to a strong Scottish warrior who can command my armies here and sire strong children on me. Lord Arran would surely die by a rugged Highlander’s sword.
Genuine wishes for continued health and happiness to your wife Anna and your children.
Votre soeur, Marie de Guise, Reine de Ecosse
A fire crackled on damp peat and new wood in the great hall. Even in the summer, the French were cold. Searc sat at a small table across from Marie and Henri and wiped a hand over his forehead. He set clenched fists on the table before him.
“Such strength.” Marie perused him from her seat, her gaze pausing on Searc’s exposed forearms. The woman practically licked her stained, red lips. “Do all Highlanders fight with such intensity as you, Searc Munro?”
“We train from the cradle on a daily basis at Munro Castle as they do at Druim where the Macbains live.”
“’Tis cold in the mountains,” Henri mentioned as Searc pushed his chair back from the flames.
Highland Hearts 03 - Crimson Heart Page 18