“Bloody hell! Leave me be!”
Searc could sense the dark, cloying emotion of guilt leap through the man. “Where is she?” Searc’s magic reared within in him and he held the man, leveling him so he could stare into his wide eyes, shaking him out like a wrinkled coat at the shoulders. “Ye took her somewhere. Why? Where? Speak now!” Several of the guards still in the area came running, but none were foolish enough to intervene.
The older guard, the leader, came forward. “Clement, are ye involved with the killings of the lasses?”
The man’s eyes bugged out of his head. “What? Nay! I’ve nothing to do with those lasses!”
“Where is Elena?” Searc stared in his face, letting a bit of his magic push through the crack in his mental containment, enough for the man to see the unnatural glint in his eyes. Searc felt the man’s panic rise within him.
“Into t-t-town is all.” He swallowed hard, the bulge in his throat rising in his stretched neck.
“Where in town?” Searc pressed.
“Her cousin’s.” Clement’s gaze moved to the leader. “Lyngfield’s house. He but wanted to visit with her.”
The man was holding something back. Searc could feel it like the brush of a silent person in a dark room. “Take me there now.” He pushed the man ahead of him. “And if anything has happened to her—” he let his lips roll back in a wolf-like expression, “—ye are dead.”
…
How exactly was she supposed to drink anything with the thick cloth wedged between her teeth? Elena sat in the hard, wooden chair before the little square table set for three with rough, mismatched cups and wooden plates.
Roger Lyngfield poured a hot stream from a kettle into her cup. “Our guest will be here momentarily. I will remove the cloth if you promise not to scream again.” He stood tall, seemingly waiting for her answer. She just glared at him. The rough clout, had dragged her inside, bruised her wrists as he tied her to a chair, and forced the foul cloth into her mouth. A shiver whipped along her spine at the thought of where the cloth had been before. The house was filthy and in disrepair. And to think she may have ended up here in his care. She hid the shiver by nodding slowly.
Roger smiled broadly. “Good lass. I don’t like tying ye up like this. Would much prefer yer cooperation, but I couldn’t get to ye with that Highlander around ye all the time.” He worked the cloth from her mouth and Elena sucked in a full breath of air. She exhaled over her tongue and swallowed down the horrid taste of grime, hoping that she hadn’t just poisoned herself. Perhaps she should have spit.
“What do you want of me?” Her eyes narrowed. Luckily her fury smothered her fear. She couldn’t lose the rage. “How dare you trick me here. Force me!”
Roger patted the air with his palms. “Bring it down now or I’ll have to put the rag back in that pretty mouth of yers, cousin.”
She lowered her voice but not a bit of her rage. “You know as well as I that I am not your cousin. Why am I here?” She struggled against the ropes that held her arms wrapped behind her, trapping her securely to the chair. “I have a right to know.”
“Or course you do,” came a smooth voice from behind, causing her heart to leap and fly even faster. Elena knew she couldn’t turn all the way around so she kept her face focused on Lyngfield as he poured more of his brew into the third cup.
Footsteps clipped along the floorboards as the man with the cultured voice came into view. He sat directly before her and frowned. “God’s teeth, Lyngfield, untie the woman.”
“She was screaming and clawing at me.”
“That was before she knew that we are just having a civilized respite and discussion.” Lord Randolph’s smile returned. “Which we are, aren’t we, your grace.”
Elena’s breath caught down in her lungs at the title. Lyngfield went behind and untied the tight binding around her wrists. She pulled her hands to her lap and rubbed the tender flesh.
“Lord Randolph.” She kept her voice low, succinct. “I am but a common Englishwoman raised in the north country and now wed to a Scot. I hardly think that the English ambassador should refer to me in such a treasonous way.”
He smiled and chuckled. “I am not acting as the English ambassador at the moment. But ’tis serious business no less.”
“And what business would that be?” She stared him directly in his rat-like eyes.
Lord Randolph studied her. “’Tis remarkable really, how much you look like your father, which is probably why he did not let Seymour bring you to court very often.”
Elena’s stomach gripped in on itself and she forgot to breathe, though she kept her scowl in place. “I have no idea of what you are speaking, my lord.”
The ambassador looked to the low, beamed ceiling as if asking for heavenly assistance. “You are as stubborn as your mother. I doubt even that Highlander, who’s taken a fancy to you, knows of your royal blood.”
“You have no proof of any of your insane ideas,” she whispered.
“Ah—” he waggled his finger, “—but I do.”
Elena refused to change her mutinous expression, for surely it would encourage the man. He seemed to wait for a crack in her resolve, but continued on when she gave nothing away.
“There is a letter from your mother on her deathbed. The poor woman had no way to know if you survived after Thomas Seymour took you away at your father’s bidding. Seymour, the ever scheming politician, saw your potential and kept you alive.”
Elena felt the ache of angry tears at the back of her eyes at the mention of Thomas’s name. He’d been the only father figure she’d ever had. To think he’d taken her in only for his own purposes was too much. “Thomas Seymour was my father,” she gritted out.
Lord Randolph folded his hands on the table. “Perhaps he felt a fatherly affection toward you, but his main goal was to make you into a queen.”
“I am no queen, milord. Mary Tudor is queen.”
Lord Randolph’s smile faded. “A queen who burns Protestants and takes a Spaniard to her bed.”
“Not only are you an abductor of women.” Elena let her lips hitch up in vile dismay. “You are a traitor.”
“That depends on your political and religious views. Some call me a patriot and a defender of King Henry’s church.”
“Any who oppose Queen Mary’s rule is a traitor and will be executed like Lady Jane Grey,” she countered.
“So you ran to Scotland.” Randolph took a sip of the steaming brew, grimaced and set it back on the table. “To keep away from such treasonous-sounding plans or to just save your own head?”
Elena pursed her lips shut.
“Well,” he continued after a moment of silence, “Lord Arran would like to speak with you, especially now that you have married a Scot, one that will be a chieftain of his clan one day.”
“You work for Lord Arran.” Elena glanced between Lyngfield and the English ambassador. “He is in Scotland again.”
Her eyes opened wide. “Lord Arran had you put the stinging nettle on the regent’s horse.”
“Not me,” Lyngfield protested. “I’d never hurt a horse.” He’d bind a woman and gag her but he could never hurt a horse?
“Lord Arran has loyal Scots here in Edinburgh,” Randolph ran a manicured finger along the rim of the cup. “I don’t need to dirty my hands with such crass work.”
Elena stared at the unruffled man. “I will tell the queen regent of Lord Arran’s treachery and your support of him.”
Lord Randolph shrugged. “And I will give Marie a perfectly copied rendition of the letter to Queen Mary explaining exactly who you are. Then you can explain why you kept your secrets to an already suspicious regent. Either you will be exported to Queen Mary or Marie de Guise will think you a traitor and execute you here. Better to come away with Lord Arran who sees you as valuable instead of as a threat.”
Elena kept her face a stone but behind the thin layer of skin, her soul shook. What would Marie de Guise do if she discovered that Elena had been hidi
ng much more than her relationship with Roger Lyngfield? Would she think Elena was a spy from England, working with Lord Arran, like Lord Randolph suggested?
A grinding of boots in the pebbles outside the door made Elena jerk around. Bam! Bam! Bam! “Elena!”
Searc! Before she could say a word, the door slammed inward, splintering on the once squeaky hinges. Searc charged into the small cottage, his head brushing the beams in the ceiling as he ducked. Elena stood as he took two giant steps to grab Roger Lyngfield by the throat, his short sword pointed at the man’s gut.
“Are ye well?” Even though Searc spat the question as he stared into Lyngfield’s bulging eyes, she knew the question was for her. She thought of her raw wrists but knew the answer to save a man’s life. After all, he hadn’t murdered her like she’d thought him capable.
“I am unharmed.” Elena glanced around, realizing Lord Randolph was no longer in the room. He must have slipped out the back at the first alarm. “Lord Randolph—” she started but Lyngfield’s garbled words broke into her statement.
“Would not help me see Elena,” Lyngfield squeaked. Searc dropped him to stride over to Elena while the fiend rubbed his neck. “I was desperate to have her visit, to just talk over a hot cup of me famous brew.”
Searc grabbed her shoulders gently, peering at her, but Elena could only stare down at the crude little table that now only held two cups instead of the three from moments ago. Smooth enough to grab his own cup on the way out the back, Randolph was not one to be frightened easily.
Searc followed her gaze and then turned to Lyngfield. “Why?” he demanded. “Why are ye desperate?”
Lyngfield cocked his head and frowned. “I thought I could convince her to help get me job back at the palace.”
Elena didn’t agree nor disagree. Several castle guards now filed into the cottage. Searc stared at her sternly and she glanced past him without meeting his eyes. “I…I would like to go back to the castle.”
“Milady,” an elderly guard near the door asked. “Were ye taken against yer will from the castle to this place?”
“Yes, I was, but I am unharmed.”
“The man took my wife. Do ye allow this type of behavior among the residents of Edinburgh?”
“Nay, we do not.” The guard signaled two others to take Lyngfield. The horrid man raised one eyebrow at Elena. Would she let him be taken? Questioned? Perhaps tortured to find out his true intentions for meeting with his pretend cousin?
“A misunderstanding,” Elena blurted out. She swallowed as all eyes turned to her and she looked down at her hands, pulling the edge of her sleeves over the cuts on her wrists. “I knew he wished to meet with me, and he sent a man. I was unaware that we were coming here at the moment or I surely would have left a note telling you not to worry.” She cast a quick glance at Searc’s closed expression and then moved back to her hands. “No harm was done, and I do not wish for him to come to trouble for my misunderstanding.”
A tense moment hung.
“Like I said, I’m eager to get my position back,” Lyngfield added. “I beg pardon for causing an uproar.”
“Bloody waste of time,” one of the guards toward the back groused.
Lyngfield leaned over to see the man and grinned. “Excellent practice, though.” His grin turned caustic as his gaze moved to Searc. “In case there are any more damsels to rescue.”
Another guard cursed under his breath and Elena felt her blush grow at Searc’s silence. What could he say? He’d apparently rallied the castle to find her. A noble act, without the jeopardy, made him look ridiculous and overzealous.
Elena opened her mouth even though there wasn’t anything she could say without revealing her lie. But she didn’t have to say anything. Searc grabbed her wrist, his fingers closing on the sore spot as he turned to the men. She tensed at the stab of pain.
“Every one of ye sought to protect the lasses of this city. I thank ye for yer honor.” With that simple statement, he pulled her through the throng of what must have been a dozen Edinburgh soldiers. She tried to nod her own thanks to them but had to hurry to keep up with Searc’s long strides. Dearg stood beside the row of houses. Several rough-looking characters were near the fine mount, but one look of Searc’s brutal traipsing toward them and they slunk back into their shadows.
In a quick lift, he placed her upon the horse’s back and climbed on behind her, still without saying a word to her. Dearg began a quick walk through the winding street, his ears flicking as if he sensed the thickness around them. How could he not? Elena was nearly choking on it.
…
Searc stared out over Elena’s hair as he held her before him. She’d lied. He had felt it mixed with guilt and embarrassment as she said it in Lyngfield’s house. She’d lied and when he’d turned to take her away she had flinched. The small movement had stabbed him deeper than the condemning stares of the men. Did she think he would harm her or rebuke her before them? Punish her for leaving without sending a message? Take the blame off himself and lower it heavily on her shoulders? He didn’t know which was worse, the fact that she’d lied or her flinch.
She sat tense before him as Dearg carried them back up the cobbled hill to the castle. As various small groups of guards saw him with Elena, they jogged behind to retake their positions. Silence built a stone wall between them. Och, he would find out what was going on. If Elena wouldn’t trust him with the truth, he’d have a private visit with Roger Lyngfield and shake it out of the fool.
Searc stopped in the bailey where Henri and Marie still stood. They looked genuinely happy, though they did not know the details as of yet. Searc jumped down and lifted Elena’s statuesque body off Dearg. As her feet touched the ground her green eyes caught his gaze. Tears sat in them, making the green vibrant, riveting. He couldn’t look away.
“I am sorry.” Her whisper, so full of torture, squeezed his heart.
He waited but nothing followed. No explanation, and although the three words brimmed with truth, they were still just three words. He stepped back and took Dearg’s reins to lead him to the stables, leaving Elena standing in the bailey.
Since he hadn’t taken the time to saddle the horse, it took him but a moment to put Dearg back in his stall with instructions to the water boy. When he returned, Elena stood talking with Marie and Henri near the arched door to the great hall. Marie was frowning. Despite the deception, he wouldn’t abandon Elena to the regent’s ire. He strode across the bailey.
“So it was a vast misunderstanding, completely my fault,” Elena was saying. “I am hugely remorseful at having taxed your guards.” She glanced sideways at Searc as he walked up. Marie turned her sharp gaze on him, assessing but remaining silent. “Please see that Searc is without any fault for this.”
“Non.” Henri’s nasally voice held cutting indignation. “What I see is a man who wasted our resources on a foolish errand. What I see—” his voice rose, “—is a—”
Marie held up a hand, cutting him off. “Is a Scot who, with a few heartfelt words to my soldiers, was able to incite and rally an army bent to a single purpose in less than five minutes.” She glanced at Henri with one raised eyebrow. “Oui?” She turned back to Searc with a respectful smile. “You have the passion of the French, Searc Munro, the raw might of the Scots, and the intelligence to weave them together to mobilize men.” She smiled fully. “Perhaps I can persuade my Highlander to become my general.”
“I would not take the place of Lord Cleutin,” Searc answered diplomatically.
Marie tapped her finger on her red-stained lip. “Perhaps in the Highlands then. Oui? My general and ambassador of the western mountains and islands.” Her gaze tipped up to the lowering sun as if trying out the sound of the title.
“Your grace.” Searc steadied Elena as she wobbled slightly on her feet. “The ambush and misunderstanding have been too much for my wife. I would see her to our room.”
Marie clapped her hands and one of the French ladies, ever lined up somewhere nearby,
came forward. He recognized the maid who had tried to help him earlier. Marie spoke rapid French as the lady took it all in.
“And a bath?” Marie said to Elena.
“Merci,” Elena answered and followed the maid, hopefully back to their room. His legs nearly moved on their own to follow her.
“Non,” Marie ordered, seeing his intent. She called some more French orders out and two other ladies followed Elena. “Give her space to bathe and rest. They will watch her for you. I would talk to you about what you saw at Lyngfield’s cottage.”
“Aye.” Searc stepped forward to follow her and Henri into the great hall. From his position, Searc watched Marie find a pocket tied inside the many layers of her royal gown. Her hand disappeared and then slid out, pulling with it a folded parchment with stains along the outside.
She didn’t look back but waved the letter over her shoulder. “We should also discuss how this letter found its way from poor Jacqueline into a pig’s trough.” She looked at him over that same shoulder, one eyebrow raised. “And of course, what is written within it.”
Chapter Eleven
Princess Elena,
I have supporters awaiting you at the north gate whenever you wish to discuss your duty to your country and its people. This is your chance to be more than a burden to those who harbor you. Your heritage, courage, and intelligence will make you the strongest of leaders, like your father. It is time for you to return to your rightful home, not as a plain girl hidden amongst servants but as the true queen, one who is kind and tolerant instead of lethal and led by a foreigner. Come before you make the grave mistake of legally binding yourself to that Highlander.
I await your wise decision.
T. R.
Elena leaned back in the small wooden tub, though the warm water did little to ease the tightness in her shoulders. She’d asked to be alone, sending the two Frenchwomen out to guard her from the hallway. Not that two, one-hundred pound French girls could stop anyone who wanted to enter. They had taken the key and locked her in.
Highland Hearts 03 - Crimson Heart Page 20