The locket. The note from Lord Randolph. Searc must have taken them from the mantel. He wouldn’t have had time to examine either of them. She glanced at him as he held out his hand to her. Good Lord, Searc was now holding her most guarded secret.
…
The one-room chapel had been constructed by Scotland’s King David in the eleventh century to honor his mother, later named Saint Margaret. The small, pale stone chapel sat at the top of the spiraling cobblestone walk in the center of Edinburgh Castle walls. The climb was easy, though Elena leaned heavily on Searc’s arm. He felt the apprehension rolling through her, but there was no opportunity to remind her that he would protect her. He had told her so before and claiming her with his body made the pact even more binding.
He wrapped her delicate hand in his rough one as the cool, near-autumn wind blew against them. Och, she was so much smaller than he, yet her courage matched any great warrior. Delicate in form, but resilient in spirit.
Despite their physical differences she fit him perfectly. The briefest memory of the night before caused him to be thankful he wore a loose kilt instead of the tight English trews. She had tasted as good as she smelled, her skin as silky as it looked. Her voice, husky with need, had answered his prompts, divulging how his touch sent her spiraling. If he could only get her to divulge her secrets. He hadn’t had time to examine the locket, nor the note, but he knew they were pieces to the riddle that was Elena, and he’d be bloody damned if he relinquished them.
The gray clouds skitted with the growing wind overhead. Elena’s hair, unbound and without a hood, swirled around her like a temptress from an ancient legend. The muted sun caught the gold hidden within the reddish hue of her curls. It twisted like fire around her delicate features, beautiful even in her worry. She held her head up, eyes forward, delicately curved chin raised slightly, giving her the regal look of a queen. She didn’t even need the crown. Her courage and strength of spirit radiated out from within her. An itch rolled up his back, a niggling thought that fought to surface, and he sunk his hand into his hidden pocket at his waist where the locket lay. His thumb brushed the hard surface, feeling an inscription.
Two pairs of guards reached the arched door cut into the far side of the modest chapel wall. Searc let Elena enter first but kept his hand on her elbow as he ducked to follow through the low doorframe.
“Je ne suis pas d’accord.” Henri Cleutin spoke with fierce vindication to Marie of Guise who stood at the altar next to a frowning Father Renard.
“And I,” Marie countered, “am the Queen Regent of Scotland and will do what I feel is best for my daughter’s country.” Said as a dismissal, she turned toward Searc and Elena, replacing her bared teeth with a full smile, though her eyes remained snapping with fire-like fury. She opened her arms wide. “Il est petit.” She indicated the small room. “But quaint, non?”
Elena curtsied so Searc followed with a nod. “It is simple and lovely, your grace.” Elena glanced around. Filtered daylight came through several narrow stained glass windows depicting saints in bright colors. The low ceiling arched with blocks of pale stone overhead along the entire room, and a step lifted up to the altar. The raised sanctuary looked like it could only contain four people at a time, three if one was as large as Searc.
Searc pivoted at the sound of rustling near the door, his hand moving toward the sword at his side. Three of Marie’s ladies hurried in with bouquets of late summer roses.
“There should be no weapons in a house of God.” Father Renard held his crucifix in his hand as if it were a holy blade. Searc looked pointedly at Henri’s sword strapped to his side. Marie ignored the priest and ushered her ladies toward her, directing them to place the roses near the altar. One lady whispered into the regent’s ear. Marie nodded, glancing at Elena.
The sweet smell of the roses infused the dusty air. One of the ladies had a circle of wildflowers threaded together and hurried back to Elena.
“What is this?” Elena’s voice remained casual, belying the panic Searc felt beneath her skin. The lady placed it on her head, threading several of her curls through it to hold it within the glorious mass.
“It is a wreath for your hair, mon enfant.” Marie clasped her hands together as if in joy. “Now you are très belle, oui.”
Father Renard opened a large bible. “Are we ready to begin then?”
Henri made a tisking sound and stepped out of the smaller alter area to lean against one of the sunken window arches. Marie frowned at him and flowed out of the vestibule to stand with her ladies. Only the priest remained. He waved Elena and Searc forward.
Elena glanced around, her gaze landing first on Searc and then Marie. “Are we to be—?”
“Oui,” Marie interrupted and shooed them with her hands. “You, Elena, without a family name, need one. And I very much wish it to be a Scottish last name. ’Tis time to step up with your Highland husband, whom you’ve wed before God, and say your vows now before the church.”
Searc felt a quick thrum of panic shoot through Elena as he held her arm, but she stepped casually with him up to the priest.
Father Renard began his Latin verses. Henri, Marie, and her ladies formed two rows behind them to witness the exchange. Searc continued to hold Elena’s arm though she stood strong and tall. She’d known this was coming and took solace in the thought she could have the union annulled. He would deal with that later. For now, she would be tied to him legally, before a priest in a house of God, before the queen regent of Scotland.
He held his breath as she spoke. “I swear to honor and obey until death do us part,” she repeated after Father Renard.
“Searc Munro of the Highlands,” the priest intoned though Searc’s attention had been caught by the sound of quick footfalls on the cobblestone outside the chapel.
A mixture of English and thick Gaelic made him turn toward the door as a large man nearly brained himself on the low arch. Before he could do any more than yell a string of curses, a flutter of gray wool rushed past the man into the chapel. “Stop!” The woman’s familiar blue eyes swung through the occupants to land squarely on him. “Searc! What is going on here?” Her gaze narrowed on the priest and then landed on Elena.
Searc moved instinctively in front of Elena, blocking her, though keeping his grasp on her behind his back.
“And who are you?” Marie eyed them both.
Searc pulled Elena to his side, his arm over her stiff shoulders. “Your grace,” he began. “And Elena, meet Rachel Munro, lady of Munro Castle. My mother.”
Chapter Twelve
Elena Tudor, born 18 December 1531, with Love from your mother Catherine of Aragon, Queen of England
“And I am, Alec Munro, Chief of Clan Munro of the Western Highlands and Searc’s father.” He nodded to Marie.
Elena felt the world sway. Pull in more air. She breathed in deeply, pushing the sparks of light from her periphery. The woman before Searc, with snapping blue eyes, rivaled Marie de Guise in lethal stares.
“You are getting married?” Lady Munro’s voice filling the small, tightly packed chapel.
“Woman,” Father Renard rebuked. “This is a house of God. You will lower your voice.”
The man who towered nearly as tall as Searc, stepped up to stand even with Searc’s mother, his sharp gaze going to the priest. “And ye, Father, will mind yer tone with my wife.” Searc’s father peered to the side to get a better look at Elena. His eyebrows rose. “Getting wed?” Through his beard, Elena could see his mouth turn up at the corners. His eyes were kind like Searc’s when he wasn’t staring someone down. “Well now. She is a right bonny lass.”
Her lips rose up in a smile and she bobbed a quick curtsey. She instantly liked Searc’s father.
Rachel Munro turned to Marie who watched on in humorous curiosity. She sunk low into a curtsey. “Your grace,” she said, but without waiting for a reply, Lady Munro stepped into the vestibule and grabbed Elena’s hand from Searc’s. “Who are you?”
Elena felt
heat flash through her body and gasped softly. Her wrist, where the green sleeve had risen, exposing the raw flesh from Lyngfield’s ropes, smoothed, the skin restored. Father Renard murmured something and passed the sign of the cross before him.
Lady Munro leaned forward. “Speak. What is your name?”
“Mother. This is Elena,” Searc began, but she flashed him a frown and laid her hand on his chest. He sighed. “I am well.”
Lady Munro snorted. “For all my worry,” she murmured. “Thank the good Lord.” She turned her piercing gaze back on Elena. “Elena who?”
Marie choked out a laugh behind Rachel and raised one eyebrow toward Elena. Elena felt her cheeks pinken. “Almost Elena Munro,” she replied.
Rachel didn’t let go of her hand but turned toward her husband. “She has an English accent.”
“That is because she is English.” Searc pulled Elena back into his side. For a brief moment, Elena felt tugged between them. “Just like you, Mother.”
Rachel Munro pursed her lips. “A woman you’ve only known for—” she flapped her hands in the air, “—two weeks perhaps? And you are wedding her. I’m assuming you are the one who has taken her maidenhead?”
Father Renard started to choke behind the altar and Elena felt her face ignite while the rest of the chapel remained perfectly silent, perhaps waiting for her to burst into flames on the spot. If she was lucky.
“Is that why you are marrying her?” Lady Munro continued while studying Elena from head to toe. Good lord, was she expected to answer?
Searc took his mother’s hand off of Elena. “I will not answer such things.”
“She couldn’t live worrying about ye.” His father spoke, a smile still sitting about his mouth. “Set out within a fortnight to follow ye here.”
“He’s our son,” Rachel Munro snapped and Elena couldn’t quite tell who the woman was more furious with, Searc or her husband. “He’s our last son and I’m not losing him.” Elena noticed the shaking in the woman’s hand as she held onto Searc. The brave woman was terrified and Searc wasn’t helping with his furrowed brow and frown.
Elena let her mouth soften so the corners could turn up slightly. “I think that you are very fortunate, Searc, to have a family, one who obviously loves you a great deal.” Her heart tightened. “I would have followed him too.”
Lady Munro stared at her for a moment but then swung back around to Searc. “You wish to wed this woman?”
“I am standing before a priest, saying my vows, Mother.”
“Respect yer mother, lad, or ye’ll be spending yer wedding night with a lump on yer head,” Lord Munro growled. A genuine smile relaxed Elena’s face though her heart still pounded. What would these good people say when Searc told them later he planned to annul the union? Her smile faded.
“Aye.” Searc nodded. “I wish to finish wedding Elena.”
One stark clap from behind them made Elena jump. “Let us finish this then.” Marie de Guise smiled ferally from her spot as witness, clearly tired of waiting. “Then Lord and Lady Munro can join us for the wedding feast.”
Father Renard cleared his throat. “Shall we continue?” He looked pointedly at Lady Munro who frowned back but released Searc’s arm to join her husband outside the small vestibule. “Repeat after me.” The priest continued on but asked slightly different promises from Searc. Where was the word obey in his oath?
“I promise to protect and cherish Elena until death do us part,” Searc intoned. His words were so strong, and rang of solid truth. How could he do that when he was planning to ask his priest to annul their marriage?
Father Renard continued on in Latin. He blessed the family ring that had sat on Searc’s hand and had Searc place it on Elena’s finger. It would have to do for now. Then the priest rested his cold hand over their joined ones for a blessing. “As we witness this union before God, may it last for all time. Amen.”
“Stop! What’s going on here?”
Elena turned to see Lord Randolph panting in the doorway. His jacket was off, his neat hair askew.
“Mon Dieu,” Henri Cleutin swore in frustration and drew his short sword in the cramped chapel.
The guards that had followed the ambassador into the chapel took his arms on either side. He looked at them incredulously. “Unhand me.”
“Non, monsieur ambassador.” Marie’s voice had turned instantly to ice.
Searc moved to stand before Elena and his father stepped up next to him, pulling Rachel and sealing both women in the vestibule with a sputtering Father Renard.
“A secret wedding?” Lord Randolph asked with indignation. “Without proper banns. The woman is an English citizen. She cannot wed without proper approval from her majesty.”
Elena steadied herself by holding onto the back of Searc’s tunic. She breathed deeply to revive her numb lips.
Marie’s voice filled the small chapel. “Lord Randolph, you cannot mean to say that Queen Mary must grant each and every one of the subjects within her kingdom permission to wed.”
God’s teeth! Elena pressed her forehead into Searc’s back.
“Ye are too late.” Searc’s voice came low and lethal. “The vows have been said. Elena is mine. She is now a Scottish subject. If ye speak to her again, ye will do so with me at her side.” Though his words were proper, the force and tone behind them carried a dark threat that could not be missed.
“The wedding will be annulled.” Lord Randolph’s voice bordered on desperate.
From the side, Elena could see Marie where she stood near the stained glass rendition of St. Margaret. The queen regent smiled. “’Tis already consummated, Lord Randolph. The binding will hold.”
“Nay!”
“My maid will swear to the evidence on the sheets.” Marie seemed to rise up on her toes like a child barely able to contain her happiness over a sweet treat.
Elena burrowed her flaming face harder into Searc’s back and closed her eyes.
“Courage,” Rachel Munro whispered next to her. “A Highlander’s wife must have courage.”
Elena turned her face to the woman. Rachel still frowned but her eyes held a softness like empathy. Elena nodded and stood up straighter.
“Do you know what you have done?” Lord Randolph’s bellow made Elena quiver, but she shifted to stand between Searc and his father. The ambassador was directing his question at Searc. “Elena is no common English girl. She is royal, with the blood of her full sister, Queen Mary Tudor, running in her veins. She is the hope of England! And you just defiled her! Brought her down to your common level! Her name is Elena Tudor, daughter of Henry VIII and his true wife, Catherine of Aragon.”
The chapel swelled with hushed stillness. People packed within its walls held their breaths. The whisper of Thomas Seymour’s voice beat with Elena’s heart. Courage. When the game is lost, do not surrender your dignity. Elena held onto Searc’s sturdy arm as she pushed between him and his father to stand proudly before the staring crowd. She took a deep breath, her voice rising with strength, matching the deep thudding of her heart. “I am Elena Munro, Lord Randolph, wife to Searc Munro and subject of Scotland.”
“Where is your proof, Lord Randolph?” Henri placed his hand out as if waiting for his palm to be filled.
“A locket! She has it.” Randolph pointed at Elena. “Queen Mary also has a letter from her mother about the girl’s birth.” He turned his gaze back to her. “Elena.” He bowed his head. “You could be queen, at least a princess.”
“And I could be used by every noble with a quarrel with Queen Mary.” Elena’s words clipped from her mouth in a rapid tattoo. “Or by Queen Mary herself as a pawn to marry away. Nay.” She shook her head, staring squarely at the ambassador. “I have decided my fate. I am Elena Munro.”
Elena felt a brush against her shoulder as Searc’s mother came to stand up next to her. “She is a daughter of Scotland, my son’s wife, and a courageous Highland lass.”
“Queen Mary will retaliate.” Randolph all but stamped
his feet as he held his fists clenched tightly at his sides.
Marie de Guise snorted. “Mary Tudor desires no rivals to her throne. She would be more than pleased to know that her little sister didn’t survive long after her birth.” She brushed her hands together as if cleaning them of dirt. “There is nothing royal about this woman, except that she is wed to my ambassador of the western Highlands. Oui?”
Despite Lord Randolph’s sputtering, Marie turned to Henri, her lips tight. “I believe you have some questions for Lord Randolph regarding his English contacts in the area. Ones who were perhaps counting on Madam Elena’s coercion, non?”
“Oui.” Henri bowed and waved the guards to take Lord Randolph out the chapel door so he could follow.
“And we shall retire to the great hall for a wedding feast.” Marie began to shoo her ladies out the door ahead of her.
Elena would have to pass along the man’s note to Marie, but for now she just wanted to…she didn’t know. Searc hadn’t said a word since Lord Randolph’s proclamation.
Marie flapped her hands at her ladies while Father Renard spoke low to Lady Munro behind Elena. Without turning her face, Elena peered sideways at Searc. He stood rigid, looking outward while his father came up before him. The muscle in the side of his jaw tensed.
Lord Munro grasped his forearm. “Congratulations, son.”
Searc nodded and gazed down at his father’s hand. Lord Munro glanced between them. “Perhaps the two of ye should talk a spell.” The handsome aging man scratched his chin. “Can’t say I’ve attended a more lively wedding.”
Rachel Munro touched Elena’s arm. “Don’t badger the poor girl, Searc. She’s about worn out with nerves.” Badger her? Searc hadn’t said a single word to her or even looked at her. And how exactly did his mother know she was exhausted?
Searc’s father bowed his head to Elena. “I am Alec Munro and this is my timid wife, Rachel. Seeing as how introductions weren’t officially given to ye.”
Rachel batted at his arm but then took it. “Come now, husband, let us find this wedding feast to which we were invited. I am in need of some food and cheer.” They followed after Marie.
Highland Hearts 03 - Crimson Heart Page 23