Highland Hearts 03 - Crimson Heart

by Heather McCollum

  Searc barged through the unlocked door. “Elena!”

  Alec circulated the small, empty room. He grabbed a parchment off the table, glanced at it, handing it at Searc.

  “Let’s go,” Alec yelled, and Searc ran directly behind him. Grassmarket and Candlemaker Row. He knew the area. An injured child or a ruse to get them out of the safety of the castle walls? Another boom of thunder answered that question. Searc stopped his father from running into the stables.

  “It’ll be quicker to run on foot.” He pointed at the side gate. “We can’t ride through there and they’ve lowered the portcullis.” They sprinted across the bailey to the guard at the door who stared overhead.

  “Let us through,” Searc demanded and the man pushed his iron key into the lock without question.

  “Ah right.” The guard looked at Searc. “Yer wife said she was going with the other woman to help an injured boy.”

  “Who took her?” Searc’s hand clenched the rough wooden edge of the gate. His magic churned in his gut, demanding release.

  “She went with his woman.” The guard nodded to Alec, “and one of the queen regent’s ladies.”

  “The three ladies, alone?” Alec nearly growled. “Ye bloody hell didn’t think to escort them?”

  The man’s face reddened. “I cannot leave my post.”

  Searc and Alec pushed outside, the scattered hay that had been flying around in the wind, fell to the cobblestone.

  “Strange weather.” The guard shook his head as he peered around the door at the sky. “One second it’s raging mad, the next it just dies.” Searc and Alec looked at each other and took off in a run.

  Chapter Fifteen

  4 September 1554

  Your most holy eminence, Pope Julius III,

  I, your loyal servant, wish to humbly bend before you and ask you to reconsider my request to use the ancient texts of the Norse raiders found by my master, Father Renard of Holyrood Abby. I have been able to translate the script written by the heathen, Svein Balthor of Denmark. He writes of power and how it can be used for good. Although he was far from God, his writings could aid us in turning Scotland’s rule back to God, by taking it from the weak hands of a woman and putting it back into the hands of a king. It is unnatural for this kingdom to be ruled by a woman when God proclaims that woman must obey man. The same atrocity is plaguing England, leading to civil war, even as Queen Mary leads her sheep back to the holy church. Until the rule of Scotland returns to a king, we will not have peace. I beg you to reconsider the use of this ancient power to aid us in our righteous quest. Let us use a power that was once evil for the good and glory of our Holy Father in heaven.

  Your everlasting servant,

  Brother Peter of Holyrood Abbey Edinburgh, Scotland

  Brother Peter leapt around Lyngfield and rushed at Rachel, a sack spread between his hands.

  “Don’t let her touch ye!” Geoff, the thief from the forest, slammed the door behind him. He nearly tripped over Lyngfield as the man groaned on the floor, his face smashed into the floorboards. “She’s made of magic like her spawn. She can kill ye with a touch!”

  Madeline screamed so loud that Elena couldn’t hear what Rachel yelled. Madeline fell to the floor in a useless swoon while Elena faced off against Geoff. With the Frenchwoman unconscious it was two against two, and unfortunately these two were armed.

  Rachel dodged around the table as Peter chased her.

  “Leave her be!” Elena tried to come to her aid, but Geoff cut her off, a dagger brandished in his hand.

  “Do ye have any magic, lass?” Geoff eyed her suspiciously while Elena backed up against the hearth wall, her hand searching for a poker or anything that could be a weapon. God’s teeth! The room seemed empty.

  “Yes, yes I do. My husband passed some of his magic to me, so stay back or I will use it to take the rest of your life away.” Her words stopped Geoff. His eyes widened but then narrowed as if he were trying to read the truth. “Don’t come any closer.” Elena jumped at the cracking thunder overhead.

  She glanced at Rachel who was waving her hands above her as if she were causing the storm outside. “Beware!” she yelled at Peter as he stalked her. “Stay back or suffer death at my hands.”

  Good lord! Could Searc’s mother kill too? Elena certainly hoped so, otherwise they may end up like Lyngfield. Thunder cracked again, rattling the wooden shutters, and wind beat against the house.

  “You will wish you never laid eyes on me.” Rachel’s breath came hard as she dodged around the table, but the man seemed more determined than ever to catch her.

  Geoff inched closer to Elena, brandishing his dagger. “What do you want?” she demanded.

  Geoff frowned. “I want my life back and if ye can’t give it to me, I will take yers in payment. I found ye first anyway.” He lunged at her and she ducked, but he grabbed her around the waist. Elena shrieked when she felt the steel edge of the dagger press against her ribs and kicked backwards, trying to hit Geoff’s knobby knees, but all he did was grunt. Even withered, the thief was strong. He tugged her around. Peter growled and ran at Rachel, totally enveloping her in the sack. She fought but he pulled a thick stick from his robe and brought it down on her head.

  “No!” Elena screamed as Rachel sank to the floor inside the woven sack. “Don’t hurt her!”

  Peter turned, club in hand and came at her. “So, you have magic too.” His arm came down and Elena cringed inward as lightning cracked through her head, throwing her into darkness.

  …

  Searc’s boots beat against the cobblestone. His father kept stride as they veered off the main road that led almost straight down to Holyrood. Alec’s arms pumped as he ran with him down the wide swath that was the central Grassmarket area of Edinburgh. “This way.” Searc ducked down a narrow street flanked by squatty houses, Candlemaker’s Row. Searc pulled up and turned in a circle, his eyes scanning the streets. Between Grassmarket and Candlemaker’s Row. “Now where?”

  Searc opened up his senses, breathing deeply to control the rush of magic through his blood. He inhaled, searching, but there was nothing for him to latch upon. Bloody hell! “Where are ye,” he murmured. He looked at his father. “Let’s split up, pound on the doors until we find them.”

  “Elena!” Searc yelled while Alec began to roar his mother’s name. The first door opened upon a wide-eyed woman with a tired, frazzled appearance. She smiled but shook her head when he asked if she’d seen three ladies passing by. Four more doors didn’t open even when he pounded on them and tried the locks. Could Elena be barred inside?

  “Elena!” His voice boomed down the lane. On the corner stood an old woman holding a basket. Her hand rose timidly in the air, beckoning him. As he jogged toward her he recognized her from their first day in Edinburgh, the sweet bun seller.

  “I saw yer lady.” She held one gnarled hand to her chest. “Such a pretty smile.”

  “Where is she?” He stopped himself from grabbing her. “I think she is in danger.” Alec ran up.

  She turned and pointed. “She and the other two turned down here.”

  “Were they alone?” Searc asked while Alec ran down the alley.

  “Aye, but I watched three others go down there after them. One man first and then two more.” Searc’s heart slammed in his chest and he turned. “They are gone now, though,” she yelled after him. “Two of the men with a wagon.”

  “Bloody hell!” Alec yelled from up ahead.

  “Is Elena and ma there?” Searc glanced over his shoulder so as not to lose sight of the old woman.

  “Nay, but ye best take a look.”

  “What did they look like, the two men who left?” Searc turned back to the woman.

  “One was old looking with little hair. One was from the abbey.” She drew a circle with her knobby finger over her head. “Thick cropped hair with smooth skin on top.”

  “A monk?”

  She nodded her gray head. Searc pressed a coin into her wrinkled palm. “Thank
ye.” He ran to his father who had entered the second door. A dead man lay face down just inside.

  “Recognize him?” Alec pushed him over as far as the blade lodged in his back would allow.

  “’Tis Roger Lyngfield.”

  Lyngfield groaned. Not dead.

  Alex tore through the rest of the house but no one else remained. “Do you think one of our ladies did that to him?”

  Searc moved to the crumpled woman on the floor. She was one of Marie’s maids. “Not unless this blade was already here. It’s not one of ours.” Searc touched the woman and felt warmth. “She’s alive. Wake up, lass, mademoiselle.” He rubbed her cheek.

  She let out a little moan, her eyes blinking open. She squeaked and tried to push back from him. “Whoa, lass, we’re here to help.”

  The stunned woman starting babbling in French. Searc looked to his father, but Alec just shrugged. Neither of them could understand a single word she spoke. “Your mother wanted me to learn French.” Alec lips pinched together. “But what would a Highlander need of that?”

  Searc cursed low and offered his hand to the woman. She took it, standing slowly, then gasped at the sight of Lyngfield and looked like she might swoon again.

  “Let’s get her out of here.” Alec lifted under one of her arms to help her around the half-dead body on the floor. The old woman stood in the doorway tisking at Lyngfield and shaking her head. Searc pressed another coin in her hand. “Call the castle guards, for him. He might live.” At the moment Searc didn’t care if the bastard did or not, except that he might know something that could be helpful.

  Marie’s lady continued to weep on the old woman’s arm. The woman patted her hand. “I’ll see her to the castle gates.”

  “Thank ye,” Searc managed before turning to his father. “Let’s go.”

  “Where?” Alec jogged alongside him.

  “Where a monk with a wagon might go. To the abbey.”

  …

  Elena’s head ached fiercely, all over but especially on top. She lay on her side against a hard wall and pushed up into a sitting position with her eyes still shut. She tried to reach for the throbbing, but her hands were bound tightly together. Eyes heavy, she stifled a groan and forced them open. She blinked in the darkness and shivered. It was freezing. Everything was silent except for a slight scratching sound and the repetitive drip of water. The chilled air smelled of old musk.

  “Hello?” Her soft word shot another piercing throb through her head and she whimpered. She blinked to clear her sight but the darkness was so thick it was difficult to tell if her eyes were open or still closed. She turned her head and saw faint torchlight down a long stone corridor with an arched ceiling made of the same dark stone. Eyes are open then.

  Elena used her boots to help her slide up the wall at her back. Rope wrapped around her wrists in several tight knots that would take a lot of wiggling, or better yet, a sharp blade, to undo. A shiver skimmed along her skin as she leaned on the damp wall. She ached all over but the pain in her head made her wobble and her stomach lurch. Blinking hard she tried to open her eyes wide in hopes that the floor would stop its tilting, but it just made her skull ache even more. Disoriented. Good lord, it seemed easier to lay back down than fight to stay conscious. One long blink, two blinks. She breathed deeply. Don’t give up. Where was Rachel? Searc.

  Tears pressed against the back of her eyes. She coughed as her nose curled at the unpleasant tang in the air. But the deep breathing helped the world stop swaying. Something brushed her skirts and she wiggled her foot sharply, eliciting a squeal and a scampering of little claws across the floor. She held the wall and cautiously turned her head toward the far off torchlight. “Hello?”

  To the right was a wall made of bars as if she were in a jail cell. She didn’t see a door. Elena shuffled her feet while leaning on the wall for support until she made it to the bars. They didn’t budge.

  Elena squinted into the darkness. It was as if she’d fallen into a well of black ink. Alone, freezing and blind. She fought to control the panic pulsing through her in time with her thudding heart.

  The minute light far down the corridor flickered, and Elena was able to see the outline of something large like a low table squatting in the middle of the stone room. But the top was irregular like there was something upon it. “Rachel?”

  Elena held her bound hands out before her, bending slightly and moving them back and forth so as not to run into anything. She tripped slightly over something that felt like iron on the ground. It scraped the floor like a thick chain. More little clawed paws skittered near the wall she’d been lying against. Good lord, save us.

  Elena awkwardly patted the top of the table and felt the soft folds of fabric with her fingertips. She felt warmth, warmth from a living body. Hope surged within her, giving her strength. “Rachel?” Elena turned to lean against the low table, wishing she could wrap her arms around herself. The cold was numbing. They must be below ground.

  Elena wobbled and used her hands to balance. She turned toward the little light far down the tunnel of blackness and began to walk, hands stretched before her. Straight.

  One, two, three, four…she counted each measured step she took, the numbers an anchor to hold onto. Throbbing. She stopped, pulling her arms overhead to touch the spot and felt a sticky crust of blood under her hair. It was a wonder the demented monk hadn’t broken her head open. Was Rachel bleeding too? Could the woman heal herself? Certainly not unconscious.

  She took another step…ten, eleven… Was Searc looking for her? Would he mourn her if she died here? Foolish chit! How could she have gone without proper escort? It had all happened so quickly, but she shouldn’t have let Rachel’s need to help expose them to such trickery. Hopefully Peter hadn’t intercepted the note she had left. Although they were certainly no longer at the house off of Candlemaker Row, not unless it had a dungeon beneath it. Regret filled her heart, making it harder to breathe.

  She tripped on an uneven stone and wobbled precariously. Must stay up. The torchlight swam before her eyes, separating into two lights before joining again.

  Behind her the scrape of a heavy door sent hope and panic rushing through her. She side-stepped until she felt the wall before her tied hands and turned to flatten against the damp, pungent stones. A bright torch appeared about halfway back toward Rachel. Three figures moved within its circle of the blinding light. Elena squinted.

  “Come, Hannah, you will tend them.” Elena could see the long robes of the monk, Peter, swish in the hallway and a thin figure following behind. Hannah? She had been taken instead of returning home to help an ailing relation. But at least she was alive. Elena held her breath as the third figure turned to look down into the darkness where she stood hidden. Geoff, his glare evident even at this distance. She waited for him to call her name, revealing her, but the darkness had swallowed her. He turned back to follow the other two.

  She should run, hide, something. It was hard to think with such pain, but she pushed off the wall, unsure which way to turn. The torch at the end was closer but there was no guarantee that it led to a way out. It could be just another set of bars. Perhaps there was an unlocked door where the three had come in, a way out.

  “Where is she?” Geoff raised the torch higher. Elena tried to stay on her toes to prevent the clipping of her heels as she staggered forward in a half run, her fingers chaffing along the rough wall.

  “Where did you leave her?” Peter’s voice.

  “Against that wall.”

  “These bars are intact. She must have wandered down to the other end.” Peter clanged around the table where Rachel lay unconscious. “Go find her. Hannah, light the wall sconces so I can see.” The room became lighter as if Peter had lit another torch.

  Pushing forward Elena ran for the dark alcove where they’d entered, every footfall jarring her poor head. She banged against the opposite wall, scraping the skin of her knuckles.

  “Ye there!” Geoff ran forward. He was on her before she c
ould reach the door. His arms grabbed her and his unwashed scent rolled through her stomach. She gagged as he squeezed. “Now there, lass, don’t make me have to hit that bonny head of yers again.” He chuckled and dragged her, stumbling, toward the open cell.

  “Found her.” Geoff dropped her in the corner against the bars. Without the use of her hands, she landed hard, shooting a pain up from her tailbone. Peter didn’t look up from his inspection of Rachel.

  “What are you doing to her?” Elena struggled to stand.

  “Extracting her vile magic and using it for God.” Peter’s voice was so casual, so cold, it momentarily stole Elena’s breath. Insane. The man was truly insane. He glanced over his shoulder at Elena. “And I will do the same to you.” Elena felt bile rise in her throat and fought to breathe.

  Rachel lay shackled to the stone table, her wrists and ankles in chains. “Hannah.” Peter didn’t look up from Rachel. The wide-eyed woman crept closer. “You will expose her arms and legs and the flesh of her middle. Then wash her with holy water from that basin.”

  Hannah hesitated and Peter jabbed his finger toward a standing bowl on the far side of the table. The woman seemed terrified but went to Rachel and untied her sleeves at the shoulders.

  “I have no magic.” Elena followed Hannah with her eyes, stopping on several jars and tables nearby. “And neither does Rachel Munro.”

  “She spawned your man.” Geoff spit on the floor and rubbed his almost completely bald head. “And he has dark magic. Killed my friend and almost me.”

  Peter moved over to a book spread upon a wooden lectern and lit a candle. “Father Renard saw the raw cuts on your wrists heal before his eyes. He roared about the magic this woman possesses.” Peter passed the sign of the cross before him, his fingers pinched, and touched a wooden cross against his lips before letting it swing back to his chest.

  Elena forced herself to laugh. “’Twas a trick of the light. She has no magic; no one does.”