Highland Hearts 03 - Crimson Heart (13 page)

For a long moment, Elena stood there in the small vaulted entryway, nearly choking on the smell of incense that infused the church. Her face burned red and a cold sweat broke out on her palms. Two ladies had remained behind with a guard. Even though they talked together in low whispers, they had obviously remained to witness her entry into the confessional.

Elena clasped the hard rosary beads in her fingers and walked down the short open hall, once again on her toes so that her footfalls were muted in the echoing chamber. She’d been to confession once before when she was young. The old priest had scared her with his talk of hell and penance, making her spend hours afterward praying for her transgressions. Dread sat cold in her stomach.

With a deep breath through her nose, Elena stepped through the little wooden door into the box, swished around to sit on the hard bench and shut herself in. Her slipper pushed at something light on the floor of the vestibule and she picked it up. A soft, woven square—a handkerchief. She tucked it into the pocket inside her forepart.

A thin partition of fabric sat to her right. Though silent, she could smell the slight tang of unwashed wool and sweat mixed with a peculiar scent of incense. Father Renard.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. I wish to confess my wrongdoings in the name of the Father and His holy son, Christ Jesus.” She took a fortifying breath and prepared her first lie. “It has been one month since I have confessed.”

“Why so long, my child?” Father Renard’s voice made her jump even though she knew he was there. It was deep and hushed, causing prickles to climb immediately up her back. She forced herself to stay perched on the edge of the hard, wooden bench. She was so close to the door, her knees pressed her full skirts into it.

“I…I have been traveling and unable to find a priest along the way.”

Silence sat as if he were weighing her words. The air in the small box was stagnant, and the smell of the less-than-fresh priest began to overwhelm her. Elena’s heart pounded like the thundering gallop of a horse. When stars glittered in the dim light before her eyes, she concentrated on breathing. Even if the air smelled acrid, it was still air, and should keep her from swooning.

“How have you sinned?” Father Renard’s timbre resonated in the dark. He was so close, just on the other side of the thin fabric and wood between them. She could see the outline of his hard mouth through the cloth.

“I have lied.” That wasn’t a lie. If she told more truth than lies, and lies only to keep herself alive, surely God would forgive her.

“How so?”

“Roger Lyngfield is not my cousin.” The priest must already know that. “I have no family, but he is the nephew of the woman who took me into her home as a child. When she died, I went to live with her friend, Lady Suffolk of Lincolnshire when I was still young. When Lady Suffolk packed up her household to go abroad, she suggested that I find Lyngfield, that he might take me in as his aunt had once done.” All of this was true. She left out the need to vacate England as fast as possible to keep away from Queen Mary’s guards.

The priest considered her words. “Why did you lie about this? What are you hiding? God knows all, but you must not hide the truth from your superiors.” His voice had taken on the glinty edge of a blade.

“Lady Suffolk did not think he would help me if we weren’t related. She told me to keep up the ruse.” Elena was on thin ice here if the letter Lady Suffolk had written said something else. The horrid woman may have sealed Elena’s doom by not showing her the blasted letter. “I am greatly saddened if I have offended the queen regent, but my guardian at Grimsthorpe in England, Lady Suffolk, told me to keep the secret.”

A long silence stretched, and Elena wondered what else she was to say.

“And,” Father Renard prodded, “you met Searc Munro on the way north, fell in love and married him, all within your travels?”

Elena felt her face grow hot. “It seemed the best course of action once I met him. He saved me from bandits, helped me. I had no dowry yet he was willing to give me his name.”

“’Twas a clandestine wedding without witnesses?”

“Yes.”

“Despite the allowance of such unions by Rome, it is still very much encouraged for vows to be said in the face of the church. Marie de Guise agrees with me on this point.”

“Then,” Elena asked, “we are not wed?”

“Did you fornicate with him?”

“No,” popped out of her mouth before she had time to think. But she’d lied to Marie about knowing Searc intimately. True, she’d said he was often impotent to turn Marie’s interest, but she’d made it seem as if they’d been together as husband and wife. “I mean yes.”

Through the screen, Elena saw the shadow of the priest touching an overly long fingernail to his lips. “A private commitment between people is no longer sufficient. Though according to Rome you are wed with acknowledged vows, especially since it has been consummated. And you are sharing a room, which makes you living together.”

Elena twisted her hands in the dark as the man considered all the angles of their made-up marriage. “The union was not before the church, and since the queen regent agrees that marriages are too easily slipped from without witnesses and church record, you will have to share your vows with one another again,” he intoned. “Before me or another man of God.”

He nodded at his decision on the topic, took a breath, and continued on. “You will admit your lies to the queen regent, begging her for forgiveness. You will pray solidly for two hours on your knees for the saving of your soul. You will meditate on your rosary in the prayer of the holy Mother Mary. And you will no longer fornicate with Searc Munro until I can properly bless you in marriage.”

God’s teeth
. “Thank you, Father.”

“Go now, in the name of Holy Christ Jesus and our Father in heaven,” he murmured as if his mind had already switched to another thought.

Please, dear Lord, forgive me for lying to your servant
. Elena passed the sign of the cross over her chest and felt for the small iron lever in the door. For a moment it seemed stuck. She rattled it, giving it a good shove with her foot. The door gave way and she tumbled more than stepped out.

The monk, who had earlier doused her with holy water, stood there and lifted her easily under the arm as she struggled to right herself. He was stronger than he looked. “The door sometimes sticks.” He gave her a small smile. Perhaps the look was meant to be sympathetic but his hard eyes made him seem to be laughing at her.

“Thank you.” She pulled out of his grasp and saw the guards. “Are there usually guards in the sanctuary?”

One of them with a shaggy beard bowed his head. “We need Father Renard. There has been another murder.”

Elena’s hand covered her mouth. “Another woman?”

“Aye.”

“Was she—” her voice dropped, “—defiled in some way?”

“Crisscrosses cut all over her,” the guard supplied, and Elena couldn’t draw in a breath. Air, she needed fresh air, not this incense-sickening stench that seemed to crush her more with each inhale. She heard the monk speaking low to the priest as he exited the confessional. Elena flew briskly up the side aisle toward the open door.

The bearded guard kept up with her. “It is not safe to go out on your own,” he said. “I should escort ye.”

Elena stopped just inside the doorway. Outside the morning had turned overcast. Dark clouds signaled more rain ahead. It reflected her heart. Another girl dead, defiled in a ghastly way. It was as if the heavens cried against the evil in the world.

The monk had followed and touched her upper arm as the priest brushed past her. “I am Brother Peter,” he introduced himself with that same laughing, insincere smile. His face was soft, almost like a woman’s. “If you are in need of help, Mistress Elena, just call for me.”

Although he met her gaze, Elena felt as if he were examining her. Had he listened to her confession? Elena felt the blush infuse her cheeks but nodded before stepping out into the wind that skipped along the pebbled drive.

A group of guards and stablehands stood near the far wall bordering a garden. Several strong lads hoisted a body over the stone, golden hair hanging down. Jacqueline. Elena stumbled, stopping, her hand to her heart. Father Renard spoke a prayer, his robes slapping his legs in the strong breeze.

Blindly, Elena pushed through the arched door of the palace. The corridor was dark compared to the outside and she blinked. The guard hadn’t followed her inside. Perhaps he thought her safe here, although certainly Jacqueline had felt the same.

Elena hurried along the hall, her hand grazing the rough stone wall as her other held up heavy skirts. She heard a footstep behind her and caught her toe on a raised stone at the edge of a rug.
God’s teeth!
If she ever did have to escape a murderer, how could she run in skirts as heavy as these? A woman’s costume practically tied her up in a pretty little package for any would-be murderer or letch.

A deep cough came from down the corridor, as did the sound of a door shutting. She slowed, breathing deeply to quell her rising panic. Rounding the corner, Elena halted suddenly, rolling up on the toes of her slippers. Before her open doorway stood four castle guards.

“I’ve asked politely, Lord Cleutin; now get the bloody hell out of my way. I must find Elena.” Searc’s low, succinct words held the dark promise of violence.

“I am here.” Elena’s voice echoed along the stone. She rushed forward, the guards parting to let her into the room. Henri Cleutin stood nose to throat with Searc. The thin, aristocratic man stared up into her Highlander’s face. Searc turned his gaze on her, pushing past Henri to grab her shoulders. The feel of his strength released the knot of her stomach. He had not abandoned her. She knew he wouldn’t have.

“Where were you?” She reached for his tunic, her fingers curling into the fabric.

Searc hugged her to him as a loving husband should. Despite knowing it was a farce, Elena relaxed into the imagined security. “I took Dearg for a ride and found ye gone when I returned.”

“The queen regent ordered me to mass. There was no time to find you.”

“So no one was with you on your ride,” Henri stated. The tilt of his head and pursing of his lips made him resemble a scavenging bird sizing up a fresh kill.

Searc spoke without turning around. “I rode alone and then I was in the stables with my mount, feeding him, currying him.” He pulled away from Elena and tucked her next to him as they faced the Frenchman.

“You’ve heard about Jacqueline?” Elena asked.

“Heard?” Henri stomped his boot on the stone, his nasally tone filled with superiority. “He found her mutilated body.”

“Hold yer tongue around my wife,” Searc warned. “I heard the first lass wail upon seeing the woman and came with Roger Lyngfield to investigate.”

“Roger Lyngfield?” Elena whispered.

“
Oui, madam
,” Henri said. “Your cousin, I believe.”

Elena clasped her hands before her, twisting them nervously. “Actually, he is not my cousin but the nephew of my past guardian. I have need to right this misinformation with the queen regent.”

Henri grabbed at his short beard and cursed in French. “The details are many.” He narrowed his eyes at Searc. “From the state of the woman’s body, she died sometime last night, after she left Roger Lyngfield’s hovel.”

Jacqueline was at Lyngfield’s? Did Marie de Guise have the letter then?

“Where were you last night, Searc Munro?” Henri’s look showed that he’d already condemned Searc to guilt. No, she wouldn’t let this happen.

“He was with me,” Elena said swiftly. “In bed. All night.” Elena knew that Searc had been next to her when she fell asleep but not that he’d stayed the whole night. Perhaps she was exaggerating, but Elena knew Searc was not the killer of these girls.

Elena stared straight into Henri Cleutin’s narrowed eyes. He must believe her. She cleared her throat and plied the most serious face she could. “He loved me well through the night. ’Twas why I was still sleeping when the maid came to rouse me for mass.”

“So.” Henri’s head tilted as if he lured her into a contradiction. “Your husband’s problem has been resolved?”

Elena heard a low growl emanate from Searc. Heat rose in her face. “That is none of your concern,
monsieur
,” she replied, embarrassment sharpening her voice.

“I believe it is if it concerns murder.”

Searc’s hand moved to the sword strapped to his hip. She couldn’t let him attack the man. She stepped between them until she was right in Henri Cleutin’s face. “Then I’ll have you know, for the investigation, that my husband is again quite virile and loved me all…night…long.”

Several snickers came from the guards at the door. God help her, lying was becoming easier all the time. Elena recalled the raucous boasts of the maids at Grimsthorpe when they bragged about being up all night with a lover. “In fact—” Elena met the French ambassador’s eyes steadily, “—I can barely walk this morning.” She wasn’t certain what that meant but it had usually followed their whispered tales.

The guard who had snickered before doubled over in side-splitting laughter while another joined in. Elena couldn’t bring herself to look at Searc, so she kept her glare settled on Henri. The man weighed her words for a moment, glanced at Searc behind her, then turned on his heel with a wave to the still chuckling guards. “I will continue to look for the missing letter and the killer. Meanwhile, do not travel beyond the walls surrounding the palace.”

“Then we are prisoners here?” Searc’s stance was strong, his hand near the hilt of his sword.

“If you were my prisoner, you would no longer have your weapons.” Henri turned back to the door. “This fiend will be caught.”

…

Searc locked the door after they left. He leaned back against its solid expanse and stared at the woman who’d just lied…again. Elena wore the blue dress she’d commissioned back in the village. Her hair peeked out of the French hood fastened high on her head. Her cheeks were still pink, from her proclamation of his prowess most likely.