Highland Hearts 03 - Crimson Heart (15 page)

Marie tapped a tapered fingernail against her neutral mouth. Father Renard opened his thin lips, but she held up her hand to stop his rebuttal.

“I need one who can care for my mare. She seems to trust no one at present. Perhaps since you saved her, Neige will trust you.” Marie gave Searc a considering look.

Searc nodded. “I do believe, your grace, that Roger Lyngfield cares about the wellness of your mount. He was visiting her today to make certain her back was healing.”

“Or he was here to dispose of Jacqueline’s body,” Henri suggested with a frown. Marie closed her eyes for a moment and Henri rested his hand back on her small fist. “
Je suis désolé
. I am sorry, madam. She was a lovely friend.” He continued to speak in French with low, soothing tones.

Marie straightened further in her seat, once again the tower of strength. “Perhaps when we return and you, Highlander, must return to your people with my good impression, I will consider Lyngfield. Until then you will help me with Neige.” She looked over at Elena and then Searc. “And the two of you will attend me at Linlithgow.”

Father Renard began to sputter, bringing her gaze around to him.

“Either issue a license now for them to wed or post your banns and wait to unite them in a fortnight at Linlithgow. Lord Randolph can stand in for one of her kinsmen.” Marie smiled wickedly at Elena. “He is the English ambassador tasked with keeping an eye on me.”

Father Renard’s lips tightened. “I will accompany your retinue, your grace. To perform the mass for you and to wed these two. My monk, Peter, can post the banns immediately, but considering the compromised, sinfulness of their relationship, I will draw up a license.” His hooded eyes moved to Searc. “The church could certainly use one-hundred pounds if she lies.”

“Quite wise, father.” Marie smiled and raised her arched brows at Elena. “Linlithgow is a lovely castle. ’Twill be beautiful for your wedding.” She clapped her hands. “What a magnificent diversion.” Spirit lit her tired eyes, banishing a bit of the strain there.

“
Merci
, your grace.” Elena bowed her head. “Your generosity is great.”

Marie indicated Elena’s untouched plate. “
Manger, mademoiselle
. We must make you soft and round for your wedding night,
oui
?” She laughed and Henri joined her. Father Renard continued to swallow his wine.

…

Neige stood still while Searc checked her back. She flinched but did not move away. The midday meal had last two hours as Marie and Henri questioned him about the Western clans and their loyalties. The entire time, the letter about Elena sat against his skin just inside the drape of his plaid. If they’d found it on him, he’d likely be in the dungeon for killing those women or he and Elena would be on the run, a trail of dead people behind them.

“That wasn’t a meal. It was an inquisition.” Elena’s voice came from farther down the stalls where she fed a small apple to Dearg. She walked closer and lowered her voice. “You still have the letter?”

Searc nodded.

“Lord, I was a nervous hen sitting there, knowing it was on your person. It would have been horrific if they’d found it.”

Maybe the lass could read his mind. “We will get rid of it now.” Searc glanced around. He could leave it in the stables but they’d been seen too much around them.

“The sooner the better.” Elena sighed. “I am so glad we are out from under their stares and questions.” She breathed deeply. “Thrilled to be out in the fresh air.

Searc let a grin turn up one corner of his mouth. “Ye weren’t so thrilled when I found ye in the fresh air of the forest.”

She cast him a dubious eye and walked closer. “The bee balm helped the mare?”

Searc ran his fingers over the slope of the mare’s white-coated back. “The nettle stings have healed. Horses have thick hides compared to a man. The nettle would have hardly affected her if it hadn’t been squashed so long under the hot saddle.” Searc rewarded Neige with an apple too.

Elena’s arm brushed his as she held her hand timidly out toward the mare. “Would she have thrown the queen regent if she’d tried to sit her?”

Searc paused, trying to recall her question. It was hard to concentrate with her so close. “Nay, though she was causing more fuss than she felt pain so her mistress wouldn’t be able to climb upon her.”

“Smart beast,” Elena whispered to the horse as Neige pushed her nose into Elena’s palm.

Searc watched Elena’s gentle hand, her long fingers tapering to little white nails. How would those nails feel across his bare back? He cleared his throat and looked back to the horse. “Animals are far more intelligent than most people believe. They listen and see the world with all their senses so they tend to understand more about the souls around them.”

“I wonder…,” Elena trailed off and turned toward him, “if Neige saw who moved Jacqueline’s body beyond the stable.”

Searc stared into the lashed glossy eyes of the mare. “She certainly knows who put stinging nettle under her saddle.”

“Who did it Neige?” Elena whispered. The mare’s ears twitched and Elena seemed to wait for her to answer. Neige pushed her nose against Searc. “She certainly trusts you.” Elena glanced at him. “As do I.”

“Then ye are too trusting.”

She gave a little snort. “I’ve been raised to mistrust everyone, Searc, yet…” She shrugged. “I do trust
you
.”

“I am cursed with dark magic, Elena.”

Her eyes met his evenly. “A weapon is neither dark nor light on its own, Searc. It is the heart of the wielder of the weapon that colors it one way or another.”

He watched her soft lips moving. She placed her small hand on his chest but didn’t push him away. It sat there, warming through the thin material of his shirt as she continued. “And your heart is good.”

“Are ye sure of that?” He moved closer, her touch pulling him like a warm beacon. She tilted her head back to look up his tall body to meet his gaze. She seemed small, delicate, and he wanted nothing more than to wrap himself around her to keep her safe. Never before had he felt such need to protect a person.

“Yes.” The simple answer was evident in her eyes. She truly believed he was good despite being able to kill with a touch. An ache in his chest relaxed as he met her smile with a grin.

“And I am bloody hell not infirmed.” He glared, making her smile wider.

“A ruse no one believed.” She laughed.

“Except for the maids within the palace who whisper that they can cure me with one touch,” he groused, having escaped one in the corridor just that morning.

“What? Who is whispering to you?” She frowned fiercely.

“All lasses like the challenge of fixing a man.”

“Well you have nothing to fix.” She waved her hand as if scuffing out the problem in the dirt. “So just be…unchallenging.”

“Jealous lass?”

She huffed. “You are my husband. Those women should not be saying anything to you.”

He stared, mesmerized by the way the blush brightened the apples of her cheeks. “Elena, I am not yer husband,” he whispered, his voice rough. His words surfaced from a deep need. “Though I ache to play the part.”

She blinked, her eyes widening.
Damn!
She must think him a lustful cad! He shook his head. “I will not dishonor—” he started.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Yes?”

“Yes, play the part,” she offered.

He shook his head slightly. She didn’t know what he meant by that.

Elena closed the space between them and rose up on her toes to wrap her hands around the back of his neck. Bloody hell, maybe she did. The heat from her body pressed against him and ignited the rush of blood coursing through him. Perhaps…he would give her just a kiss.

Searc stepped up against her, his arms coming up to catch her to him, his mouth meeting her softly parted lips. He caught Elena’s cheek with one hand while still holding her up and tilted her face to sample her sweetness. She tasted of wine and heat and smelled of flowers. His fingers found the silk of her hair under the small veil and raked against the pins holding the neat weave. Her heavy tresses unwound down her back and he threaded through the soft curls. She should always wear her glorious hair down. A whispered purr started in the back of her throat, rippling through his body.

Bloody hell, he ached! He hugged her closer and felt her nimble fingers creeping from his hair down his shoulders and then between them to his chest. She dug into his shirt, clasping her to him. He paused for her to catch her breath though their lips stayed close together, their foreheads leaning into one another as they breathed.

“We must stop,” he said though his body shouted a bloody denial.

“Why?” Heat surged again within him at her whisper.

He growled low and encircled her with his arms, her cheek turned against his chest. Surely she could feel how much he didn’t want to stop. “Ye are an innocent lass.” He held his breath.

She hesitated but then nodded.
Thank the good Lord.

“I will not be the ruin of ye,” he added thickly.

“What if I want you to ruin me?”

Och!
Searc wanted to touch every sweet, soft inch of her right there. Find a secluded hay loft and lift her skirts.
Devil! Nay
. He rested his chin on the top of her head. “Ye must decide that when yer blood isn’t hot and racing.”

Her body shifted as she rose on tiptoes to tug his face down to hers. When she lifted, she nestled intimately against him and her eyes widened at the obvious proof that he was far from infirmed. She swallowed. “Actually I think it is best to decide that when one’s blood
is
hot and racing, as it gives one courage.”

His tight face relaxed into a teasing grin. “Ye shot at villains from a tree. Ye left the only home ye knew and continued on even when yer journey was torn apart by mishap. Ye risked everything to help me escape the jailhouse. And ye went to mass with Marie of Guise. I don’t know many lasses with that much courage.” His words were giving her time to pull away and for him to let her, but she stayed pressed against him.

He cupped her face and kissed her gently. She closed her eyes and when he pulled back, she looked like a sweet angel. And he was surely a devil.

“I will not take ye in a stable.” Searc ran one hand up through his hair. Elena opened her eyes as he set her from him, adjusting himself.

“Searc—”

“As ye could surely tell, I can be convinced easily to ravish ye. But I will not take ye amongst horses and unmucked stables. Let us find a way to dispose of this letter,” he said low.

She breathed deeply and nodded, the flush waning from her face.

Searc took her arm and walked them out the stable doors before he changed his mind and threw her in the hay.

“Where is there an unwatched fire?” Elena bent to inspect a flower in full bloom. She pointed to a bird in flight as if they were merely strolling the grounds.

“Only candles at night and the fires in the smithy and kitchens.” And the fire in his blood. He rubbed a hand down his face. “Let us look about. Perhaps an opportunity will show itself.”

“We could shred it,” she suggested.

He nodded. “If we don’t find a way to completely destroy it, shredding will be an option.”

Elena huffed. “Will Dearg eat it?”

He snorted. “Doubtful, unless I coat it with apple tart.”

“I don’t seem to have one handy.” She glanced around. “Where is there a sow when you need one?”

“Toward the abbey.”

They meandered casually through the bailey with Elena pointing and sniffing and smiling at flowers and the like. Just as he anticipated, guards seemed to be watching everywhere. Did they think to find another dead woman deposited in afternoon light? The thick page of paper, tucked inside his shirt, rubbed against his side as he walked.

Beside the quaint gardens leading up to the abbey, several low barns and pens held animals. Two lads worked around them. One spread feed for the chickens, teasing them to run to various corners of the pen by throwing handfuls in opposite directions. Another grimaced as he raked out the soiled straw under the continuously munching cows. The pigs stood in a pen between, rooting through the mud and eating the slop in a low trough. He doubted they’d need a tart to entice them to eat the letter.

Searc directed Elena toward the pens. He leaned toward her ear and placed a smile on his mouth. “One of us must make a diversion while the other puts the letter in the pigs’ trough.”

“Hmmm…” she answered and nodded. “I have always wanted to milk a cow.” She looked at him, a question clearly on her face.

And the woman thought she wasn’t brave. He smiled encouragement. “By all means.” His voice grew louder as they came up to the low fence. “Lad!” he called to the boy raking. “My wife has always wished to milk a cow. I have told her that it is much too dangerous.”

The boy set his rake against the pen, happy to be distracted from his grimy work. “Lovely Bess here is quite safe.” He indicated one of the large bovines with big brown eyes. The cow’s eyes widened as she watched Searc, but she didn’t move or stop her chewing. The other lad dumped the rest of the chicken feed and climbed over the fence to join his friend.

“Milking can be dirty work, milady,” the chicken boy warned. “But ’tis quite safe.”

“Is there a less dirty place I could try? Perhaps over there?” Elena’s innocent smile left the lads blushing and jogging to bring the cow to the far side of the pen.

“Do be careful,” Searc advised as she corralled her skirts into one hand. Elena laughed loudly as the lads helped her up over the small fence. Searc scanned the pebbled path winding toward the abbey. Every set of eyes had turned to the unusual sight of a nobly-dressed woman climbing in with two cows.

Searc slipped out the folded cream-colored paper from his plaid. The gut inside a pig could surely handle the machinated cotton fibers as well as the small amount of dark walnut ink the letter seemed to be written in. The wax seal would simply mix and disappear with the beast’s slop. He held the paper in the loose folds of his kilt and chuckled as Elena balled her skirts before her so she could sit on the small milking stool. Had she ever milked before? When Bess’s tail swished the air near her, she jumped, nearly falling over. Milked before? Not likely.