Highland Hearts 03 - Crimson Heart (26 page)

“There is quite a lot of conjecture about you and your husband.” Marie tilted her head to one side.

“Me as well,” Searc’s mother threw in as if this whole discussion was completely ludicrous. She stood and clasped Elena’s other hand. “It seems we are all devil spawn.”

Elena looked directly back into his mother’s mischievous eyes as her softly pink lips parted with a wry smile. “’Tis better than Tudor spawn.”

There was a pause as everyone took in Elena’s gentle words. Searc’s father choked on a chuckle while Marie laughed outright, the sound echoing in the silent hall. His mother smiled broadly, and even Henri cracked a grin. Only Father Renard seemed unaffected.

Marie gained control of her humor quickly. “Father Renard, you have just blessed this pair in holy marriage in a holy church. The walls did not quake nor did lightning split the sky. None of us saw the turning of ash in the forest?” She lifted the end of that statement in question and glanced at Elena.

Elena couldn’t know what they were talking about, but after a brief moment she answered easily. “I was being held at knife point by a bandit, if you are referring to my rescue. My husband would have no need of the devil’s help to dispatch an enemy from this world, not with that sword arm.”

Marie nodded. “And as for healing,” her gaze moved back to the priest. “
Ma
grand-mère
was a renowned healer in her time. I have great respect for a woman who can cure the ills in this world and will not allow one who attends mass to be condemned by a trick of the light in a dim chapel.”

Father Renard sputtered “I know what I saw. Our records in the abbey archives show statements regarding Rachel Munro being a witch. She brought a baby back to life. She even healed a dark creature of the night when it was near dead, a wolf.” Father Renard had worked himself up into a thundering voice, his eyes wide as if he were witnessing crimes against God. “And there are some letters from the Davidson clan naming Rachel Munro and her niece as witches. It is not hard to believe that Searc Munro is also in league with the devil, that his mere touch would bring death.”

Searc’s father held his sword upright, its point to the dark, arched wooden ceiling of the great hall. “My touch brings death too, Father, and the same for any Highlander whose family is in danger.” He leveled the point at the priest briefly as he brought it back to his side, the threat obvious.

Henri leaned into Marie, his thin lips pinching and thinning in rapid French. Marie frowned. “Father Renard.” She frowned. “You are not usually swayed toward witchcraft accusations.”

He held out his hands as if pleading for her to believe him. “The records list examples of this woman’s power. I would take her to the abbey to question.”

Searc took a single step closer to the man. “Unless God strikes me and my father down right where we stand, ye will not lay a hand on my mother.”

A moment of silence followed.

Alec cupped his free hand to his ear. “And nary a rumble of thunder.”

“I insist. She must be allowed to see the evidence to refute it, your grace.” The priest dropped his hands and stared directly at Marie.

The man was a stubborn fool. Searc drew his sword. His mother would not be dragged away to explain her miracles, her life-saving blue magic to anyone, especially the whiny, mole-eyed priest. Anger rushed strength to his muscles as he slowly shook his head. His magic churned in his gut, twisting and begging for release. One touch and he could drop his mother’s accuser to the stone floor.

“Searc Munro.” Marie stood again. “As Henri has reminded me, there have been several reports of an unnatural glow coming from your eyes. Strange,
non
? Several guards, my lady, Lyngfield. You were also able to detect the stinging nettle under Neige’s saddle and you have a pet wolf that comes at your call.” Marie’s painted eyebrow rose higher in question. “Perhaps, my Highland ambassador is actually more dangerous than we know, especially when he is furious…as he is now.”

“Pish.” Elena’s firm voice pulled all gazes toward her. “Furious, yes, Searc Munro will always come to lethal defense of his family. But dangerous?” She paused, her slender arm going out to indicate his parents. “Not to those he protects. And as he proved in the ambush, your grace, he will defend you and your daughter’s crown. Perhaps God has given him such strength to shield you.”

Marie watched Elena with assessing eyes until the regent finally tipped her chin higher. “Well countered,
Madam
Elena.” A smile turned up the corners of her red lips. “The Tudor kitten is more like her father’s lion.”

Lady Meg Macbain of Druim Castle, Scottish Highlands

I do not know if this missive will reach you, but I have such news. Searc has wed here in Edinburgh. Alec and I arrived just in time to witness the ceremony along with the queen regent, Marie de Guise. Elena is her name and she is a lovely woman, though I do not know much other than that. I pray that Searc has chosen well as there seems much confusion and unease surrounding them both at present. Alec and I hope to convince the two of them to return to Munro Castle with us. We have not yet had a chance to tell him about Kincaid, but will so soon. I hope this letter finds you all well at Druim. Please send word to Fiona and Phillip that we are well.

Lady Rachel Munro,

temporarily of Edinburgh Castle

Madeline brushed through Elena’s hair as she sat before the fire in her room. Searc had yet to return from settling his parents into their quarters after the feast and minstrel entertainment Marie had insisted upon to celebrate their wedding. Searc had seemed distant during the day-long celebration.

Shadows darkened the corners and flame light flicked against the stone walls, making the room seem eerie. The maid remained quiet as if she’d picked up on Elena’s mood.

“
Je suis désolé
,” Madeline apologized as she worked against a snarl in Elena’s hair, yanking her head to the side.

“
De rien
,” Elena waved it off, barely registering the tug. Her mind focused on the light scrawl of an inscription as she ran the pad of her thumb across it in her pocket. The locket. It sat in the dark folds of a chamber cloak, heavy, waiting for Madeline to finish her toiletry and leave. The golden oval had been with her through the whole dinner, evidence that she really was Queen Mary’s full-blooded sister. A Protestant sister married to a Scotsman instead of a hated, foreign prince from Spain. No doubt, beheading would be her introduction in London with Mary Tudor on the throne.

Elena barely noticed Madeline’s,
“Bonne nuit,”
as she left the room. The heavy click of the door closing after her made Elena startle. God’s teeth, she was jumpier than a mouse with a cat on the prowl. All through the day, she’d felt Father Renard’s gaze on her, but when she’d turned to catch him, he’d be staring at Searc’s mother or down at his full plate.

Elena had barely been able to eat with the heaviness in the great hall. Searc neither joked nor smiled. Was he regretting his oath to keep her? No one had ever wanted her unless they could figure out a way to use her without getting their head lopped off. Without claiming to have Tudor blood, she wasn’t valuable. Perhaps after thinking about it, he didn’t want her at all.

Elena swallowed hard and twisted in her seat to glance at the unlocked door. When would Searc return? Her eyes moved to the curtained bed, the coverlets and furs. Perhaps if she reminded him that she had other attributes that didn’t involve an English crown. Her pulse flew just thinking about it. She stood, smoothing down the satin sleeping chemise and luxurious robe that had been included in the trunk of clothes, a wedding gift from Marie.

Elena had no reason to be nervous now. She knew the secret of the marriage bed. She pressed her palms to her hot cheeks. But that was before Searc knew she was a princess, daughter of a true queen and King Henry VIII. Not just a woman, but one who should be elegant, clever, and as courageous as a princess all the time. And she was not.

Perhaps he would say he didn’t care, but once he thought about it…like her friend Patty at Grimsthorpe when Elena had confided in her about her lineage. She had seemed excited at first, but over time a wall formed between them as Patty grew to expect more from Elena, just like Thomas had. If only Queen Mary knew exactly how distant Elena wished to be from royalty, she wouldn’t consider her a threat for a moment.

Elena fished the locket from her robe and crawled into the center of the soft bed. She would give it to Searc, tell him every one of her little secrets, lay it all out before him and then see. Couldn’t someone who had sealed away his own secrets trust her enough to understand her doing the same? He’d said he would keep her, but he was sorry he’d wed her. The man was a frustrating mountain of contradictions.

Elena lay back on the soft pillows, the fur throw beneath her. She cracked open the locket to study the solemn pictures of her parents, parents she’d never known. Could Lord Randolph have been truthful about her mother wanting her? Thomas had always said that Queen Catherine had been too ill to keep her and never asked about her. She sighed and let the locket close in her hand. Her head sank into the plushness of the feather pillows. The comforting warmth of sleep pulled her down to rest, her mind quiet in pure exhaustion. She floated in the darkness, falling in and out of dreams.

“You are a liar.” Queen Mary pointed a dagger-like fingernail at her, the tip actually made of steel. Elena tried to speak but her mouth seemed stuck together so that only a whimper could escape. The queen continued. “You are not my sister. Why, look at you! How could you be of royal blood?”

Elena glanced down at her torn and muddied dress, her bare feet, as she had looked lost in the forest. Again she tried to speak but her tongue felt clumsy. She slipped one hand inside her pocket and wrestled out the locket, holding the chain between her blackened, grimy fingers. Queen Mary scoffed. “There is no one in that locket, girl. Look.”

Elena’s fingers fumbled with the clasp until it somehow popped open. But Mary was wrong. There was someone in the locket. Strong blue eyes stared up from the small oval, so life-like Elena inhaled on a gasp. A fierce expression played about his sensual lips, set in a face with strong features. Dark hair, given to curl, fell just over his forehead. Searc. She tried to say his name, but her lips were frozen. She shivered and tried again to push out the word. Desperate as if it would save her. “Searc,” came only as a whisper.

She’d said his name. Did she reveal all her secrets to him in her dreams? Searc watched her lips close and part over silent words. Was she dreaming of him? So beautiful. Red-golden hair spilled over the white pillow, the firelight playing within the waves of loose curl. Her skin was smooth and pearly though he could just make out the smattering of freckles across her nose. She exhaled a word, but he couldn’t make it out. His gaze dipped down her white sleeping gown laying open from her robe. Green and gold roses followed the dipped neckline where the material gathered to stretch taut lower down over her breasts.

Elena shivered. Was she cold? Gently he rolled the fur and coverlet back to pull it over her. She murmured again and he waited. Was she having a nightmare? About him?

She sighed, and rolled away from him, presenting her back.
Och
, to bury his face in that hair…Searc’s body responded before his worry could stop him. He yanked off his shirt and unbuckled the belt from his kilt. He slipped under the covers and pulled her back up against him. She felt chilled. Quite opposite of him, the heat in his blood might just char the bedding.

“Searc.” His name came from her on a whisper and she rubbed her backside into him. “You’ve come back to me.” Could she feel him through the material? Lord knew, he could feel her.

He managed to control his groan, lowering his nose to inhale the fragrance of her hair. “Aye.” His voice rumbled in the dark. “I am back.” He wrapped his arms under and around her. “We are bound,” he reminded her.

After a long moment he thought she’d drifted back to sleep. Her whisper came like a breeze in the dark. “I am sorry.” She sighed and turned in his loose arms to stare at him in the dark, their heads against the pillows, bringing them nose to nose. “If I was just a common girl—”

“Ye could never be common.” He pressed forward, waiting for her to retreat, but she didn’t. Despite her past secrets, her lack of trust in him, Searc couldn’t stay away.

The darkness surrounding them and the den-like warmth of the bed made the kiss inevitable. His lips captured hers. Elena’s mouth opened, so warm. He caught his hands in the flaming mass of riotous waves, guiding her head back into the soft pillow as he leaned over her. Her long sleeping tunic crept up with her restless legs and she rubbed against him. He felt her gasp though he swallowed it in the kiss. He lifted his head.

“You are naked,” she informed him, and though she sounded surprised, fear did not accompany her words.

He looked down at her. She was glorious. Her eyes caught the glow from the fire he’d stirred. “And ye are not. ’Tis a problem we can fix.” He leaned in again to kiss her lips before moving to the spot she seemed to like just under her ear. Sure enough, a small mew came from her as if she were melting, and her cool fingers raked through his hair. Searc inhaled.
Och
, she was all warmth and flowers and a certain touch of sweet spice that was Elena.

“Ye smell heavenly.” He trailed kisses down her neck to the hollow of her throat where he could feel her pulse quicken. “I will devour ye.”

“Searc.” He felt her stiffen slightly under his exploring hands.
Bloody hell!
He shouldn’t have said devour! He looked up to her face, her eyes watching him.

“Aye, Elena?”

“There is so much…so much that’s happened. I meant to tell you earlier, give you the locket, tell you exactly who I’m cursed to be.”

He realized then that she held the locket that had been on the mantle. He pushed himself up on an elbow in the firelight and took the swinging gold oval. “Ye are not this, Elena.”

Her face tightened, and a shine of unshed tears glazed her eyes. Somehow he continued to hurt her. “You are right,” she said. “No matter how badly some may want me to act as royal as my blood, I cannot. I have only been a burden to people, a danger even, as Thomas Seymour found out when he lost his head. I should have told you before you bound yourself to me.” He watched a tear curve down from the corner of her eye to lose itself in her delicate ear. “I do not want to be a danger to you and your family, your clan.” Her whisper was full of anguish.

He ran a finger down her tear-damp skin. “Ye worry about being a danger to me?” He shook his head, his frown relaxing. “I am the dangerous one, lass. I am the one who is a dark shadow on my family name. ’Tis why I left the Highlands.”

He saw her shake her head against the white pillow but lowered for a kiss. “No more talking, lass,” he murmured against her lips. “The night is too short.” He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into his embrace despite the tension he sensed in her. She would need to learn not to be afraid of him.

He found the sweet spot and nibbled. She groaned. With each stroke down her body, she seemed to melt more into his arms. He inched the tunic up until he could swiftly lift it over her head. It disappeared into the shadows off the side of the bed.

So soft, her skin was like nothing he’d ever felt before. He skimmed his palm from her shoulder down, shifting to the side of her breast to stroke to her waist. His grip settled on her hip bone as it rocked, pressing forward into him.
Och
, it felt so right. A wave of possessiveness washed through him, flooding him with conviction. He growled, grasping Elena’s hip. “Mine. Ye are mine.” Mind, body, and soul. He would have them even if he couldn’t have her trust.

He captured her lips once again, kissing her until she panted under him, all the while stroking and teasing her yielding body. Her breasts, perched upon her chest, begged to be palmed, their weight perfect in his hands. As he rolled her nipples between his thumb and forefinger, Elena’s legs parted and she moaned.

“Please,” she begged, her legs restless against him, her fingers teasing the flesh of his back and arse. She arched her body, her thighs parted, beckoning with her kisses, her movements.

Princess or peasant, it didn’t matter. Elena was his. His lips slid across her ear as he moved over her. “Now and forever,” he rasped and thrust inside.

She cried out his name as she opened completely, clinging to him, meeting him, joining him instinctively in rhythm. His muscles coiled. Heat and primal sensation raced through his blood. Thrust after thrust, she met him. Searc felt her scrape nails along his back, the sting bringing him closer to the edge. He ducked his mouth, replacing his hands at her breasts and she moaned, a deep, velvety sound at the back of her throat. Reaching between them, he stroked her as he twisted tighter toward his own release.

“Searc!” He felt her body contracting around him, sucking him over the edge. Heat shot through his limbs, scorching him with such intense pleasure he couldn’t breathe. He buried his face in Elena’s tangled mass of hair and finally inhaled. Pure heaven.

They held together for long heartbeats, breathing. His beautiful wife could trust him to bring her to passion yet not enough to confide her secrets. Not wanting to crush her, he rolled to the side, bringing Elena with him into his arms. So small and yet powerful enough to steal his breath. He hugged her close, pulling her to lay across his chest.

She sighed and he could hear the smile in it, could feel the languid exhaustion in her limbs. “Sleep, wife,” he whispered. “I will chase the nightmares away.”

Elena propped her chin on her hand that slid across his chest to tease him. “What if I don’t wish to sleep, husband?”

He looked at her, raising one eyebrow, and felt himself already stirring to life. “Ye don’t know the fire ye are playing with, lass.” He tweaked her puckered breast.

“I’ve felt your fire. I’m not afraid.”

He studied her smile. She still teased. He grunted, running his hand down to cup her hip draped so intimately over his own. “Ah, but there is so much more to learn.” He stared deeply into her eyes. Her knee rode up, her foot tickling his thigh. He rolled her slowly so that he leaned up over her.

“’Tis good we have all night then,” she said and he felt her small hand tickling a path down past his naval.