Highland Hearts 03 - Crimson Heart by Heather McCollum Page A

Elena standing in the bailey with her angry cousin, especially with a murderer about and a traitor close by.
    “Yer grace,” Searc called and hesitated. “I have my…my…uh…my woman with me.”
    “ Tu femme? Your woman?” Marie pivoted, her snapping gaze fastening on the only person she didn’t know in the courtyard—Elena. Elena lowered with a flowing grace to the ground in a curtsey that rivaled those of English princesses before their king. One would never believe just how many disasters the lass could find in the forest with the evidence of such grace before them.
    “What is your name, child?” Marie gestured for Elena to come closer.
    “I am Elena…of Lincolnshire, England.”
    The guard beside Elena was the one from the gate. He took a step forward, his chin raised as if to proclaim he had vastly important information. “She came to Edinburgh to find her cousin, Roger Lyngfield, your grace,” he intoned.
    Mo Chreach ! “With whom we have just now met for the first time,” Searc finished and glanced at the groom. A look of mild confusion washed over Lyngfield’s angry features, and he turned to take in Elena. Blast but the bastard’s gaze slaked over her, measuring her worth. His small grin made it rather obvious that the man liked what he saw.
    “And you are traveling as this Highlander’s woman?” she stressed, her gaze running along Searc, the cat-like smile returning. “We have many women here at court. You needn’t bring your own.”
    Och! It was obvious the woman wanted him in her bed. Elena’s face had turned red as a harvest apple. Damn, the lass’s options were falling apart. Her cousin had more the look of a lecherous rake than a safe relation. And it was Searc’s own fault that everyone was looking at her like she was a whore instead of an innocent in his care.
    He turned back to Marie. “She is my wife,” blew from Searc’s lips on an exhale. “We have recently wed and wished to see her relation in Edinburgh as we journey.”
    Marie of Guise snorted with a tip of her head in a very French, nasally way. “Rather queer that she would show up at the very moment her cousin is being accused of treason.” She let the suspicion sit amongst them like a dead bird on the ground. No one moved and no one could seem to take their eyes away. “Very well, bring your English wife with you, but keep her close, as I’m certain now there is a traitor in my midst.” She looked pointedly at Elena. “And the English are friends of Lord Arran.”
    Elena lowered once more into a perfect puff of petticoats. “I have no interest in the politics of my misguided people, your grace, but rely completely on the guidance of my husband and new family.”
    “Can a woman so easily turn her back on her upbringing? I think non , or else I would be speaking nothing but English and Gaelic and eating Haggis, madam ,” she said with a clear intonation of skepticism as her hands slapped against her skirts.
    She glanced back at Searc, where he stood. “Come. She can meet her cousin later after he is questioned and released from his position here.”
    Bloody hell! Now Elena’s cousin had no livelihood, and his glare showed that he blamed Searc. Would he take his anger out on Elena? This day was quickly going from frustrating to dangerous.
    …
    Searc fought the urge to tuck Elena against him and promise her circumstances would smooth out. She moved numbly on his arm, as they followed the small entourage through an arched doorway cut into the side of the palace and down a long gallery. Their boots tapped on the rush-less floor, skirts brushing as the ladies moved with them under the vaulted, ornate ceiling. Windows lined the inner side of the gallery, showing a manicured center garden. He made note of all the exits he noticed. Marie led them into a room where a throne-like chair sat at one end, flanked by gold-threaded tapestries depicting battles and victories.
    Marie turned and sat on the throne, slapping her