Free Highland Hearts 03 - Crimson Heart by Heather McCollum Page B

squat houses, its door open wide to catch the faint breeze that blew the stench of garbage out of the narrow side streets. Searc paid a lad to water and find food and a stall for Dearg before escorting Elena into the inn. She’d taken off the blanket and smoothed her green gown around her.
    Several men lingered in the main room over their morning meal. Shifty eyes and more than casual interest showed they could easily be persuaded to no good. He couldn’t fathom the idea of her arriving to this city without an escort. She’d have been an easy target for every pickpocket and scoundrel who laid eyes on her.
    “A room,” Searc requested.
    “Two,” Elena followed.
    The innkeeper looked between them. “One,” Searc contradicted, and placed his hand over her small one on his arm and squeezed.
    “Aye, follow me.” The portly innkeep turned like a heavily laden battleship to push between the tables to the stairs. Searc’s gaze connected directly with several of the more watchful patrons until they retreated back into their cups. He would not have Elena in another room under this roof where any bloody bastard could barge in on her while she slept.
    Searc produced another penny for the innkeeper. “Do ye know the whereabouts of a man named Lyngfield?”
    “Roger Lyngfield.” Elena turned in a tight circle in the equally tight room.
    “Lyngfield? Hmmm…” The innkeeper pocketed the coin and tapped his thick lips. “May have. Think he works in the stables at the palace. Tall fellow, broad.”
    “We could find him there?” Elena asked. “At the Holyrood stables?”
    “If he’s the fellow I’m thinking he is, aye.”
    “Thank ye.” Searc produced another coin and set it in the man’s sweaty palm.
    “The room is ten pence per night with a meal another five.” He left them, apparently not concerned over their relationship in the least.
    Elena leaned half way out the open window, looking downhill toward the abbey, whose spire one could see above small thatch-roofed shops along the cobblestone road. “I wish I knew what he looked like.”
    “Tall and broad.” Searc sat on the bed to pry his boots from his feet. “We will ask in the royal stables, but first” —his boot clomped down on the uneven floor— “we will rest.”
    The bed was small but took up half the tiny room. He shook the blanket that had been around Elena and laid it out on the floor before the door. He flattened out on the hard wood boards, his sword on one side and his dagger on the other. If anyone tried to enter the room, he’d know it before the bastard could even wake the lass.
    Elena sat on the bed. “Why just one room? I still have coins.”
    “Save them. Also, ye are safer with me in yer room.”
    “Those men down below seem rough.” She unlaced her boots. A small sigh came from her as they dropped from her feet. She pushed her skirts aside, rolled down one stocking and checked the foot that had been stung. He watched her slender fingers work the poultice wrapping off.
    “Much better, though I must say that breaking in new boots is hard on perfectly well feet too.” She pulled the other stocking-clad foot up and crossed it over her knee to rub.
    Searc pushed up and took it from her, his thumb running along the arch. She groaned. “God’s teeth that feels wonderful.” She leaned back on her elbows, but he still felt her gaze on him. “I’m sorry about the rock.” He glanced up and she tapped her forehead.
    “Perhaps I’ll be lucky and it will leave a scar.”
    The whisper of a laugh came from her before she groaned again.
    “New boots take some working before they aren’t torture,” he commented, determined to ignore the little noises she kept making, each one a torturous coal to fire up his blood.
    “Maybe I should have had them made larger,” she murmured as he stroked deeply along the channel running up the underside. He squeezed and stretched each of her little toes through the stocking on her sound foot and