Crimson Heart

By Heather McCollum

Elena has spent her entire life hiding her family name while walking the thin line between lady and servant in a Protestant household. She has kept the secret of her lineage for years, but with a new, fiercely Catholic queen on the throne, Elena's Protestant caretaker is being targeted. And when Bloody Mary discovers Elena's true identity, she must flee to Scotland to save her life.

Highland warrior, Searc Munro, has secrets of his own. In a family of healers, his dark, killing magic must never be known. When his father's life is threatened, Searc unleashes his lethal power to save him. With his clan's suspicious glances and whispers plaguing him, he sets off alone, only to find another use for his magic in saving a beautiful lass being attacked in the forest.

Teaming up as exiles, Elena and Searc head toward Edinburg to find refuge. Yet, with a series of ritual killings haunting the city and a traitor attempting to assassinate Scotland's regent, suspicion turns to Searc. As word of another British heir reaches the country, the two must learn to trust each other if they want to live.

The Highland Hearts series can be read out of order, but is best enjoyed in order.
Reading Order:
Book #1 Captured Heart
Book #2 Tangled Hearts
Book #3 Untamed Hearts
Book #4 Crimson Heart
Book #5 Highland Heart

• Language: English
• Publisher: Macmillan Publishers
• Release date: Jun 24, 2014
• ISBN: 9781622663620

Heather McCollum

Heather McCollum is an award winning, historical and contemporary YA paranormal romance writer. She earned her B.A. in Biology from the University of Maine, much to her English professor's dismay. She is a member of Romance Writers of America, won the 2015 Readers' Crown, and was a 2009 Golden Heart Finalist. Ms. McCollum has twelve historical romances released in both electronic and digital formats. She also has three YA paranormal romances released in both formats. When she is not busy writing and answering calls of "Mom", she can be found educating women about ovarian cancer. She is a teal warrior herself and slayed the ovarian cancer beast in 2012. She currently resides with her very own Highland hero and three spirited children in the wilds of suburbia on the mid-Atlantic coast. More information about Ms. McCollum and her books can be found at www.HeatherMcCollum.com.

Book preview

Table of Contents

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Discover more romance from Entangled…

Never Cross a Highlander

The Duke’s Rules Of Engagement

Cinderella and the Duke

A Matter of Temptation

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright © 2014 by Heather McCollum. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

Entangled Publishing, LLC

644 Shrewsbury Commons Ave

STE 181

Shrewsbury, PA 17361

[e-mail]

Amara is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.

Edited by Liz Pelletier

Cover design by LJ Anderson/Mayhem Cover Creations

Model photography by The Killion Group

Background photography by Shaiith/Getty Images

ISBN 978-1-62266-362-0

Manufactured in the United States of America

First Edition June 2014

For Logan. May you grow up to be the hero I know you are meant to become.

And for all those who feel that they must hide a curse. May you contemplate the thought that perhaps the curse is, in fact, a gift.

Chapter One

Highlands of Scotland, August 1554

Searc Munro frowned as he scanned the surrounding shadows of the forest from his mount. His father’s deep voice droned on, but Searc wasn’t paying much attention. He’d heard it all before and something tugged at the power that lay just under his skin. The terrain was familiar—Munro territory that they regularly patrolled—but the forest had grown quiet.

A prickle of awareness enhanced his unnatural senses, and he smelled the damp earth. He scanned the area for broken twigs or indents in the spongy ground but saw nothing that would indicate intruders. Heavy drops of rain, caught in the trees above, tapped sporadically down as their horses maneuvered around the raspberry bramble and gorse.

Phillip and Edgar chuckled over a jest from where they rode behind Searc and his father. A quick glance showed John, another seasoned warrior with a thick, bristly beard, bringing up the rear.

Something was triggering Searc’s awareness—his secret magic, his curse. He shifted his gaze from moss-covered tree to the copse of thick, knee-high ferns up ahead. Danger? Or perhaps it was just the interrogation he was enduring.

You’re as tall as I now. His father, Alec Munro, chief of the clan, rolled his shoulders, his reins loose in one hand. Actually, Searc had grown taller than his da by two inches. Even though he was over a score and ten years, the man still thought of him as a lad wet behind the ears. His da gestured to him. You’ve filled out and inherited your mother’s fine features. The lasses sigh whenever you walk past even though you frown all the time. Fiona had to chase two forward lasses from outside your door the other night.

Och! Would he not let it rest? Searc flexed his shoulders and maintained his usual silence.

Father Daughtry said that Judith Davidson was asking about you last time he visited their holding, not that I want you tangled with those devils.

Alec paused only long enough to tug at his short beard. So you don’t have a wee bairn somewhere? I’m fair certain your mother would even be happy with a bastard at this point.

Searc leveled a dark look at his sire. "And I’m fair certain that any lass to find herself with my child would inform you as soon as she informed me. Maybe before."

Alec snorted because he knew it was true. Searc was the last of the Munro line, since his two brothers were killed decades ago during the feud with the now allied Macbains. Searc needed to produce an heir.

Your mother’s concerned.

Ma wants a granddaughter she can train. The women born in his family, linked by blood from some great healer in Denmark nearly six centuries ago, had a magical ability to move the smallest particles of air and moisture in the sky, or blood and flesh in the body. Dory and Ewan Brody’s three daughters, as well as Meg and Caden Macbain’s lasses, had inherited the gift. They all lived at Druim Castle, so Searc’s mother was the only healer at Munro Castle. Their magic was a glowing blue light of healing. Searc was the first male to inherit magic, but his was corrupt. It appeared red instead of blue, and instead of healing, his magic killed. Which was why he’d always kept it a secret from everyone, even his family.

’Tis true she wants a grandbairn to coo at. Alec faced front. But it doesn’t have to be a wee lass. A strong laddie to learn how to lead this mighty clan would be just as welcome.

Searc breathed deeply of the pungent, earthy scent permeating the air, ignoring his da’s mutterings. The trees stood silent, still. Tall, leafy giants with gnarly roots erupting up through the green moss. The birds were too still, as if they hid, their little fluttering hearts beating frantically in anticipation. Anticipation of what? His father had stopped talking as if he too felt the tension.

Phillip. Alec twisted in his seat, but before he could utter another word a body swung down from a tree. Holding tight to the end of the long rope, a man soared across the space to kick Alec Munro squarely in the chest. Searc’s father flew with a grunt to land among the wet ferns.

"Battail!" Searc yelled the battle cry as more men swooped down from trees around them. An ambush, and it was obvious that they were outnumbered. At least four men ran from various trees while three others flew on ropes tied high in the tall oaks. Searc sent his dagger flying at the man who’d hit his da. The blade pierced the enemy’s skull from the back and he toppled onto Alec, who cursed furiously.

Searc turned his horse, Dearg, with his knees as he drew out his long sword. The lethal song of it, sliding from the scabbard, shot warrior’s instinct through Searc’s muscles. His heart raced, feeding his body with the rush of blood and power. Every sense he had intensified. His magic swelled inside him, waiting to be allowed release like a hungry beast gnashing at the bars of a cage. He could hear the grunts and hisses of the enemy as they attacked. Several rose from under ferns.

The bastard killed Arthur. The man’s accent was local. Two men turned toward Searc, and he dodged a dagger snapped from one of their fists. Searc whistled quickly for his wolf in case the beast was nearby, then swung his blade in an arch down along Dearg’s side. The well-trained horse danced nimbly on the spongy soil with a simple nudge of Searc’s knees. A third foe surged toward Da as he rolled the dead man off him to stand. Did his da even have his sword?

Searc urged Dearg out of the melee and leapt down amongst the ferns. Phillip and Edgar battled men half their ages but fought with practiced strategy. John’s thick arms bulged as he struggled against three attackers and Searc ran to assist him. One turned to block Searc’s strike from the back. With a quick twist and lunge, Searc felled him and hurtled himself against another man, knocking him down.

Searc yanked the wet fern out of the man’s face and spit. You are a Davidson.

The nephew of the last Davidson chief glared back at him. ’Tis time to rid the land of the chiefs of Munro! and the man twisted his hand. But Searc felt the intent before the blade and grabbed the man’s wrist, forcing it down to pierce the Davidson’s own throat. Searc leapt to his feet and turned. Two men still battled his father several yards away, blood dripping down his sire’s face from a fresh gash above his eyebrow. The sight of the red against his da’s pale features, hardened with intense pain, caught Searc’s breath in his chest. Obviously trained and large, the two Davidsons lunged together in an attempt to kill the proud warrior.

Fury flashed through Searc with such force he barely registered the dark gray wolf jumping into the chaos, ripping into the Davidson who’d knocked Phillip to the ground. Searc held his sword and ran, stomping down the ferns to dash between trees, desperate to get to his father. Another jumped before him, blocking his aid. With a growl of sheer hatred, Searc imbedded his sword into the man’s gut, dispatching him to hell, and turned to see his da fall to his knees under the assault.

Da! Searc bounded forward, thorns slashing his legs. Leaving his sword and dagger behind him stuck in his enemy, Searc grabbed the arms of the two Davidsons. Searc felt their pulses race, mimicking the battle lust within himself, incensing and freeing his magic. Red washed through Searc’s vision as he stared at the men ready to gut his father, ready to bring anguish to his mother and war to his clan.

The unnatural power surged upward through him, released like a flood shattering through a cracked damn. The heat of Searc’s magic boiled out of his hands where he gripped, his fingers digging into their arms.

Blast! one yelled and stared at his limb where Searc held tight. Searc let his fury flood into the two Davidsons, grabbing hold of their very essence and reversing to pull it back into him. The one man’s cry turned to a scream and the other joined the first. They sunk to the earth, kneeling before the wide eyes of Searc’s father.

Searc, Da called, but the blood and power rushing in Searc’s ears blocked all but a whispered stream of curses from his sire.

The men beneath his hands drooped, their faces turning ashen. Wrinkles in their leathery skin deepened, their faces shriveling like sun-dried apples. And still Searc extracted the life from them. Their surprised eyes sunk into their skulls as he continued to pull every drop of moisture from their bodies. He knew the moment they died, their hearts collapsing in on themselves, the blood drying in their veins, and yet he still held onto them, giving in to the desire to take every last drop of their power, crushing them and their attempts to end all that was good in his world.

Bones, brittle and weak, buckled as the men’s husks crumbled to the forest floor beneath them, a pile of ashes, hair, and broken bones barely contained within their collapsed clothes. As if to punctuate the horror, one complete skull rolled away from the neck opening of its tunic. It stopped before his father’s foot, empty eyes staring up at his sire’s horrified, frozen face.

Searc breathed deeply, his hands curling into fists as his chest rose and fell with the surge of strength now filling him. With practiced focus he re-erected the dam, brick by mental brick, and slowly the red haze cleared from his vision.

Holy Christ, Searc. Da gaped. The forest seemed to hold its breath. Edgar held up Phillip and John stomped through the undergrowth toward them, forming a small semi-circle, all eyes on the proof of Searc’s damning power. At least ten Davidsons lay unmoving in the thick greenery, the tang of blood and sweat filling the air. Searc’s wolf raised its blood-soaked muzzle to the still canopy and howled, his song both victorious and mournful.

By all that is holy… Da began, staring, his gaze filled with awe and something Searc had never seen in his father’s face before—fear. Searc shut his eyes against the sight. In a swift motion he plucked his dagger easily from the Davidson on the ground and strode over to his bloodied longsword. The energy feeding his muscles pulsed uncomfortably and he slammed his arm against a tree trunk as thick as his thigh. Crack! The tree shook, its mighty branches shivering as it toppled away from the group, shattering the stillness.

Bloody hell. Searc strode to where Dearg stood, eyes wide and nostrils flared. The horse sensed the danger in him but bravely stood his ground. Searc wouldn’t touch the charger with the amplified strength of the dead men running through him, but gently picked up the reins that dangled to the leaves, leading him away. Searc could hardly suck in a full breath with his heart pounding so hard, pulsing through his head, churning his morning breakfast in his gut. His wolf, Cheò, followed as they strode away, leaving the bodies, leaving his da and friends with the truth. The truth that Searc Munro was a monster.

…

But where will you go? His mother, Rachel Munro, charged after Searc on his way down the winding staircase of Munro Castle.

Edinburgh, he threw out, though he wasn’t set on the destination. At least it was a direction away from the Highlands. Somewhere people wouldn’t look at him like he was a…a demon, as if he could suck their life away with a single touch. Well he could, but he wouldn’t, would he?

Edinburgh? She kept up with two steps to his one long stride into the great hall. His mother was amazingly spry for all the gray hair in her braid. I won’t let you go, Searc. Don’t go.

He pivoted and she stopped just short of him, his chin well above the top of her head. He looked down into her frantic eyes. He’d put that fear there, and the guilt gnawed at his gut. There is usually a slew of Munros joking, squabbling, drinking in this hall. He gave her time to glance past him at the empty room.

They are training. Aye, she was stubborn as his da.

Searc shook his head slowly. They think I am evil, that I will kill them like those bloody Davidsons.

His mother looked like she would shake her head but then stopped. She knew. She’d heard the whispers that had penetrated the clan like black mushrooms popping up on a rotting log after a storm. It had taken a full day for the unnatural strength of the two Davidsons to leach from his system. He’d broken the front door when he’d slammed his palm against it and nearly crushed old Phillip when he’d shoved the long table, pinning the man against the wall.

It will pass. Rachel clutched her hands, wringing them before her. Give it time. They grew up with you and know you, know you wouldn’t harm them.

His fists balled against his legs and he stared up at the vaulted ceiling. The beams and arched stonework had sheltered him, been his home, yet since that day Munro Castle felt distant and full of silent judgment. What if…? He looked back down into his mother’s pleading gaze. "What if I do harm them?"

You wouldn’t. Her expression firmed, and he could see the battle building in her gaze, her head snapping up in defiance. And if any say you would, they are not welcome here.

Rachel. His father stepped in from the entry alcove into the hall. Let him decide how to solve this. He strode across the room while his mother shook her head, her lips tight.

He’s my last son. I wasn’t there to heal Malcolm and Alasdar on the battlefield. I’ll be damned if I let Searc walk away from me.

Alec walked close but didn’t touch Searc’s shoulder like he used to each time he passed. Perhaps his da thought he wouldn’t notice how he hadn’t laid a finger on him since that day. No one had, except his mother. No harm will come to him with power like that. He gestured to Searc’s hands.

But he needs time to hone it, learn to use it properly, Rachel argued. The two stood facing one another, discussing him like he was a young lad who’d been begging for his first real sword. Meg needed time to learn to heal with her magic. And we learned from Dory how to control the weather.

Searc stood with his hands fisted at his sides. Your magic is blue. Mine is red.

Rachel shook her head. But it must come from my line. Altered by you being a man instead of a woman. You have no dragonfly birthmark like us women, but the magic comes from our family line.

He had a birthmark, a sinewy line that looked like a pointed tail. It wrapped around his left forearm. Could it be a sign of the devil? His mother didn’t mention the mark because she knew he thought it evil.

He looked to his da. Better talk to Caden and Meg about their son, Kincaid, especially if he has a mark like mine.

Alec nodded once, his face grim.

Another reason you must stay, to help your cousin, Rachel quickly followed. If the red magic comes to the men in the family, you need to help us figure out how to use it properly. Kincaid is a man of eighteen now. He will need you.

No one speaks of any magic in the lad. Alec’s voice was low. Malcolm and Alasdar didn’t have any. The look in his da’s eyes was dull, as if he were accepting that Searc was alone, an aberration of the healing blue magic for which Rachel was revered.

Searc met his gaze for a long moment, then turned to his mother and shook his head. I leave at dawn. He pivoted on his heel before her water-filled eyes could pierce his heart further.

…

Rain dripped from the gray clouds hunkered down over the moor, mirroring Searc’s foul mood. White and gray rocks broke through the green landscape like bones pushing through ripped skin. The call of a hawk cleaved through the thick clouds that nearly touched the land and hid the low hills that were so very different from the crags of the Highlands. Faithful Cheò loped beside Searc’s horse, his gray coat nearly blending in with his namesake, the mist. Tiny pearls of water dotted his coat and Dearg flicked droplets off his ears. Searc breathed in water with each inhale.

Och! Two weeks of traveling without a clean pallet reminded him that he much preferred a hearth to a campfire. He would stay in the next town he came upon, at least until he could figure out where he was going. Edinburgh was the center of all the political and religious struggles going on between Marie of the French House of Guise and James Hamilton, the second Earl of Arran. Marie’s daughter, the young Queen Mary Stewart, was safely tucked away in France, but her mother strategized here in Scotland to keep her daughter’s throne. The mother had just been officially named regent to rule Scotland for her daughter, but many still sided with Lord Arran, including the English.

All that danger and intrigue would surely tempt his cursed magic to push its way out into the open. Best to avoid it.

Cheò raised his snout, the black tip flexing to inhale the distant tang of damp wood smoke. A village might lay ahead, perhaps with ale, an ample bosomed widow, and a dry bed. But then Searc’s gut tightened. Something tugged at his core where his power stewed, piquing his magic. His da had always called it Searc’s amazing instincts for survival, but now his sire knew it had been his cursed magic that alerted him to danger before others.

The wolf kept pace at the horse’s flank, his ears flattened. Searc slowed as they entered the shadowed copse of tall oaks. Just like in the Highlands, ferns sprouted everywhere, a cover for animals and marauders alike. Late summer had broadened the canopy of fluttering leaves on the trees above so that the rain only tapped sporadically through to the forest floor.

Searc slid a dagger from his boot and used knees to guide the horse between the thickly wrinkled trunks. He tipped his head back to spy the high limbs, having learned to look above for ambush. In the distance he heard a man’s voice and a bark of rough laughter. Someone was brimming with fear. It was the fear that drew him.

Four men stood in a clearing dressed in rags and rich clothing that didn’t seem to fit. Thieves. They stared up at a tree with shields at the ready.

I think she’s a wee fairy lass. One man glanced around his shield to smile wickedly up the tree.

Now there, lassie, where did ye come from? a second asked.

Come down now. The third thief shuffled to the base of the tree, keeping his head covered with his shield. We’ll be kind to ye. He glanced at his friends. I can see under her skirts. And he whistled low. The first lowered his shield to spy up the tree.

Searc pressed his knees into Dearg’s side, and the horse leapt forward. "Stad!" he demanded they stop. He glanced overhead and caught the flash of an arrow as it shot downward.

God’s balls! The thief grabbed the shaft of an arrow where it had sliced through his sleeve to pierce his arm, blood darkening the dirty linen. Searc dismounted. Two more arrows shot from the tree to lance the wooden shields over the men.

What goes on here? Searc glanced up into the thick foliage above. A flash of torn material and shapely bare legs moved amongst the branches and leaves. Small, dirty toes curled around a limb. He repeated his question in English in case the archer or the men didn’t speak Gaelic this far east.

She’s ours. We found her first, a greasy-haired fob with a fancy blue jacket yelled, jabbing his shield upward.

Searc whistled and Cheò jumped at one of the men, knocking him down and pinning him beneath his snapping muzzle. He screamed and shut his eyes, surrendering to the beast. Two of the others cursed and moved well away from Cheò. When one notched an arrow to shoot Cheò Searc whistled two short blasts. The wolf dodged away behind a tree. He growled low, waiting for Searc’s signal to spring back into the fray.

Go away. The woman shook the limbs hiding her. I’m no one to trifle with. The voice held a decidedly English slant.

Finders keepers. Still holding his shield the rough man kicked the trunk, possibly in hopes of knocking her out.

A bag of coin fell from the branches. My life is not for sale, but take the silver and leave, thief, the woman called.

Searc waited, but he knew the thieves would pocket the coins and still try to take the lass. Bloody scoundrels didn’t bargain when they felt they held the upper hand.

Drop yer bow. The bastard with a bald patch on the top of his head turned his gaze to Searc. He redirected his bow to aim the arrow toward the tree while his friend guarded his head. He smiled showing brown teeth. The lass has no shield.

There was little hope that the woman could maneuver quickly enough in the limbs to dodge the arrow if he fired. She must have deduced the same. With a muted curse the bow fell from the tree to bounce against the packed moss.

Searc felt the prickly tension in the clearing. His magic searched for release. If he could just focus it, funnel it out enough to use it without losing control. He’d done it before, once when trying to stop a wolf from killing Cheò as a pup. It was just enough power to take the large beast’s strength without taking his life.

I said drop yer sword, Highlander! The balding man spat on the ground. Or she dies. He sneered. I have a clear shot through her breast, so kick over all yer weapons, man, and any gold or coins ye happen to have on ye too. He glanced sideways at the one who’d lowered his shield. Turning out to be a lucrative day, I’d say. I believe we’ve just found a mount as well. He laughed as Searc dropped his dagger and sword into the leaf litter. He was too far away to reach the bastard before he released the arrow.

The balding one picked up the woman’s pouch and bow while another motioned for Searc to kick over his blades. Go on, mountain man, throw over yer monies too.

I have none. Searc’s power roiled up within him, begging for release. Though ye are welcome to search me.

Geoff, the thief with the crooked nose called, and the leader followed the man’s line of sight.

What’s wrong with ye, man?

Leave the woman and ye will live, Searc warned, his voice low, letting his power show in a hardening of his eyes. Could the bastard see a faint spark of red there too? The forest around them waited, the very air holding its breath. The green canopy of the trees seemed to contain his words, causing a slight echo, like they were in a great hall instead of a forest.

Bloody devil. The balding one, named Geoff, sneered and pulled back tighter on his bow string. A low curse came from the tree and the leaves shook. Was the lass trying to move out of range? Searc held his hands up as if surrendering and cast his glance downward.

That’s it, darlin’. Climb down here or I’ll shoot ye through. Geoff moved backward, his arrow still cocked.

I’d rather die. Brave lass. He could feel her fear, but she refused to give into it.

The man wiped a dirty sleeve across his wet lips. I said get yer lovely arse down here or we won’t be so nice with ye.

Searc’s blood boiled at the man’s threats. He took his own bag of coins out of his cinched pouch on his belt. Oh look, I do have gold after all.

Geoff smiled. I think we will take it all. ’Tis four against one.

Ye are three— Searc tilted his head to the shot man sitting against a tree, —against a Highlander and his wolf. The odds are hugely in my favor.

The leader chuckled darkly.

Searc slowly shook his head without breaking the stare with the man’s blood-shot eyes. Ye’ve been warned. His words grated from between his teeth.

Ahh! The lass cried out as her bare foot slipped on the damp branches. She plunged slowly, her arms grasping for branches. She fell in a tangle of wet hair and ripped skirts to the feathery wet ferns below. Geoff leapt forward and hauled her up against him, as the other two bandits charged Searc. With a snapping growl, Cheò jumped in front, knocking down the one he’d pinned earlier. Searc easily slammed the other one down hard enough that the man lay still, face in the dirt and groaning. Searc pivoted toward the woman.

The man with the arrow through his arm joined the leader. The bastard pinned her to a large trunk with his good hand against the base of her throat. Her tangled, dark hair swayed as he shook her. She kicked at his shins, but he just laughed. Ye’ll pay for this, all night long. He pressed his nose against her turned cheek. He tried to kiss her and she spat in his face.

Ye bitch. He tightened his hold on her throat. She gasped and scratched at his fingers. Searc was on them in two strides, his power surging upward. Geoff cut him off by stepping between them, a blade in his hand.

Searc let his magic flow out from its prison in his gut into his palm and out into Geoff. He could feel it sink into and pull out the man’s essence, his strength, his stamina, sucking it back along the same line into Searc. The thief dropped to his knees and Searc lunged past him to grab the other bastard. The world flooded with red through Searc’s gaze. He jerked the thief away from the woman. She fell to the ground, gasping. Under Searc’s hold the man’s face sunk in around his nose and cheeks as he swore, his words warbling in his collapsing throat. One heartbeat, two, three. The thief’s chest caved under his shirt, making him round forward, until he crumpled into a heap of clothing, dry bones, and ash.

Geoff skittered backward from the pile, his heels churning up wet leaves. He grabbed his chest where surely his heart pounded with early decay.

Leave here, Searc growled. Cheò snapped viciously.

Bloody demon, Geoff croaked and stood. He passed the sign of the cross furiously before him as if brandishing a sword. The thief that Searc had knocked in the dirt rose too, eyeing the pile of clothing. The three men ran off into the forest, the newly aged leader stumbling to keep up.

Searc breathed deeply, erecting the walls once more, waiting for the deep thudding of his heart to slow. The telltale sensation of new power ached in his muscles.

As if watching through a sheet of water, he saw the woman wrap slender arms around herself. She breathed heavy and stared at him with beautiful, wide eyes. They stood out in her fair face, shaped like almonds, fringed by dark brows and lashes. He blinked, his breathing ragged. Her delicate features came into focus, straight nose, pink lips and cheeks. Her hair lay wet in angled slopes of ribbon over her breasts. One side seemed shorter than the other.

She held his gaze as the rain dropped through the forest canopy, the only sound over his fast breathing. Dim light through the leaves cast the forest in varying shades of green. The silence accentuated their stillness where they stood across from one another, the pile that was the thief off to the side. Large, lovely eyes stared at him. She didn’t move but her whole body seemed poised for action. His attuned senses could almost hear the rapid flight of her heart, like that of a bird. Bewildered and afraid.

With a silent spin, she ran.

Chapter Two

15 March 1554

Duchess of Suffolk, Catherine

Reviews for Crimson Heart

[eyes92c · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

...hearts of the highlands1554, Searc Munro, a disgraced highlander flees from the dark magic he harbours. Elena Seymour, an unknown and unacknowledged Tudor princess, illegitimate daughter to Henry VIII, fearing being used as a political pawn is struggling towards possible safety in Edinburgh when they meet. Mix in plots and counterplots between the English and the Scots, young women going missing and being found dead with strange markings on their bodies, add some healing highlander magic and tortured romance and you have all the elements neccesary for a love story with a difference.A NetGalley ARC