“Wasn’t it a hair stick that Evelyn used to skewer that Englishman?” Kerrick asked.
“Aye,” Craig said, pulling one from a pocket he had tied to his kilt. He held it point up.
Kerrick bent closer. “What’s that on the other end?”
“Och, the woman wanted a rose on the end.” Craig shrugged. “Tried my best, but I’m no artist.” He handed it over to Aiden. The whole piece measured about eight inches long, a twisted length of steel, leading to a needle-sharp point. The other end had a coiling of steel wire wound into the vague shape of circling petals.
Aiden rested it on his open palm. He nodded. “’Tis well made. Nicely balanced.” He glanced at Kerrick. “We can work this into the class.”
Craig crossed his arms over his barrel chest. “Ye making these lasses into warriors?” He grinned, showing a few broken teeth that he’d gotten long ago on the battlefield.
“They are becoming fierce,” Aiden said, making the old man laugh. “But I’d like to teach them to throw a dagger, too. If ye have some made, they don’t need to be sharp.”
“Better that they’re dull,” Kerrick added, and Craig barked out more laughter while heading toward the back.
Aiden crossed his arms and met Kerrick’s questioning look. “Ye and Craig can teach the lasses about finding the dagger’s balance today. Show them the form for throwing.”
Kerrick nodded. “What are ye getting at your cabin that needs a sledge to haul it?”
Aiden didn’t have to tell Kerrick or anyone anything. Only Grey, as his best friend and chief, held his pledge of obedience, and that only when Aiden felt the order made sense.
Aiden walked out from the fires at the smithy to circle behind it. Kerrick followed, waiting for an answer that would never come. A medium sledge, with two arms, stood among several others. The arms would hook to Eigh’s working saddle, and Kerrick jumped forward to help him line it up out in the open.
“Thank ye,” Aiden said, striding away toward the castle to get his horse. With the day set for the ladies, he’d leave right away.
“Ye aren’t going to tell me, are ye?” Kerrick asked, striding next to him.
“Ye have a keen sense of observation,” Aiden repeated, and Kerrick cursed low under his breath.
“Rebecca got all the words in the family,” Kerrick said, shaking his head. “She talks, and ye won’t say a word.”
Aiden nodded to Hamish up in the gate tower. The man was stuffing his mouth with a tart. “Best of luck with the lasses today,” Aiden said.
Kerrick crossed his arms, stopping as Aiden turned toward the stables. “Best of luck with your secrets,” Kerrick called after him, his tone accusatory.
His secrets. Hmph. Everyone had secrets. Those who told them were considered gossips or tongue-waggers. Those who kept them were considered suspicious and ornery. Frowned upon either way. It was best never to have any secrets, but they were thrust upon people without consent. Aiden’s only defense was to pretend they didn’t exist.
…
“Holy Mother Mary,” Craig swore as he walked into the training room.
Scarlet turned to Kerrick. “Where did Aiden go? I thought he’d be back by now.” He’d left her with a kiss early that morning. She’d been too dazed after the night of uninhibited play and hadn’t asked any questions.
“He said he had to get something from his cabin and that Craig could bring a bunch of daggers for your ladies to practice with.”
“Who stole your skirts?” Craig asked.
In answer, Izzy spun around in a circle, kicking sporadically in uninhibited glee, her arms wide. If any of the students had taken to her training costume, it was Izzy Campbell.
“Thank you for bringing the daggers, Craig,” Scarlet answered. “We train in our trousers so that we are better able to see where we are kicking our attackers.”
Craig looked at Kerrick. “We aren’t attacking them, are we?”
“If you brought daggers,” Scarlet answered, “we will attack the mattress tied against the wall.”
The old man frowned, grumbling in Gaelic, and produced something from his pocket. “I also brought a sample of your hair skewers. If ye like it, I’ll make more.”
Scarlet’s stomach tightened with excitement, and she hurried over. “Thank you, Craig.” She lifted it from his hands as the other ladies gathered behind her for a look. “This, ladies, is a hair spike or stick. Some of you have seen the one Evelyn wears. I asked Craig to make more for the school out of twisted steel. Each Highland Rose will receive one.”
“It looks sharp,” Fiona said.
“Yes,” Scarlet answered, holding it across her palm like Aiden had taught her about daggers. “And balanced.” She noticed Craig’s chest puff out, and she smiled. “The rose is quite clever on the end.”
“That’s a rose?” Cat asked, her tone flat with apathy, but she stuck her hand out. Scarlet laid the spike on her open palm.
“I’m no artist,” Craig muttered.
“I think it is fun,” Cici said. “A tangle of lines that becomes art representing the complexities of womankind.” Everyone looked at Cici, and she smiled. “Ye were talking about that yesterday during our art lessons.”
“That I did,” Scarlet said and looked back to Craig, his face pinched. “I think it is perfect, Craig. We can use it to tie our hair up and have it available if we are attacked. Yes, please make more.”
“We might slit our own heads open or stab our brains while putting it in,” Kirstin said.
Martha leaned in to get a better look. “Or shear off our hair.”
Craig shook his head. “Only the point is sharp. So, I guess ye need to try not to skewer your own brains, but the edges are dull, so ye can keep your bonny locks.”
“We will practice with them in class, like we do with any weapon,” Scarlet said. “Once you get comfortable with wielding it, in and out of your hair, it will be safe, and the perfect surprise for a villain.”
Scarlet took the hair stick from Cat’s palm, holding it point up like a mighty sword, though it was tiny in comparison. “Behold,” she said with a broad grin. “And beware, villains. The Highland Roses now have their deadliest thorn.”
…
Scarlet pushed up the dim steps in the curving stairwell. She hadn’t bothered to bring a lamp, and she extinguished each of the sconces as she stepped past the quiet floors. Lessons all day, a longer than expected visit at Rebecca’s house where the woman changed the topic to weather whenever Scarlet asked about Aiden, supper, and then working on her mosaic in the great hall, made her crave her bed. She’d left Aiden’s blue china piece glued to the wall, smiling to herself as she thought of the surprise Aiden would get when he saw that she’d worked it into another rose.
Aiden must still be out at his cabin along Loch Tay. She hadn’t seen him since he’d woken her with a farewell kiss at dawn. Perhaps he would come to see her in the night. She sighed, recalling the way Aiden had held her on the lumpy mattress before the fire. It would certainly be colder this eve alone in her dark room.
With the last candle pinched, Scarlet felt her way up the last few steps. Looking down toward the far-right end where Aiden had taken Grey and Evelyn’s room, all she saw was darkness. No, he hadn’t returned. She turned left at the top and blinked, halting in the pitch-black corridor. The soft glow of firelight outlined her door.
Scarlet stepped silently forward to push into her room, her eyes nearly blinded by the bright fire leaping in her grate. She blinked, her hand flying to her chest as she saw the bulk of a huge bed.
“Good God,” she whispered, hand moving to her lips. She glanced around to see her pitcher still in the corner, her robe hung on a hook beside the door. It was her room, although now, a huge bed took up most of it. Stepping to the edge, she ran her hand over quilts and a couple of furs that lay across the mattress.
Her fingers felt along one of the four posters on the corner closest to her. Leaning in, she examined the vines and flowers c
arved into the hard, polished wood. The bed had no canopy, but one would just block the beautiful carvings on the posters, headboard, and footboard. A sweeping landscape had been painstakingly cut into the headboard. She ran a hand over the smoothness of it, the dips and curves. Someone had spent hours working on it. The carving reminded her of Aiden’s bed at his cabin, though this was of lighter wood.
She spied a small piece of paper on the pillows. The letters were formed in heavy, confident script, elegant yet filled with masculinity. She picked it up, reading it in the glow of the fire.
Your old bed was puny.
Don’t burn your toes.
A
Scarlet stared at the note and looked at the bed. “Burn my toes?” She ran a flattened palm down the top quilt, feeling the warmth creeping up from the blanket as she reached the bottom where her hand hit something hard. A brick? Reaching under, the blankets at the foot of the bed were warm where a wrapped, hot brick had been placed. She smiled, a quiet laugh bubbling out. “Aiden,” she whispered. The man was trying to keep her warm.
So, he had been back to the castle today. Where was he? She turned toward the door, but it stood empty. She walked out into the dark corridor and caught sight of a glowing lamp way down at the other end. It hadn’t been there when she’d climbed up to the fourth floor moments ago.
Her heart gave a few hard pounds, and she drew in a full breath to feed her racing blood. Heat crept along her, making her skin feel sensitive as if anticipating Aiden’s touch. Without hiding the sound of her boots, Scarlet walked down the corridor toward his room. Her gaze focused on the single lamp sitting on the floor, its glow splashing up on the stone wall behind it.
“Aiden?” she said, her voice soft yet carrying in the silence.
“Aye.”
The deep resonance sent a thrill down through her middle. She still didn’t see him, but he was there. Her shoulders relaxed as she smiled in the darkness. He was letting her come to him, like she had done with skittish horses back at Hollings Estate.
Her fingers curled into the doorframe, and she rounded the corner. His room was dark, but she could see him in the glow of the lamp from the hall. The sight of him caught her breath.
Aiden Campbell. Quiet strength radiated from his stance, legs braced, his kilt wrapped loosely around his narrow hips where it rode low on his taut abdomen. His chest was bare and beautifully broad, the muscles of his upper arms and shoulders full of relaxed power. She shivered slightly, knowing how warm his skin would be sliding against her own.
Wetting her lips, she stepped before him. “So, my bed was puny.”
“Aye.”
“Not for one person.”
His grin flattened. “I didn’t give ye the bed because I expected to be invite—”
“I know,” she said, cutting him off. He could have been waiting for her in her room, but he’d remained far away, giving her a choice. “Thank you. It is beautifully carved.” She watched him lean against one of the bedposts in Grey’s room.
“Where did you find it?” she asked. “I want to examine all the details in the morning.”
His frown relaxed into a tentative grin. “My father, Jack Campbell, carved it. I helped a bit, but I was a lad. He had a talent for working wood.”
“It was your parents’ bed?”
He shook his head. “No one has slept in it. I’ve had it wrapped up at my cabin for nearly a score of years.” He shrugged. “It deserves to be seen and appreciated, and I felt ye could do both. It is yours.”
“Rebecca doesn’t want it?” Scarlet asked, taking a step closer.
He shook his head. “Nay. I asked her this morning.”
Scarlet smiled. “Rebecca got me out of the castle today, so you could sneak the bed up to my room.”
His grin returned. “A gift is better when it is a surprise.” He studied her. “I half expected her to tell ye about it.”
She laughed lightly. “Well, she did talk a lot, but always brought the conversation back to the weather.” Scarlet’s fingers floated up to the ties at her sides, plucking them so that they loosened. “And the heated brick…?” she asked.
“An Englishwoman gets cold easily, but if her feet are warm, the rest of her will warm.”
Scarlet shrugged her shoulders until the bodice slid down, exposing her smock over her full, sensitive breasts. She stepped directly in front of him and laid her palms flat on his chest. He didn’t even flinch from her cold touch. “How do you know so much about Englishwomen?” she asked.
“I don’t,” he said, reaching up to slide his fingers through the stray curls at her temple. “With ye, I feel like I’m walking blind.”
“Well, Aiden Campbell,” she whispered, leaning up on her toes to brush a kiss against his warm lips. “I am perfectly content with you feeling your way around me.”
He exhaled, a small rumble in his chest. Her hands went up to the back of his neck, pulling his face closer as she pressed her body into him. His mouth took hers in a kiss that poured heat down her, a heady liquor to loosen her spine, making her limbs heavy, her stomach fluttering with anticipation.
She inhaled through her nose. He smelled fresh, like clean water and masculine heat. “You smell so good that I want to taste you again,” she whispered close to his ear.
“Och, Scarlet, if ye talk like that, I’m likely to go mad.”
“Go mad with me, Aiden,” she whispered back, and he wrapped her up in his arms, surrounding her completely to kiss the very soul from her. Her hair tumbled down, and she realized he’d pulled her hair stick from the twist she’d secured. She heard it clatter on the floor.
“You’ve disarmed me,” she whispered, breathing against his lips.
“Ye disarmed me from the moment ye saved yourself and your horse from a pack of wolves.” His arms tightened around her, and she closed her eyes, reveling in his strength and the promise of pleasure. The feel of his body heat penetrated her, and the press of his mouth on hers, sliding together in a perfectly wild dance that bespoke absolute passion, made her legs weak. For long moments they touched and kissed, exploring, giving, and taking.
Scarlet opened her eyes. “Come,” she whispered.
He smiled, merriment in the relaxed lines of his face. “If ye keep touching me with those sweet, soft hands, lass, ye know I will.”
“To my room,” she said with a small laugh.
“That, too,” he said.
Dousing the lamp, Aiden followed behind her, their fingers intertwined. He made it obvious that she was leading him to her room, not the other way around. When they reached the end, Scarlet paused as she heard a strange noise from below and stared into the darkness leading down the steps. “Did something just bray?” she whispered, but there was no further noise.
“Bray? Like a mule?” he asked. “I can go—”
“No,” Scarlet cut him off, tugging him into her room. She released his fingers to go to the bed. The glow from the hearth bathed the room in gold. Scarlet ran her hand up one of the four soaring posters, her fingers finding a rose. “Exquisite,” she said.
“Aye,” Aiden said, and she turned, but he wasn’t looking at the bed. He was looking at her, his bare, thickly muscled arms over his head as he held on to the top of the doorframe. “The most exquisite woman I’ve ever known.”
Scarlet’s heart pounded. The emotion in his voice almost spoke of love. He did care for her, maybe even respected her. She beckoned him with her fingers, and he dropped his arms to step inside. Without breaking eye contact, he shut the door, moving forward. Such sleek grace sparked a thrumming of excitement through Scarlet, and she had the feeling of being stalked by a wild animal. Although instead of fear, there was only delicious eagerness.
She loosened the ties completely on the sides of her bodice, letting it slide down to rest on her hips, and went to the ties of her skirt. Aiden caught her hands, stopping her, and slowly raised them over her head until she felt the carved bedpost graze her fingers.
“Hold
on,” he whispered, opening her hands to grasp around the firm post. He kissed her slowly, his hands slaking down her arms, shoulders, breasts, and stomach to pull the ties of her skirts. They dropped to pool around her boot-clad ankles. He slid the bodice down her legs.
“Don’t let go,” he said, lifting one foot to remove a boot, setting it down. He discarded the second one, sliding his warm hands up to the top of her stockings, untying the garters. “No trousers today?” He untied first one and then the next. With slow strokes, he caressed and kissed a path on her bare skin as he worked each stocking down and off her leg, leaving her in her untied smock, completely bare underneath.
“I washed them,” she said, breathlessly. “They are still damp.” Scarlet watched him stand, and he leaned in to kiss her, first on her lips and then down her neck to the open edge of her smock. Nudging the lace lower with his nose, she heard him breathe in deeply as if savoring her scent. He lifted his head to stare into her eyes, capturing her as if she were truly tied and vulnerable to his attentions. Yet fear didn’t linger anywhere between them, as if Aiden’s mere presence banished the shadows. With one finger, he edged the lace line of her smock down until her heavy breasts came out, their nipples jutting outward, begging for his attention.
Aiden groaned, his lips closing around one where he began to suck. The heat of his mouth coiled down through Scarlet, making her rub her thighs together at the ache building between her legs. He moved to the next breast while palming the first.
Behind them, the fire crackled as if mirroring the fire building inside Scarlet. She pressed her body forward without letting go of the poster but couldn’t get close enough to feel him. “Please. Aiden, I want to touch you,” she whispered.
He raised his head to look into her eyes. “’Tis a sweet torture, isn’t it?” He stroked lightly over her bare arms, his palms heavy as he reached the sides of her breasts, sliding slowly down over her ribs, the indent of her waist, and her hips, his thumbs gliding down the V through the thin linen of the smock.
His fingers captured the material, inching it up. He bent, sliding his open hands up her legs until he reached the ache that pulsed within her. Scarlet moaned as his fingers worked magic along her flesh, throwing her head back against the poster. Somewhere at the back of her consciousness, she heard the sound of his kilt thumping to the floor, and she dropped her gaze to take him in. Bold and brawn, Aiden stood there, working to pleasure her when it was so obvious that he could be taking his own.
The Savage Highlander Page 15