The Savage Highlander

by Heather McCollum

  “Phenomenal,” Kerrick said under his breath, grasping Aiden’s shoulder. “Worth ruining a shirt, I say.” Aiden turned back to the bailey to see Covington look from the steps to Aiden. His aristocratic smile was back in place along with his rich coat, but his stare had hardened.

  Aye, the man knew now. Aiden Campbell was definitely his enemy.

  …

  Green ropes of pine and holly hung in rolling swags across the walls of the great hall. Kirstin had enlisted several of the younger warriors to bring ladders and hooks to hang them. Holly and mistletoe adorned the crossed swords and Campbell clan shield above the hearth, and a long oak tree trunk lay against the wall to be slowly burned over the twelve nights of Christmas.

  Many of the Campbells had been raised during the oppressive reign of Oliver Cromwell, who had outlawed the holiday completely. Even now, the solid Presbyterian government in Scotland did not acknowledge the holiday, despite their monarch’s encouragement. So Scarlet found herself teaching her students about the basic Christmas customs, which they seemed to embrace quickly. Even Cat, who seemed to despise anything English.

  Having finished laying pine boughs and ribbon along the mantel, Scarlet returned to the mosaic she’d begun on the stained wall. The blue piece that Aiden had stuck off to the side sat in the middle of a lovely, full rose. With all the insanity, she wondered if he’d noticed.

  Lord, how her hands had turned numb and her legs weak as she watched him battle against Harry in the bailey. Harry was a well-known swordsman at court, earning him favors and accolades from men and women alike. Yet Aiden had bested him, not with brute strength, which he had in abundance, but with cleverness and agility.

  She smiled and ran the pad of her fingertip over the blue piece. Aiden had thought she would remove it at first chance. She felt the tension in her face relax into a small smile as she built petals in deep red out from it. Even though one did not see blue inside roses, that didn’t mean she couldn’t create a unique rendition.

  “What a creative art piece,” Jacqueline Beckett said as she came up next to Scarlet. “Your student, Alana Campbell, said that these pieces had been her grandmother’s and mother’s china and pottery before the evil traitors shattered it. And here you are, making something lovely from the pieces.”

  The woman spoke without a hint of judgment, just open admiration. Scarlet slid a glance at her and then back to the new rose on which she worked. “The pieces were too beautiful to throw out, and we need to cover the burn marks on the walls. I hope to find someone to teach my students to create tapestries, so we can eventually replace the ones that burned.”

  “Oh?” Jacqueline said, excitement in her voice. “I’ve worked on several tapestries at my grandmother’s house. She felt that one’s attention and fingers must always be engaged to prevent Satan from leading one astray. Perhaps I could help your students get started during our stay.”

  Scarlet studied the beautiful young woman. She was trim and tall, with light-colored hair and blue eyes. Aiden said he didn’t know her, yet the name said otherwise. “That would be…helpful. Thank you,” Scarlet said. “Would you care to place some of the leaves and thorns?”

  “I would like that very much,” Jacqueline said, going to the table to retrieve some green and brown shards.

  “Just a bit of the glue should hold it. I will fill in the cracks with plaster once I am finished with the entire design,” Scarlet said, watching Jacqueline’s slender fingers work. Had those fingers touched Aiden? She dropped her gaze. No, he would not outright lie to her.

  “Lady Beckett,” Scarlet said, raising her eyes. She waited until the woman looked at her. “Do you know Aiden Campbell?” The woman didn’t say anything, but pink stained her cheeks. Scarlet stared into her blue eyes without blinking. “Although I haven’t seen you speak, you two spend time looking at each other.”

  The woman swallowed, her finger coming up to twirl around some hair at her neckline. “I know of Aiden Campbell,” she said slowly, as if choosing her words. “Though we have never met before now.”

  Relief uncoiled inside Scarlet so intensely that she found herself lowering onto a stool nearby. “Oh,” she murmured. “What then do you know of Aiden Campbell?”

  Jacqueline’s finger twirled her hair quicker, and her gaze scanned the room, where several of the Roses worked to finish the decorations before their class in the library. “My mother knew him.”

  “Is your mother still in London?” Scarlet asked, watching her.

  “No, she died when I was young. I lived with my grandmother in Nottingham. I was raised by the same nurses that my mother had, so they would tell me about her growing up.”

  “How did she know him?”

  Jacqueline picked up another piece and set it in a small blob of glue on the wall. “’Twas before I was born, and I’ve been asked not to speak of it.”

  Scarlet frowned. “By whom?”

  Jacqueline exhaled a gust toward the mosaic. “By everyone, especially the queen and Lord Covington. Well, and my grandmother.”

  She turned a hastily stitched together smile toward Scarlet. “The queen misses you at court, Lady Worthington.”

  “Please, call me Scarlet. Even my students use my given name.”

  Her smile turned authentic. “And I am just Jacqueline, or Jacey, though I suppose not before the king or queen.” She stuck another piece of green where a leaf might grow out of the vine. “Queen Catherine would like you to return with us to Whitehall.”

  Scarlet’s whole body stilled. “I…” It took her a moment to find her breath. “I am committed to helping my sister run the school.”

  “I understand the draw of this beautiful land,” Jacey said wistfully. “But it is so far from everything you know.” She glanced at Scarlet. “Your heritage and customs. Like Christmas,” she said, indicating the hall. “I would feel so sad not to celebrate the birth of our savior.”

  “We are celebrating,” Scarlet said. “Heritage and customs can be brought up here, where I’m learning about new customs like Beltane. Have you ever danced around a fire wearing a flower crown before?”

  Jacqueline giggled. “No. My grandmother would call me a heathen and lock me in the church.”

  As much as Scarlet wanted to despise the young woman who kept drawing Aiden’s glances, she rather liked her. “Well, if you decide to stay up here at the Highland Roses School, you will be able to celebrate Beltane without being made to repent.”

  Jacey’s face lit up, and she clasped her hands. “I would like that.”

  “You are welcome,” Scarlet said, standing again. “You could be our tapestry instructor, and I’m sure you have many other skills to pass along to ladies since you’ve spent time at court.”

  Her smile faded somewhat. “Lord Covington mentioned, though, that he may want me to return to court,” she said. “If he wishes it, I must return.” Her cheeks pinkened again. Was the woman fond of Harry? He was handsome, charming, and wealthy, the perfect scoundrel to lure in young damsels.

  Scarlet curled her fingers around Jacqueline’s arm. The young woman looked down at it and back up to Scarlet’s gaze. “Lady Beckett, Jacey… Lord Covington is not what he seems to be.” She lowered her voice. “You would do well to keep your heart far from him.”

  Jacqueline frowned as they stared at one another. “Thank you, Lady Worthington,” she said, her voice soft but formal. “I appreciate your candor, but I have nothing to fear from such a fine man. I understand your unease, since he did not offer for your hand in marriage, but I am quite versed in modesty and patience. He runs a merry dance for certain. I will respond in kind.”

  Her gaze dropped back to Scarlet’s hand, which she let drop, and Jacqueline walked away.

  Did not offer for your hand in marriage? What exactly was that bastard telling people at court?

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Where have ye been?” Kerrick asked Aiden as he caught him in the circular stairwell on his way down from the third floor.
Aiden wasn’t about to tell him that he’d been rummaging through Nathaniel Worthington’s room.

  “Has something happened?” Aiden asked, following Kerrick below.

  Kerrick pulled him behind the stairs into the shadows. “William followed one of the English guards who rode out alone all the way to Castle Menzies. William pretended to visit someone in the village, and when he returned to the castle, the English soldier had left. Edgar Menzies’s son seems to be taking the reins of the clan. He said the soldier was asking for Finlay, by name.”

  “Finlay? How the hell does he know Finlay Menzies?” Aiden murmured.

  “Then, when William rode back, he saw the soldier discussing something with Harry Covington in the bailey, but when he walked nearby, pretending to collect something, they parted.”

  Aiden rubbed his fist against his bottom lip. “Covington knows Finlay Menzies.” He focused on Kerrick. “And this soldier didn’t ask Edgar’s son for anything once he discovered he was in charge?”

  Kerrick shook his head. “Seems Finlay was the only one the man wanted to speak with.”

  Aiden scratched his jaw. The Menzies chief, Finlay’s father, had never seemed to fear English encroachment, and his son had continued to live serenely without even a wall around his castle for protection. As if neither of them worried that the English might try to take their castle or lands.

  “I wonder if Finlay was friends with Captain Cross.” Captain Cross, his head currently being delivered to England, was the English captain in charge of the company north of Killin. He was also a traitor, planning to assassinate the king at Finlarig. But he was dead, and Finlay was in exile from his clan.

  “If he was working with Cross, and Harry Covington knows Finlay…” Kerrick left the rest hanging in the darkness of the alcove.

  “Then Harry Covington might be a player in the plot to kill the king,” Aiden whispered.

  “Bloody hell,” Kerrick said. “Speaking such without proof could get a man thrown into prison, Aiden. Even with proof.” Panic made the man’s voice higher pitched.

  Aiden exhaled, frowning at Kerrick. “I’m not an imbecile.”

  Kerrick raked fingers through his hair. “Ballocks, having all these English dandies around is making my nerves itch.” He scratched at his arm as if he had hives. “A man can’t fart or belch without fearing he’ll be called to task for insulting someone who could order his ballocks cut off.”

  Aiden looked upward and then to Kerrick. “I’ll defend ye if the queen orders your ballocks cut off for farting before her.”

  Kerrick snorted. “This will be the most uptight holiday Finlarig has ever seen. And if ye bring up treason and assassination, it might be the bloodiest, too.”

  “Makes one think,” Aiden said softly. “If we let the English kill off their own Catholic king, will we be celebrated or blamed?”

  “Blamed,” Kerrick answered without hesitation. “The Scots are always blamed.” He sucked in a quick breath. “Maybe that’s why Covington convinced the king and queen to come up to Finlarig.”

  Aiden nodded slowly, as possible plots started to become clear.

  …

  “You think Harry wants the king dead?” Scarlet asked as she slid back on the pillow to look at Aiden in the darkness shrouding them. Her hair tumbled about them, the bedclothes lay skewed, and the fire had burned low, but neither of them felt cold after their passion.

  “He sent someone to look for Finlay Menzies,” Aiden answered, reaching forward to capture one of her curls between his finger and thumb as if testing its silkiness. He held it to his nose and inhaled. Scarlet twined her legs back with his under the blankets he’d pulled over them.

  “Was Finlay linked to Cross and his plotters?” she asked.

  Aiden shrugged, letting her curl slip away. “It would explain why the Menzies never worried about the English so close by when Cross was in charge.” His palm stroked the skin down her side from her breast to her hip, where he grasped it gently in a possessive hold. She loved how he touched her so boldly. Even though they hid their attraction before others, once they shut her door, their fire burned all propriety and inhibitions to ash.

  Scarlet exhaled, worry stopping her from pressing closer. “I think Lady Beckett’s heart is at stake with Harry Covington.”

  Aiden pushed onto his elbow. “She’s in love with him?”

  Scarlet shook her head, watching Aiden closely. Neither Jacey or Aiden admitted knowing one another, but there was a connection. “She didn’t go so far as to say that, but I fear she is being drawn in by his charm, and that would be dangerous for her.”

  She knew Aiden wanted to ask her about Harry, but his mouth remained tight as he studied her in the dim light of the waning fire. Scarlet laid her hand on his chest, stroking the muscles there under the light sprinkling of hair. She gazed into his eyes. “She says she hadn’t met you before but knows of you.”

  “Ye were questioning her? About me?”

  Lord. Scarlet felt like she walked a thin brick wall with Aiden. They both had secrets, secrets they wanted to know about the other. But the idea of giving voice to them, even when they could be exposed at any moment, made her want to curl in and hide away.

  “I asked her if she knew you since the two of you seem to have some sort of connection, and she keeps looking at you.” Scarlet lay back on her pillow to stare at the ceiling beams. “I was jealous, I suppose. She is beautiful.”

  She turned her head. “Was her mother just as beautiful?”

  “I…” He started and stopped. “I’m not sure who she is yet, and that’s the truth. The woman I knew didn’t have a daughter like her.” He leaned over her. “Let me figure this out. It has nothing to do with ye and me being together.”

  She wanted to argue. If he dreamt of an Englishwoman, who he may have loved enough for her to worm her way into his dreams, then she did have something to do with the two of them. And even though Jacqueline was too old to be Aiden’s child, he may have had an affair with her mother years ago.

  She gave him a small nod and smiled. “I will try,” she said and lowered onto her pillow. “Now we must sleep for the Christmas ball will be tonight, and I expect you to dance with me.”

  “Even with the updated dance sheets that the queen brought with her, I haven’t practiced,” he said.

  “You are a mystery, Aiden Campbell.” She ran a finger along his jawline, smiling. “A Highland warrior who knows what a dance sheet is.” She shook her head against the pillow.

  “I’ve been told,” Aiden said, “that to the English lady, the ballroom is a battleground. And a Highland warrior must be prepared for every battle.”

  Scarlet laughed, then narrowed her eyes. Who had given him such an accurate description? The secret Lady Beckett? “You are a very well-versed Highlander indeed.” She reached up behind Aiden’s neck to pull him down for one more kiss.

  …

  Aiden tied the cravat a third time around his neck as he stared into the mirror sitting in Nathaniel’s room. He didn’t feel guilty at all about rummaging through the Englishman’s clothes. Scarlet’s brother was down in London delivering heads to a monarch who was right now causing havoc amongst the Campbell clan as they tried to ready themselves for a bloody royal ball. And hell if Aiden was going to walk into it looking like a “homespun beggar.”

  Cravat tied in a suitable knot at his throat, Aiden studied himself in the mirror. He foking couldn’t believe he was wearing English garb. He grunted at his image and stretched his shoulders, which felt a bit tight in Nathaniel’s long coat. Otherwise, the men were of similar build and size. Even Nathaniel’s tall leather boots fit Aiden’s feet. The short pants were the slimmest Aiden could find in Nathaniel’s trunk other than the rougher work trousers. These were of dark silk and cinched an inch above the top edge of the boots.

  He tried on the one plumed hat Nathaniel had in his chest and discarded it. He’d go bareheaded rather than look like an ornamental bird. The rest of the costume was
tolerable, and the rich fabric and cut made him look more like he might belong at court, perhaps as a warrior for hire, certainly not an aristocrat who spent his days reading poetry and beguiling ladies with false flattery.

  Standing tall, he put his arms out and swayed, his feet finding the steps he’d seen on the dance sheet that Queen Catherine had shared with the students. During the first thirteen years of his life, his mother had shown him and Rebecca, though she was six years his junior, how to read dance steps and practice them. It wasn’t something he ever thought to use again, but then Scarlet Worthington had come along.

  Bloody hell. He stopped in mid step, letting his arms fall to his sides, fists clenched. He stared at his reflection. Look what I’ve become. He frowned, raising his hand to the cravat he’d just tied, ready to jerk it loose. But he stopped, glancing at his best kilt and sash on the bed. Homespun, even if he wasn’t a beggar.

  He wasn’t ashamed of being a Scot nor living in a rural village. He loved the hills of wild heather, the soaring mountains and crystal-clear waterfalls. Sweet air fed the hum of life around him as he walked through the forests surrounding Killin. But tonight wasn’t about any of that. It was showing Scarlet that he could be refined and still be a Highlander. That she could remain in Scotland and not fear that she’d only be surrounded by rough, fighting men in bloodstained and soil-smeared clothing. The English peacocks would be parading around tonight in their finery, and Aiden wanted to make certain Scarlet wasn’t embarrassed by him.

  Since when did he worry overmuch about what a lass thought of him? He rubbed his smooth chin where he’d shaved his beard away. Scarlet Worthington wasn’t just some lass. Even though they still didn’t trust each other with everything, he absolutely didn’t want her to go back to England.

  Aiden opened the door and, before he could change his mind, walked into the empty corridor to descend. Musicians had already begun a festive tune below, and the sound of conversation whispered up the steps. The whole town of Killin and surrounding Campbells had been invited. From the sound of it, most everyone was taking the opportunity to meet the king and queen.