A Protector in the Highlands (Highland Roses School)

by Heather McCollum

  He frowned. “Could ye be content here, surviving the frigid winters, eating only what ye cook yourself, living in a cabin instead of a castle or on an estate, riding horses instead of in carriages? Could ye really be content here for your whole life?”

  “Yes,” she said, blinking at the moisture that ached behind her eyes.

  He stared hard at her, and she watched him inhale. “If ye didn’t have fear driving ye from England, Scarlet? Would ye choose to stay here rather than anywhere else in the world?” he asked and then pressed a finger to her lips. “Just think about it, think all around it, inside and outside of it, until ye are completely sure.” He shook his head on the pillow. “I would know your true answer before I ask ye to be mine.”

  “You just told me I was yours,” she reminded him. “You will also ask?”

  A grin relaxed his lips. “’Tis very different, that. Telling ye that ye are mine doesn’t mean anything if ye don’t want to be mine. ’Tis the asking and answering that binds two people.”

  Marriage? He hadn’t said it and hadn’t spoken words of love, but it sounded as if he hinted of it. The idea shot like lightning through her blood, straight to her heart where it pounded. Instead of the slow flooding of nausea that used to accompany her thoughts of tying herself to a man, she only felt light as if it were… joy.

  Wiggling closer, she nuzzled into his chest and peeked up at him. He leaned down, kissing her gently, arranging the blanket over her bared back. She closed her eyes, letting contentment infuse her limbs as she listened to his heart beat against her ear.

  Tap, tap, tap.

  For a brief moment, Scarlet thought Aiden’s heart had rapped louder against his ribs. His body stiffened, and he rolled away. He stood out of the bed, his tight backside leading up into all that wonderful muscle shaping his back and shoulders. He didn’t say anything but stared at the door.

  Tap, tap, tap. “Scar, are you awake?”

  Good bloody hell. Harry.

  Aiden looked at her, questions in the pinch of his brows. Questions that ignited anger inside her. She shook her head. Did he really think she’d invited the devil to her bedchamber? Maybe she was reading his expression wrong.

  Scarlet slid from the warm blankets, catching up her smock to throw it over her head. Not that being in her smock would make this scenario any less scandalous if Harry were to somehow see through the door. Aiden didn’t seem to care so much about being completely naked. He grabbed his sword from off his kilt, sliding it from the scabbard slowly. The steel hummed as if it thirsted for English blood.

  Scarlet moved around him to the door. “What do you want, Harry?”

  “Open the door so we can talk.” Her heart kicked inside her ribs as she heard him push against the door. Did he think her foolish enough to sleep without a lock between them?

  “I will not. There is nothing else to say,” she said.

  “You may not have anything else to say, but I do.”

  “Not tonight,” Scarlet said, glancing at Aiden. What would he do if Harry began revealing details of the night she’d fled Whitehall?

  “Come now, Scar,” Harry said. “Open the door, or I will find the key.” He said it playfully, but it was still a threat.

  “No key will open this door,” she said. “Go back to your bed. I am undone and not going to discuss anything with you alone in the middle of the night, especially in my bedchamber.”

  He paused for a long moment. “What is Aiden Campbell to you?” he asked.

  Scarlet looked at Aiden, but he didn’t move. It was as if he were chiseled like the statue of David, although with a much more impressive male member.

  Good Lord. If she told Harry that Aiden was her lover, Harry would tell the king, and the two of them might devise a way to rid the world of Aiden, or at least threaten him. If she said he was no one of consequence, the lie could plant a wedge between Aiden and her when they’d just forged something of a bond.

  “What?” she asked.

  “He watches you. Did you know that?” Harry asked. “At dinner and after, no matter where you were. He stayed away from you, but his gaze followed you when he thought no one was looking. I don’t like it, Scar.”

  She almost laughed. Harry Covington warning her about a possible rogue. “Good night, Lord Covington,” she said. “Your foolish tales do not interest me.”

  “You haven’t answered my question,” Harry said. “What is he to you? Answer me, and I will leave.”

  Scarlet flinched when Aiden moved toward the door, his one hand dropping to the bar to lift it. Was he going to throw open the door, exposing them as lovers? She ran over, shaking her head, and pressed his arm down. No, she mouthed.

  She met Aiden’s gaze as she spoke. “Aiden Campbell is an honorable man, bound by duty to protect this castle and our school, which includes me. He is a warrior of amazing strength, skill, and cunning. You would do well to stay far from him and curry his favor instead of his anger, Lord Covington.”

  Harry didn’t say anything for a long pause. “But what is he to you, Scar?”

  “He has become an ally and friend, someone I trust when the world has taught me to trust very few. I will say no more, so leave my door before you chance to wake the king down the corridor.”

  “I will let you sleep, my dearest pigeon,” Harry said, the endearment grating on Scarlet’s composure, but she didn’t respond except to bare her teeth at the door. Aiden watched her and lowered his sword until the tip touched the wood floor.

  “But,” Harry said. “Beware. Every man has secrets, Scar, and a personal agenda. Trust is a dangerous thing.”

  She glared at the door. How dare the man, who’d broken so much trust with her, warn her of trusting anyone. If the door weren’t between them, she’d likely shove her knee into his ballocks, punch him in his aristocratic nose as he writhed in pain, and stomp off.

  She flinched slightly as Aiden lowered his hand on her shoulder, turning her away from the door. He rested his ear on the heavy oak for several moments and turned back to her. “He’s walked away,” he whispered.

  Scarlet sunk to the edge of the bed and dropped her face in her hands. Everything was a tangle. She heard Aiden squat down before her.

  He took her hands, making her raise her face. The anger had drained from his features, and he studied her. “I hate seeing ye afraid or shamed, Scarlet.” His eyes asked the questions his mouth wouldn’t form. He wanted to know what had happened to her, what Harry had done, how the king might be involved, what had driven her from the luxury of her former life to the wilds of Scotland.

  She closed her eyes, unable to answer. “I… can’t,” she whispered, swallowing hard against the self-loathing in her throat. Aiden’s thumb grazed her cheek, and she opened her eyes to see him move closer, placing a kiss across her lips.

  Without another word, he climbed over her in the bed and pulled her down with him. Cradling her in his arms, he held her, just as she was. Even though he wanted an explanation, his silent comfort showed that he didn’t require it. At least, not right now.

  …

  Twang. The slam of steel upon steel vibrated up Aiden’s arm as his blade met Lawrence’s. Warrior’s fire rushed through his veins as he sparred in the bailey, and each strike and parry made him feel better. Every word uttered by the bastard, Covington, last night, along with his silence through it all had wound itself into a tight tangle of fury within his gut. And fury could lead to mistakes, so he was burning off some of it with his men. Several of them stood off to the side, resting or nursing bruises he’d delivered when they weren’t quick enough to evade his strikes.

  Scarlet had explained her need to keep their…whatever their relationship was, a secret. He didn’t agree that he needed protection, but if the king decided to despise the Campbells in any way, it could harm the clan, something Aiden couldn’t allow to happen. Once again he was glad he wasn’t the full-time chief.

  Lawrence moved forward, his guttural yell showing the strength he was t
hrowing into his attack, determined to thwart his teacher. But the lad was using a much heavier blade, which had tired his arms, giving Aiden the advantage, whether Lawrence knew it or not. Aiden ducked under the singing blade and spun away before Lawrence could raise his sword again. Aiden raised his knee high and kicked the young warrior away, making him fall on his arse, his claymore clanging as it hit the hard ground.

  Kerrick walked over to help Lawrence up. “Aiden’s sword was lighter than yours,” Kerrick said, grasping the man’s hand. “So, unless ye are twice as strong as your opponent, ye are going to be slower, so raising the sword over your head takes too much time and strength to bring it around.”

  Lawrence cursed and spit in the dirt, but he nodded as he walked to the group to drink some ale. Kerrick walked up to Aiden. “Ye seem more vicious than usual this morn,” Kerrick said, offering him a leather flask.

  The cool ale washed the dryness from Aiden’s throat, and he wiped his mouth. “We have the bloody king of England sleeping under our roof, Kerrick. Why aren’t ye more vicious this morn?”

  Kerrick gave him a wry grin. “Aye, foking horrid, isn’t it?” He looked about the bailey, spotting several of the students walking together with baskets of collected holly to decorate the great hall. “Even making us celebrate their Catholic holiday.”

  The whole Christmas celebration didn’t bother Aiden. In fact, it gave Scarlet’s students something to focus on. It was not knowing what King Charles wanted of Scarlet that made Aiden’s skin crawl, not to mention the bastard, Covington and whatever he’d done to Scarlet in the past. Could the King really be hiding in the wilds for Christmas?

  “Ready for another victim already?” Kerrick asked with a chuckle, and Aiden realized that he’d raised his sword, the muscles in his bicep contracting as his body tensed. He much preferred battle to this blasted intrigue. How did people spend all their lives playing at court politics without losing their minds, running through the gilded ballrooms and slaughtering everyone?

  “Ye haven’t had a turn yet,” Aiden said to Kerrick as he watched the door open at the top of the steps.

  Kerrick chuckled. “I know better than to go up against ye when ye’re ornery. How about Covington?” He nodded toward the man who walked with the king down the steps, the queen and the two ladies following. No wig this morning, the man wore more rugged clothing. With Kerrick’s elbow in the ribs, Aiden bowed his head briefly to the sovereign as they approached.

  “Good morn,” Covington said in greeting, his gaze slightly narrowed as he studied Aiden. “Exercising your muscles?”

  “Aye,” Kerrick answered when Aiden didn’t. “We keep our men strong and skilled in case of attack. Might ye have a go of it, Lord Covington?” Kerrick nodded toward the slim sword the man had strapped to his side. “Or is your blade part of your costume?”

  “Lord Covington is one of my best fencers,” Charles answered with a smile, his brows raised. “I fear he would thwart you in seconds.”

  Covington cut the king a glance but smiled. “Flattery, I’m sure, Sire.”

  Charles laughed. “I’m the king. What use do I have of flattery? I speak the truth, Lord Covington.” Charles threw out a beringed hand toward Aiden. “Show our Scottish cousins the skill of our English swordsmen.”

  Covington smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I dare not say that I represent the skill of our country, but I have been known to beat an adversary or two.”

  “So modest,” the king said loudly. “When you have beaten every man with a sword ever to be foolish enough to stand opposed to you.”

  “It is a different kind of battle,” Covington said, sliding his thinner sword from the scabbard at his side. “The English are trained to use the advantage of finesse and cleverness instead of brute force. The mind wins out over muscle every time.” He smiled condescendingly at Aiden.

  Aiden didn’t disagree. He taught his men to use their minds in battle, but having the strength to cut a man in two certainly helped. It was the condescending way that Covington alluded that Scotsmen didn’t use their minds, or had no minds to use, that made Aiden lift his sword.

  “Join us, Covington. Show me how ye use your mind to slay me,” Aiden said.

  The woman, Jacqueline Beckett, looked worried. Her frown reminded him of another Beckett. “But Lord Covington has been riding in a coach for a fortnight. Surely he is not up to the rigors of swordplay,” she said.

  Covington’s gaze slid to the row of warriors along the wall, all of whom looked a bit ragged after training. Did the dandy think Aiden was fairly spent since sweat darkened his short hair and shone on his neck? Stamina was something that all the Campbell warriors honed. Battles could drag on, and his men wouldn’t lose their lives because they grew sloppy with exhaustion. At least not before the enemy did.

  “I am fit as usual,” Covington said and removed his long outer coat to hand to the lady, leaving him in a shirt, inner jacket, and his short pants over thick hose. “And you, Campbell, have been warned.”

  Aiden took one more swig of the ale in his flask and handed it to a cheered Kerrick. His men seemed instantly lifted as they came forward with the English guards to form a loose circle around the two of them. He’d fought English before, though mostly poorly trained infantrymen. He had learned to watch his opponents before they even began, and what he knew of Harry Covington, as he walked toward him, was that he led with his right foot, seemed to have a stiff left shoulder, and was cocky enough to think Aiden would be easily beat.

  As they faced one another, Aiden noticed that some of the students had come out to stand at the top of the steps, Scarlet amongst them. But an audience didn’t hinder Aiden. He’d learned to perform while judged unworthy from an early age. The fact he was considered the expected loser by the English around him honed his concentration to a knife’s sharpness. Harry Covington was his prey, and it was only the two of them right now.

  Covington took two steps inward, scraping his foot along the pebbly dirt, one hand behind him and his thinner sword before him. No doubt the weapon was sharp and would move quickly, its weight less than that of Aiden’s. Aiden preferred the feel of his sword, the grasp familiar, an extension of his arm that he’d carried since he was a lad, a Campbell heirloom. A dark grin expanded his mouth. His father’s sword would never fall to an Englishman.

  Clang. Aiden blocked the man’s strike and felt only a slight vibration from the weapon. Sharp and quick, but not very powerful. The men around the circle cheered as he and Covington moved around each other, deflecting and striking.

  The Englishman was learning about Aiden just as he was learning about Covington. No doubt, Covington was clever and had studied the art well. But how often had the man needed to use his skill to defend his life? When one’s life was on the line, the battle didn’t follow rules.

  Using his strength to keep the blade level, Aiden sliced his sword around, catching the button on Covington’s waistcoat in an unanticipated strike. The man spun away, sweat starting to break out on his smooth face. “Nice,” Covington said, his teeth clenched. Without giving Aiden time to rest, he ran forward, but one after another, Aiden blocked the man’s strikes, back and forth.

  They continued for several minutes, and although Aiden’s arm was beginning to protest after fighting six other men, it continued to work as it should. Covington got in a slice that cut Aiden’s shirt, bringing a line of red to the surface. The English cheered, and Covington smiled. “To the first blood?” he asked, indicating Aiden’s arm.

  “Nay,” Aiden said and caught his sword with his left hand. “To the last drop of blood.” He stepped toward Covington, who slashed defensively, but instead of blocking, Aiden ducked, rolling over his own head along the ground. As his legs came around, he used his booted feet to slam into the Englishman’s shins, betting the man’s surprise would keep him from slashing down before he was propelled backward.

  Covington went flying, his balance completely shattered. He landed on his arse, his ar
ms went out, his chest wide open. Aiden had continued his momentum and leaped to his feet before the Englishman could even take a breath. With both hands grasped around the hilt of his sword, Aiden braced his boots on either side of the sprawled man. With a ferocious yell, he raised his sword, thrusting it downward toward the man’s chest.

  A woman screamed as the wind gusted, driving a sudden swirl of snowflakes about them. Aiden stood, everything about him as hard as the granite-formed mountains of the Highlands around them. The point of his mighty claymore just touched Covington’s waistcoat. The man’s eyes bulged with surprise or fear or both, and Aiden held his gaze for a long moment.

  “Lo there, Campbell,” the king called, starting to come down.

  Before he could reach him, Aiden lifted the tip of his sword away, stepped back, and lowered his arm for Covington to grasp. To all who watched, it looked like a goodwill gesture. Covington grasped his arm, allowing Aiden to lift him from the dirt.

  “Fairly beat, though not adherent to any form of civil rules,” Covington said. “But next time—”

  Aiden drew the man in, speaking directly into his ear. He smelled of perfume. “If ye ever try to enter Scarlet’s bedchamber again, I will skewer ye to the frozen ground.” Without a glance, Aiden released the man with a slight shove and strode toward the wall, where Lawrence smiled and held out a fresh flask.

  Leaning against the rough wall, Aiden wondered if not bowing to the king and queen after knocking the sovereign’s champion on his arse would get him beheaded. The king frowned, and the woman, Jacqueline, fluttered around Covington, who stared at him, his eyes narrowed. At the top of the steps, Aiden saw Scarlet press a finger to her lips like he had done the night before when he asked her to think about her loyalty to Scotland. When she took her finger away, she smiled softly. She said something to her students, who clustered around her, and they all filed back into the keep.

  “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.