She turned toward the stairs, Aiden beside her. Finlay said nothing, and they climbed the winding staircase. “What a baboon,” she said, watching the steps before her in the dim light of glass-enclosed candles mounted to the stone. “I was worried that you would run him through.”
“Your tongue was just as deadly and didn’t leave blood stains,” he said, his dry answer making her chuckle. After several turns, they reached the third floor where a vacant room had been made ready for Scarlet. Aiden entered first. “Cold but empty,” he said, going to the hearth, where he pulled wool and flint from his satchel to light a fire.
“Thank you,” she said when the flames began to catch, lighting the small room. She wrapped her arms around herself. It would be a long night.
Aiden straightened. “Bar the door when I leave. I will return at dawn for our trip back to Finlarig.”
She nodded, glancing at the door where a heavy oak slat leaned against the wall.
“Or,” he said. “It would be best if I sleep outside your door.”
“No,” Scarlet said, shaking her head. “Find a bed. A sleep-hungry Aiden Campbell is a surly fellow, indeed,” she said. With him outside her door, it would be too easy for her to give in to the unsettling heat that seemed to coil inside her when he was near.
He walked out. “I won’t leave until I hear the bar drop,” he said.
She hefted the wood and let it slide down heavily. “Good night,” she called through the door. He didn’t respond, though she hadn’t expected it. Scarlet turned to the small room with the cozy fire and wrapped her arms around herself. With Aiden gone, it felt like a dungeon cell.
She snorted. What dungeon cell had a warm fire and blankets?
She shivered and took up her cloak, tucking it around her. She’d sleep dressed to leave in the morning. Fingering through her hair, she lowered onto her side on the lumpy bed, her cheek against the flat pillow. Watching the flames dance in the hearth, the strains of the minuet played in her mind, lulling her to sleep.
Tap. Tap. Tap. “Lady Worthington?” Scarlet blinked, her gaze opening to the glowing embers in the hearth. Tap. Tap. Tap. “Are ye in there, Scarlet?” It was Finlay. Scarlet took a full inhale and pushed up in bed.
“It’s the middle of the night,” she called, her mind still wrapped in a dream of dancing La Volta with Aiden. “What is it?”
“There’s a lass ye must see,” he said. “She’s burning.”
An image of Aiden’s scars filled Scarlet’s mind, and she threw back the covers, planting her feet into her boots. “Burning? She’s on fire?”
“Aye,” Finlay said. “Ye must come see.”
Scarlet strained to push up the heavy bar. Blinking, she opened the door. Bar the door. Aiden’s words came back to her, and she hesitated, stepping back.
Finlay reached in and grabbed her wrist. “Quickly, do ye hear her screaming below?”
Scarlet heard the faint call of someone, a woman. Good God, what had happened? Evie had treated Aiden’s back with snails, or rather their slime, but where would she find snails under all the snow?
Finlay hurried her through the dark corridor and down the winding steps. Scarlet smelled smoke, but it didn’t seem thicker than the usual hearth fires. A woman yelled out as if she was in agony, making Scarlet’s boots clip faster. The whole time, Finlay kept looking back at her to see if she followed. As they reached the bottom, he tugged her into the shadows by the archway.
“What are you—?” she asked, realizing he’d wrapped around her from behind.
His whisky-thick breath was hot in her ear. “Watch, Scarlet lass,” he said. “Watch her burn.” He reached one arm past her to point at the table in the great hall where a woman kneeled on all fours, her skirts raised as a man thrust into her. Her breasts hung out of her bodice before her as she moaned, rocking, the pitch of her voice rising to the point where she was nearly screaming.
Scarlet’s knees felt weak as fear crushed through her. Despite the thickness of her skirt and cloak, she could feel the press of Finlay’s erect member against her backside. His arm held her tightly around the ribs, trapping her. “Let go,” she said. The man on the table looked over his shoulder and smiled, knowing they watched.
“Just enjoy. Jack doesn’t mind us watching,” Finlay whispered, his lips brushing her ear, sending a wave of nausea down through Scarlet. “Doesn’t it make ye ache?”
Flashes of her nightmares caught at Scarlet’s breath, nearly suffocating her. Trapped, forced to watch the passion of another couple while held, a mere moment from being raped. Any heat that might possibly flame up within her at viewing a scene of mutual passion froze to ice in her veins. For she knew what could come next.
Weakness made her legs buckle, but Finlay held her hard against him, bending his height over her. He breathed heavily against her cheek, pressing into her as if he were the one rutting.
The man pulled out of the woman. “Don’t stop,” she said, pouting.
“Never, lass,” he answered, laying her back on the table and raising her legs high to rest over his shoulders, the skirts ruffled about her middle as he entered her again. She crooned, and he began to pump harder.
The man smiled at Scarlet where Finlay held her within the archway. But instead of the Scotsman, Scarlet envisioned the long, dark wig of King Charles, the press of Harry Covington against her back. “Watch,” Harry whispered, his hand coming up to touch her breast. Shock, fear, and shame washed through her body, making her chin grow numb and stars spark in her periphery.
But this wasn’t Harry, it was Finlay Menzies, his hand roaming under her cloak. Get away. The calm words of Grey Campbell, as he taught them self-defense back at the Highland Roses School, cut through Scarlet’s paralysis. Get away with surprise, then attack.
Scarlet inhaled and exhaled slowly, resting her hands on the arm anchoring her to Finlay’s chest. She raised her booted foot, tipping her toes up so that the heel would come down first. Finlay was entranced with the show before him, even loosening his hold as his free hand found his rigid member, where he began to stroke.
With one more inhale, Scarlet threw herself into action, stomping her heel down on the bastard’s bare toes. He hollered in pain. “Fok!” His arm dropped from her, and she spun to face him, her one hand grabbing his shoulder as the other raised her skirts, liberating her knee to jam upward. Her target was obvious, and she threw all her weight, fear, and growing fury into the thrust, hitting his cod. Finlay doubled in half immediately, falling to the stone floor.
Scarlet wasted no further time on him, whirling away to run through the great hall, past the couple. The woman screeched in Gaelic, grabbing her clothes. Apparently, she hadn’t been aware of the viewing. Scarlet dodged empty tankards and hopped over one unconscious Menzies warrior on her way out the front door. Escape. Get away. Just like when she’d woken Evie up at Whitehall that horrible night. But this time, Scarlet was on her own.
Again, she’d been foolish enough to believe a man and had walked into his perverse escapade. Shame heated her face even in the cold night air. Shame at her stupidity. Shame that she would believe anything a man would say.
The moon had come out from the clouds, its light glistening against the fresh snow. Scarlet didn’t stop running until she reached the stables, where she spotted the white coat of Aiden’s horse. Where was Aiden sleeping? Her gaze snapped left and right along the moonlit bailey where she could see several outbuildings, including the one that housed her sheep. She didn’t dare search for him, not when she might run into other rutting couples or drunken men.
With the stable door open, the moonlight allowed her enough light to find Caora. Unlatching the stall, Scarlet threw her arms around the horse’s neck, hugging her, taking in her strength to stop her legs from shaking. “We are going home,” Scarlet whispered, and the horse’s ears flicked, her wide, intelligent eyes seeming to accept the risky plan. Evelyn and then Aiden had asked her why she didn’t ride. Well, now she would, as fast as she
could to Finlarig to bar herself away from the world.
The storm had blown itself away, leaving a clear, moon-washed night. Galloping, Caora would fly her back to Finlarig in under two hours. They would ride southeast until finding Loch Tay, which they’d follow until coming to the familiar road to Killin.
Not wanting to spend the time saddling Caora, Scarlet slipped a bridle over her head and a padded blanket onto her bare back. She climbed the slats that made up the stall and pushed herself onto the horse’s back. “That’s it,” she whispered. “Good girl.” She breathed heavily, the whole time keeping her ears alert for anyone giving chase. But the night was silent, even the wind dying down.
Clicking her tongue, Scarlet pressed Caora into a walk out of the barn. Blast, the moon was so bright. But no one ran out of the keep or the thatched buildings. Scarlet kept Caora walking until they reached halfway across the snow-blanketed meadow. Four or five inches had fallen, creating a soft, bright surface.
With one last adjustment to the direction, Scarlet let up on Caora’s reins. “Fly,” she whispered, and the horse shot forward.
Chapter Five
Aiden woke, his fingers wrapping around the sgian dubh he kept under the pillow. Where was he? Castle Menzies. From his spot on the small bed in the thatched outbuilding that served as quarters for soldiers when needed, Aiden could hear several of his men snoring. Was that what had woken him?
In the distance he heard horse hooves. A Menzies headed home after waking up in his own vomit on the great hall floor? When Aiden had left Finlay and his guests, the wild drinking and dancing had settled down, with several men passing out along the table. Finlay’s sister, Cici, had gone above to bed shortly after Scarlet. With the celebration ebbing, Aiden and Kerrick had headed out with the other Campbell men to sleep in one of the empty buildings.
Aiden tossed onto his other side and paused to listen, but only snoring prevailed. Still, something pulled at his instincts. Scarlet. Aiden sat up in the bed, still dressed down to his boots. He clipped across the floor to the door and out into the bailey. Brow furrowed, he mounted the steps to the keep two at a time.
Striding through the entryway, he came up short as he saw Finlay sitting at the table, puking into a wooden tankard. One of his men stood close, an undone woman beside him, clutching her bodice closed over her chest. Aiden strode past him on his way to check on Scarlet. “Can’t hold your whisky, Menzies,” he said and shook his head. “Time to grow into your chiefdom.”
The other Menzies cursed. “’Twas that lady, kicked him in the ballocks so hard he’s sick.”
Aiden froze, his boot on the first step leading up, and turned. “Lady?”
Finlay couldn’t talk doubled over, his hand to his chest as if his heart might break through his ribs and skin.
“Aye, the lady. Kicked him hard enough to almost kill him.”
“Ye should have been kicked, too, ye bastard,” the woman said. “Not telling me we was being watched like that. I’m going home.”
Aiden’s hard stare moved between Finlay and his man. “The Lady Scarlet?” he said slowly.
“Aye,” the man answered, and before he could say another word, Aiden leaped up the stairs, using his hands on either side of the narrow, curling stairway to propel him faster. He came out on the third floor, running down to her room.
“Scarlet,” he called. His heart dropped as her door pushed open under his knock, and he raced inside. Empty. He grabbed up her satchel, the only thing that showed he had the correct room. Nothing else of her was left.
Back down the stairs, he ran into the great hall and straight up to Finlay. He grabbed the man under his arms, hoisting him upright. Pale and pained, the man panted.
“What did ye do to Scarlet?”
“Nothing,” Finlay said, his eyes floating about in his head. The man was drunk, his head lolling about on his skinny neck. Aiden had the urge to shake him until his head snapped off.
“Where is she?” he yelled into the arse’s pale face.
“She ran out of here,” the other man said, shrugging into his shirt and pointing toward the entryway.
Mo chreach! What had gone on in here that sent Scarlet fleeing into the cold night? He shook Finlay, throwing him back onto the bench where he pitched to the side, falling face first onto the floor. “If anything happens to Scarlet because of ye…” Aiden crouched down to turn the man over so Finlay could see his face. Finlay’s nose bled from hitting the ground. “If anything has happened to her, I will be back to gut ye.”
Aiden turned to the other man. “Make sure this drunk fool remembers what I just said.”
The Menzies’ lips thinned into a hard line, but he nodded. Aiden ran out of the keep and scanned the snow in the open bailey. Scarlet’s small boot prints were easy to spot in the moonlight. He strode along them. “Bloody hell,” he cursed as they led him to the stable. He pushed into the building. “Damnation.” The bay filly was gone, her stall door gaping open.
…
Speed was no concern for Scarlet, even bareback, and the young horse seemed to understand Scarlet’s need to fly. Once the meadow, which extended past Balloch Castle, disappeared under Caora’s flying hooves, they slowed to enter another set of dark woods. After this, they would come out near Loch Tay, and she’d follow it past Aiden’s cabin.
Moonlight slashed down through the winter-bare trees, making eerie, finger-like shadows across the ground. Thin bramble stuck up through the snow on all sides. Luckily, Caora had excellent reflexes and dodged the saplings and trees with precision while Scarlet held on, lying low over the horse’s neck.
Lord, what was she doing riding a horse in the winter forest at night? She’d escaped her demons once by flying away from London, and now she flew from Castle Menzies. But this time she didn’t have James with his musket and Evie telling her that all would be well. The center of her chest tightened, and she bit back a sob. Would she always feel like she must flee? Awake or asleep, it didn’t seem to matter. She was always escaping from her memories or from new horrors.
Scarlet clung to the horse’s neck, needing the feeling that she wasn’t alone. Her nose and her gloveless hands felt the bite of the wind. Thank the heavens she’d worn her boots and cloak downstairs when Finlay had called her, thinking she might need to run for an apothecary.
“So stupid,” she hissed. How could she have fallen again for trickery? She’d thought herself clever. Evie had always said so, and she could make a table of courtiers titter with her wit. But to fall for another man’s lies, after Aiden had told her to keep the door barred… Shame washed along her skin, prickling her face until her vision swam with tears. She held a bare hand to her mouth, realizing it still shook from cold and fear and anger at herself.
In the distance, Scarlet heard the howl of a wolf. She pushed upright on Caora’s back. “Dearest God,” she whispered into the wind that blew like an icy rebuke against her face. The young mare’s ears twitched as she tipped her nose to the breeze that cut through the bare trees. She whinnied softly, a nervous note in her pitch.
They broke out from the trees and rode toward Loch Tay. The moon’s white orb reflected on the calm, frozen surface, where several shapes stood farther above them along the water’s jagged edge. Prickles of fear cut along Scarlet’s skin. Wolves. A small pack, lapping water from the thinned ice. Scarlet’s thoughts raced as fast as the wind that swept past her toward the beasts. Her fingers clenched around the reins. Would running make them chase? She had no weapons at all, not even a hair spike to act like a dagger.
The largest wolf raised its pointed snout to the sky as if inhaling the wind that carried the fragrance of her fear. “Oh God,” Scarlet whispered as the beast began to trot toward her, its head low. The others followed on its heels.
“Run,” Scarlet said, kicking into Caora’s sides. The horse needed no encouragement, having sensed the danger from the first scent. Caora’s hooves seemed to leap through the air, barely touching down as she ran, the muscles of h
er legs surging in time with Scarlet’s wild heartbeat. Would she die tonight? Would her continued foolishness doom the beautiful bay filly who raced so hard to carry them away?
Scarlet lay over the horse’s straining neck to hold on for dear life. Without a saddle, her feet dangled, trying to find purchase with her heels and thighs. Her numb fingers coiled into Caora’s mane. Glancing over her shoulder, Scarlet saw the shapes loping after them, the moonlight shining down to stretch their slanted shadows over the snow. Could Caora keep up this mad dash until they reached Finlarig?
The wind flew past Scarlet’s cheeks, filling her hood to blow it off her head. Hair streaming out behind her, Scarlet concentrated on holding on to the horse’s back. Raising her gaze, she saw another section of forest before them. The wolves would surely catch them amongst the trees where Caora couldn’t run at top speed. The hungry beasts would tear into the poor young horse, even if Scarlet could manage to climb a tree.
Scarlet blinked back tears, and her gaze slid to the right, where a dark structure stood out from the snow. Aiden’s cabin. Hope cracked open the panic in her chest. She moved her fingers, willing feeling back into them as she tightened the reins, angling Caora toward the dwelling. Was it locked? Aiden had pulled a chain high on the door to open it. She glanced behind at the pack, closing in. Hungry and fast, the pack was certain death.
Scarlet bent low over Caora’s neck, straining in the darkness to see the mechanism of the door. She didn’t dare slow the horse until they were nearly to the cabin. Almost there. “Go Caora,” she yelled, rising, her thighs straining. Several yards out from the cabin, Scarlet yanked to the left with the reins, turning the horse as she skidded into the side of the cabin. “Hold on,” she called and dropped the reins in her desperate pawing at the top of the wooden door. She didn’t waste time turning to see the wolves bearing down on them. She knew they were there, salivating, their teeth gnashing.
A Protector in the Highlands Page 6