“The wolves?” she asked and bit into the apple. The sweet juice tasted like the most delicious dessert.
“Nowhere to be found in this storm, and the barn is solid, or they’d have taken my chickens by now.”
She chewed, swallowing. “We should gather some snow for water. Is there ale or wine?”
“Both and whisky,” he said.
She smiled over the apple. “It could snow for a fortnight, and we’d still have enough for a feast. You must be a very wise man.”
He grunted. “Prepared.”
“If you have a pan, I can poach some eggs for us to breakfast. And if the rasher isn’t frozen solid, it will go well with the eggs,” Scarlet said, taking a bucket to the door to scoop some clean snow, away from the dark lumps where Aiden likely mucked out his cabin. Shivering, she turned with the heavy bucket to find Aiden standing there.
He took the bucket from her hands, carrying it to the hearth, where he’d placed the frozen meat to thaw. “I didn’t figure ye for knowing how to cook,” he said, pulling out a bowl and cast-iron pan. “Most English ladies stay away from kitchens.”
“I didn’t know that you were an expert on English ladies,” Scarlet said, pulling the eggs from the basket to line up on a small work table. He didn’t answer. “I’ve been helping Molly in the kitchens at Finlarig. We don’t have a cook, and it is too much for her with the rest of her duties.” With a good night’s sleep and a warm fire, Scarlet was feeling more like her old self. Although, given the chance, she’d like to stay right here, locked away from the world in this cozy cabin, which was nothing like her old self.
They worked next to each other in silence, Scarlet cooking the eggs in the hot, melted snow and Aiden working with the sizzling bacon. Even though the space was small, they didn’t run into each other. Scarlet knew exactly where and what Aiden was doing even without watching him. It was as if all her senses were alive without the clutter of words.
Scarlet scooped the eggs out of the water and placed them on two wooden plates that Aiden had laid out. They cooled as he finished the bacon, and they sat down across from one another at the table. Aiden paused, looking down at his food. Was he saying a prayer?
Scarlet folded her hands on the table. “Thank you, Lord,” she whispered, her words clear over the soft howl of the wind. “For this food provided, for this snug, perfect cabin, for the warmth of a fire…and for the wisdom you’ve bestowed upon Aiden Campbell. Amen.” She didn’t look at him but took up her fork.
Aiden added his own silent “Amen” and kept his gaze down at his eggs and bacon. She thought him wise. Although he’d said as much since his house was fully stocked. It didn’t mean she thought well of him, or even if she did, it mattered not. For she was a lady, an English lady, and didn’t belong in the wild and dangerous Highlands.
“You mentioned training today,” Scarlet said and took a sip of the ale he’d brought out of a back room he used just for storage. “Grey and Kerrick have been working with us, but the lessons have been short and sometimes far between as they’ve been so busy restoring Finlarig and fortifying the wall around the castle.”
Did a true English lady learn to fight like a Highland warrior? Maybe Scarlet wasn’t as English as he’d thought. “Ye could always benefit with more training,” he said, his voice gruff.
“Agreed,” Scarlet said with a deep nod. “Most ladies have no knowledge of defense. Which is why we’ve made it an official part of the Highland Roses School curriculum. Even though we don’t brandish it about as a large part of learning, I think it is the most important skill we are trying to teach, right after reading.” She tipped her head from side to side. “Well, it’s likely an equal priority to reading. They can both be used to defend oneself.” Her words slowed as if she realized that she was rambling.
“Wolves or villains?” he asked, scraping the last of his eggs onto his fork.
“Excuse me?”
“Wolves or villains bent on rape? Which do ye wish me to teach ye to defend yourself from?”
“Oh,” she said, her brows furrowing.
He drank some ale and wiped his mouth on a napkin. “As a lady, who may not live her whole life in the wilds, I think learning to throw off a man would be of greater need,” he said.
She nodded. “Though I’d like to learn to shoot an arrow like my sister or throw a dagger to hit its mark.”
“We can get to that, but we will start with how to deal with arse-worms like Finlay.” Just the rutting bastard’s name made Aiden’s hands contract into fists.
“Arse-worm?” Scarlet said, the word sounding comical in her aristocratic English accent. “Another curse I should learn.” She smiled as if proud of herself. “I do curse Finlay Menzies with worms up his arse.”
“Ye will shock the English aristocracy with your foul language,” he said, rising to take his empty plate to the wash bucket.
A small bit of laughter came from Scarlet, a soft melody under her breath. It sounded pleasant like a thawing spring creek. “I don’t plan to ever speak before English aristocracy again, so you can teach me all the foul words you know.”
He didn’t look at her but concentrated on the rag in his hand as he wiped his plate clean. “So ye think ye will remain in the Highlands? Not return to England?” His hand paused, waiting for her answer.
“I will never return,” she answered, and he heard her rise, the chair scraping slightly on the wood planks. Her boots clipped as she came behind him. “Evelyn, either.”
“Your sister is on her way there now,” he countered.
“With her husband who will make certain she returns.”
“What if she decides that the conveniences of her homeland and rich life in England are too tempting?” Aiden’s shoulders ached at the tension across his back.
“You don’t know my sister very well,” Scarlet said, humor in her voice. “She’s wanted this school forever. She’d no more abandon Finlarig and Scotland than she’d cut off her arm.”
He took her plate without looking at her. “Ye have no attachment to the school, Finlarig, or Scotland. And once ye feel secure in how to defend yourself, there won’t be any reason for ye not to return to the life ye had before. A pampered woman will always return to her nest of comfort.” Someone had certainly frightened her down in England, though she’d refused to give him a name or rank when questioned the night before. But it was certainly someone she viewed as being in the highest station in her circle.
Silence stretched as he finished washing the plate, and he glanced toward Scarlet. She frowned, her eyes devoid of the merriment that usually lurked there. “Shall we begin my lesson?” she asked. “I have a need to kick someone.”
Drying his hands, Aiden moved the table and chairs to the side. “Show me how Finlay held ye,” he said.
Scarlet stared at him for a moment, inhaling, before stepping to place her back toward him. She took his hand and moved closer, wrapping his one arm around her waist so that her breasts rested on it. She was a perfect size, not so slender that she seemed like she would break, and she was soft, with generous curves. “His other hand was free and… roaming,” she said softly.
Aiden’s stomach clenched. Finlay had gathered all of Scarlet’s softness against him without her permission, holding her so intimately. “And ye did what to get away?” he asked, his words full of anger, making her tip her face up to see his. He cleared his throat. “I’d like to see the effective moves ye made that nearly killed the man despite ye not even having a weapon, save your knee.”
She gazed forward again, grabbing the arm that was holding her. “Grey showed us how to surprise an attacker.” She shoved his arm outward as the heel of her boot came down hard on his toes, though his own boots protected them.
He relaxed enough to let her spin out of his grasp, and she came forward, grabbing his shoulder with one hand while the other yanked back her skirts to expose her knee. She rammed it high. He was ready for it, sliding instinctually to the side in case she
made contact.
“Then he fell forward, and I ran out,” she finished, stepping back to cross her arms over her chest.
Aiden stared at her as she breathed hard, her chest rising. His jaw ached, and he cupped it, rubbing it through the bristle of his short beard. “His free hand. Where exactly did it touch ye?”
She stared at him, her lips pinched tight. “That has nothing to do with teaching me.”
She was right, but he wanted to know how much pain to deliver the next time he met up with the cocky bastard who tricked women from their rooms and attacked them. Before he could think of a reason he should know the details of Finlay’s words and groping, Scarlet stepped back up to him, staring him in the eyes. “I was lucky that he was drunk, barefoot, and distracted. I want to be able to react when the bastard is sober, heavily armed, and focused on getting what he wants from me. If that means I must become a warrior, then make me a warrior. I’m tired of feeling afraid.”
His gaze moved from one of her large brown eyes to the other, past the green flecks that encircled her pupils. “Who has made ye feel afraid, Scarlet Worthington?”
She glanced away, and he watched her swallow. “Men,” she said. “Men have frightened me.”
“Do I frighten ye?” he asked. “We are here alone, trapped by wind, snow, and wolves.”
She looked back at him, studying him, judging his intentions, his question. “Not in the same way,” she said, her voice low so that the shriek of the wind nearly hid it.
“In what way then?” He didn’t move, even fought against blinking as he willed her to speak. Scarlet Worthington had mysteries within her, mysteries he wanted to know. “How do I frighten ye?”
She inhaled, a smile spreading across her mouth that did not reach her eyes. “I’m afraid…” Her chin raised regally. “That you will beat me in a horserace. I’m afraid you will go back and start a war with Finlay Menzies.” Her eyes opened wide, and she shook her head. “I’m afraid you will jeopardize my brother’s new flock of sheep.” She tipped her head to the side. “I’m afraid that you haven’t a wash tub for me to bathe in.” She flipped her hands about. “I am just full of fears.” She set her hands on her hips, giving him a wry smile. “So, let us stop talking and start teaching me to be a warrior.”
Aiden pushed his tongue into his cheek and rubbed his chin. No, nothing was easy about Scarlet Worthington. Perhaps that was why she plagued his thoughts. Easy would be easily set aside, forgotten.
He inhaled, sliding up each of his sleeves and crossing his arms over his chest. “It will be a day of battle, and then fortunate for ye…” He met her gaze with a steely one of his own. “I have a soaking tub.”
…
“Bloody foking hell,” Scarlet whispered, gritting her teeth as Aiden latched on to her already bruised wrist. He loosened instantly, which made her glare up at him. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?” he asked, his frown fierce as he stood opposite her, playing the attacker.
“Let up on my wrist because you know it hurt,” she said. “A bastard like Finlay won’t let up.”
“He might out of shock at the words that have been overflowing your lips,” he said, his fingers tightening again.
“Swearing makes things hurt less, makes me stronger.” Scarlet glanced up at him. “Is that why warriors swear all the time? So they can take bruises and slashes without crumpling in pain?”
“Your questions are not going to distract me. Now break my hold.”
The last four attempts, she hadn’t been able to break through the shackle he held around her wrist, though honestly, she hadn’t given it her whole effort. The man had taken a snow bath, whatever that was, and he smelled and looked deliciously clean, in a perpetually fierce kind of way. The soreness on her wrist, along with a foolish draw toward Aiden, may have prevented her escape.
When Scarlet thought back on the dandies at court, their perfectly tailored costumes, plumed hats, and perfumed wigs, she wanted to laugh at their ridiculous posturing. Trying to prove that they were men when their foppish ways just made them look like boys. She hadn’t realized it until coming to the Highlands. Aiden Campbell definitely qualified as a real man.
Scarlet glanced down at his large hand and breathed in through her nose, closing her eyes to imagine a different hand shackling her in place. As soon as the face coalesced in her mind, her heart kicked up. Her eyes flew open.
“No,” she yelled, hard enough that she may have spit. “No,” she yelled again, stepping into Aiden, the heel of her free hand snapping upward toward his nose. As she hit, she snapped her other hand down, her wrist sliding through the place where Aiden’s finger and thumb met.
He grunted, and she spun away, breathing hard.
“Bloody foking hell,” Aiden said, repeating her curse as he held his nose. He looked at his fingers where evidence of blood showed, and then his gaze slid to her. A grin relaxed his frown. “Ye’re right. The cursing helps.”
Scarlet stared at him for a heartbeat and then laughed. “I think I will add swearing to the school curriculum as part of self-defense.”
Walking to the hearth, she took a piece of cloth to give to him for his nose. “Sorry about that,” she said.
He grinned. “Nay, ye did exactly what ye should do.”
Scarlet let out a huff, her smile huge. “You didn’t go easy on me?”
“Not in the least,” he said, shaking his head. “See, ye have it in ye, Scarlet. Once ye let go of worrying about what someone will think of ye. Yell in their face. Spit in their face. Curse, piss, whatever it takes to get away. Nothing is sinful, forbidden, or wrong when fighting for your life.”
Scarlet nodded but felt her face redden. “Did I spit on you?”
His grin turned to a smile big enough to show his teeth. “Aye. Exactly how ye should.”
“I’m s—”
“No sorry,” he said, crossing to grab up two flasks of watered-down ale. He handed one to her but wouldn’t let it go, making her look into his once again serious eyes. “Ye do everything and anything to get away from a foking bastard. Understand?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
He grunted something that sounded like an affirmative and let her take the flask. The cool, wet ale tasted heavenly. They’d been working on various techniques for the last hour while the storm whistled and battered against the cabin.
“When we return to Finlarig, you will teach my students?” Scarlet asked, putting the cork back on her flask. “The yelling, spitting, everything? I think Grey and Kerrick have been too easy on us.”
Aiden tipped his flask up to drink. His shirt lay untied at the neck, and she watched him swallow. His hair had dried in a short, tousled look that framed his ruggedly handsome features. He capped the flask and stretched his arms back as if to work his massive shoulders. Scarlet’s mouth went dry, and she took another drink.
He nodded. “Aye, I will teach. If the lasses want to have a real chance of saving themselves in an attack, they need a better teacher.”
Scarlet grinned. “One who curses and spits.”
“As much as she can.” Aiden kept his natural frown, but merriment shone in his eyes.
…
Scarlet groaned softly as the heated water enveloped her. The muscles in her legs ached as she bent her knees to fit in the deep, short tub that Aiden had filled for her by the hearth fire. With Aiden’s promise to stay with the horses for at least an hour, Scarlet had yanked the curtains closed on all the windows, stripped out of her grubby smock, and stepped into the water. Apparently, either she trusted him, or the allure of cleanliness was overpowering her modesty.
Heat prickled her skin as she took up the thin bar of soap that she’d thrown into her satchel. Luckily, Aiden had taken it from Castle Menzies before riding after her. She inhaled the fragrant jasmine as she scrubbed it along her skin. On Hollings Estate, her mother had gone against popular ideas about water disrupting the humors in the body. No dirty children for Margaret Worthington. She
might weep and hide away in hysterics, but she’d smell like a flower doing so.
Scarlet slid down in the tub to wet her hair, the hot water feeling heavenly against her scalp. Blowing out bubbles, she rose to work the soap through her tresses and rinsed. She massaged her arms. “God’s teeth,” she whispered and stretched the aches in her muscles.
Darkness settled beyond the curtains, and the wind had finally blown itself out before she’d stepped into the tub. She sighed and sunk so that her ears were covered by the water. Her hands floated by her bent knees, palm side down on the surface. They would leave at dawn, but for now, she would let the warmth cradle her.
Bang! The door hit the wall, and Scarlet gasped, sloshing up. Aiden stood there, his gaze finding her, and she realized he could see her naked breasts above the water line. “Aiden,” she yelled, hands flying to her chest.
“Men are coming. Dress yourself while I keep them outdoors.” He charged back out into the night.
Men? Which men? Campbells, Menzies, English? Some horde of raping barbarians? Scarlet propelled herself up out of the water, a small wave washing over the side. The chill in the room, recently enhanced by the open door, made chill bumps rise over her skin. She dashed for her drying sheet, wrapping herself tight as she grabbed her dirty clothes.
Deep voices yelled outside. “She is here,” Aiden’s voice came through the door. “Safe, thanks to her own quick response to that foking arse.”
Rap, rap. Good Lord, it was too late to run upstairs. All she could do was hold her dirty clothes before her as the door opened.
Kerrick pushed past Aiden, his eyes growing wide as Scarlet dripped, her cold toes curling against the bricks of the hearth. “Lady Scarlet?”
Aiden followed, and then two others before Aiden could order them back. “Out,” Aiden said, turning to shove Lawrence and William. “Kerrick,” he called.
“Ye’re undressed,” Kerrick said, the words seeming to fall out of his open mouth.
Scarlet’s heart pounded hard, but she tipped her chin higher. “A custom we English employ when bathing. Now if you would be decent gentlemen and let me finish dressing…” She let her words trail off as she met Kerrick’s gaze with a razor-sharp, unblinking stare.
A Protector in the Highlands Page 8