Evelyn pinched her lips into a tight smile that held polished condescension for her subject. “Of course not. Grey Campbell is one of my teachers and a helper here at the school. Nothing else.” Nothing else. Nothing else. Nothing else. Why did she feel she must repeat the words like a prayer? Or wrap them around her like a stone wall?
…
“I want a perimeter manned around Killin and Finlarig,” Grey said, and pointed out across the open moor, which stretched to the forest surrounding the town and castle. Dark clouds gathered, billowing upward just beyond the tree line. A rumble of thunder heralded another spring storm. “Two men will ride it every hour and report back if any English cross into or come close to Campbell land.”
Hamish nodded. “Ye expect the bastards to return soon? Even with the Sassenach taking over Finlarig?”
Taking over Finlarig? Grey frowned over Hamish’s choice of words, and Kerrick broke in. “That ye’ve given the Sassenach the impression that she’s taking over Finlarig, not that ye actually have. Everything’s going according to your plan, Grey.” He nodded to his chief.
“Mo chreach,” Grey swore and rubbed a hand under his hair at the base of his skull. He had a bloody English battalion just a gallop away with enough muskets to kill his clan, and now a beautiful, bossy Englishwoman had her hooks in his home. Even if she was scrubbing it and fixing the damage the soldiers had done, she was doing it for her own endeavors.
“Aye,” Hamish said. “Once she makes the repairs and no one wants to learn her lessons, she’ll leave us be. Then we will…” He trailed off, tugging at his short beard. “Not sure what then. Kill Cross and his men?”
Kerrick cleared his throat, his hair starting to toss in the growing wind. “England will just send more with torches.”
“We can hope that Cross doesn’t care about Finlarig if the Sassenach leaves on her own,” Hamish said.
Grey continued to rub the back of his neck at the ache bunching there and took deep breaths of the rain-scented breeze. England and Scotland had always been uneasy neighbors with England trying to encroach upon the clans, but now that they also had more firepower, it was becoming harder to push them back. Like vines determined to choke the life out of a tree, the English closed around Scottish families, taking what they would under accusations of treason. When clans fought back, King Charles sent more troops north to squash them without remorse.
“Just continue to seem helpful,” Kerrick said, and looked upward as thunder echoed closer. “Like Aiden said. Then when she leaves, we can take over her school.” He stood tall, puffing out his chest. “I’ll teach the lasses how to kiss a warrior.”
Hamish laughed, a deep barking sound. “And I can teach them how to drink a dram of whisky without spitting it out. We can leave Aiden to teach them to embroider dainty pillows, since he’s not up to throwing a sword.”
Bloody hell. Aiden would be avenged. “Just keep watch of the English, and have Donald send a messenger from Balloch if they spot English on our lands,” Grey said, his voice deadly serious. “No interactions unless ye must defend yourselves. I just want to know their movements and get everyone safely behind Finlarig’s reinforced walls if they attack again.” They’d be ready the next time, for while Evelyn readied the castle for a school, Grey readied it for a siege.
Lightning splintered the darkening sky. “Best get indoors,” Hamish said, tipping his face to the sparse raindrops that fell like stones to the dirt. Kerrick was already jogging toward his cottage on the other side of the moor, and Hamish took off toward town where he had a home with his wife and two small boys. Rain pelted down on Grey as he trudged through the trees to the center of Killin. Thunder peeled as if a giant cracked two boulders together, and the new green leaves whooshed together on bending trees. Rain began to pour from the sky, and he ducked under the eaves of a house.
“What the bloody hell?” he said under his breath. Evelyn trotted from the path that led from Finlarig. She wore a wool plaid over her head and stomped through the puddles in her haste down the street. With the tarp over her head, the lass didn’t notice him as she barreled ahead, obviously on a mission. She splashed through puddles, the rainwater dotting her raised hem. Every time thunder cracked overhead, she’d duck down and then continue to run. Did she think God was trying to shoot her down?
Grey followed her through the village until she reached the far outskirts where Izzy slept behind crooked shutters and under sagging thatch in her family home. He would talk with some of the younger warriors about working on it tomorrow. If Izzy was determined to stay there, he would make sure to keep it up.
Evelyn knocked on the cottage’s door. “Isabel?” she called, her voice muted by the rush of rain and wind. “Are you here? It’s Evelyn Worthington. I’m coming in.” She pushed inside, and the door slammed shut.
Grey jogged over, frowning. What if Burdock was hiding inside? Or Cross? Even though the captain played a more refined role, he was still a murderous bastard. Standing outside the door, Grey pulled his sword and pushed into the dim room.
A loud gasp came from the bedroom, and he ran forward. “Evelyn?”
“Good God, you scared the life from me,” she yelled. She stood holding her hand to her chest, eyes round as full moons. The rest of the small room seemed empty except for an unmade bed. “What are you doing here?”
“What are ye doing here?” he asked, sheathing his sword.
She hesitated a moment, her lips pinched. Her hair had tumbled out of the tight bun she’d worn, most likely from yanking the tarp off her head. “I happened to have some extra pottage and tarts and thought I’d drop them by for Isabel.”
Thunder exploded overhead, making Evelyn drop down, her hands resting on the floor. Her gaze downward, she remained, and Grey stepped forward to lift under one of her arms. “Thank you,” she said.
“Ye can leave the food, and I’ll return ye to Finlarig,” he said.
“Oh no, not in the storm. I’m frightened of storms,” she said, her voice louder. “Have been since I was a child.”
“And yet ye felt the need to run through—”
“I was caught in town when the storm started and just hurried the rest of the way.” She shifted her eyes from his gaze to the floor by the edge of the bed, then back to him and down again. Frowning, he followed her prompt and saw the edge of Izzy’s filthy, bare foot. The wee one was hiding under the bed.
“I think I’ll wait out the storm here,” Evelyn said, and lowered to the floor to lean against the wall beside the bed. “You go back.” She smiled sweetly up at him.
He stared at her a moment and then walked out of the room. When he returned with a rickety chair from the front, she looked surprised. “I will wait it out with ye then. I would not have ye alone here.”
The chair was narrow and unbalanced, but he sat, crossing arms over his chest. The storm continued for long minutes, buffeting the cottage with wind and rain, thunder booming all around them. The clouds rushed the twilight into night, until they sat in near darkness. Grey crouched before the hearth to start a fire with tinder and wool he kept in his leather pouch. He brought back a lit candle in a simple iron holder.
Evelyn leaned her head against the wall. “As a girl, I was terrified of storms, the loud ones anyway. It felt like God might strike me down, and I’d turn to ash.”
Grey gave a slight snort. “I doubt ye’ve done anything that would anger God.”
She met his gaze with a faint smile. “I’ve made men furious. Why not God?” She waved the comment away. “I would hide under my bed back at Hollings, with my sister. We’d cling to each other. It gave us courage to be together. Since then, I’ve always fared better in storms when I am with someone.” She shrugged, her shoulders rising in the tight brown sleeves of the sack-like gown Kirstin had made for her. “When one is alone, things seem… bigger, fiercer.”
“Ye stood alone on the steps of Finlarig the other night in the storm,” he said.
She frowned, her eyes going
wide. “My sister was with me.”
When he opened his mouth to remind her how her sister had run back to the carriage, her glare stopped him. He puckered his lips closed.
“And,” she started up again. “I remember your sister saying that you, a big, strong warrior, were frightened of thunder when you were a lad.”
His brow furrowed, and he began to shake his head, but her eyes went wide again, and the hand she’d lifted to lie on the bed dabbed downward as if pointing to Izzy through the straw tick.
“Uh…” he said. “Aye?” He started slowly but continued when Evelyn nodded. “Aye, but I don’t talk much about it. Thunder and lightning…very frightening to any child.”
“Enough to make you hide away?” Evelyn asked, nodding with encouragement.
“I…suppose I did a time or two.”
Her smile lit her whole face. Och. Hair a mess and wearing a rough dress, her kindness and authentic happiness made her a rare and beautiful woman.
The sound of the thunder had moved off so that it rumbled only among the mountains. He stood. “The storm has blown away. I can escort ye back now.”
She crossed her arms and her feet at the ankles. “You can go. I’ll just stay the night here. The floor is rather comfortable, and I’m too tired to traipse back. And the storm might return while we are walking.”
Blast. The woman meant to stay the night with Izzy. The girl was still silently hiding under the bed. Evelyn had no idea how stubborn the little lass could be. He shook his head, but Evelyn just closed her eyes and leaned the back of her head against the wall.
“Bloody hell,” he murmured.
“I suppose hell could be filled with blood, but must you keep mentioning it?” she whispered.
Unfortunately, the woman kept her eyes shut so she didn’t see his mutinous glare. “If ye will stay, at least take the bed,” he said.
“I’m quite comfortable here.” She shooed him with her hand. “Feel free to seek your huge bed back at the castle.”
Stubborn and determined. He exhaled long and loudly and folded out of the rickety chair. If he was going to stay, he’d take the floor, too. Three of them on the floor with a perfectly fine bed left open, but he wouldn’t take it in case Izzy or the infuriating woman decided to seek a little comfort. He was a warrior, after all, and accustomed to discomfort. Grey lowered his bulk to the floor and set his sword next to him.
“What are you doing?” Evelyn asked as he moved closer to her, leaning against the wall.
“If ye’re staying, then I’m staying.”
“Not necessary,” Evelyn said. He blew out the candle even though he was sure she wasn’t finished glaring at him.
“Go to sleep,” he ordered, though she’d probably stay awake all night just to be contrary. He leaned back and crossed his arms. After what seemed like forever, he heard an even breathing coming from next to him. Evelyn had fallen asleep. He looked up to see her head slumped forward. As gently as he could, he pulled her over until her head rested on the floor near his leg. Was Izzy asleep? The child made no noise.
Grey drifted off but kept alert. It must have been a sound that caused his eyes to open, or the pre-dawn grayness coming through the cracked shutters. Without sitting up from the wall, he turned his head, the soreness of his neck begging him to stretch. As his eyes moved to the lump beside him, he froze. Curled into Evelyn’s back was Izzy, her face pressed against the Englishwoman.
Their sides rose and fell in sleep. The room lightened further, and Grey studied the curves of Evelyn’s slightly parted lips and the way her dark lashes fanned out against her skin. He’d seen her angry, sardonic, proper, and pleasantly surprised. But he’d never seen her relaxed in sleep. What would she look like asleep in his bed, warm and completely satiated?
He moved his legs, feeling the press of his morning hardness against his kilt, and reached down to adjust himself. But he stopped as he caught the slightest movement. Izzy’s body had rolled back, her eyes wide, as she stared at his face.
He gave her a small nod, and slowly stood, backing away from the two of them. Izzy watched him, near panic in her small face, but she didn’t surrender Evelyn. In fact, she seemed to curl closer into her. Grey pointed to himself and then to the door. The night was over, and he’d wait outside. Izzy watched him warily as he lifted the plaid that Evelyn had dumped in a corner. He shook it and brought it close, laying it over the two.
Izzy seemed to shrink away from him but still wouldn’t surrender her position. Was the wee thing hiding or protecting? Grey nodded to Evelyn, still sleeping soundly. “She’s a kind lady,” he whispered. “And ye are welcome at the castle, whether it is storming or not.” He’d never been close enough to tell the child that. He nodded once more and headed out the door.
…
Evelyn hid a yawn behind the back of her hand as she walked through the village. She’d woken to find both Grey and Isabel gone from the cottage. After making the child’s bed and sweeping the floor, she’d headed back to Finlarig before Scarlet found her missing and imagined the worst.
Rumpled and unwashed, Evelyn hoped to change and freshen before seeing anyone. Was Grey about? He refused to leave the night before, even when she bade him go. She hadn’t meant to cause his loss of sleep, but she wasn’t going to leave little Isabel. Truthfully, Grey’s nearness had allowed Evelyn to sleep, even with more storms through the night.
She had suffered terribly as a child whenever storms blew into Lincolnshire. Her favorite hiding spot had been under the bed, which was why she was able to find Isabel so easily. But why had Grey stayed? Evelyn pulled her curls to one side, trying to smooth them. Had he been worried about her? The idea made her empty stomach flip. “Ridiculous,” she chided herself in a whisper and hurried on up the grass path.
At the castle, men were working on the gate and broken windows of the keep. Crack! Crack! Thump. The sound of a hammer was followed by more pounding. She stared upward at a new structure being framed in. This wasn’t a small iron gate to fix the one that was broken.
“Good morn,” one of the men called and walked over. He had wisps of gray in his reddish hair and a bristly round beard covering his jaw. He smiled. “Lady Evelyn, I’m Hamish Campbell. The chief ordered a more secure gate to be built to replace the one Captain Cross’s men fell.”
“I’d say,” she said, staring at the thick iron spikes being set in an arched wooden frame.
“The gate will rise and lower from that tower,” Hamish said and pointed. “The men will rotate through guard duty…um…for your school.” He smiled, his lips pinched closed over his teeth.
“It looks like Finlarig will be prepared for war,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “You are building a portcullis.”
Hamish scratched his head. “I like to think of it as a sturdy door to keep your students safe.”
“It might frighten parents if they think their daughters must be protected by such strength,” Evelyn said.
Hamish tipped his head sideways, ear toward his shoulder. His eyebrows raised as if he was considering the design. “Well…we could hang some flowers along it. Soften it up a bit.” She opened her mouth. “Excuse me, milady,” Hamish interrupted, pointing at her head. “Ye have a wee critter there.”
“What?” she yelled, swatting her hair with both hands. She’d slept on Isabel’s floor all night. God only knew what could have crawled into her hair to make a nest. She dropped her head forward and shook her hair, which reached past her knees. “What is it?” she asked, raising her voice to a shrieking level. Nothing dropped out of her hair, and she imagined a mouse climbing toward her scalp. It could bite or claw at her. “Get it out!”
“Ho, there, milady,” Hamish called. “I think it be gone.”
Evelyn, heart pounding, raised her hot face, hair flying all around her shoulders. The men had stopped working to stare at her. She swallowed hard as she spotted Grey in the bailey, his gaze directly on her.
“It was just a tiny red-and-black-spotted la
dybird beetle,” Hamish said, his arms forward as if he sought to calm a lunatic.
A beetle? Not a bloodthirsty rodent. She huffed softly and felt her face redden as Grey walked toward her, looking freshly washed and tidy. And there she stood, hair wild and tangled, rumpled and flushed in a brown frock. Good God, even her breath smelled foul. Had he seen her frantic dance?
“Carry on, then,” Evelyn murmured, and moved forward in hopes of walking straight past Grey.
Saying nothing, Grey turned on his heel to walk with her. God’s teeth. The man showed up at the worst times. She waved a hand toward Hamish. “I thought there was a rodent in my hair.” She shook her head, realizing how awful that sounded when spoken aloud. “It was just a ladybird making me jump about in fear.”
“I thought ye feared only storms,” he said, his voice mellow, like he had a smile on his lips. Was he laughing at her?
Tired, disheveled, and feeling foolish, Evelyn swung her arms with a bit more force than proper as she walked. “I was trying to comfort a little girl who has no one.”
Evelyn glanced down when Grey caught her hand, slowing her to walk next to him. “I believe ye were successful,” he said, and nodded toward the doorway.
“What…?” Her question faded as she saw Isabel sitting on the top step of the keep.
“She won’t enter the keep without ye,” Grey said.
Happiness leaped within Evelyn, and she reached her other hand up to squeeze Grey’s arm. He leaned near her ear. “She showed up about an hour ago. I think she was waiting for ye to wake and come home.”
Home? Had he just said home? Evelyn glanced at him and back at Isabel.
“Aye, it’s been a busy morn while ye slept it away,” he said, and this time she didn’t care that he teased.
“I see,” she whispered, approaching the steps.
“Ye’ve also had a delivery.” She looked up at him to see the humor fade from his gaze.
The Scottish Rogue Page 8