“My books,” she said, the words like a whispered wish. She released his arm and gathered her skirts to climb the steps slowly. “Hello,” she said and smiled. “Seems we both made it through the stormy night. Shall we see if there are any honey tarts left in the kitchens?”
The girl didn’t say anything, but the furrow along her dirty forehead smoothed.
“I will be visiting my cousin at Balloch Castle on the far side of Loch Tay today,” Grey said. “If ye need anything, see Hamish, the one in charge of the new gate.”
Evelyn turned, and their gazes connected. She smiled, a feeling of gratefulness filling her. He hadn’t scared Isabel away, probably because he’d stayed the night with her, too. Likely, Grey had no idea how important it was for a girl to feel guarded and cherished, and yet he’d done just that for Isabel. “Thank you,” Evelyn said softly.
She felt a warm tether through their gazes that sent her heart beating like a bird’s wings, and he gave a brief nod. Was it a truce or the simple fact that they’d learned a little about each other’s characters while staying beside a frightened child all night? Whatever it was, it brought the energizing feeling of hope to Evelyn, the first she’d felt since spying the burned walls of Finlarig.
…
Grey walked back through the darkness, his untied boots crunching on the pebbled path from Killin. He’d bathed and left his horse with Eagan so the lad could reshoe him first thing in the morning. They’d ridden for hours as Grey visited Donald Campbell at Balloch Castle and the Menzies who held the territory around the north side of Loch Tay.
He needed to know if he could count on them if he went to war with Cross. The Menzies’ cocky young chief seemed ready to prove his worth against the English if needed. Donald was cautious as usual but held to his pledge to help his chief protect the Campbell clan. It had been a long day, but worth the chance for additional aid.
Holding his loose kilt around his hips, Grey tipped his face to the stars, visible in the inky black of the new moon. How many times had he traced the outlines of Pegasus and Cygnus in the heavens? He knew this bit of sky as well as he knew the path beneath his feet. He stopped, head back, enjoying something in his life that hadn’t changed.
With the death of his parents months ago, Grey began his own battle against chaos. Bloody English. It wasn’t enough to kill the Campbell chief, who’d openly argued against a Catholic dictatorship. King Charles seemed to want revenge against the whole clan, sending Cross to steal Finlarig, the Campbell seat.
A water drop slid down his forehead, and Grey shook his head to scatter the lake water from his hair and walked on. He’d bathed in Loch Tay and now sought only his scoundrel’s bed. He grinned. Would Evelyn call him a scoundrel again if she knew he rather liked it?
Perhaps he should play the part of a true scoundrel. What would she say if he kissed her? He pushed inside the keep. Would Evelyn Worthington slap him and call him a beast, or would she melt in the heat he knew he could kindle in her? After witnessing her steadfast determination to weather the night next to a child in hiding, he’d learned that she had patience, compassion, and fire within her soul. Aye, Evelyn would fight for what she wanted. Unfortunately, she wanted Finlarig.
Maybe after her school in the castle fell apart, he could help her build one somewhere else in Breadalbane. Education was important. His father had made certain that Grey had been thoroughly schooled in the classic disciplines on top of debating politics and literature, but Alana hadn’t been given the same opportunities.
Grey stepped out of his loose boots in the entryway and padded across the great hall to the steps, carrying his sword. He climbed the familiar path in the dark until he reached the second floor and found his door. Pushing into his room, the laird’s room, he paused, unleashing his sword before his logical mind could decipher what was wrong. He stared into the inky blackness and inhaled. He’d removed the burned linens, rug, and tapestries, so the tang of soot had lessened, but it was a different smell that tightened the muscles at the back of his skull. Leather? Books? Aye, the room smelled of old tomes and fresh wood.
“Bloody hell.” Lowering his sword, he yanked his plaid tighter and strode to the mantel where he kept a tinderbox with flint, steel, and wool. Within seconds, a flame caught on the wool, and he lit a tallow candle, raising the flame high to light the room.
“Bloody damn hell,” he yelled, his voice booming in the silence of the night. Grey’s gaze took in the entire room, but his bed wasn’t hiding in any corner or behind the fresh drapes. Nay, his large, perfect bed was gone. In its place sat two tables with a few chairs. Holding the candle before him, he noted new bookshelves filled with, aye, a bloody library of books.
He strode to the table and snatched up a folded piece of parchment that was perched on a large atlas.
Your scandalously huge bed is in the room farthest to the right on the fourth floor. You can sleep as naked as you want in there while minds are nurtured in the Highland Roses School Library. Thank you for understanding. Evelyn.
Grey crushed the paper in his fist, letting it fall to the floorboards. Aye, he understood. He’d been gone for one day, and already the Sassenach had stolen his bed. He kicked the ball of paper as he strode toward the door.
Chapter Eight
Evelyn tossed in her cramped bed, the quilt up to her chin. Too many details whirled in her head to allow sleep. Nathaniel’s note, which had accompanied her books, had reminded her that she must find a way to support the school without her inheritance. The sooner the better, since Philip had been badgering Nathaniel about making their engagement official.
But it was nervous energy, as she listened to the night, that kept her eyes open, peering at the low ceiling in the dark. What would Grey do when he saw that she’d moved his bed? Maybe Grey wouldn’t come back to Finlarig tonight. He’d left to meet with other Campbells. Could something have happened to him? Was there a woman at Balloch whom he loved? The thought soured Evelyn’s stomach, and she flipped over. She pushed her face into the pillow, inhaling the scent of the lavender she’d sprinkled on it. What did it matter if he had some trollop in another town?
Flopping over again, she sat up to fix the blanket that had fallen off the side. Footsteps. She froze. Footsteps coming closer. She held her breath, waiting as heavy steps strode past.
The room next door had been the largest of the remaining rooms on the top two floors of the castle, and she’d moved her own things out of it to allow for Grey’s huge bed, dresser, and washing basin. She didn’t need to strain her ears to hear the door thrown open. It didn’t hit the wall, because there wasn’t room for it to swing past the corner of his bed.
“Bloody, blasted hell!” Grey’s voice shot through the plastered wall.
Evelyn dropped her toes to the floor and shoved them into slippers as she grabbed her robe off the end of the bed and threw it on. Glare in place, Evelyn threw open her door and traipsed to the next room where Grey stood just inside, his large body taking up the little space left that wasn’t occupied by heavy furniture. She’d rehung the heavy drapes around the wide bed, which made it seem to take up not only the floor space, but all the air space as well.
“Bloody hell, woman,” he yelled.
“Shhhhh…,” she said, shutting the door and stepping into the corner behind it. “You’ll wake the whole castle and after I finally got Isabel to sleep.”
Evelyn tried not to stare, but the man was nearly naked, his damp hair given to curl as it grazed his rugged jawline. He held his plaid wrapped around his waist, but it sagged across his hips, showing two devilishly taunting indented lines running below.
“Ye stole my bed,” he said, accusation heavy in his words.
“No,” she said, calmly folding her hands before her.
He threw an arm out toward the majestic bed. “Ye stole my bed,” he repeated.
“No,” she said again and met his glare with a calm confidence that hid the flipping in her stomach. “I stole your room.”
> He stared at her like she’d said that the king was, in actuality, a barnyard goat. Mouth open, he blinked twice, and she thought she saw his eye twitch in the light of his candle.
“You still have your scandalously huge bed, Grey,” she continued. “It’s just been relocated so the students can use the library.” She opened her arms wide. “It’s the largest room on the third and fourth floors. We moved Alana to the third floor. The second floor will be all classrooms and the library.” Her words grew quieter with each sentence, as his silence crushed against her voice.
Squaring her shoulders, Evelyn cleared her throat. “It makes perfect sense. I even gave up this room to you, as it was the largest left open on the two floors.” She met his hard stare and willed herself not to blink. “We are both making sacrifices,” she said, irritation lacing her words.
Setting his candle on a narrow table, Grey tucked his plaid into the loose waist that he’d fashioned around himself. Without a word, he bent and grabbed the soft, thick tick on top of the roped bed.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Taking my bed back where it belongs.” His words came like a winter wind through the stone wall of his teeth.
“No,” she yelled. “You can’t.”
“Watch me.” He lifted. Damn, but the man was strong. It had taken James and Thomas, along with two men who’d brought the wagon of books, a tremendous effort to lug the parts of Grey’s bed up the stairs. He couldn’t just undo all that work, and he couldn’t take over her library.
“No, you don’t,” she cried, grabbed her smock and robe, and leaped onto the mattress.
“Get yer bonny self off,” he said.
“Absolutely not.” She dropped down onto her backside. One of her slippers flew as she threw her back across the mattress, spreading arms and legs wide to weigh it down with her body. “It stays here,” she said, her voice as hard as his as she stared up at the dark blue canopy.
Grey released his edge of the mattress and loomed over her. “There is no room in here for my things. I am the chief of the Campbells, not some housemaid or student tucked away in a small cell on the fourth floor.”
“The chief should sleep at the highest point of the castle anyway,” she argued nonsensically.
Countering her argument without words, he hefted the edge of the mattress again, snapping it up level with his face. Evelyn gasped as she rolled over, nearly off the far side of the bed.
“Stop this instant,” she cried and pushed up to plod back into the middle of the mattress. She swatted at the wild hair flying about her face and cared not for what her robe was doing as she tried to stomp down on the tick while he held it. It was like trudging up a spongy mountain with one slipper on and one lost.
Grey suddenly dropped the edge, throwing her off-balance. Evelyn threw her arms wide and shrieked as she pitched forward, falling against Grey’s hard, naked chest. His hands came up, clamping onto her upper arms.
Face to face, mere inches apart, all Evelyn could think was that he smelled wonderful. Clean and fresh. The darkness around them seemed like a blanket, and she stared into his deep, intense eyes.
“I…I’m sorry,” she said. She reached up to brace herself with her hands on his smooth, broad shoulders. Skin so warm and clean, she wondered what it would be like to kiss it. The thought propelled her backward, and she fought to right herself on the thick mattress.
There were no hints to Grey’s thoughts, and she backed up into the middle of the bed again. Where were they in the argument? She cleared her throat. “You will not move this bed,” she said. “Or I will remain in it, and you will get no sleep tonight.”
She propped hands on her hips and watched his ruggedly handsome face. The frown from before had changed to neutral, but now his mouth relaxed, going up halfway on one side into a scandalous grin. “Is that a promise?” With the question, he gave his plaid a tug, and it dropped. Leaving him completely…naked.
…
She gave a soft yelp, her eyes growing round. Grey stood there, completely bare to Evelyn’s gaze. He knew that he was hard and erect, a consequence of her falling against him and feeling so damn soft and womanly. But he didn’t care. In fact, the sight of him should make her leap off his bed, run to her room, and bolt the door. He was larger than most, and experienced lasses panted after him for a night of thorough tupping. But Evelyn Worthington was different, a cool-tempered virgin. Any moment, she would exit screaming.
He watched her standing in the middle of his bed, her white smock tight against her round breasts where her robe fell open. Shapely ankles led to tiny toes that curled into the quilt, now rumpled across his mattress.
“If ye wish to stay, then I’m climbing into bed with ye,” he said and leaned forward, studying her face.
“Will you leave the bed here?” she asked.
He raised one eyebrow. “Are ye saying that ye’ll lie with me in exchange for me leaving my bed here?”
“No,” she said with a shake of her head. The curls danced around her shoulders, and he spied her breasts, the nipples hard and jutting within the confines of her smock.
“I think yer body might have a different answer,” he said, purposely staring at them. Och, but she was gorgeous. Unbound, all the softness and lush beauty washed the anger from his intent.
Evelyn gave a small groan as she looked down and flattened her hands across her breasts, the action catching at Grey’s breath. “A reaction to seeing you…” She flapped her hand at his proud member. “It’s an animal thing.”
“What?” he asked, a sudden image of them rutting like beasts filling his mind.
“I’ve read about such things,” she said. “A natural response to you showing your…male organ. It makes my female parts more…ready for mating. It is not personal, just a reaction to the stimulus. Like when one is hungry and sees a honey tart.” Her words came quickly, as if she couldn’t quite dam the flow. She kept her eyes on his face. “One starts to salivate in anticipation of eating. So, these”—she indicated her breasts—“are just a reaction to your…” She flapped her hand at his steely cock and then crossed her arms over her breasts.
Grey opened his mouth but couldn’t think of…anything intelligible. With her wide eyes, framed by dark brows, her curls in disarray around her shoulders to lay in sultry curves along the white of her smock, and those lush, soft lips…
He cleared his throat and tipped his chin downward, looking up to meet her gaze. “Do ye happen to have a honey tart on ye, lass? Because I’m beginning to salivate here.”
Rap. Rap. Rap. “Hello? Evie, are you in there?” Blast. Evelyn’s sister.
Evelyn’s eyes widened, and her jaw dropped open. She threw her hands up as if she wished she could pause time, turn invisible, and run away.
With a muttered chuckle, Grey scooped up his plaid and wrapped it around his middle. He motioned to Evelyn and whispered, “Hide.” She flopped down on his bed and dove under the covers. Turning, Grey jerked open his door, kicking Evelyn’s slipper behind it. Scarlet Worthington stood in her robe, a globed lamp before her. She stepped back, hand to her chest, but recovered quickly and frowned at him. “Is my sister in there?” she asked.
He snorted. “There’s hardly room for one of us in here as ye can see,” he said, opening his door as wide as he could. Evelyn kept still under the bunched covers. Was she praying not to be found? He should yank the covers back just to punish her for stealing his room.
“But I heard voices,” she said, her tone dripping with obvious suspicion. He let out a deep exhale, forcing it into a yawn until a real one took over. “I was talking to…my bed.”
Scarlet’s eyebrow rose as she stared at him, her eyes dropping to the loose plaid he had around his waist. “Look,” she said. “I don’t care if you’re entertaining all the milkmaids in Breadalbane in here, but I need to make certain my sister is well. She is not in her room.”
Milkmaids? He let a grin soften his mouth. “Good to know, but as ye can see, y
our sister is not here.” He stepped to the side. Scarlet squinted to peer at the dim corners, but Evelyn remained so still that the covers lay completely unmoving. Did the lass even breathe?
“Now,” he continued, “I would like to burrow into my covers, with my milkmaid, if ye don’t mind.” Let Evelyn take that in. Maybe she’d consider the danger she was putting herself in if he weren’t such an honorable man.
Scarlet exhaled. “The child from town is sleeping here, so she wouldn’t have gone back out.”
Grey leaned his head around the corner and nodded down the dark hall. “I saw her that way not too long ago,” Grey said. “She’s probably headed for the kitchens as she said something about salivating for a honey tart.”
Scarlet’s face scrunched. “A tart? At this hour?” She gave a small smile. “Thank you. I will look there. Goodnight to you,” she said. Her gaze dipped with insinuation to his hand, where he held the plaid closed over his arousal. “And to your milkmaid.” Scarlet turned and traipsed down the hall.
Grey shut the door and turned to his bed. With a flick of his hand, he stripped back the top layer of blankets, uncovering Evelyn. Her smock twisted around her legs, inching up to expose most of her shapely calves. She lay facedown, arms out, as if she wished to melt into the mattress. “She’s gone,” he said, his voice soft. Och, how he wanted to run his hand down the slope of Evelyn’s spine and along the lines of her perfectly round arse.
She turned her face so that her cheek lay flat and looked at him. Her body followed as she rolled over and sat up. He backed up as she slid off the bed, wrapping her robe closed tightly around her. They didn’t say anything, and she avoided his gaze.
“I need to go,” she whispered, the earlier strength faded.
“Ye don’t,” he said, which brought her eyes up to meet his. He was teasing, of course. Or was he? Despite the control Evelyn held around her like armor, he suspected there was a fire burning underneath. Would she give in to it?
She lay open palms along her cheeks as if they burned. “I need to go wander around the corridor until Scarlet finds me, so I can tell her I’m up looking for tarts.” She glanced at the bed and then frowned at him. “And the bed better stay within these walls.”
The Scottish Rogue Page 9