She turned her head to him. The shadows of firelight and night cut across her smooth skin, accenting her small nose and high cheeks. “Just spit?” she repeated, her tongue coming out to wet her dusty lips.
“Aye, onto the ground.” He spit himself as he watched the small herd of sheep run behind the cows, several of the dogs he’d trained keeping them in line.
Grey turned back to see Evelyn tightening her cheeks and couldn’t help his grin. “English women do not spit?” he asked.
“None of my acquaintance,” she said, her face scrunched as if she were tasting the dirt on her tongue.
He handed her his ale. “Swish some around, and spit it out.”
On the other side of her, Hamish handed Scarlet his ale. “Keep it, lass,” Hamish said. “I need to find me lovely wife before she finds me talking to a bonny lass.” He headed away, whistling.
Evelyn looked to Scarlet who shrugged, raising the flask. Evelyn followed, and they both sipped, swishing the ale around in their mouths. Scarlet spit first, then Evelyn.
“Good Lord,” Evelyn said. “I think I got my skirts.”
“I know I hit mine,” Scarlet said, and the two began to laugh. Several of the men behind them joined in. Grey turned to look at the young warriors, and their laughter ebbed quickly.
“William,” Grey said. “Aren’t ye supposed to be helping the lads guide the sheep?”
“Uh… Aye,” the man said, glancing once more between the ladies before jogging away.
“And ye, Lawrence. Didn’t ye promise Kirstin that ye’d help her assign the winners of the baked goods and quilting with Craig’s wife?”
Lawrence huffed out a long exhale. “Aye.”
“Go on then,” Grey said. “All of ye. The ladies have survived the running of the cattle.” Without waiting for any excuses, Grey raised both of his forearms for Scarlet and Evelyn to take and led them closer to the fire.
“Evie, we should see if you won,” Scarlet said, glancing over her shoulder toward the table.
“Considering Kirstin is helping to judge, and I am a Sassenach, I don’t think I have a chance.”
“Well everyone snatched them up as soon as you walked away,” Scarlet said and sniffed with annoyance.
Grey led them to a caber log that had just been moved closer to the fire for seating. “My people have learned never to turn away from good food, yet they’ve just been raided by English,” he said. “The English killed their old chief and his lady, stormed through the streets of their quiet village, and burned their clan’s castle. ’Tis likely to live in their memories until they rest in the ground.”
Evelyn stared at the grass under her small boots. “My only hope is for them to forget that I am English.”
She sounded tamed with a quiet determination. Her gaze rose to his. “I met two ladies who have daughters they wish for me to teach.” An authentic happiness lit her face with soft joy. “It is a start.”
“Aye,” he whispered, held by the beauty of her hope. Hope that could be shattered if her school failed. His gut felt heavy. “I will find refreshment,” he said and walked toward the food and ale.
Why should he feel guilty? She was rearranging his castle, and he wasn’t doing anything to make her fail, just standing back and letting it happen on its own. Although it was starting to look like her school might actually attract students. But so far, her students couldn’t pay. Aye, Evelyn would fail to make it a profitable endeavor. The thought should make his steps lighter. Instead, it made him crave a dram of whisky.
…
Evelyn sat with her boots out before the crackling bonfire. The Campbells had tucked in plenty of wood and peat to make the fire burn high, hot, and bright. The musicians played toe-tapping jigs with a set of bagpipes, a fiddle, and a tin whistle. For slower songs, a harpist plucked haunting melodies.
Grey had brought back slices of red grouse pie, poached lake trout, and a couple flasks of wine. As Scarlet had noted, all the tarts from earlier were gone.
“Someone seems protective,” Scarlet whispered to her, her gaze wandering to the other side of the fire where Grey stood talking to Kerrick and a few other warriors.
“He’s probably worried he’ll be blamed for my death if I fall in the fire,” Evelyn said, sipping at the wine. The night breeze blew, a hint of winter still in the air. But the sunny day had baked the ground, and between it, the fire, and the wine, Evelyn was feeling a bit overheated. “Perhaps we should find our way back to the school.”
“That might be best,” Scarlet said, and Evelyn noticed her watching a couple kissing on the far side of the fire. The families with children had already departed, although Izzy still ran about, playing with village dogs and dancing around the fire. Scarlet leaned in to Evelyn. “I’ve heard stories about Beltane.”
Evelyn was well read enough to know some of the lurid aspects of the May Day revelry. “It is a fertility celebration.”
“Nine months from now there are certain to be babes born.” Scarlet tipped her head to another couple half hidden in shadow.
Evelyn tried not to stare at the show of affection, barely concealed in the shadows. What would it feel like to be kissed so? Kissed by a rugged Highlander with intense gray eyes?
“Have you thought…?” Scarlet began, pulling Evelyn from her heat-filled imaginings. Evelyn turned back to meet her sister’s gaze. “If you weren’t pure,” Scarlet said. “And even had a babe on the way, Nathaniel would have to break the betrothal contract between you and Philip Sotheby. Although, the man is so quiet and disengaged, perhaps he’d like another man to do his husbandly duty. That way he could spend more time listening to old men talk politics.”
Evelyn grimaced. “Nathaniel would have to pay part of the bride-price, and I would be disgraced. Not the best of plans, Scar.”
Scarlet shrugged. “Nathaniel’s inherited thousands from Father, and you are up here in the wilds of Scotland. You won’t be attending the season in London. If Philip were to say anything against you, Nathaniel would call forfeit on the bride-price, and you would still be up here away from condemnation.” Scarlet leaned in to Evelyn’s ear. “And I think enticing Grey to tup ye,” she said, using the tiniest bit of a Scottish accent, “would be far easier than convincing these people to come learn how to read.”
Two months left, Evie. That’s all you can have. Maybe less with Philip breathing down my neck.
Nathaniel’s recent note made it feel like her failure was stalking ever closer to her. Evelyn kept her voice low. “I’m not starting this school just to escape Philip.”
“Having more time to build it, with a brawny Highlander to help you, would be much better than worrying that Philip will drag you back to London.”
Evelyn’s stomach quivered as she watched another couple walk off into the darkness, fingers entwined. Her gaze drifted about the fire until it landed, as if drawn, to Grey Campbell. A man like none she’d ever known before. Strong, proud, and wild. Would Grey “tup” her if she asked? Would sleeping with him to escape Philip harm the Campbells even more? Perhaps if she didn’t tell him about Philip and the betrothal. If he knew nothing, he couldn’t be blamed if she was the one to seduce him.
Evelyn rested a cool hand on her hot cheek. What was she thinking? Good Lord! She couldn’t seduce a man, especially a man like Grey Campbell. As if sensing her gaze, Grey turned, seeming to seek her out.
“Here he comes,” Scarlet whispered.
“I can see that,” Evelyn snapped, making her sister chuckle.
He walked over, a slight frown bending the lines of his mouth. “Ye two should keep your crowns in place,” he said, lowering to sit next to Evelyn.
“Our flower crowns?” she asked, touching the wilting cornflowers still ringing her head.
“Aye.” He stretched his legs before him, crossing his boots at the ankle.
“Why?” Scarlet asked.
“What do ye notice about the lasses being kissed?” he asked and took a drink from the flask he held.
“They are drunk?” Scarlet said.
Evelyn let her gaze wander into the shadows and back to the ones chatting in small groups by the fire. “They aren’t wearing crowns.” She looked to Grey, the firelight splashing over his strong features. “The crowns protect one from being kissed?”
“Maids and the meek wear their crowns when the sun goes down,” Grey explained. “On Beltane night, if a lass takes her crown off, it means she’s agreeable.”
“Agreeable?” Evelyn asked. “To kissing?”
His gaze held hers. “And more.”
Evelyn had a difficult time swallowing until Grey looked back to the fire. In the distance a rumble of thunder echoed in the mountains, barely heard above the fiddle and laughter of the dancers who had ringed the far fire. The dancers, mostly women, some without their maiden crowns, kicked their knees high. Holding hands, they first danced one way and then the other, raising their joined hands and then lowering them to dash closer to the fire, bowing and backing up.
“Goodness,” Scarlet said. “They look like a coven of witches.”
“Nay,” Grey said. “Just some lasses celebrating the start of spring with some wildness.”
Evelyn took another sip of wine, letting the heady juice wind its way down into her stomach. “Will one of the men suddenly run up to one of the wild women and carry her away?”
Grey looked at her, his brows low and his grin wide. “I couldn’t say, but perhaps.”
“What if one of them lost her crown by accident?” Scarlet asked, a hand on her head as if she feared the rain-scented breeze might tug it away.
Grey crossed his arms over his chest. At least he’d put his linen shirt back on. Even so, Evelyn could see the muscles in his biceps straining against the fabric. She forced her eyes back to the undulating flames before her. Maybe she should seek some lighter drink, like the mild honey ale.
“There are enough crowns about that she could find another. But the man must gain permission from her as well. However, the later it gets, the wilder the night becomes, so those wishing to keep pure should find their beds. Alone.”
Evelyn felt her sister move even closer to her. “We should head back to the school,” she said. “And take Isabel.”
“The lass is safe,” Grey said. “She is too young, but aye, she doesn’t need to receive her wedding night education from witnessing a Beltane coupling.”
“Neither should Evelyn,” Scarlet said, making Evelyn shift her glance to her, brows lowered. “Let us head back,” Scarlet said. “I will find Izzy.” She stood, shaking her skirt.
Evelyn rose, too, glancing at the clouds racing across the moon. “It looks like it will rain soon anyway.”
Grey rose, and Kerrick was suddenly at his side. “I can escort ye back,” Kerrick said.
Grey stuck out his arm to Evelyn. “Help Scarlet find Izzy. I will help Evelyn collect her tart basket.”
Evelyn placed her hand on Grey’s arm. Yes, the wine had relaxed her shoulders, and the music and shadows pulled at her as they walked toward the dancing women. Wobbling slightly on the clumpy grass, Grey held her a bit firmer. “Have ye been drinking the whisky, lass?” he asked.
“No,” she laughed. “I’ve had only wine. I’m just clumsy.”
“A clumsy lass couldn’t fire an arrow like ye,” he said, pulling her closer into his side as if to steady her. They were close, close enough for her to feel the warmth radiating off his chest, soaking into her like the flames off the fire.
As they walked by the ring of dancers, a hand shot out. Alana. Thank the good Lord, the girl had a flower crown on her head. She smiled. “Come dance,” she called, tugging Evelyn closer.
This was a chance to grow closer to the women of the village, with possible students watching. “I will try,” she said and felt Grey drop his hold as Alana pulled her into the widening circle. The absence of his warmth sent a chill over Evelyn, but she was already moving, the fire shining bright in her eyes.
A skin drum beat out a fast tempo, and the fiddle dueled with the billowing bagpipes. Evelyn looked to the ladies near her and kicked her feet one way and then the next, imitating their movements. It was simple and fast, making her heartbeat surge and laughter bubble naturally from her smile. Kirstin wasn’t even there to dampen the fun with her caustic comments.
“Ye’ve danced this before?” Alana asked.
Evelyn laughed. “Never.”
“Ye were born to it then,” Alana said with approval.
Hopefully others would see the same in her, not an English woman but a Scottish lass who was to be trusted. It was a tentative branch she walked as she tried to fit in with the villagers, but worth the effort to gain students. And good God, dancing, like a heathen in the shadowed wilds of the Highlands, was fun.
What would Nathaniel think if he saw her? Or Philip? Just the thought of the foppish man weakened her smile, and she pushed his long image away. Hopping in time with the musical beat, Evelyn felt untamed and freer than she’d ever been. No matter what, she would find a way to remain so.
“Now spin,” Alana said, letting go of Evelyn’s hand. Evelyn turned on her heels, lost for a moment in the contrast between the blinding firelight and total darkness surrounding them. She lifted her boots to keep the spinning going, her heels catching on the clumps of grass until she felt dizzy. Just as she was about to focus, a woman bumped into her with such force that Evelyn flew backward toward the fire, her hands outstretched.
Whoomph! She landed on her backside beside the flames. Her fingers clutched the grass, and she focused on the dancing people around her. Where was Grey? Before she could locate him, the shock of cool liquid poured over the back of her hair, down her dress. Evelyn gasped as the smell of old fish filled her nose.
Chapter Sixteen
Grey ran over, grabbing the small iron cauldron from Kirstin’s hands. He threw it to the trampled grass. “What the bloody hell?” He reached down to help Evelyn up.
“I thought she’d fallen into the fire. I was about to dump the pot,” Kirstin said, stammering. “And thought to save her from burning.”
“The smell,” Evelyn said, standing with back rounded, her arms stretched forward as if she wished she could slide out of her own skin. The stench of fish smothered Evelyn’s flower smell.
“’Twas the water from boiling the trout,” Kirstin said. “But water is water.”
Evelyn leveled her with a dark look. “I didn’t fall in the fire. I’m not quite sure how I fell in the first place. Or did you bump me on the way past?”
“I may have,” Kirstin said. She stifled a slight grin. “Your poor gown.”
Evelyn stood still as if not sure where to go. She turned to the side where the girls had stopped to watch. “Thank you for inviting me to dance, Alana.” She bowed her head tightly, her arms still out. “Have a lovely evening,” she said and began to walk stiffly away.
Grey heard Kirstin smothering her laughter. He stepped closer to her, catching her suddenly innocent gaze. “She is too much a lady to call ye out for your foulness, Kirstin. I, however, am not.”
Kirstin’s eyes widened innocently. “I am just following your orders, Grey. We are to make things more difficult for the Englishwoman.” Her gaze narrowed. “Make certain ye do, too.”
As if God, too, felt the need to comment, the clouds above them opened, and rain poured down. High pitched gasps filled the night as the ladies and men began to dash toward the forest line to retreat to their cottages or shelters for the night. Grey turned in the direction where Evelyn had stalked away. He could see her in the glow of the hissing flames. Head thrown back and arms out, she stared up at the sky as if ranting at the heavens. Grey broke into a run and caught her arm. “Come along,” he yelled. He kept her upright as they ran across the field toward a barn he knew stood on the edge of the forest.
“Scarlet?” she asked.
“I saw Kerrick taking her and Izzy toward Finlarig.”
Thunder rumbled over the rain, but
the lightning seemed far off. “Into the barn,” he said, and they dashed under the overhang that covered the doorway. The eave ran the length of the barn, providing a dry space if one leaned tightly against the wall. Grey reached for the door.
“That’s it, lass, ye are so ready.” A man’s voice from within rose over the rush of rain. “Hold on now.”
A woman groaned. “Geoff, oh bloody hell, aye,” the woman answered.
Grey dropped his hand and looked down at Evelyn. Her eyes were wide, her lush lips open. Aye, she’d heard the couple.
Inside, a rhythmic sound began, a squeaking like the old door of a stall might be holding the woman up while Geoff pounded into her. Evelyn turned her face straight ahead, putting her back to the barn as the rain fell before them. The sounds inside stirred his blood, and he felt himself grow hard beneath his kilt. Blast. He didn’t need Evelyn to see that. She looked shocked enough to be hearing the groans and slapping of skin.
“Harder, harder, Geoff.”
“Aye, lass,” he ground out, and the woman’s wails blended in with the screaming wind that whipped at the tops of the trees.
Grey lowered his mouth toward Evelyn’s ear. “Are ye well?”
She turned her face to his, her eyes dropping to his mouth before raising again to his eyes. She gave a brief nod and wet her lips with her tongue, just the tip coming out. Och, did the woman know how that small movement could tip a man into full-out, rutting arousal?
She leaned in to him, and he held his breath. “The woman in the barn… She took her flower crown off,” she whispered. Her wide eyes narrowed to normal, and she smiled.
Grey’s tight mouth relaxed, and he nodded. He turned to face the barn, his hand gliding forward to adjust his cock. Stuck there next to the lushest woman he’d ever met, listening to the lustful words and moaning of the couple, and trapped by the storm, Grey ached. He slid a glance to Evelyn. How was the lass faring?
Evelyn had turned toward the barn also, perhaps to keep the heavy rain from spitting on her face. She pressed against the boards, her breasts high in her gown, her forehead leaning forward against the wood.
The Scottish Rogue Page 16