The Scottish Rogue

by Heather McCollum

  Grey stopped in the path, pulling Aiden around by the arm. “Listen, ye’ve been asleep through most of this. Ye don’t know her, and yet ye are judging her.”

  “Her and her English brother who blackened your jaw,” Aiden said.

  Grey clasped his sore chin. “He looks worse than me.”

  “Grey.” Aiden stared hard into his eyes. “She’s English.” His words were harsh, as if English was synonymous with “murdering devil.”

  “She’s more than that,” Grey said.

  Aiden’s gaze moved to the tight grip Grey had on his arm. “Ye are in love with her,” Aiden said, his voice neutral.

  Grey dropped Aiden’s arm and rubbed his forehead, avoiding the stitches that Cat had sewn after his brawl with Nathaniel Worthington. Was he in love with Evelyn? The thought had infiltrated every unguarded corner of his mind since she’d made her accusation the other day.

  “Are ye?” Aiden pushed.

  “I’m not leaving Finlarig for long. If I keep her safe, then her brother will work with me to persuade Charles to give Finlarig back to the Campbell clan.”

  “Are ye in love with her?” Aiden paused after each word, so that they came as a demand even though he kept his voice hushed.

  “I don’t know.” Grey turned to pace to an unfurled oak. “She thinks so.” Aiden wouldn’t understand any of this. He was roguishly charming with the lasses but had never shown a lasting preference over any of them. But when Grey had thought her brother was punishing her in the library, he’d charged in, ready to battle all of England for her.

  “Love is dangerous,” Aiden said as if he were an authority. “It makes men weak.”

  Grey turned to him, his legs braced apart as he crossed his arms. His biceps bulged over his fists. “Do I look weak to ye?” He’d have just tackled the fool, but Aiden’s back was still healing.

  “Who knows,” Aiden continued, ignoring his question. “Perhaps the Sassenach will take a fancy to me or Kerrick anyway. Despite her accent, she’s gloriously curvy and soft looking.”

  Grey’s face tightened into a threatening glare. “Ye are looking for more pain?”

  Aiden’s mouth quirked up in the corner, and he snorted. “Ye’ve never wanted to fight a friend to keep a lass before. The Sassenach might be right.”

  “Bloody hell,” Grey said, wincing as he rubbed a hand over his swollen lip. He turned back to the path and stepped out of the woods behind Izzy’s old cottage. The crunch of gravel told him that Aiden followed despite his taunting. They walked in silence, Aiden catching up quickly.

  His friend’s back was still partly raw, the rest scabbed over. Rebecca had placed a clean poultice over it and made Grey promise not to let him lift or twist. Which meant he also couldn’t kick Aiden’s arse. For what? For speaking all the terrible truths that Grey had already told himself? That he was willing to ride away from Finlarig for an Englishwoman? One who’d kept secrets from him.

  But Evelyn wasn’t just an Englishwoman—she was courageous and clever, beautiful and passionate. She challenged him and stood up to him with her own ideas. She’d risked much to travel virtually alone into a hostile country, partly to avoid a forced marriage, but also to help her sister escape something or someone down in England. Evelyn had come to Finlarig without first investigating the people because of her excitement over her school, not because she didn’t care about his clan. She’d shown her compassion for his people as she slept on the floor beside Izzy, helped Rebecca tend Aiden, danced with the villagers, and risked her life to save Alana and her pup from the caber he held.

  Evelyn was so much more than a mere Englishwoman. And although Grey wasn’t sure of a lot of things, one thing was certain. He wasn’t letting that feather-headed fop force her back to England as his bride, even if he didn’t suspect Philip of plotting treason against King Charles.

  “Ye are strong enough to work with Hamish and Kerrick to secure the village if Cross comes?” Grey asked, changing the subject.

  Aiden cursed softly. “Ye mean, am I done wasting time, letting snails slime across my back and my sister force her tinctures down my gullet? Aye. Absolutely, aye.”

  Thunder rumbled in the west, from the mountains, making Grey glance upward at the clouds racing in. Another spring storm was brewing. Damn. Evelyn and her sister may have to ride in the rain, and although it didn’t much bother him, it was sure to chill them.

  They strode past the smithy, where Craig called out a greeting and a gruff “about time ye hauled yourself out of bed” to Aiden. As they walked past Kirstin’s cottage, the wind picked up, catching one of her shutters to bang against the house. Maybe it was the darkening from the storm clouds or the fact that Englishmen with muskets were currently within Finlarig’s walls, but unease tightened Grey’s gut, making him watch the sides of the road as they walked the wide path toward Finlarig’s gate. If Cross’s men had come, Hamish would have lit a signal fire, yet no smoke tinged the increasing breeze.

  “Grey,” Aiden said, his voice low.

  “Aye?” It was Aiden’s first time seeing the new gate with the massive portcullis. But as Grey glanced up at the small gatehouse, which was continuously manned, he froze. Hamish wasn’t standing there.

  “Ye have a gate like this built but no guard?” Aiden asked under his breath, though his tone told Grey that his best friend knew he wasn’t that foolish. Even without the solid threat of another English invasion, at least one Campbell would be up in the guard house. Evelyn. Hand moving to his sword, he nearly took off running.

  Promise me that you won’t go running before the English, brandishing your sword. Evelyn’s words pressed Grey back. He glanced at his friend. Despite his casual conversation on the road, Aiden’s face looked pale, a fine sheen on his skin. “Go back into town,” Grey said. “Tell Craig that something seems amiss, then get back to Rebecca’s. Craig will know what to do.”

  Aiden met his gaze, his jaw hard. “I didn’t leave your side when the English came before. I don’t intend to leave it now.”

  “Dammit, Aiden, I’m not walking ye in there if there might be trouble.”

  “And I said, I’m not—”

  “Who would avenge my death and lead the clan?” Grey said, his eyes serious despite his grin. “It could be that Hamish had to shite, and Kerrick is talking to a lass. Go on.”

  Aiden’s brows furrowed, but he couldn’t argue the logic even if he did dare to question his chief. With a brief nod, Aiden turned, breaking into a rapid pace back down the path. Grey’s hand opened and clenched as he willed himself not to draw his sword.

  He scanned the interior of the bailey as he rounded the stone wall. No battalion of English soldiers greeted him. Nathaniel’s carriage, the one that had carried Evelyn to Finlarig weeks ago, sat before the steps to the keep. Thunder rumbled across the sky, seeming to shake the trees around Finlarig like a piper energizing a battalion before battle. Kerrick and Hamish were both absent, leaving the English guards, who’d arrived with Philip, standing at measured intervals from one another along the inside wall, their long, matchlock muskets slung over their shoulders, no doubt lit and ready for firing.

  The hairs on Grey’s nape prickled upright. He needed to find Evelyn, make certain she was tucked away and not trying to outwit crafty, armed Englishmen. Grey’s boots crunched in the midmorning air as he walked toward the conveyance.

  “He’s not inside,” came a rough voice from the other side of the carriage, making Grey stop. Lieutenant Burdock, the bastard. “Only women. The Worthington woman is coming with her sister and the village girl.”

  Shite. He needed to get around them and stop Evelyn. Where the hell was her brother? He was supposed to be getting her and her sister ready to leave. He glanced to the side where Philip’s soldiers had brought their guns forward. Grey sucked in slowly through his nose, feeling a noose tighten around his neck. His palm rested on his hilt. If he was going to die today, he’d do it with his sword in his hand.

  Dark clouds raced overhea
d as he waited for someone to make the next move. Thunder cracked, covering the words spoken around the carriage. When it ebbed, the crunch of gravel made Grey turn. He stopped before the muzzle of Nathaniel’s musket.

  Nathaniel’s eyes narrowed for the space of several heartbeats. His voice came low, like the warning of far off thunder. “Do you love my sister?”

  The question ploughed through Grey. English soldiers held ready muskets on him. Burdock, the bastard who’d lit Finlarig on fire, just yards away. An Englishman with a muzzle pointed at him. And yet here they were discussing the heart.

  “I said,” Nathaniel whispered between his teeth. “Do you love her?”

  He didn’t know what answer Nathaniel Worthington wanted, but there was only one he would ever give, especially if it was to be the last answer he would utter. Grey nodded slowly. “Aye.”

  “Then go along with what I say,” Nathaniel said without moving his lips.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Evelyn took the wrapped satchel from Molly. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t let them slit your throat, milady,” Molly said, throwing herself into Evelyn’s arms and then moving quickly to do the same to Scarlet. “Or shoot you full of holes.”

  “No one is dying, Molly,” Scarlet said, sliding a glance toward Evelyn.

  “I have such a terrible feeling,” Molly said, pulling back. Tears filled her wide eyes.

  They stood in Scarlet’s bedroom, slowly gathering their things. Nathaniel had told them that he’d see them out in the bailey, but with Kirstin’s strange message, Evelyn wanted to give Nathaniel as long as possible to see what was going on.

  “Once we leave,” Evelyn whispered close to Molly’s ear, “go with Cat and Isabel to Cat’s cottage in the woods. James and Thomas will find you there and get you back to Hollings with Nathaniel.”

  “God bless you,” Molly said, sniffing, and ran from the room to pack for herself.

  Kirstin leaned into the room. “We need to go below.” She tapped her foot on the floor. Evelyn moved to Scarlet’s propped window, but all she could see was the meadow where the Beltane celebration had taken place. The window was too far up to hear anything but the growing thunder. She inhaled the rain-scented air. It would be a wet ride north.

  “I need my cloak from my bedchamber,” Evelyn said to Kirstin, who stood just out in the hall. The woman watched the stairs like she thought someone might run up any moment.

  “I will get it,” Kirstin said.

  “My room is on this floor, second from the end,” she said, and Kirstin ran off.

  Scarlet leaned out through the doorway, peering left and right along the corridor before stepping back in and securing the door. “What the hell is going on?” she asked, obviously without any expectation of an answer. “Grey has the letter. Why would he ask for you to bring it?”

  Evelyn shook her head and took up the long, twisted hairpin. The steel piece caught hold of the brushed strands as she first jabbed upward and then turned it to twist it back down through her thick hair. “There was only one letter, and I gave it to him to do with as he saw fit.”

  “Then Kirstin’s message didn’t come from Grey,” Scarlet said, tapping her lip. She began to pace. “And Nathaniel was with us.” She looked at Evelyn. “Philip?”

  “Cross could have told Philip’s man that the letter was missing,” Evelyn said, once again looking out of the window at the darkening sky. “Philip could be the Surgeon of London.”

  Scarlet’s mouth opened, her brow raised. “Boring Philip? I’ve never seen him bring up anything close to a revolutionary idea, unless it involved wigs and the use of plumes. The most conviction I’ve seen in the man has occurred in the last twenty-four hours.”

  “We’ve seen him interact only with Father,” Evelyn said. “Not many would bring up something with which Father disagreed. Although Father wanted parliament reinstated, he never mentioned removing Charles from the throne.”

  Scarlet smiled at Evelyn. “You are the only person I heard bring up disagreeable things to Benjamin Worthington.”

  Evelyn huffed through her nose. “And I barely survived it.”

  Knock. Knock. Knock. “Evelyn,” Kirstin called through the door. “I have your cloak. We need to go. Grey is waiting for ye.”

  “What do we do?” Scarlet whispered.

  Evelyn walked up to the locked door. “Kirstin, who really sent you to get me? I know it wasn’t Grey.”

  Silence.

  “I’m not coming out until you tell me,” Evelyn said.

  Evelyn heard Kirstin say something softly outside the door. The words sounded Gaelic and were whispered like a prayer. “Evelyn,” she said a bit louder. “They have him. If ye don’t come down, they will shoot him.”

  Evelyn threw the wooden bar up, dropping it to clatter on the floor. She stared at Kirstin, the woman’s hair poking out from her braid, her cheeks flushed. “Who will shoot him?”

  “The English.”

  “Good Lord, woman,” Scarlet said, striding up beside Evelyn. “There are English all over the damn castle. Which English?”

  She hesitated slightly. “Captain Cross.”

  Evelyn felt Scarlet squeeze her hand as if she were in a nightmare, her heart galloping and her body growing numb. “And Cross thinks Evelyn has his letter?” Scarlet asked.

  Kirstin nodded. “He says he will leave us all alone if the letter is retrieved,” she said, a high pitch making her voice sound as if she were pleading.

  “I don’t have the letter,” Evelyn said, her lips parted to suck in more air as the room seemed to close in on her. “Grey does. I don’t know what he’s done with it.” Grey. No.

  Kirstin’s face fell, her jaw going slack. “Just come. Do something, or they’ll kill him and burn Finlarig to the ground, and possibly Killin.”

  Cross would burn everything in hopes the letter would turn to ash before it could be sent to King Charles. She shook her head, her mind breaking free of the shock to churn. She had no sound strategy, but she couldn’t just hide away when Grey and the villagers were in danger. Evelyn stepped out into the corridor, Scarlet following.

  “Not your sister,” Kirstin said, shaking her head at Evelyn. “She could get hurt.”

  Scarlet frowned, her lips pulling back. “And you could get hurt by trying to stop me.”

  Evelyn grabbed her wrist. “Nathaniel must be out there. If something happens, I need to know that you are safe. You could help both of us if Cross orders his men to arrest us. Only you know the whole of it.”

  “Damn,” Scarlet said, pinching her lips tight. “I don’t like this.” She exhaled in a rush and finally nodded.

  “Go with Molly,” Evelyn said. “The two of you can hide and sneak away if something goes wrong. James will come for you, or Kerrick will help you.”

  Evelyn gave her a quick hug and hurried with Kirstin to the curving stairwell, descending to the empty great hall. “They are out in the bailey,” Kirstin said. “Grey wants ye to get in the carriage that’s waiting. To take ye to safety.”

  “What? No. I need to—”

  “Hurry,” Kirstin said, tugging Evelyn’s arm. “Ye will ride away, and Cross will follow ye for the letter. Grey can get away from them.” The woman was amazingly strong, and everything was rushed. They stepped out onto the front steps of Finlarig. As Kirstin had said, the Worthington coach waited with the door open.

  Evelyn’s heart became a boulder as she saw Grey standing near the wall, three armed Englishmen aiming their muskets at him while Captain Cross spoke to Nathaniel. She recognized the horrible soldier, Burdock. He wore a satisfied grin as he said something to Grey. Grey did nothing but stand tall, legs braced. But it was an unfair contest. He had only his sword and muscle when three of Cross’s soldiers, and the men who had come with Philip, held muskets ready.

  “This is my castle, and I have asked you to vacate the premises, Captain Cross. And take your men with you, or I will make sure you are relieved of your duty.” Natha
niel’s threat came out loud and powerful, his words reaching her ears over the growing wind. A loud whinny came from the stables where Grey’s horse was housed. The sound of hooves hitting wood caused several of the guards to glance that way.

  “This man is charged as a Covenanter, like his father. He must come with me to be questioned,” Cross replied.

  “Get in the carriage,” Kirstin said, her fingernails digging into Evelyn’s forearm.

  With a twist and jerk, Evelyn freed herself and ran toward Grey. “No, Grey Campbell is a teacher at the Highland Roses School. He is not going anywhere.” She threw her back against Grey’s chest, shielding him.

  “Evelyn,” Grey said, trying to push her behind him. “Go back.”

  Captain Cross tipped his head to the side, studying Evelyn with a condescending grin. “Ah, Lady Evelyn, so glad you could join us. It seems there is a private post missing, and your teacher’s life hangs on its location. Perhaps you could shed some light on its whereabouts?”

  Grey would sacrifice his life to keep Killin safe, and he was convinced that ousting Cross was the way to do so. Evelyn knew he would never give Cross the letter. She also knew that she couldn’t stand to watch Grey die. Evelyn stepped out beside him. “He doesn’t have the letter, Captain Cross. I do.”

  “Evie,” Nathaniel said.

  She held up a hand. “If you let Grey Campbell go and leave the village in peace, I will make certain the letter is returned to you.” Could the scoundrel tell that her suggestion was hollow? She made sure to keep her gaze strong, unwavering. It had worked with her father. Benjamin Worthington didn’t retaliate over a stern stare, just her rousing words.

  Cross’s eyes narrowed. “Then perhaps we should take you in for interfering in governmental policy where a woman has no business.”

  Evelyn stood taller despite knowing that she was now the target. She didn’t look at Grey. He was likely furious at her for taking risks. “Kindly produce the written law that shows this to be a crime.”

  The fox-like man’s grin faded. “Certainly. I have it in my office. You will come back with us.”