Chapter Fifteen
Mo chreach.
Grey rubbed his teeth together behind a tight frown. Evelyn could have been killed. If he’d lost the battle against the weight of the caber, he could have dropped it right across her bonny head. Alana shouldn’t have brought the dogs near the field. And blast, he shouldn’t have been displaying his strength like a strutting peacock.
He stood beside the growing bonfire with his torch, watching Kerrick do the same to the second stack of dry wood and peat. Heat sprang up, prickling against Grey’s skin. The traditional running of the livestock through the fires was thought to bless them for the upcoming months of grazing on summer grasses. Beltane celebrated life and fertility, yet all he could envision was Evelyn’s near death.
Standing with her sister in the glow of the second fire, Evelyn looked to be painted in gold. Och, she had no idea of the nightmare she’d planted in his mind. He rubbed a fist over his tight gut and tossed his torch into the flames when Hamish handed him an ale.
“Ye still threw it straighter than Brodick, even with a lass and dog running circles around ye.” Hamish raised his flask in salute.
“The lass doesn’t understand she could have been killed,” Grey murmured, and took a sip.
Hamish rubbed one thick finger at the corner of his eye as he pinched his lips forward. “Seems she has faith in ye.”
Faith in him? The son of a foolish Covenanter. A chief who couldn’t keep the English off his land or protect his clan? A man who’d lost his ancestral home?
“Although,” Hamish drawled out, “I suppose if she’d been squashed, ye wouldn’t have to worry about running her out of Finlarig.”
Grey pierced him with a glare but saw instantly that Hamish teased.
Hamish crossed his arms. “Kirstin thought to dump her tarts in the grass, following your order to make things difficult for her, but I stopped her. I’m not willing to sacrifice those sweet morsels.”
Grey nodded. “I better go make certain she doesn’t throw herself in front of the cattle to save a turtle.”
Hamish chuckled as Grey stalked off across the path that would soon be a swath of trampled grass from thundering hooves. As he approached, he realized that at least six of his warriors stood behind Evelyn and Scarlet. Had they decided the English ladies needed guarding, or protecting, or were they all looking to tup one of them? As he approached, his gaze pierced each of his men, purposely cutting from one to the next. Evelyn Worthington was his responsibility. She was in his bloody castle, and he wasn’t about to let one of his men sweet-talk her into raising her skirts.
He walked up to stand next to her, the men at his back, and crossed his arms silently over his chest. Evelyn looked at him, Scarlet leaning out to peer around her. They seemed to be waiting for an explanation.
“A hundred head of cattle and fifty sheep will soon be running between those fires,” he said.
“And you are here to stop me from running into the middle of it all?” Evelyn asked.
He didn’t see the need to affirm the obvious, so he continued to watch the growing crowds. At least ten of his men were likely riding alongside the herd through the village by now.
“I am not going to get in the way,” Evelyn said, crossing her own arms. “Scarlet, on the other hand, has an unpredictable side that can get her into trouble.”
Scarlet smothered a laugh.
“Be warned then, Scarlet,” he said. “If ye take one step toward the fires, I shall haul ye away over my shoulder.” Behind him, Grey heard a low chuckle.
“I am warned,” Scarlet said with mock seriousness.
Grey waited in silence while Scarlet commented on the sparks of the fire and how the heat felt good despite the warmer weather that day. Evelyn nodded but stayed silent. A rumble from beyond the forest trembled the night air, a vibration growing under his boots.
“Here they come,” Hamish yelled and ran across the path between the fires.
Evelyn threw her arm forward toward the stocky Highlander. “You better go haul Hamish away, though he might give you a fight if you toss him over a shoulder.”
Grey didn’t answer but watched the happily freed cows surging by, the dust from their hooves flying up, pushing the crowds farther back from the fires. A cheer rose from the villagers and outlying farmers who’d come to the festival. Evelyn coughed into her sleeve, and he bent close to her ear. “It helps to spit out the dirt.”
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.