Chapter Eighteen
Evelyn was floating in warmth, the fog of dreams still cradling her as she felt strong arms under her back. She was being lifted.
A small grin tugged the corners of her mouth as she inhaled the warm scent of Grey. She shifted slightly, blinking open to gaze straight into his beautiful eyes. They held mirth and a devilish promise.
“Now where are you taking me?” After their wild coupling in the library, Grey had carried her up to his scandalous bed, and their passion-filled adventures had taken them late into the night. He’d even fetched the mirror. It still sat at an angle to his bed where he’d left it for her viewing pleasure. He passed it silently, carrying her to the door that they’d left open between their rooms.
She tried to push up in his arms. “Grey?”
“Shhh,” he whispered and glanced toward the door of her room that led to the corridor.
“Evelyn? Why don’t you answer me?”
Scarlet! Evelyn’s eyes snapped wide, and she would have fallen out of Grey’s arms if he hadn’t drawn her up against him, steadying her wobble. He set her, wrapped in one of his furs, on her still-made bed.
Scarlet knocked loudly. “Are you ill, Evelyn?” She pushed against the door, as if trying to shove it open.
“I…I am well,” Evelyn called back. “Just…I was asleep.”
Grey leaned down to gently kiss her lips, and her thoughts dissolved until Scarlet’s voice shot through the door again.
“Thank God. How could you have slept through me banging so?” she asked.
With a half grin, Grey turned to pad back to his room. He was completely naked, his taut backside looking perfect as his long, muscular legs propelled him effortlessly across the floor. He softly shut the door between them, and Evelyn hopped off her bed.
Her body ached in new ways, the ways a well-loved woman must feel. “Give me a moment,” Evelyn called. She glanced down to see that she, too, was completely naked, and her smock and robe were somewhere on the floor around Grey’s massive bed. She threw the fur under her tiny bed and grabbed a new smock from her chest, throwing it over her head.
“Sleeping in?” Scarlet asked, as Evelyn pulled her door open. “You never sleep in. Every time I’ve come to get you in the mornings, you’re dressed, with your bed perfectly made.”
Evelyn let Scarlet walk in. “That’s what I was doing, making my bed,” Evelyn said, pushing her wild hair over to one side.
Scarlet frowned, squinting her eyes as if she didn’t believe her. “Before you dressed and let me in?”
“I was half asleep. I did it before I thought.” Evelyn shrugged.
“Hmph,” Scarlet said. “Well, you look to need more sleep. Dark circles under your eyes, and you look flushed.” She grabbed her wrist. “Your pulse is high.”
“You startled me,” Evelyn said, snatching back her arm. “Let me get dressed, and we’ll go down to eat.”
“Best hurry,” Scarlet said as Evelyn went to the trunk to pull out one of her English day gowns. Until she had another made and the Scottish-style gown dried, she’d have to wear her English costume.
“Is something amiss?” Evelyn asked.
“Molly is making another batch of tarts, as several mothers told her they would be sending their daughters to our school. We should help in the event a horde of ladies arrive to learn their letters.” She gently slapped her hands together as if in anticipation.
Evelyn smiled, her brows raised. “Scarlet Worthington is excited about baking?”
“To get more students, certainly. Students are as valuable as gold to us,” Scarlet said, handing Evelyn a folded parchment. “From Nathaniel. Arrived this morning.”
Tension twisted inside Evelyn as she cracked the wax seal, her eyes scanning her brother’s script.
“Is it bad?” Scarlet asked.
Evelyn let out a long sigh. “Philip is quite of the opinion that we are getting married, no matter how Nathaniel tries to steer him away.” She looked up at her sister. “We need to make this school profitable. Soon.”
Scarlet nodded, a firm determination in her eyes. “Then we best go down to help Molly make the best tarts these people have ever tasted.”
…
Grey walked down the corridor on the second floor, pausing at the open library door where Alana sat with Izzy and three other lasses from the village. Alana bent over a table, pointing to an open book. She whispered something that made the other lasses giggle. Izzy thumped the table with her open palm and pointed at him. Alana immediately shut the book.
“I’m telling you,” Scarlet was saying near the hearth. “It must be a thief. What apparition would steal away a full-length mirror?”
Grey’s gaze went to Evelyn. She sat in the same chair where he’d loved her last night. Her hair was braided and rested over one shoulder. “We will ask Kerrick if perhaps he took it to polish,” she replied, though the lass knew exactly where the mirror sat, facing his scandalous bed.
Grey cleared his throat, and Evelyn snapped around in her seat. He nodded to her and her sister. “I am the culprit,” he said.
Scarlet planted hands on her hips. “You stole the mirror that was to be used in our art lesson today?”
He shrugged, a mild smile bending his lips. “I had need for it yesterday, so I carried it to my bedroom.” He kept his gaze away from Evelyn, else he’d give something away.
“Need of a mirror?” Scarlet asked.
“A warrior must secret away many blades on his person,” he said. “I needed to make certain that none would be seen through my clothes.”
Scarlet’s face pinched with confusion. “And you had to do that in your bedchamber.”
He motioned to Evelyn. She squirmed slightly on the cushion that had cradled her perfect arse last night. “Evelyn has said that I cannot be naked in this room any longer.” An order she’d blatantly broken last night as she tugged his clothes off. “The blades are under my clothes.”
Several of the lasses behind him giggled, and Alana made some noise that he knew must be accompanying her glance heavenward at his ridiculousness.
“I will return it today,” he said.
Evelyn met his gaze and pinched her lips as if holding tightly to a smile. Pink stained her cheeks, but she did not waver or avert her gaze. “Thank you,” Evelyn said. “And I am warned not to step too close to you, else find myself impaled.”
Impaled. Bloody hell. His rod twitched. Aye, all she had to do was walk close to him. He’d pull her into one of the shadowy alcoves in the castle and make her moan his name again. Evelyn walked the razor’s edge of teasing him, trusting that he would not give her secret away. She was no fainting flower, embarrassed and regretful over learning the secrets of tupping.
Her teasing comment showed…och, it showed that she trusted him. She’d proved it last night multiple times, exploring with him even after their initial fiery lust was sated. I’m inquisitive, she’d said, running her fingers and kisses along every inch of his skin. Letting him do the same, encouraging him to find every one of her pleasure points.
Bloody hell, she trusted him. The knowledge twisted inside his gut, a chill falling over him as he thought of his mission to retake Finlarig. He nodded and turned to leave the room but heard footsteps behind him, following him out to the hall. Evelyn didn’t ask him to halt, so he continued toward the back staircase that was rarely used. Daylight filtered in through narrow windowpanes in the tower. He took two steps down and turned to lean against the curved stone wall.
Evelyn met his gaze, a gentle smile on her face. “I best not come too close, else find myself impaled.”
A chuckle broke from his chest, pressing back the earlier chill of guilt. Och, she was beautiful when she teased. “And yet ye risked stalking me.”
“To give you this,” Evelyn said, holding out a book. “I thought…perhaps, we could read it together.”
He took it. Passions of the Soul by René Descartes.
“I didn’t see it on your shelves,” she said softly.
He ran his hand down the rich cover, worked with detailed vines, and his heart felt tight. Meeting her gaze, he smiled. “I would like that.” He pulled her gently in to him. She came willingly, her softness molding easily against him as if they fit together in perfect measure, like a key and a lock, molded differently but in complete harmony with each other. “Thank ye,” he said and grazed her soft cheek with his thumb. “’Tis a rich gift, the second richest I’ve ever received.”
Her brow rose in a teasing arch. “Oh, and when have you received richer?”
“Last eve,” he whispered. “Before a stolen mirror in the library.”
He watched her lips part, the simple act catching at his breath. Brushing a kiss against those soft lips, he bent his forehead to touch hers. “If I don’t leave ye now, your students will wonder where ye’ve gone and why, when ye return, ye are completely unmade and smiling with immense satisfaction.”
She laughed softly. “Go, then.”
He brushed his empty hand along the side of her head. “Thank ye.” With one last kiss, he continued down the steps. Striding into the great hall, Grey found Kerrick eating a tart.
“Delicious enough to make a man groan,” Kerrick said, holding it up.
Grey set the book down on the mantel, ignoring Kerrick’s questioning gaze. He walked over and grabbed a boiled egg, a tart, and a bladder of ale as he continued toward the door. The cool air would help him stop from running upstairs to carry Evelyn back to his bed.
Kerrick followed him outside, talking as he chewed. “With the portcullis finished, the men are working to fortify the stone wall. We will make it another foot thick in short time. Eventually we might consider a six-foot hollow corridor of a wall around the whole. It could shelter villagers and give the men a vantage point if attacked.”
Would Evelyn question the strengthened defenses? For a military man, it would be evident that Grey was planning for war, not the opening of a ladies’ school. He nodded to Kerrick. “Aye, but for now, with Evelyn still running a school here, keep the fortification simple.”
“If she questions it?” Kerrick asked, his easy smile dropping to a frown.
Grey rubbed the ache in the back of his neck. He wouldn’t lie to her outright. He exhaled in a huff. “Tell her I’ve ordered the castle to be strengthened. Let her assume it is to protect her school.”
“Wise,” Kerrick said.
Grey didn’t feel wise. He chewed the tart and swallowed despite his gut twisting again. Guilt. Blast. No matter what he did, the shadow of remorse plagued him, coming back even though he pressed it away. Just now in the stairwell above…and last night… Och, he couldn’t bring himself to regret any of it. Evelyn in his arms, soft and moaning, perfect and sweet this morning. He’d never met such an honest woman, English or Scottish. Damn. Maybe a man could live with a bloody twisted gut, for the fact remained, given the chance, he would take back Finlarig, no matter what.
…
“Having tea is more than drinking a hot infusion for medicinal reasons,” Evelyn said, as she poured the steeped drink into the first of four delicate china tea bowls that she’d brought from England. Setting the small bowl before Alana, she poured another for Isabel, Scarlet, and finally herself. “Having tea is about slowing down to enjoy. One cannot rush around with delicate china and hot liquid.” She set the tea pot down on the folded fabric.
“Enjoy what?” Alana asked, looking down into her bowl.
“One another,” Evelyn said. “The rest from busy activity.”
Isabel bent over her tea and sniffed.
“I like to add cream to it and then, if there is any, some sweetening. Although some say it is bad luck to add the cream before the sugar,” Evelyn said.
Scarlet demonstrated with the little spouted cup of cream. “We stir with a spoon, gently back and forth, not in a circle,” she said. “So as not to spill.”
Alana and Isabel followed her example, though they looked stiff. Evelyn laughed. “It’s not meant to be torture. In England we have coffee houses where tea is served. The leaves are imported and rather expensive, but the health benefits and taste make it my favorite.” Evelyn added a tiny pebble of sugar from the bowl that held small clumps, and then cream. “As part of your education as ladies, you will learn how to serve tea.”
“If it is costly, why bother?” Alana asked, stirring gently.
“It is more than a drink,” Evelyn said. “It is almost a ceremony, to calm oneself and bring peace and hospitality. As long as I can afford to bring tea to the Highland Roses School, I will.”
They all took a sip, and Evelyn let the drink slide down her throat to warm her stomach. She looked to Scarlet. “I’ve missed this.”
“On the terrace at Hollings,” Scarlet replied, nodding. “I was thinking the same thing.”
“I burned my tongue,” Alana said. Isabel set her bowl back down and began blowing across the surface.
Evelyn smiled at her. “Isabel, we don’t—”
“Izzy,” a woman called, rushing into the keep, her cheeks flushed. She panted. Evelyn had met her yesterday at the festival. Rebecca Campbell. “Is your sister about?” Rebecca asked, hands braced on her knees as she sucked in air. “Aiden’s fever is worse.”
They all stood. Isabel’s eyes grew wide, and she shook her head, making a motion with her fingers as if walking.
“Blast,” Rebecca said. “Can ye get her? He needs her cures. He started shaking, like a fit. I think it’s the high fever.”
Isabel nodded and ran out of the keep, but they had no way of knowing how far away her sister was or when she could get back. Rebecca followed her out.
“I will come,” Evelyn said. “I have a medicine book. How do I find the house?”
“I will take ye.” Evelyn’s gaze snapped up at the familiar timber. Grey stood in the doorway, his shirt in his hand, leaving his bronzed chest naked. He’d been working or training. A slight sheen covered him like it had last night before the fire as they…
Good lord, there was no time for such thoughts. “I will be right back.” She ran toward the stairs. “The book is in the library,” she yelled without breaking her stride.
Her thighs ached as she hurdled up the steps. The poor man might be convulsing right now, all alone. Returning with the heavy tome, she and Grey dashed into the dark entry and out the double doors. The sun was setting, making the shadows look like giants growing along the path. She walked briskly, but Grey’s long gait made it easy for him to keep up with her. She cut a glance toward him. His brows pinched together to accent his fierce frown.
“Aiden is your friend and Rebecca’s brother?” she asked, wishing she could comfort him.
“Aye.”
“And he’s ill.” Grey didn’t say anything. “Grey,” she said, and he glanced toward her. The hardness in his face brought her stomach up tight. It’s not directed at me. “I need to know more than what I can glean from one-word answers. Tell me about Aiden so I can better help him.”
Grey strode along briskly with her, past Kirstin’s house where she had fresh wool hanging out to dry. “Aiden is the second-in-command of Finlarig.”
“I thought Kerrick was.”
“He is third. Aiden was with us when Burdock came with his foking torches to smoke out us Scottish vermin.” Fury twisted the very words that she had once mistakenly used, sending gooseflesh to scatter up Evelyn’s back, pocking her skin and making her shiver.
I thought they were rats. She struggled to draw a full breath to feed her stride. “And he was hurt?” she asked, her voice low, barely heard over the crunch of Grey’s boots on the pebbles.
“He was trying to beat back the flames in the keep when one of the burning tapestries fell across his back. The weight crushed him flat, making him hit his head so that he lay unconscious. By the time we were able to get the tapestry off him, his back was blistered, the flames having burned through his shirt and hair.”
Evelyn inhaled. “Good God,” she whispered.
“I thought he was healing. I stopped by Rebecca’s yesterday morn before the festival. He was of good cheer but with a bit of a fever. Rebecca didn’t seem worried over it.”
They traipsed past the empty smithy, the fires already banked for the night. Past Isabel’s cottage, he led her into the woods, taking the lead. He reached behind, his fingers out for her hand.
She hesitated. What would he think if he knew she’d said the very words Burdock had used? Even if she hadn’t meant them, even if she’d been mistaken, she hadn’t taken the time to investigate why the castle was suddenly up for sale. Her sin was not in the words themselves, but in her failure to explore and educate herself on the truth of what was happening to the Campbell clan.
He pulled his hand back around when she didn’t take it. “I apologize,” he said, glancing back. “For having to leave ye this morning without a word all day.”
She shook her head. “You saved me this morning. I hadn’t heard Scarlet at all. And the day has been busy with new students.” She was breathless, and he slowed his steps. “And now we have the more important matter of your friend’s life.”
He held branches away from them as the path wound between tall trees until Evelyn caught sight of muted candlelight. Like a fairy haven, the small cottage sat tucked away in the woods. Thatched roof and daubed walls held several wavy panes of glass in the windows.
“Rebecca,” Grey called, and a breath later, the door swung open.
“He started shaking again, nearly fell off the bed,” Rebecca said.
Evelyn stepped forward. “From a high fever.” The cottage was lit only by the hearth fire and several tallow candles in holders, one next to the bed where Evelyn could see a man lying on his stomach.
“Ye also know the ways of curing?” Rebecca asked.
“Some, but I have a book of medical knowledge.”
Rebecca stared at her like Evelyn had brought a live hog to assist. “Some good that will do,” Rebecca said and planted her palm on her sweaty forehead. She looked back to Grey. “Do we know how far Izzy must go to find Cat?”
“Nay,” Grey said, closing the door behind him.
The cottage smelled strongly of rosemary, garlic, lemon balm, and a mash of other medicinal herbs. Evelyn hastened over to Aiden, lying unconscious on his stomach, a damp poultice on his back. Evelyn touched his forehead. “Burning,” she said.
Grey stood next to her. “His wounds must be tainted.” Worry etched dark lines into his face.
Evelyn turned to Rebecca. “What is in the poultice?” She hurried to set the book on the table near the hearth to see better, flipping open the pages. Leaning close, she ran a finger down the list of ailments.
“Lemon balm, onion mash, and honey,” Rebecca said. She stuck her fingers through the rough plait of her braid, tugging at it absently. “And I change it daily. Sometimes I add lavender and marigold.”
“The fever has grown, though?” Grey asked.
Rebecca nodded. “I hadn’t realized how high.”
Evelyn ran her hands along Aiden’s arms. “The convulsions are from the high fever. We need to get his temperature down.”
“I’ve been giving him feverfew, too,” Rebecca said.
“The book says to use damp cloths over his body.”
“Grey,” Rebecca said, running to a wooden bucket in the corner. “Fetch water from the falls. It’s icy cold.”
“No,” Evelyn said, going back to the book. She began to read. “The cloths should hold clean, medium cool water to bring down the temperature. Water that is too cold will shock the body, making it harder to heal.” She met Rebecca’s gaze. “Just clean water, not freezing.”
Rebecca leaned fists on the table. “Does it say anything about burns?”
“I’m sure. You get the water, and I’ll look.”
Rebecca ran to a pot next to the hearth and lifted the lid. “I boiled it early this morning. ’Tis cool now and clean.”
Grey knelt beside Aiden and turned his head so that his ear hovered near the man’s mouth. “His breathing is shallow.”
Evelyn came over and gingerly lifted the poultice. Raw burns lay across his back. Some spots were crusted over with scabs, but some oozed.
Beside her, Grey cursed. “Blast,” he whispered and glanced at Evelyn. “He is like my brother.”
The agony in Grey’s voice clenched at Evelyn’s stomach. This man was in mortal jeopardy, partly because of her. Lord, help me.
“Here,” Rebecca said, handing Grey a wet cloth. He placed it on Aiden’s forehead and returned to the hearth to carry the heavy cauldron to the bed.
“We must wipe him down,” Evelyn said. “His legs, arms.” She brought the book to the bed, studying it under the splash of candlelight. “Snail slime,” she murmured. She stood straight and met Rebecca’s gaze. “We need to find snails. The slime that they produce will heal his burns.”
“I can find them in the forest,” Grey said.
“Nonsense,” Rebecca said, her face pinched. “It says snails?”
“Yes,” Evelyn looked to Grey. “Perhaps have your men hunt for them. We will set them to crawl over his burns.”
“Bloody hell,” Rebecca cursed. “Are ye sure this book speaks true?”
“It’s a well-known medical reference in England.” Evelyn took a fresh cloth and replaced the soiled one that stuck to a few of the burns on Aiden’s back. “And we must keep him as clean as possible.”
“Except for having snail piss all over him, ye mean,” Rebecca said.
“Snail slime,” Evelyn corrected and wiped her arm over her brow. Luckily the tea had given her some energy. After a night of little sleep, the low light was making her limbs heavy. A yawn forced her jaw open.
“Ye look tired, lass,” Grey said, meeting her gaze. “I will fetch a chair.”
“So am I, but ye don’t see me sitting down, do ye?” Rebecca called out.
“I’ll be fine,” Evelyn whispered.
Grey walked toward the hearth where he picked up another pot. “I’ll draw more water from the cistern to boil and gather men to hunt. When we place the snails, ye both should rest.”
“Rest…” The word issued from Aiden’s parched lips. He moved upon the bed, his face pinching in a grimace. Evelyn squatted down closer to his mouth, her skirts pooling around her on the swept floor.
“The fever was making him speak nonsense earlier,” Rebecca said, hurrying over. “Repeating words.”
“Rest, Grey,” Aiden whispered and breathed little shallow pants. “Let the Sassenach’s school fail. Rest and wait. ’Tis a good plan. The woman will fail.” He continued to mumble, but nothing else sounded like words, in English anyway.
Evelyn’s hand paused, her fingers curling in around the wet rag she held draped on Aiden’s forehead.
The woman will fail?
The words burrowed through Evelyn like a dirty rat through a wall, the wall of trust that she’d built around Grey and herself. Was this Grey’s plan? Was he so certain that she would fail in her endeavor to create a school that he could just rest and wait? After lowering his sword on the front steps of Finlarig and hearing her dream of a parish school, had he decided that she would never succeed? So instead of fighting for his castle, like he would against a man, he was waiting for the woman to fail all on her own.