Chapter Twenty-Seven
“Plan?” Scarlet asked from behind the changing screen where she dressed, the material making a swishing sound.
“You’ve made a plan that includes me without discussing it with me?” Evelyn asked.
“I’m discussing it with you now,” Nathaniel said, his stare flat with annoyance.
Evelyn crossed her arms. “Go ahead.”
Nathaniel ran a hand down his jaw, which had grown stubbled. The bruises added to his tired, worried look. “Neither Campbell nor I will allow Philip to bully you into wedding him. And, since he apparently sent one of his men to Captain Cross’s company, we can assume he is planning to enlist the captain’s help in the matter.”
“Or have Captain Cross arrest Grey for holding him against the wall,” Evelyn said.
“We’ve considered that, since the man was sent before he offered Finlarig to Campbell in the library. Either way, we want to get you out of here.”
“Captain Cross cannot force me to say yes to Philip before a cleric,” Evelyn said.
“No,” Nathaniel said. “But he can lie and say that you already gave yourself to Philip or agreed to wed. The banns have been posted for weeks.”
“Without me knowing,” Evelyn said, her voice rising as she stood to pace.
“Perhaps that would all mean something if King Charles hadn’t blessed your union, in writing. Yes, I’ve seen the missive, and no doubt, Philip has shown it to Captain Cross. If Cross believes you are already wed, you will be seen as a flighty female who must learn her place.”
“Bloody hell,” Evelyn murmured.
Nathaniel’s eyes opened slightly wider. “Bloody hell? Asking a Highlander to ruin you? Going to the English compound to rescue a student? You’ve changed since coming north, Evie.”
“Don’t forget dancing like a heathen around a Beltane fire and smearing bilberry tarts on her skirts,” Scarlet called from the screen.
Evelyn willed the heat to leave her cheeks but knew she still flushed. She tipped her nose higher. “I’ve learned what it is to live without being under a brutal father’s thumb, Nathaniel. I’ve been able to share my opinions without fear of being slapped or locked in my room. I can walk and dance where I want, when I want, and with whom I want.” She leaned slightly forward as she continued her unblinking stare. “And I would rather die than go back to the suppressed life I lived at Hollings and the London court. With or without Philip Sotheby.”
“Here, here,” Scarlet said, walking to Evelyn to have her stays tightened in the back.
Nathaniel nodded. “Nobody’s making you return to England. Grey is going to take you and Scarlet north to his mother’s clan near Inverness, far enough away that Philip will be hard-pressed to find you. And he’ll be too busy, anyway, convincing Charles that he’s not this secret Surgeon of London.”
Nathaniel’s words jumped through Evelyn, sparking a flock of questions, but the one above all others leaped from her lips. “Grey is…leaving Finlarig? For me?” Evelyn’s middle quivered, a sprout of hope nudging up through her despair. He wasn’t accepting Philip’s offer and abandoning her?
“Strictly speaking, right now, the castle belongs to me,” Nathaniel said. “And, although I had intended to give it to you if you made a success of the school, I have no intention of giving it to Philip if you two married. Regardless of his plan.”
“And you told Grey this?” she asked.
“Yes,” Nathaniel said. “I am not about to let Philip manipulate the man into giving you up.”
Evelyn nodded, though her thoughts churned. If her brother hadn’t told Grey that he wouldn’t give Finlarig to Philip, would he have taken Philip’s offer? It all boiled down to whether Grey did, in fact, love her. And whether that love outweighed his love for his home. “Thank you, Nat.”
Evelyn raised her gaze back to Nathaniel. “So…Grey is leaving Finlarig? To help me?”
“To take you two to safety until I can get things settled with Charles. He will bring you back in a few months, once you hear from me.”
“But you will be alone here with Philip,” Scarlet said. “And his brutish men, and Captain Cross. What if they don’t listen to reason or Philip panics about you going to Charles?”
Nathaniel stood up. “I intend to have James and our stable boy drive me immediately back to London in my own coach. Philip can remain here in an empty castle if he wishes.”
“What about the villagers of Killin?” Evelyn asked. “He could harm them.”
“Grey has spoken with his men, and the one he says is second in command who burned his back, he is recovering and will keep the villagers safe or evacuate them if needed.”
“’Tis quite an extensive plan,” Scarlet said, bringing Evelyn her boots.
Nathaniel stretched. “We spent a good deal of the night making it.”
“I need to talk to him,” Evelyn said. They hadn’t had any time alone. And now Grey was having to entrust his people to someone else while he secreted Scarlet and her up to Inverness.
“You’ll have plenty of time to talk,” Nathaniel said, touching the side of his eye as if it ached. “The three of you will leave as soon as you eat. Philip is known to sleep in, but if he wakes, the gatekeeper said he will take us on a tour of the village and surrounding forest to the south. You will head north on horseback, avoiding the English encampment.” He looked around the room. “Pack a few essentials, small enough to tie to a horse.”
Evelyn took his hands in hers. “Thank you.”
Nathaniel pulled her to his chest, wrapping her in a hug. He rested his chin on the top of her head. “I was away too much when Father was so awful. I wasn’t there for you then, but I’m trying now.”
Evelyn blinked against the press of tears, nodding into his chest. “I know,” she whispered. “Thank you.”
They parted as Scarlet came up and took both of their hands. “Look at us,” she said with a smile. “Brother and sisters, looking out for one another. Mother would be so joyful that she’d cry.”
Evelyn laughed, and Nathaniel smiled. Of course, she would cry.
Knock. Knock.
Nathaniel went to the door, swinging it open.
“Kirstin?” Evelyn said.
“Oh,” Kirstin replied as she stared, wide-eyed at Nathaniel. “I…I didn’t know where ye were sleeping.” Her gaze finally moving to Evelyn. “I’d hoped I’d find ye with your sister.”
“Is something wrong?” Evelyn asked.
Kirstin clenched her hands before her so tightly that her knuckles looked white. She stretched her shoulders back and lifted the sides of her mouth into a smile that didn’t hide her nervousness. “I’ve come to fetch ye.” Her gaze slipped back to Nathaniel, and her smile faltered. She cleared her throat. “Grey asked me to fetch ye. Said to bring your cloak and a very important letter.”
Evelyn frowned, and she glanced at Nathaniel, who wore the same cautious expression. Grey was the one who held the letter addressed to Captain Cross, the one that proved the captain’s treason. He wouldn’t ask her to bring something he already possessed.
Evelyn turned to face Kirstin and smiled. “Very well. I will be ready in a moment.”
…
“Ye are leaving Finlarig for a Sassenach.” Aiden shook his head as he followed Grey out of Rebecca’s door.
Grey huffed, rubbing a finger over the stitched cut at his lip. “It is only temporary, for me to get Evelyn and her sister to safety.”
“From the man she is engaged to.”
“Without her consent,” Grey said, letting his annoyance at his friend flow into his voice. He hadn’t even told Aiden about the advice Evelyn had given about smoking out rats. She obviously hadn’t known the bastard Cross spoke of people, and Philip had brought it up only to force a wedge between them. Philip Sotheby was a sly fox, hiding his strategies behind the mask of a genteel aristocrat and his idiotic plume.
“I don’t like this,” Aiden said, shaking his head. “I don’t trust any of them, and yet ye’re putting your life and your clan at risk by helping her.”
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 overhead 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.