Chapter Four
“Ye burned the bill of sale before her English nose?” Aiden asked, his sheared head turned to the side, cheek smashed against the flat pillow. Grey’s cousin lay in the bed on his stomach while his sister, Rebecca, tended the weeping burns on his back and neck in the light from the window.
“Aye,” Grey said, and smiled despite his gut tightening with the grimace Aiden gave as Rebecca lay a new poultice across his back. He would trade places with him, if possible.
“Honey, mashed onions, lavender, and marigold water,” she said. “’Tis what your Gram recommended, Grey. And Cat agreed.”
Aiden opened his pinched eyes. “What are ye going to do, Grey?”
“He’s going to do the sensible thing and get the hell out of Finlarig and probably Killin completely,” Rebecca said, returning to the hearth where she boiled the fouled bandages.
Grey stood. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Then ye’ll be as pained as Aiden or dead,” she said, pushing back the hair that stuck to her forehead from the steam off the water.
“Or,” Grey said, crossing his arms, “I’ll throw the Sassenachs out.”
Rebecca turned on him. “What? And have the English come back, not only to burn Finlarig again, but to set the rest of Killin on fire?”
Grey’s shoulders ached with the tension he carried. He certainly wouldn’t put it past Captain Cross and his bloody henchmen to punish all the Campbells if Grey started a war with him and the Worthington sisters. “Blaigeard,” he said.
“Agreed,” Aiden said from his spot. “Cross is a bastard of the dirtiest kind, and I think Rebecca is right. They would burn the town.”
“Bloody hell, ye must be near death,” Rebecca called. “To be agreeing with your little sister.”
“I best be back to see what the Sassenach has done to the castle,” Grey said, stretching out of the rickety chair.
Aiden met his gaze. “Perhaps ye can convince the ladies to leave on their own.”
“Evelyn Worthington doesn’t look like the kind to give up easily,” Grey said. “She’s strong with fury right now. Like a mad hornet.”
“Then let her stay,” Aiden said.
“Bloody hell.”
“Listen. If the lass tries to open this school and no one comes, it will fail within a few months. If she brings in sheep, they can mysteriously disappear. I’m sure the Menzies would love to add to their herds.”
“Just let her stay?” Grey mused, his arms crossed over his chest.
“Aye, and watch her fail,” Aiden said, his eyes closing as if speaking exhausted him. “The castle is a ruin. The people of Killin will hate her and her lording ways. She’ll be despised, tired, and dirty. Let her stay to see that her school will never be.”
Aiden’s plan could work. If Evelyn failed to build a successful school, she would abandon the plan. He left Rebecca’s cottage, heading out into the damp forest. Puddles pocked the trail he took toward the village. Spring gardens encircled the homes of his people. Would he risk English soldiers trampling the sprouts as they lit thatching on fire in retaliation? Nay. He would just have to allow the lass to figure out for herself that her school was a foolish idea. Especially in his castle.
His footfalls crunched along the path, and he turned onto the road leading through town.
“How dare you!” Evelyn’s voice rang out, full of rage.
What the hell had the woman gotten herself into? Grey pushed into a run and rounded the corner to find her caught up against Captain Cross’s bastard henchman, Lieutenant Marcus Burdock. The wigged English soldier had laughed in glee as he forced them into a blazing Finlarig at gunpoint. Razor-sharp fury shot through Grey.
“Unhand her,” Grey yelled as he drew his sword, holding it level with Burdock’s chest, although Evelyn struggled between them as the soldier held her wrists. Grey ignored the three other soldiers behind him but noted that they drew their own swords. Better swords than muskets.
Burdock’s grin soured as he looked over Evelyn’s head. “Damn, Campbell. I suppose a devil like you would survive the flames.”
“Let the woman go,” Grey said, his teeth set so that the words seethed.
“How dare you touch me,” Evelyn yelled, bringing Burdock’s glance down. “I am Evelyn Worthington of Hollings Estate in Lincolnshire, England, and you, soldier, are making all English hated up here in Scotland when we are trying to bring our countries together. I’ve just met you, and I already hate you.”
His brows furrowed, and Grey swore the man paled as he released Evelyn’s wrists. “Lady Evelyn Worthington?”
“Yes,” she snapped and looked toward Grey. “Is this the fiend who burned my castle?”
“One of many,” Grey answered without lowering his sword. It was all he could do not to run the sarding bloke through. Killin will burn.
Evelyn turned to Burdock. “Tell your captain that I will have an audience with him to deliver a parchment from my brother, Nathaniel Worthington, and that I have written to my brother, alerting him to the mess you and your captain have made in this fine town.” She waved her hand at the soldiers behind him. “Put your swords away. The audacity of threatening war before a lady. Your mothers and wives would be ashamed. I should take down your names and write them letters.”
The paleness in Burdock’s face changed to an angry flush the more Evelyn spoke. Her snapping English accent commanded shame, forcing the three soldiers to lower their swords as if each of her words weighed heavily upon the sword tips. Grey lowered his weapon but kept it ready. He was certain he could win against four English cocks, but Evelyn was in the middle of it. And if he killed them, Killin would likely pay in flames and destruction. He was walking a very thin line between keeping the peace and letting the English steal away his dignity. Foking hell!
She stared into Burdock’s scowl with one of her own. “And to come up behind a woman like that!”
“Like what?” Grey asked, his sword rising back up without thought.
“I thought you were…” Burdock started.
Evelyn’s cold stare turned hot with her flushed face. “What? A Scottish woman? For shame,” she said, her words so powerful, Grey imagined that the bastard felt their sting against his cheek. “You do not treat any woman like that.”
“Like what?” Grey repeated, stepping closer, which made the three red-faced soldiers raise their weapons again.
Burdock looked up from Evelyn to Grey. “Start something, Campbell, and see how quickly your village burns.”
“Absolutely not,” Evelyn yelled, hands fisted at her sides. “Step down, and give me your name and rank, soldier.”
The moment stretched until Burdock finally broke the stare and shook his head. He turned away. “I’ll be telling Captain Cross that you are still in the area.” The words carried the heaviness of a threat. Would Cross come back and order the town burned?
“Of course he is,” Evelyn shouted, making Burdock glance at her. “I’ve hired him to repair the castle and open my school. Tell Captain Cross that I will be sending the bill of repair costs to him.” Her voice came as if she spoke from atop a throne. Her head held high and chin tipped upward, she was on fire with indignation and English propriety. She looked glorious. “And all four of you would do well to remember to bow when leaving a lady’s presence.”
Two of the soldiers bowed right away, while the third glared with annoyance. Burdock stalked off toward the woods, adjusting his wee cod.
Out of the corner of Grey’s eye, a rock whizzed by, hitting one of the soldiers in the calf. The soldier turned, his gaze searching, but returned to his stride, never seeing the smudged face of little Izzy, as she ducked behind a cottage.
Kirstin flew out of her yard and up to Evelyn. “Bloody hell,” she said, looking Evelyn up and down and then to Grey.
The fury in Evelyn’s face seemed to drain away, leaving her pale. He noticed a fine sheen of moisture on her forehead. She nodded. “Yes, just…” She shook her head, glancing at Grey. “That man is the devil, isn’t he?”
Grey’s lips thinned. “One of many.”
“Not all Englishmen are like him.”
“So ye say,” Grey said, his tone flat.
As if giving up on his opinion, she turned to Kirstin. “Truly, I’ve met some very respectable Englishmen. Like my brother.”
“The one who’s stolen Finlarig?” Kirstin asked, although the bite from her tone was softer.
Evelyn sighed as if tired of hauling boulders all day, her shoulders rounding slightly. “Like I’ve said, Nathaniel had no idea that the castle was taken so brutally or that the family felt wrongly accused of treason.” She walked over to sit on a stump in the yard. She looked shaken, and Grey had the traitorous desire to carry her back to his home. His home? Mo chreach. He didn’t even have a home. “We would never have agreed to a fire or trapping people inside to burn,” she said, her words growing soft as she stared at the ground.
“Ye came into Killin for something?” he asked.
Kirstin retrieved a wrapped bulk of woven fabric from the road. “The wool.”
“Thank you,” Evelyn said, her words soft. She took a deep breath and sat straight, though Grey saw her tremble. “I need some help with the sewing up at the school.” She flapped a hand. “Castle. And costumes in which to work. Although I might as well surrender this gown now to the irreparably damaged.” She held out the hem, showing the stains of soot nearly six inches up and a small tear.
Grey came closer and lifted her arm to lead her. “I will take ye back to the castle. With Cross’s troops wandering without their leashes, it isn’t safe for any woman or child to be out without escort.”
It was the first time he’d touched her. She rose easily, the faint smell of flowers coming from her hair left free of a hood. Grey let his hand drop and stepped back, purposely turning away from her to Kirstin. “Remind Izzy to stay away from the English. She was lucky the soldier didn’t see her.”
“The girl?” Evelyn asked, looking down the road. “Her name’s Izzy?”
“Isabel Campbell, but we call her Izzy,” Kirstin said. “She lives on her own since her parents died and her older sister, Cat, moved away from the village to live in the forest. Cat is the town midwife.”
Evelyn’s eyes opened wider. “Isabel must come to the school then.”
Kirstin shook her head. “Ye’ll never get her under the roof. She’s skittish and won’t talk. Runs about wild.”
“All the more reason this parish needs a proper school,” Evelyn said, making Grey’s teeth grind.
He began to walk toward Finlarig. “Stay if ye want. I’m headed back.”
Evelyn caught up quickly, striding next to him, two steps to every one of his. She didn’t say anything, but he could hear her breathe through her mouth. He slowed slightly, glancing her way. More curls had come out of her bun, framing her pink cheeks. Lips parted for breath and bosom rising, she looked full of determination, like she planned to move mountains or fight wolves. If she had been born with the physical strength of a man, she’d be a fearsome warrior.
“Ye should have twisted your hand at the wrist and jerked it toward the place Burdock’s thumb and finger touched,” he said.
“Excuse me?”
“To break his hold on your wrists,” Grey answered and rubbed his ear. Reaching his arms out before him, he grabbed his own wrist, encircling it, then jerked it loose. “Here, where his thumb and fingertip touch… If ye turn your wrist to widen it slightly and jerk toward it, ye will break free.”
He took the folded wool. “Try it.”
Evelyn grabbed her own wrist, turned and jerked. “He was much too strong.”
“It works on anyone,” he said. “Turn and jerk. Ye could have also stomped on his foot, kicked his kneecap or his ballocks, and then turned and jerked your hands.”
“Ladies in England are not taught any of this,” she said, trying the twist and jerking action again.
“Ye aren’t in England anymore, Evelyn Worthington,” he said. “And I’m fairly certain that ye just made an enemy.”
She looked up. Pretty green-gray eyes stared into his as they walked. “It seems that we have something in common, then,” she said, tipping her head slightly. Lord help him, she was bonny, and he felt his blood stir. He looked toward the path, breaking the connection.
Evelyn cleared her throat. “You could teach me some more defense techniques. Scarlet thinks we should add it to the school curriculum.”
“Grand,” he said with a touch of sarcasm. “In less than a day I’ve been promoted from groundskeeper to repairman to instructor. At this rate, I’ll be chief of Finlarig Castle again by next week.”
A dark chuckle escaped her, the low rumble of it thrumming through him. “No one has taken away your chiefdom, Laird Campbell, just your castle.”
They stopped at the bottom of the steps leading into the keep, the arched stone etched with the Campbell Clan heraldry, the boar’s head with the Latin words Ne Obliviscaris, meaning “Forget Not,” inscribed above it. He caught her gaze. “And that, Lady Evelyn, is the problem.”
“How so?”
“Finlarig Castle and the head of clan Campbell…” He placed his hand, palm open, on the stone balustrade. “We are one and the same.”