Chapter Five
“Ye want me to grab ye?” Grey asked as he righted another chair that he’d just repaired, its new legs looking out of place against the scorch marks across the seat.
“Yes,” Evelyn said, making him turn, his eyebrow rising. She set the broom she’d been using against the wall.
The lass wanted him to touch her again. He studied her serious face, her lush bottom lip slightly bowed out. He crossed his arms out of annoyance, he told himself, and not to stop himself from grabbing her to him. Mo chreach.
Holding her arm up, she encircled her own wrist like he’d shown her earlier in the day. “Like before, so I can practice.” Her eyes, a warm green in the light from the broken windows above, searched his face. “A woman should know how to break away from a harsh grip.”
He glanced around the empty hall. His sister was upstairs tending the pups, and he hadn’t seen Evelyn’s sister and maid for the last hour. He lowered his mallet to the table, the clunk sounding hollow in the two-story hall.
The gown fit her waist snugly, and one errant curl lay uncoiled against the smooth skin of her bare collarbone. The lowering sun outside painted golden highlights along it.
Evelyn raised her arms for him to take, as if she were offering herself up to him, determination etched on her face. He grasped each of her wrists. They felt fragile, her skin soft. She stared down at them. “Twist and jerk,” she murmured, and he tightened his hold. She yanked toward the sliver of opening but couldn’t quite pull out.
She huffed. “I thought you said this works every time.”
He tipped his head. “I’m stronger than most, and I was expecting it. Others wouldn’t, but you can add a kick to distract them.” He dropped one of her wrists to point to his knee. “If you step into my knee with the weight in your foot, it will bend my knee backward.”
He grabbed her wrist again, and she stepped into him, raising her foot under the skirts, but missed her mark. “It’s hard to see where I’m aiming,” she said.
“Try again.”
This time she was still too far out from him, so she hardly pressed his knee. “Ye need to step in closer to shove with your weight,” he said.
“Don’t I want to get away?”
“Aye, but first ye need to escape an enemy’s grasp with surprise and strength. A warrior carries a lot of power in his thighs but often forgets to use it. If ye must shove upward, use the muscles in your legs.”
“Strength in my legs,” she repeated, just under her breath.
He watched her lips move over the words and wondered what they tasted like. Bloody hell, he’d likely tent out his kilt if he followed his thoughts. And she was his adversary, an aristocratic Sassenach who was stealing his castle.
“Like this?” she asked, stepping into him, her foot finding his kneecap. She pushed against it, and at the same time, twisted her wrists and jerked, breaking away. But instead of backing up, she stayed close, a smile softening her tight expression. She looked up at him, a raw happiness opening her features. “I did it.” Excitement flushed her cheeks, and her open lips were incredibly close. All he’d have to do was dip his head to take a taste.
“Aye, lass. Very good,” he said, his words coming slowly. They didn’t touch, yet he felt her presence as if they did. She smelled of woman and hard work, with an underlying scent of flowers. Evelyn’s smile faded as she met his gaze. She closed her mouth, the tip of her tongue giving a quick slide over her bottom lip to wet it.
Grey’s fingers curled into fists at his sides. She remained directly in front of him, and neither of them were backing up. Stubbornness or attraction? Perhaps both.
“I…” Evelyn started and damned if she didn’t wet her lips again. “I have a proposition for you.” She tipped her head slightly.
Without breaking his stare, Grey’s eyebrow rose. She seemed to be breathing quickly, as if she struggled to keep her inhales and exhales even. “Aye?” he asked, his voice deep and soft.
“Well now, are ye about to gut her or tup her?” Alana’s voice flowed through him like an icy river off Ben Lawers, slicing through any tether holding the two of them together.
Evelyn jumped back. “I’m learning how to break away from an attack,” she said, holding up her wrist to show Alana how to twist and jerk. “Do you know this trick?”
Alana narrowed her eyes, her glance going between the two of them to land on Grey with a look that yelled “traitor.” “Nay,” she said. “I just need to find a musket or pull my sgian dubh.”
“If a man has your wrists, you can’t grab a musket or whatever the other thing is,” Evelyn argued.
“A sgian dubh is a knife or dagger,” Grey said and slid his black-handled knife from a strap he had around his thigh. “’Tis kept secret, to be used up close.”
“Something else I need to learn,” Evelyn said, turning back to him. “Which brings me to my proposition.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m waiting,” he grumbled, disappointed that the proposition was nothing she sought to hide from Alana. Damnation. He certainly didn’t need to tangle naked with the enemy. Although, if he made her writhe, she might be more willing to listen to reason. His cod found a lot of merit in his argument.
“I would like to hire you to teach my students how to protect themselves,” Evelyn said. “As an instructor, you would reside in the castle. Even carry on your clan responsibilities as chief, but you’d also work for the school. Captain Cross should have no reason to exile you for being in Killin or Finlarig.”
“Exile?” Alana said with a snort. “Cross wants us dead, not exiled.”
“Well, dead then,” Evelyn said. “There’s no reason for him to—”
“I’m Scottish,” Grey said. “That’s reason enough.”
She opened her mouth to argue but stopped, as if remembering the welcome she received from Cross’s right-hand man in town. Shaking her head, she met his gaze. “I will speak to Captain Cross.”
“Not alone,” Grey said.
After a long moment, she nodded, and Grey felt a tightness lessen in his gut. Not that he was concerned for a Sassenach. He wouldn’t want any woman to confront the devil alone.
“And where exactly are all these students coming from?” Alana asked and sat on one of the seats refitted with fresh legs. Behind her, the sound of Ceò and her pups came from the stairwell.
“All over Scotland,” Evelyn said as she went to the sideboard to pour some weak ale into a mug. “Starting with ladies in Killin and the surrounding area. You may stay, too.”
“Bloody aye,” she said. “’Tis my home.”
Evelyn took a drink and nodded. “As a student, Captain Cross can’t throw you out.”
“He ordered me thrown inside, not out,” Alana said, and Grey watched his sister blink, leaning back in the seat. He knew she suffered demons, too, memories of flames in her dreams.
Evelyn sat across from Alana and folded her hands in her lap, her knuckles growing white. “Not all English are evil, Alana.”
“I haven’t been impressed by those I’ve met,” she said, staring directly into Evelyn’s gaze.
Evelyn straightened until it looked like her spine might snap. “Stay if you’d like, but to do so, you’ll have to start lessons.”
“Lessons?” Alana asked, her voice pinching to match her expression.
Evelyn nodded deeply. “As soon as my books and supplies arrive. Meanwhile, I need to get the library set up and this hall righted. We can move you and your brother up to the third and fourth floors.”
Alana looked to Grey, and he uncrossed his arms to saunter over to pour himself some ale. “I sleep in the laird’s room, but Alana can move to the students’ floor.”
Evelyn braced fisted hands on the table. “You have no need for such a large room.”
He set his mug down and leaned in to imitate her, their faces drawing close. This time he purposely did not inhale her floral scent. “I am a large scoundrel,” he said, using her term for him upon meeting. “And a large scoundrel needs a large bed. The room accommodates it.”
“For what could you possibly need a bed that size?” she asked.
He let the side of his mouth tip upward into a wicked grin. He opened his mouth, but she held up a hand to stop him, her cheeks flushing. “No. Do not answer that.”
“I would be happy to answer,” he said. Alana huffed, rolled her eyes, and walked away.
“I withdraw the question,” Evelyn said, but managed to hold his gaze.
He kept his grin, enjoying the woman’s wide-eyed look, and crossed his arms. “If your curiosity outweighs your blush, I can provide detailed answers.”
Evelyn huffed, a small growl coming from her throat, and she marched off.
…
“Thank the good Lord, the kitchens weren’t harmed,” Evelyn said to Molly as they pulled the apple tarts from the brick oven. Clean and fairly stocked, the two kitchens sat behind the keep, inside the surrounding wall, but apart, ironically to protect the castle from fires.
Molly inhaled over the fragrant pastries. “I’d stab someone in his eye to get one of these tarts.”
Evelyn wiped her hands. “Sweets can soften the hardest hearts.” She was certainly not above bribing the people of Killin to talk to her. She also needed to find a butcher for fresh meat, a gardener to salvage their herbs and start the vegetable garden, and above all, Evelyn needed to invite the ladies to attend the school. Three months, Evie. That’s all I can give you. Evelyn frowned over Nathaniel’s words as she walked back to the great hall.
Scrubbed, the stone floor still showed dark staining from the fire, especially along the edges where the burning tapestries had fallen. But the entire room looked much better after the massive cleaning she, Molly, and Scarlet had accomplished yesterday.
Scarlet stood before the long table, looking over the shards of pottery they’d collected from the floor. The waste of it all lay heavily about Evelyn’s shoulders.
“They must have been lovely,” Scarlet said.
Evelyn lifted a piece of china to see the delicate lace painted on the edge. “Yes.” She sighed. “Scar,” Evelyn whispered, glancing around the empty room. “You don’t think that…well, that Captain Cross ordered Grey’s family burned to death in their castle because I told Nathaniel and the solicitor to smoke the Scottish vermin out, do you?”
“You didn’t know the captain was referring to people,” Scarlet said.
“The solicitor never said anything about people,” Evelyn said, her voice wavering. “I would never—”
“Of course you wouldn’t,” Scarlet said, squeezing her arm.
Evelyn picked at a thread along her cuff. “I don’t think these people would have such faith in my intentions.”
“Well, they needn’t hear about it,” Scarlet said.
“I mentioned it in the carriage,” Evelyn said, her heart sinking. “Should I say something to Molly? And Nathaniel when he comes?”
“I would put it behind you. Molly knows you wouldn’t say that about people, only rats.”
Evelyn nodded. Best to just let her remarks go. If only they’d stop troubling her conscience. She should have asked the background of the forfeiture and the family. But she’d been so busy with her own plans. She pinched her lips together. “I…I suppose.” She dusted her hands and looked toward the turning staircase that led up one of the connected towers. “I’m going above to inspect the rooms.”
Scarlet held up a bright red shard. “Such radiant color.”
“You are the artistic sister,” Evelyn said. “I’m sure you can come up with something beautiful to do with them.” She stared at her for a moment.
“What?” Scarlet asked without looking away from the colorful pieces.
“Scar,” she said, lowering her voice. “If you could just tell me some of what happened at Whitehall—”
“Don’t press me, Evie.”
“I would never judge you,” Evelyn said, laying her hand on Scarlet’s and squeezing. “But healing—”
Scarlet pulled her hand out and laid it on top of Evelyn’s. “Will happen in time.” She met her gaze. “Just give me time.”
Evelyn inhaled and exhaled a long breath and gave her a small nod. “All the time you need.”
Evelyn hiked up to the next level of the castle. Grey had left the castle early, going about his duties as Highland chief, she supposed, and Alana had taken the pack of tumbling puppies out to the bailey. Evelyn moved down the dark corridor to Grey’s bedroom. Turning the ancient iron knob, she pushed the door inward and peeked around the heavy door.
“God’s teeth.” The bed was large, at least thrice the size of her bed abovestairs. “It is scandalously large,” she whispered. Drapes in heavy, dark blue material, hung around the four posters of sculpted wood. She stepped inside, glancing about, and gasped. Bookcases flanked a large hearth. The shelves ran floor to ceiling and were filled with thin and thick bindings. No wonder Grey knew Descartes. The Campbells collected books.
Walking straight to them, Evelyn ran her fingertip along the leather spines of classics in both English and French. Her lips relaxed into a smile. It was like meeting old friends. She inhaled, relishing the smell of the worked leather, parchment, the inks of the books, and the wood polish on the shelves.
Propping her hands on her hips, she turned in a tight circle. “This is already a library,” she whispered, and frowned at the monstrosity taking up the other half of the room. “We but need to remove the scoundrel’s bed.”
…
Grey rode his gray stallion into town, having visited his grandmother at dawn. She still wouldn’t return to Finlarig, choosing to stay hidden away in her cottage in the woods. At least her cottage was near Cat’s, and Gram said the woman checked in on her often. Once the hound’s whelps were weaned, he’d bring one out to grow into a loyal watchdog. An adult wolfhound could fend off any predator, the kind with four legs and the dastardly ones on two.
As he dismounted at the smithy, Ceò’s mate, Rìgh, a massive hound that Craig kept, rose from his spot in between the kiln fires. He gave one deep, grumbling bark to announce Grey’s arrival, and Craig came from around the back, his jaw working. He raised his hand in greeting and swallowed whatever he’d been chewing, leaving crumbs and honey in his bushy beard.
“Lo there, Grey,” Craig called.
Grey nodded to Craig’s apprentice, Eagan. “Keeping busy?”
“Aye,” Craig said, tipping his head toward a covered pile. “More swords than arms to hold them.”
Grey lifted the edge of the blanket. The polished steel of nearly two score swords lay stacked and waiting.
“I’m working on iron shot now,” Craig said. “Even a lass could fire a musket if taught.” That was true, but muskets were difficult to come by unless one was an English soldier. Firearms had allowed the English farther into a land where warriors still fought by the strength of their muscle.
Grey looked out to catch the little girl, Izzy, sliding from a copse of trees to hide behind a cottage. When her father had been killed a couple years ago, her mother and older sister had moved themselves into the forest. But then when Izzy’s mother succumbed to grief and illness last year, Izzy had refused to stay with her sister and moved back to the village on her own. Without an adult to look after the lass, she’d taken up hiding. Grey made sure food was left for her, but he hadn’t been able to get close to her.
Izzy must have felt his gaze and turned to look at him from her crouched position by a cottage. She held up a dirty finger to her lips as if to keep him quiet, and then pointed across the road ahead.
Evelyn Worthington stood with two of his young warriors, and Grey’s stomach hardened. She looked fresh, with a clean apron, her hair mostly down, the curls over one shoulder. The men smiled as Evelyn handed them pastries from a basket. Since the English had attacked Finlarig, nearly two weeks ago, Grey hadn’t held his daily training sessions with his men. Instead of sword practice, they’d become idle and were eating sweets.
“Were ye needing something?” Craig asked, stepping up to look out. He coughed when he caught sight of the warriors eating and talking to Evelyn.
“Evelyn Worthington brought ye a tart,” Grey said.
Craig huffed. “’Tis too much for a simple man to resist. Said she baked them herself and plans to make more for those who help her.”
“What did she want ye to do?” Grey continued to watch her smile, her long eyelashes lowering coyly. Were his men so undisciplined and beguiled that she could turn them to her side with sweets and smiles? Both young warriors nodded as if answering his question. Grey cursed.
“She came to ask for the gate of Finlarig to be fixed, and she needs a farrier for her horses. Eagan agreed to see to the horses.” He scratched his head, making his hair stick out straight in spots. “Horses can’t help being English.”
Grey glanced at Eagan. The lad was wiping a dirty hand over his honey-sticky beard. “And ye agreed to fix the gate?” Grey asked.
“I said I’d think about it,” Craig grumbled, wiping a hand down his own beard. He frowned and looked at his hand, which was no doubt streaked with honey. “I figure ye’d want the gate fixed anyway, and she’s willing to pay to see it done.”
Grey nodded slowly as he watched Evelyn wave to the two men and continue on her way. Izzy followed, staying to the back of the next cottage. “Aye,” Grey said. “But I want a full portcullis with thick iron bars dropping down from a watchtower above.”
“Well now,” Craig said, nodding. “That will better hold the English off.”
“And have the Sassenach pay for it,” Grey said.
“She says she’s sending a writ of recompense to Captain Cross,” Craig said, spitting on the dirt as if the name tasted bitter. “To get him to pay for destroying Finlarig on his orders.” He scratched his gray head. “The Sassenach has a stubborn nature, and bloody hell, she’s a fine baker.”
Grey left his horse hitched at the smithy and walked through the narrow street. Izzy, her ragged clothes tied in odd knots around her, held one dirty finger to her lips as he passed. Experience warned him that if he tried to catch the girl, she’d run off and hide for days.
Just past Kirstin’s yard, Evelyn had found a seat on one of the boulders that marked the end of the village and the beginning of the path that led through the bramble to Finlarig. As if she hadn’t a care in the world or a thing to do, she leaned back on her flattened palms and tipped her face to the sun.
He stopped before her. “I thought all English ladies hid their skin from the sun.” She must have seen him walking up, for she didn’t even open her eyes. He watched a contented smile soften her mouth, and then those lush lips opened.
“Enjoying the warmth on this lovely spring morning, and I have no current balls to attend and no one to fret over my freckles. It’s quite freeing, and the sun feels wonderful.”
His arms crossed over his chest. “Ye shouldn’t be here alone in town. Lieutenant Burdock may return, and a simple twist and jerk of your hand isn’t going to stop him for long.”
Her smile faltered, and she leveled her face, opening her eyes. “I brought James. He is still haggling with the butcher at the other end of town.”
“The butcher? Thomas hates the English. I’m surprised he even let ye in his shop.”
Her gaze met his. “Two tarts, still warm, offered just before the midday meal with a promise for more…” She shrugged. “He let me in and stopped just short of offering me tea.”
Grey couldn’t hold back a small grin as he grunted a laugh. “The man’s grown soft.” He glanced in her basket. “Ye’ve given them all out but one.”
“I’m saving it for someone,” she said.
For him? He frowned over the small hope, not for the sweet, but for something much more dangerous. An enemy sporting misty green eyes, a lush mouth, and womanly curves to make a holy man grow hard beneath his robes.
“I do not desire a tart,” he said, his voice gruff. He moved closer, leaning against the trunk of a sturdy old oak.
“It’s not for you,” she returned, standing. She stretched and twisted at the waist, then picked up her basket and set the tart on the boulder. “It’s for Isabel, who’s been following me since before the smithy.” Evelyn glanced toward the corner of Kirstin’s house but then looked down to straighten her skirts. “I’m headed back,” she called loudly.
“I’ll escort ye,” he said. He’d return for his horse later, for there was no guarantee that Burdock wasn’t lurking in the woods along the way. He was a slippery, deceitful bastard who carried out Captain Cross’s orders with devilish glee.
“I’ll leave this honey tart here in case my friend, Isabel, would like it. If she comes to the Highland Roses School as a student, she can have sweets every day.”
Evelyn walked down the grassy path, and Grey fell in line with her. “Ye’re offering baked bribes?”
Evelyn plucked a blue wildflower. “So far, my tarts have won me a goose, shoes for my horses, a new gate for Finlarig, a smile from Kirstin, and two young men who may help me unload my books and shelves when they arrive.” She smiled innocently up at him. “Sweets seem to be more valuable than coins.”
“If ye can’t keep up your promise to bake, you’ll likely have a mutiny,” he said and watched her snap off several more stems to make a bouquet. Blueish-purple blaeberries sat in clumps on low bushes. He plucked off a few, tossing them into his mouth. They were a little unripe, but the tang couldn’t hide the flavor he remembered from his childhood.
“I brought plenty of milled flour, with more coming,” she said. “But eventually the pastries will just be for celebrations and, of course, for my students.” She nodded, as if she’d planned it all out.
“How about your teachers?” he asked and tossed another few berries into his mouth.
She stopped, turning wide eyes up to him. He could see the faint brown dots of several freckles on her nose. Even though ladies seemed to despise them, he found them fresh. “You are willing to teach, then?” she asked. “Ladies? On how to defend ourselves?”
The gaze between them was strong, like a woven rope that he’d trust to withstand the weight of a millstone. She was asking for his promise, not a casual suggestion. Aiden’s words came back. Let her stay. Seem as if you’re helping her. She will fail and leave on her own. Then he could have Finlarig back without risking the village as well.
“Aye,” he said. “I will teach at Finlarig.”
Her eyes widened with happiness. Did the lass know she betrayed her feelings and thoughts with her features? “Your stipend?” she asked.
A kiss. The thought surfaced like a sudden rolling boil in a pot over flames. He smothered it quickly with the image of Craig’s hairy arse that he’d showed everyone the last Beltane Celebration after he’d drunk half a barrel of whisky. White, sagging, and hairy. The image did the job.
When he didn’t answer, Evelyn turned back to the path. “For free then. How kind of you.”
“Nothing in this world is free, lass,” he said, his voice hushed as if he shared a dark secret.
“Do not play with me, Chief Campbell. If you are willing to teach, what is your price?”
A kiss. A castle. Scotland’s freedom from English dogs. There were many things that he could demand, all of them absurd. Perhaps it was the rumble in his stomach or because he wanted to see her smile again that gave him an answer. “How are you at baking blaeberry tarts?”
She walked on in silence for several moments. “Very well,” she said, glancing at him. “I will pen a contract trading your teaching skills for tarts, though I have no idea what a blaeberry is.”
“They are referred to as bilberry in England,” he said, his voice dropping as he frowned. For his gaze had fallen to the path, where fresh horse tracks marked the mossy soil. “Damn,” he whispered, his fists clenching. “We have visitors.”