The Savage Highlander

by Heather McCollum

  “I think he does,” Aiden said. He paused to brush a kiss over her lips and backed up. “Before a fortnight,” he said. “Harry Covington will ask ye to return to England.”

  She shook her head again. “No, and even so, I will never return.”

  “Are ye so sure?” he asked, backing up farther, giving her room to escape the corner. “Ye are a lady, born and bred to drink tea and dance the minuet.”

  Anger ignited in Scarlet, pushing back the shame and worry. “Just because I enjoy tea and dancing doesn’t mean I don’t love the wildness of Scotland.”

  He nodded. “But, Scarlet, will the wildness of Scotland be enough for ye?”

  She would swear to it right there, but she knew that a quick assurance wouldn’t sway him. Nothing as easy as words would impact the opinions of a man who apparently disliked Englishwomen. For some reason, he thought she would leave easily. The small shoot of hope that he would be upset by her leaving gave her strength.

  Scarlet pushed past him to climb the stairs. “I need to help Molly freshen the rooms.”

  “I will find a room to move my things. I didn’t bring much,” he said.

  Scarlet made a low growling noise of annoyance. “Good bloody hell, Aiden.” She glanced over her shoulder at him. “Put them in my room.” The thought that he’d abandon her so easily cut her hope at the root, shaking her to the core.

  Which begged the question, what did she want from Aiden Campbell? More nights of exquisite, naked pleasure? A thousand times yes. A man who could care for her enough to want her for more than carnal pleasure? For her mind and determination? For her bravery and fierce independence? Yes. Yes, she wanted that, too. The realization made her even more vulnerable than when Harry had pressed her up against the wall outside the king’s salon the night she’d fled London.

  She swallowed, climbing the stairs, her breath loud in her ears as she listened to Aiden’s footfalls behind her. The darkness and the narrow stone passage around her made her suck in more air, bringing dizziness. If she swooned, would Aiden break her fall? Humiliation hunted her like hounds after a fox. She inhaled, counted to four, and exhaled just as much.

  Making it to the third floor, she swung out to walk along the corridor. “Scarlet,” Aiden said, making her pause. She felt him come up behind her, his large frame warm against her back. She wanted nothing other than to curl into him, breathe him in, and feel his strength around her. But right now, with the ghosts of her past just downstairs, specters that could order Aiden’s death without question, she couldn’t just hide away and let him protect her.

  “Yes?” she whispered without turning toward him.

  “Are ye certain, about the room? I could—”

  “Aiden,” she said, turning so that they stood together on the shallow landing. “Right now, you sharing my bed is about the only thing of which I am certain. Don’t abandon me.”

  “Mo chreach,” he cursed low, catching her chin with his fingers to stare into her eyes. “I will never abandon ye.” He brushed a kiss over her lips and turned to disappear back into the stairs to continue his climb to the fourth floor.

  Scarlet released a breath that shook more than she wanted to admit. What was she doing? The king was downstairs, but he’d brought his queen and his mistress. What use would he have for her? She closed her eyes. Unless Harry had reminded Charles of his obsession with her before. Lord, help me.

  Throwing herself into action, Scarlet whisked through the rooms behind Molly, helping her wrap clean sheets over the ticks that they’d filled that fall with fresh hay. Luckily, with Evelyn’s optimistic plans, the rooms were spotless, awaiting future students.

  Blast, where was her sister? The king had probably left before Nathaniel had arrived in London. Perhaps they returned to Hollings in Lincolnshire when they realized the king wasn’t at Whitehall. Evelyn had planned to be at Finlarig for Christmas. Had a blizzard delayed them?

  Evelyn was the strategist, always laying plans to get them out of trouble. When Scarlet had gone to her that awful night almost a year ago, Evelyn had set their escape in motion. “Hell,” Scarlet whispered as she set dried peat in one of the grates. She needed her sister.

  “Aye,” Molly said behind her. “We certainly be in Hell, milady.”

  Scarlet stood, and even though she was living her version of fire and brimstone with Harry Covington and the king under the same roof with her, she certainly didn’t need the others frightened. “You have nothing to fear, Molly,” she said, helping the woman spread a heavy quilt over the sheets. “Apart from the flurry of work to do when royalty visits, they are like the titled aristocrats who used to visit Hollings Estate when father was alive.”

  “I had no love for any of them or their servants,” she said, sniffing. “They’d rather sacrifice a friend with a well-placed lie than own up to any fault of their own. Vicious trolls, the lot of them.”

  “If anyone gives you trouble, let me know immediately,” Scarlet said. “Starting with their cook, Titus, who’s likely already taken over your kitchen.”

  Molly’s eyes went wide. “He’ll upset my stew for this eve,” she said, already deciding the man was a fiend. Her gaze jumped to the open door.

  “Go on,” Scarlet said, shooing her. “I will finish the last two rooms.”

  “Thank you, milady.” Molly gathered her skirts and ran off.

  “Try not to skewer anyone,” Scarlet called after her when she saw that her hair was held up tight with one of the hair sticks.

  “Skewer anyone?” The deep voice sliced through Scarlet, sending her heart racing even faster. She turned to see Harry Covington in the doorway, tall, fair, and as handsome as he’d always been. Without the court wig and pomp, he looked more rugged and kind, but she knew his true nature. The room suddenly felt like a cell.

  Without missing another beat, she fluffed one of the pillows for the bed. “We train our ladies to protect themselves by any means possible,” she said, her voice flat and firm. She gave the pillow a hard punch. “There are villains everywhere.”

  He entered the room, and she turned toward him. She would never let him at her back. She frowned, her eyes watching closely for any sign of attack. Let him know that she saw him for what he was.

  “I see you are furious with me, Scar,” he said, his voice low. “Am I one of your villains?” She didn’t give the obvious answer.

  “You never let me explain before you fled Whitehall and then Hollings,” he said. “I did follow you there, but your brother said you’d gone to Plymouth.”

  “Explain what?” She clutched the pillow close to her chest. She could use it to throw at his face if needed, catch him off guard.

  He opened his hands, palms up, in an act of pleading. “That I was acting under direct orders from the king. That no matter how I loved you, I was forbidden to take what you offered me.”

  What she offered him? Shame prickled over her skin as she remembered sneaking out of her room. To seduce the handsome rogue and make him marry her. It had begun like a game until her young heart fell for his ruse.

  “I was foolish and believed your talk of a home away from court, about children you wanted with me. You led me to believe you would ask for my hand, that you truly loved me,” she said.

  “I do love you, Scar.”

  Anger ignited within her, mixing with her own shame. “Don’t lie to me,” she said through gritted teeth. “You would give me to another man without so much as frowning over it.”

  “Not just another man. The king,” he said. “’Twas not something I could refute or discourage.”

  “Your political stance was worth more than me,” she said. She threw the pillow on the bed. “Excuse me,” she said, traipsing forward to leave the room. He caught her wrist, his grip tight. At a time, the manacle would have sent her into a panic. Now her unease changed to anger.

  With a twist and a jerk, she was free. “Do not touch me again,” she said, her words low and fierce.

  She stomped out into the
corridor, her heart pounding so that she needed to take fast breaths. She refused to run but kept her senses alert.

  “I’ve come for you, Scarlet,” he called after her as she walked to the stairs. “Why else would I convince the king to travel way up here for Christmas?”

  She ignored him, taking the steps down. Aiden was right. But she would not leave Scotland, not for the king or comfort, and certainly not for Harry Covington.

  …

  “I want eight Campbells sleeping within Finlarig’s walls each night, one for each English soldier the king brought. Send someone to Donald at Balloch Castle to tell him of the visit and retrieve any muskets he can spare. Craig can store them so it doesn’t look like I’m arming Finlarig.” Aiden’s gaze scanned the dark bailey. Everyone was settled in for the night, the king and queen having taken Grey’s bedchamber after an extravagant dinner that their cook constructed.

  “Ye expect trouble then,” Kerrick said, following his gaze.

  The bloody king of England was there. Even though they said they were hiding away for Christmastide, Aiden was certain that Covington had at least one ulterior motive for visiting. Scarlet.

  “There will be trouble,” Aiden said. “But if muskets are required, the Campbells will be labeled as traitors to the crown. So, keep them hidden. ’Tis a precaution.”

  “That short-haired prig, Lord Covington, kept staring at Scarlet,” Kerrick said low, his voice rough. “I don’t like him.”

  Aiden hated him. Even if Scarlet didn’t believe it, she would see soon enough that the Covington cock would try to convince her to leave Finlarig. And despite her confessing her part, the man had hurt her in some way, and it was only the cost of his retaliation for all the Campbells that kept Aiden from dragging the man out of the castle. “Set a man to follow him about discreetly. I want to know where he goes, who he talks to, and especially if he goes near Scarlet,” Aiden said. He looked at his friend. “What did ye find out about Jacqueline Beckett?”

  “She seems sweet, had been invited to the court right before the queen asked her to accompany them to Scotland. She’s only just turned seventeen years old.”

  “Her parents?”

  “Are dead, she says.”

  “Her mother? Did she say what happened to her mother?”

  “Died soon after she was born. Her grandmother raised her on their estate. Seems Harry Covington contacted her grandmother, asking her to bring her to court.”

  The timing of Covington’s invitation to Jacqueline would be just before they left for Finlarig, after Grey’s letter had arrived heralding their upcoming visit.

  Aiden grabbed the back of his neck where knots threatened. Bloody hell, Jacqueline Beckett’s grandmother must be senile to let her granddaughter go to Scotland with the king and queen and the bastard, Covington. Riding for two weeks with aristocratic vipers… It was a wonder the girl wasn’t poisoned.

  “Tomorrow, find out the date of her birth,” Aiden said.

  Kerrick nodded. “Any chance ye’ll tell me why ye want to know so much about her, especially after ye kissed Scarlet in front of everyone.” His tone bordered between jealousy and anger.

  Aiden turned on his heel to walk toward the keep.

  “Thought not,” Kerrick called after him and turned to his task of relieving Hamish in the gate tower.

  Aiden strode through the great hall. It was empty, and the fire was low in the grate. He climbed the steps, slowly, listening for footfalls or movement in the castle. On the third floor, he heard muted snoring coming low from one door, and he continued up to the fourth.

  Scarlet had said he could share her room, but he wanted to give her every chance to change her mind. A lot had happened since he’d left her in bed this morning, warm, sleepy, and undone with complete satisfaction.

  With the king’s arrival, they had been forced to spend the evening and night dining and sitting in uncomfortable extravagance. Candles lit to excess, and the fire banked until Aiden was so warm that he had to step outside several times. There’d been tittering and boisterous laughter, and the king had brought a minstrel who played the fiddle. Thankfully, they all decided that they needed a night of good sleep before dancing.

  They’d dressed in silks and wigs for the dinner, making the Scots attendees look rough and poor in comparison. Not that he cared what these English prigs thought of him, but he wouldn’t have Rebecca feel inferior to the painted, bejeweled elitists. He’d overheard the students talking about embellishing their best gowns for the Christmas dance that the king had announced they would have in three days’ time. Meanwhile, the great hall would start sprouting tufts of holly and mistletoe that the ladies planned to gather tomorrow.

  He walked silently along the corridor, extinguishing the candles but for the one outside Grey’s room. All seemed silent, and he tread back to Scarlet’s door. Was she already asleep? Perhaps he should sleep in the gate tower or in a room on the third floor. He braced his hands on either side of her door and bowed his head. Should he knock, or should he retreat?

  Raising his knuckle, he tapped softly. Tap, tap, tap.

  “Who is it?” Scarlet’s voice came immediately, as if she’d been waiting.

  “Aiden Campbell.”

  He heard the heavy board used to lock the door scrape along and thud softly on the floor. The door swung inward, and his breath caught.

  Scarlet stood in her smock, the lace-edged neckline low to show her creamy skin. Hair unbound, it lay about her shoulders like a silk mantle. The fire glowed behind her, outlining her in gold. Without a word, she stepped forward into his chest, burying her face there. His arms came up to hold her against him, and he felt her fingers curl into his shirt.

  “I thought…” Her voice seemed small, muffled against him. “You might not come.”

  Aiden’s heart tightened, and he inhaled fully, smelling the light floral scent from her hair. He stroked one hand down her unbound curls and pulled her tighter against him. She wanted him there. It was true that he hadn’t spoken to her during the dinner but sat taking in every detail he could about the threats within his walls. Could she think he didn’t want to hold her?

  “I am here if ye want me here,” he whispered.

  In answer, she tilted her face up, her eyes connecting with his as she pulled him inside the room and shut the door. When she moved to take up the board, he raised it out of her hands, lowering it across the door, locking the world out. He turned and stopped, watching her stand with her back to the fire. The glow illuminated the lush slopes of her body through the thin linen. He’d never seen anything so beautiful in his life.

  As if words would break the peaceful spell that engulfed them, they came together in silence, each of them capturing each other’s face in their palms. Lips melted against lips, opening and inviting as if a desperation twisted around them. Hands and arms stroked, giving pleasure and taking pleasure, Aiden guiding them to the luxurious bed. Gentle tugging became frantic as Scarlet loosened his kilt, dropping it to the floor, and her smock floated down as he slid it from her shoulders and over her round breasts.

  Scarlet clung to him, and Aiden kept her close, loving her with hands and kisses until both of their bodies begged to become one. The fire crackled in the grate as they breathed and sighed and moaned low together, the sounds of skin sliding against skin and sheets finding a rhythm to rival the grandest melody.

  The tight coil inside Aiden built higher as he moved within her. Scarlet writhed beneath him, and he looked down to see her hair curled like dark ribbons about the pillows, lips parted, and her beautiful eyes wide open. He kissed her, rocking them faster, as he stroked a hand down to their joining. She moaned, her eyes fluttering, though she kept her gaze connected to his.

  “Aiden,” she whispered, and he felt her body begin to convulse, pulling him over the edge.

  He growled as the pleasure took him, sweeping through him as he pumped into Scarlet. “Tha thu m’anam,” he said, his words coming like a vow. You are mine. You ar
e mine, Scarlet Worthington. The oath echoed through his mind with his surging fire. Even if he didn’t speak them in English, he was claiming her with his body.

  She opened her eyes to stare again into his as the passion rolled through her. Did she know enough of his language to understand? Or was his inflection enough?

  Aiden held her to him, kissing her and stroking her face. She met his gaze as he rolled them to one side. The firelight played across her features, and as her brows lowered into a tiny pinch, he felt his stomach tighten.

  “I am yours?” she whispered.

  Bloody hell.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Scarlet knew enough Gaelic after living amongst Highlanders for nearly eight months to understand his words. These were the same words that her sister’s lover and then husband had said to her. You are mine. It was even an oath spoken in wedding ceremonies.

  She pushed up on one elbow, the cool air in the room a balm against the fever they’d just shared. “I am yours? What does that mean?” she asked, making sure to keep her voice neutral. Neutral because she didn’t know how she felt about the words. A sense of excitement washed over the initial desire to yell that she didn’t belong to anyone.

  Aiden’s gaze slid to the ceiling as he rolled onto his back, the sheet draped only partly across his toned body. “I would have ye be mine, Scarlet,” he said finally. “And no one else’s.”

  “Your what, exactly?” He didn’t answer. She lay down on her back, glancing up at the ceiling. Did he want her for a mistress? The thought pinched through her. Wasn’t that what she already was?

  “’Twas just something one says during pleasure,” she murmured, deciding that perhaps it was better not to hear his answer.

  “Och, Scarlet,” Aiden said and turned on his side, his large hand cupping behind her head to roll her to face him. She watched the shadows play across his high cheekbones and rugged jaw, his nose sloping down with the smallest of bumps where she may have broken it. His thumb traced her cheek.