The Savage Highlander

by Heather McCollum

  “Your majesty is a very capable dancer,” Aiden said.

  “Capable?” the king said, laughing. “No flowery compliments to be had in the Highlands, where rugged men make their ladies swoon with words like capable and bonny.”

  “Pardon me,” Aiden said low, turning to walk away before he said something even more offensive. He didn’t wait for permission but left to stride across to where the Menzies ate, father and son talking together. Scarlet stood with Jacqueline near the alcove to the stairs, the pair still speaking, leaning into one another as if they shared secrets.

  Secrets. They were everywhere. Scarlet knew his, but hers were still locked behind her bruised heart. He glanced at Covington as he heard him laugh several steps away with one of the British soldiers. That man had secrets; Aiden could practically smell them on him. His questions about Finlay. His decision to bring Jacqueline up to bribe Aiden, as the temporary Campbell chief, to let him drag Scarlet back to England. Was there more than lust or love behind his desire for her?

  Battle energy flowed through Aiden, his hands fisting and releasing by his sides. “Ballocks, Campbell,” Edgar Menzies said. “Ye look like ye want to rip into someone’s throat.”

  “Maybe the Covington arse?” Calum said, his voice low as he took a drink of the ale that was flowing freely. The new chief was perceptive.

  “I thought it was from him having to wear those tight trousers,” Edgar said, looking over Aiden’s costume, which just added to the heat inside him.

  “Aye, why are ye wearing them?” Calum asked, crossing his arms over his chest. “Ye look very close to an English peacock in that silk.”

  Across the room, Aiden watched the queen and king stand. Queen Catherine beckoned to Louise where she stood with Jacqueline and Scarlet, and the three walked toward her.

  Covington stepped up next to Aiden as if nothing but a simple festival were occurring. “The Scots surely know how to distill a smooth whisky,” he said, pouring more into a small, broad-lipped cup. “Doesn’t the word for whisky in your tongue, Campbell, mean water of life?”

  Aiden cut a hard gaze to the man who talked to him as if they were friends. He’d frightened Scarlet, snubbed her in front of her peers, found Aiden’s sister to entice the king, and was attempting to force Scarlet to return to the English court. Harry Covington was an enemy deadlier than anyone he’d met on a muddy, blood-soaked battlefield.

  “If ye don’t leave both my sister and Scarlet Worthington here in Scotland, the only thing on your tongue will be the blackness of death,” he said.

  Covington said nothing but took another sip, his gaze shifting to the middle of the hall where the king and queen stood, waiting for people to fall silent. Without any request at all, the room hushed, and the king smiled broadly, opening his arms wide.

  “A joyous Christmastide to you all,” Charles announced. “And gratitude to the people of Breadalbane for joining us here at Finlarig Castle for this merriment.” Applause rose and then quieted as the king opened his mouth again.

  Charles threw an arm out wide to Jacqueline. “May I introduce a Christmas gift to the Campbells.” He paused, a broad smile on his face. “We return Lady Jacqueline Beckett Campbell, Viscountess of Nottingham, to her Scottish family by blood, a full sister to your very own Aiden Campbell.” Aiden’s gaze flew across to Rebecca, who plopped down on the seat behind her. Alana took her hand, patting it, but her mouth was also slack.

  “Lady Beckett will become an instructor at this wonderful Highland Roses School, replacing Lady Scarlet Worthington,” Charles announced. Aiden’s sight blurred with rage as he watched Scarlet’s face remain impassive. Nay.

  “She has left the comfort of her English home long enough and will journey back with us after Twelfth Night.”

  Bloody hell! Had she agreed to this? Aiden stared across at her but couldn’t tell what expression played on her face. With all eyes on her, she gave a small curtsey to the king and queen, but she didn’t look about. Had Covington and the queen and Louise finally convinced her that she was better off at court?

  Covington raised his whisky cup. “Huzzah!” He took a sip as others joined him then set it down. His words came succinct and low. “See there, Campbell? Nothing in your bloody country is good enough to entice an English lady to stay for long. Not a man in a skirt or a lad who begged for but failed to keep a mother’s love.”

  Aiden turned on his heel, his fist pulled back before conscious thought could slow him down. Crack! The pain in Aiden’s knuckles as they smashed into Covington’s aristocratic nose was the best thing he’d felt all evening. Before he lost all control and sliced the bastard through his gut, Aiden strode out into the brisk winter night.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Scarlet paced in her dark bedroom. As she’d done for the last hour or so, she stopped to lean her ear against the door, but only silence filled the fourth floor. She tapped her fingers on the heavy wooden bar. Where was Aiden?

  After he’d broken Harry’s nose, leaving him bleeding and demanding the king arrest Aiden, she’d asked Kerrick to hunt him down while she put out the flames of retribution. Luckily, all her training from her manipulative mother and abusive father had given her the talents to keep Aiden’s neck from the bloody block.

  Harry had called for immediate execution since Aiden attacked the king’s advisor, which, he argued, was the same as attacking the king himself. Scarlet quietly reminded Harry, before the king, that he did not have royal blood, and to think so made him a rival for the throne and therefore a traitor against King Charles. Then Cat told Harry to stop squealing like a stuck pig so she could set his nose correctly.

  Scarlet had spent the next hour assuring the king and queen that Aiden Campbell was a loyal subject, and that he was likely jealous of Harry’s courtly manner and easily angered by the man’s slicing comments. “It’s a cultural difference,” she’d explained. “The Scots would rather battle with swords than words. Sir Campbell was at a disadvantage and only sought to battle the way he always has.”

  Scarlet filled her cheeks and blew out an exhale in a huff, rubbing at her head, which still ached from the lengthy game. For that’s what battles at court were, games of favor and pride, but with deadly outcomes for the loser. How could she even contemplate returning to it? Was she actually considering the king’s order? Her father would argue that there was no denying the king once an order left his lips in public. But Father lay silent in his grave, and Scarlet had devoured her taste of freedom here at Finlarig.

  She leaned her forehead on the door. “Think, think,” she whispered. There was a way out. She just had to find it without sacrificing Aiden’s new sister. After all, she hadn’t made any promises, so there was room to resist.

  “Bastard.” She cursed low, thinking of Harry. He was using Jacey just like he used other women to get what he wanted, whether it was a place beside the king or the woman he lusted after.

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  Jumping back, Scarlet clutched her hands before her chest. Had her thoughts beckoned him? Would he say that the king demanded her presence? “Yes?” she asked softly.

  “It’s me, Kerrick.”

  Fear for herself twisted into worry for Aiden, and she leaned into the door, her lips moving an inch from the oak. “Did you find him?”

  “Nay,” Kerrick answered.

  “Have you checked the dungeons?” she asked, her palms against the door.

  “Aye. He’s not there. I checked the town, too, and he’s not at Rebecca’s. His horse is gone. He likely rode to his cabin for the night so as not to start a war with England. I’m fairly certain Grey wouldn’t want him to start a war when he is trying to get the crown to lift the label of traitor from the Campbell clan.”

  Lord help her, Scarlet didn’t want to become a Helen of Troy, dragging the Campbells into a war because of her. But she also couldn’t imagine leaving Scotland to return to the hell she’d lived at court. “Thank you,” she murmured. “And Kerrick…”

 
“Aye?”

  “Walk by all the Roses’ rooms and the one assigned to Jacqueline Beckett. Make sure they seem to be sleeping safely.” She’d warned her students to bar their doors but worried that they could be tricked like she had been.

  “I already did while hunting Aiden. All is quiet. Sleep now,” Kerrick said. “Things will be better come morning.”

  Morning had never been Scarlet’s friend. At court, mornings were full of ladies weeping or puking or worrying about things they’d done or endured the night before. The king was usually ornery before noon, and the queen was melancholy over whatever her spies told her of her husband’s merrymaking.

  “Sleep well, Kerrick,” she said and heard him step quietly down the hall. She turned to lean against the door, watching the small flames in the hearth. She imagined Aiden doing the same in his cabin along Loch Tay. With a whispered curse, she pushed away from the door to wrap an arm around one of the bed’s four posters. She ran her fingers down the beautifully carved ribbons of vines and flowers, all the way down to the heart that Aiden had said he’d added to the piece.

  “This was for your mother,” she whispered. Aiden’s father, Rebecca, and young Aiden had given their hearts to the woman, and still she left them behind. Tears burned in Scarlet’s eyes. No wonder Aiden despised Englishwomen. The one he’d known, the one he’d loved as a son loves his mother, had turned away, abandoning him. She exhaled. Had Harry convinced him that Scarlet would do the same?

  If ye didn’t have fear driving ye from England, Scarlet. Would ye choose to stay here rather than anywhere else in the world? Just think about it, think all around it, inside and outside of it, until ye are completely sure.

  His request came back to her, and she could see his earnest face before hers as they lay on the grand bed. He wouldn’t let her answer then, placing a finger against her lips. His mother would have vowed to stay when she wed his father, and then years later, she’d left. Had Aiden not wanted to hear Scarlet’s assurances because he thought they would one day be broken?

  She dropped her face into her one hand as she leaned into the wood post. Breathing in slow, even breaths, she raised her face. “I need to see you,” she whispered. As the plan solidified in her chest, making her heart pump hard, her shoulders relaxed. Gone was the lady who waited for someone to help her, keep her safe, a someone who may or may not ever arrive. Scarlet Worthington was taking her own safety, her own bloody happiness, into her hands. Determination overrode the trembling that suffused her.

  Throwing legs into her warmest wool trousers under her skirt, Scarlet counted the knives to which she had access. She yanked on her heavy cloak and grabbed her gloves. Five knives sat in her pockets, easily accessed. If wolves were prowling tonight, she would be ready, or at least readier than the last time they’d chased her and Caora.

  “Dear Savior, help me find him,” she whispered, her eyes closed. “Amen.” With strength, so as not to make a sound, she lifted the wooden bar, setting it on the floor, and opened the door. The corridor was empty. With luck and God’s help, the great hall would be, too.

  Scarlet exhaled in relief at the bottom of the stairs, and she flew on the toes of her boots across the empty great hall, keeping the heavy heels from cracking on the stone. A waning moon gave some light as she crossed the bailey toward the stables. Damn. She stopped. How would she get Caora out of the gate?

  “Who goes there?” A deep voice echoed down from the guard tower.

  “Shhhh,” she said and ran over to see Hamish lowering himself to the ground.

  “What are ye about, lass?” he asked, looking stern. He crossed his arms. “Running away again, are ye?”

  The words resonated through Scarlet. Running away? She stood tall, firming her jaw, readying for the battle of negotiation that would get her out of the bailey. “No, Hamish, I’m not running away. For the first time in my life, I’m running toward something. Now open that bloody gate.”

  …

  Aiden slid the fine-grit stone along the edge of his sword, the sound of his strokes filling the cabin with a metallic keening. He sat by the hearth, cursing himself. I should have stayed. What happened after he left? Was Scarlet well? Had she barred herself inside her room? He’d ridden from Finlarig initially to prevent himself from changing the Christmastide celebration into a bloody battlefield of slaughter. Covington’s words had sliced through the remaining, already frayed, threads of his discipline. “Fok.”

  The night, every word uttered by the Englishmen, the king, even the queen, had pressed him toward despair that, no matter what, Scarlet would leave. He’d known it from the start. What woman raised in finery would choose to live a homespun beggar’s life?

  Maybe at the start, if she were leaving something terrible behind, she thought she’d stay in Scotland. But if wrongs were righted, if she truly only had suffered a bruising of her heart and embarrassment when Covington didn’t ask her to wed, and she had healed, wouldn’t she return to what she’d always known? Even if she didn’t go back to Covington, wouldn’t she want to return to Lincolnshire? To her brother’s estate where servants brought her rich foods?

  “Foking, bloody hell,” he said, standing, his sword in hand. He needed to go back. By now the town folk would be home in their beds. Even the court, which Scarlet said kept late hours, should be passed out in the fine whisky that had been flowing. He needed to make certain that Scarlet and his sister, Jacqueline, were not being harassed. No matter that he left to prevent more bloodshed and war, staying away was cowardice. If Covington cared for his own life, he better be snoring alone in his own bed.

  Aiden doused the fire, threw on his cloak, and stepped out on his porch. A sliver of moon stood high in the clear black sky, with only a hint of wind. He’d put Eigh in the barn earlier and leaped off the porch to the dirt, heading that way. Most of the snow had melted during the sunny hours, leaving a darker landscape. One hand on his scabbard, he jogged across to the barn, pushing the door open. The smell of sweet hay filled his inhale, and Eigh’s head came up over his stall. The horse snorted as if annoyed that Aiden had woken him.

  “Ye can sleep back at Finlarig.” He fed his horse an apple, patting his neck to wake him up. Aiden grabbed the bridle, shaking it straight. Eigh’s ears twitched, and he raised his head, large eyes on the closed door. Aiden turned, dropping the bridle as he drew his claymore, his ears catching the deep thud of hooves. Had King Charles sent his soldiers after him? He almost smiled at the thought of meeting the challenge and waited.

  One horse? Confused, he stood ready, and the softest of voices came through the door. “In you go, Caora. See, no wolves tonight.” Scarlet? She pushed open the barn door, leading her horse inside.

  “What the bloody hell are ye doing here in the middle of the night?” he asked, his voice booming.

  Scarlet screamed, hand instantly grabbing hold of something he couldn’t see in the dark. It whipped through the air. Thwack. And sunk, point first into the thick wooden brace next to the stall. “Blasted, bloody hell, Aiden!” She stormed forward. “I could have killed you.”

  “What are ye doing out by yourself in the middle of the night?” he asked again. His gaze went from her to her horse. “Unless everyone is drunk on whisky and you figured out how to wind the portcullis, Hamish is going to pay with his head for opening the damn gate for ye.”

  Scarlet stomped toward him, and for a second, he thought she might grab him, but she grabbed her knife instead, yanking it from the wood. “I am coming to find you,” she yelled back.

  “I don’t need finding,” he said and lowered his voice to normal. Why the hell were they yelling? Blast. Because she’d ridden out alone in the night. “There could have been wolves or worse, Englishmen about, maybe Finlay or Burdock. Both are still out there somewhere.” He threw his arm toward the door where her horse stood, watching them.

  “You left. Kerrick couldn’t find you,” she said, stepping in front of him. “You weren’t at Rebecca’s or in the dungeon.”

/>   “Of course I wasn’t in the dungeon. Foking Englishmen wouldn’t have taken me alive.”

  “Dammit, Aiden, I needed you,” she yelled in his face.

  Fury ignited the brittle kindling of worry stacked inside him. “Did that bastard touch ye?” Which bastard, he wasn’t sure and didn’t care. King or Covington, he’d slaughter them if they’d harmed her, and then he’d hate himself forever for leaving.

  “What?” she asked, shaking her head, her hair in disarray from her hood, a glorious tumble of curls about her shoulders. “No.”

  “Then what did ye need me for?” he asked, matching her loud voice and frowning down at her.

  She stepped up close to him, grabbing his shirt in both of her gloved fists. No words. Just raw emotions crossed her features. It was dark, but he saw worry and anger mixed with determination and longing. Standing on tiptoe, she yanked him down. Even in the shadow, her beauty caught his breath as she pressed her lips to his.

  Fear for her, anger at himself, lust for vengeance—all of it welled inside him. A wave of feeling boiling up, and he wrapped his arms around her. Slanting his face, he deepened the kiss immediately, and Scarlet lifted her hands to his head, holding his mouth to hers.

  Wild and fierce, their kiss consumed all of Aiden’s thoughts. Inhaling through his nose, she smelled of warm, soft Scarlet. He groaned low in his throat and lifted her against him, pressing her closer as if there were nothing between them: no anger, no distrust or worry, and absolutely no clothing. He slid his hands down the gentle slope of her spine, over her curvy arse, lifting her against his aching member.

  Scarlet’s fingers scraped along his scalp as she plunged them through his hair, her lips clinging to him. “I… was so worried,” she said, her words coming on little gasps.

  He pulled back, still holding her close. “I am sorry, Scarlet, to go so far. I should have cooled down in town and returned right away.”

  “No,” she shook her head, a dark laugh escaping her. “Harry was calling for your head. ’Tis best that you were nowhere near.”