The Savage Highlander

by Heather McCollum

  “But ye rode out here a—”

  She pressed a finger to his lips, stopping his words. “We’ve already had that argument. I think you should take me inside and make me warm.” Her words ended in a seductive whisper. “Or would you rather I throw more knives at you? Because if you don’t—”

  He cut off her words by lifting under her legs. Scarlet’s arms dropped around his neck as he carried her past her horse.

  “Caora,” she said.

  “Will be safe and warm in here. I’ll see to her later,” he said, pushing them out into the crisp night air. He hugged her close in his arms, the weight of her relaxing his shoulders. Solid, warm, alive, and with him. He kissed her as they walked, his footing slow and secure on his own land. Och, the feel of her funneled down inside his chest, wrapping around as if she were binding him to her. How would he ever survive if she left?

  …

  Scarlet slid her backside up against Aiden where they lay on his large bed, the fire blazing in the hearth across the room. Their breaths had only just slowed, their passions spent for the moment. Her back grazed his chest, and Aiden brought his splayed hand to stroke down her belly, pressing her even closer into the shape of his body.

  “Mmmm…” Scarlet hummed, a satisfied smile on her face.

  He nuzzled her nape, kissing the skin of her bare shoulder. “I couldn’t agree more,” he whispered, his lips near her ear, giving her a tickling chill, which made her nipples harden again.

  They breathed together in the silence of the night, the crackle of the fire the only sound. She tried to close her eyes but knew sleep wouldn’t come with so much unsaid between them. Their passion had burned brighter than ever, but dawn would come soon, and mornings brought stark reality.

  Scarlet inhaled. “Aiden…”

  “Aye, lass?”

  “You need to know, I’m not your mother.” Her words were soft.

  “I should bloody well hope not,” he said.

  She ran her fingernail gently along his arm, little circles in the fine hair there. “I won’t leave you, no matter what the king says.”

  She felt the muscles of his arm tighten. His hand fisted where it rested before her, and she gently pried his fingers apart.

  After a long moment, he shifted to lie on his back, and she rolled to face him. The fire cast gold and shadows over his face as he stared upward. “She thought she wouldn’t leave the Highlands, either,” he said. “I remember her happy with my father, him chasing her through the meadow flowers. ’Tis one of my first memories.”

  Scarlet waited, reaching to pull the quilt over them both. After a while, he opened his lips again, still staring upward. “I think…she may have lost a bairn after Rebecca was born. She cried, and nothing seemed to cheer her. It was a cold winter, the snows never ceasing.” He shrugged slightly in the bed. “She talked all the time of England, her rich, warm estate in Nottingham. We’d heat bricks in the hearth to put in her bed.”

  The detail brought an ache behind Scarlet’s eyes as she envisioned the two children trying to keep their mother happy. Was that why Aiden had brought a heating brick to her bed? She laid her hand on his chest, keeping it still.

  “She would teach us to dance. Someone, maybe her mother, would send her letters from England. Sometimes the dance sheets for the upcoming court season would be enclosed. She’d teach us to read them. We began to call her Lady Beckett in hopes that she’d feel elegant here, but…” His words trailed off.

  Scarlet saw the tension in his jaw and leaned forward. She kissed his chest, laying her cheek there to hear his heart beat beneath.

  “Da even carved her that bed, trying to bring beauty to a world she had grown to despise, the work involved in everyday living here. No servants, no mother of her own, no real friends, as she kept her distance. She dressed us in ridiculous clothes that her mother sent from England, saying she didn’t want us looking like homespun beggars. Rebecca was so young. She loved the dresses, but I hated the trousers and ended up pounding a number of lads for teasing me about them. And then one day…she kissed each of us…and…left in a coach that had come.”

  Scarlet inhaled, blinking back the tears. She swallowed, waiting until she could speak without any weeping emotion in her words. “She missed an amazing life with a loving husband, and two children who adored her.” She propped herself on an elbow, looking down at him.

  Aiden turned his head to meet her gaze. “Three. She was with child when she left. None of us knew. I doubt Da did, or he wouldn’t have let her go. And then she died, and no one bloody told us for years.” He shook his head as if remembering the day they’d learned of it. He must have been on the edge of manhood.

  She touched his bristled cheek. “Aiden, I am not your mother. I have no one in England to entice me back with letters and lace. Even if I did, believe me when I say that nothing in England holds my heart like Finlarig and its people.” She ran a fingertip over his full lower lip. “Like you.”

  “Alyce Beckett felt that way at first, too,” he said.

  “How could you know that?” she asked, shaking her head. “You weren’t born when she arrived in Scotland. Perhaps she was never happy, even at first. And perhaps she would have returned after Jacqueline was born, but she died.” She waited, but he just stared at the ceiling.

  Scarlet planted her fists on his chest and leaned forward to stare into his dark eyes. “Stop comparing me to the only other Englishwoman you’ve known. We are all different people.”

  “But ye come from the same line of gentry. Hell, her first husband was a viscount, like your father. She sought to escape her first husband’s memory, but once she got over his death, we couldn’t keep her here. If…” He swallowed hard, turning toward her. “If Harry Covington asked ye to marry him now, said he loved ye and wanted to keep ye comfortable and happy all your life, would ye wish to return—?”

  “Stop,” she said, her voice loud. “You don’t understand.” She shook her head.

  For a span of long, even breaths, he stared at her. “Maybe that’s because ye haven’t told me,” he said, his voice low. He brushed his knuckles against her cheek. “Ye can trust me, Scarlet.”

  She flopped down on her back to stare up at the beams overhead. “Can I trust you not to ride back to Finlarig to slaughter a viscount and possibly a king?”

  Aiden shifted until he leaned over her to kiss her forehead. He settled back in his spot beside her. “I will spill no blood tonight,” he said, as if the statement represented an adequate promise.

  “You already spilled blood tonight. Harry’s nose gushed for an hour.”

  She glanced his way and saw a grin tip up the corner of Aiden’s mouth, but he didn’t say anything, just stared upward. Finally, he turned his head toward her. “I will not slice Covington or the king for what they’ve done in the past. At least, not mortally.” She rolled her eyes. “Lass,” Aiden said. “That’s the best ye are bound to get.”

  She couldn’t help but grin a little. His quip had helped loosen the tension she’d been holding in her shoulders. She breathed deeply and felt the gentle pressure of his hand lie across her arm, offering support but giving her room to think. Tentatively Scarlet touched upon the memories she’d locked up tightly, as if the fear and shame would go away if she refused to remember. But they hadn’t. Fear and shame still laced her thoughts, like a poison trapped within her body. Could she lessen the taint if she spoke the words? Bled them out?

  Aiden didn’t say anything, just lay next to her, his warm palm along her arm. Scarlet closed her eyes and let the winter of a year ago trickle back into her mind.

  Chapter Nineteen

  14 February 1684

  Whitehall Palace, London

  “I’m certain Harry will ask me to wed tonight,” Scarlet said, smiling coyly at her sister’s reflection in the mirror. Harry and Scarlet had walked the gardens the night before, talking of children and his country estate where he hoped they could live.

  Evelyn paused, holding
the peacock plume that she was attaching to the mountain of curls Molly had perched upon Scarlet’s head. But then she smiled and jabbed the feather securely into her hair. “Are you sure he is the one?”

  Scarlet turned to her, a look of shock raising her perfectly plucked brows. “Of course. He is the most influential man at court. He’s handsome and witty. Father desired it before he died.”

  Be an asset to your family, Scarlet. Evelyn has the astute mind, and you have your beauty and temperament. Do what you must to secure Lord Covington. He will see that the king thinks highly of the Worthington family.

  Scarlet pressed against the tightening in her stomach as she thought back on the last words her father spoke to her. Not of his love for her but of her duty. “I will be an asset to our family,” she whispered.

  Evelyn leaned in to her. “You already are, Scar, without wedding.” Evelyn hugged her back gently so as not to muss her exquisite costume of pink and rose silk. “Marry for love and happiness. That is all I want for you.”

  Scarlet met her gaze in the mirror, her lips bending in her practiced pleasant smile. “Wouldn’t that be lovely.”

  The evening progressed beautifully in the gilt ballroom at Whitehall Palace. King Charles and Queen Catherine hosted the ball to celebrate love, for it was St. Valentine’s Day. Though, the royal couple rarely interacted, let alone looked to be in love. Charles spent his time dancing and laughing with several buxom women, including his two mistresses, Louise and Nell. Catherine retired early, and Scarlet couldn’t help but feel pity for the resigned woman.

  Harry spent much of his time staring at Scarlet, if he wasn’t next to her. He looked the perfect gentleman in his wig and silk costume, and Scarlet watched many ladies frown with jealousy over his constant attention toward her.

  “You, my sweet Scarlet, have caught the king’s eye,” Harry said in low tones as they stood sipping wine near the gold-threaded curtains.

  A tendril of unease snaked through Scarlet, but then several ladies laughed, the king made a grand show of kissing Louise’s cheek, and the musicians picked up a lively, festive tune for a contradance. Sounds of happiness dissolved Harry’s comment as she placed her hand on his firm arm and they joined the two gathering rows of dancers.

  The king did dance once with her, his wandering gaze stripping her pink gown away, but then he was dancing with Louise and Nell, and Scarlet drank another glass of wine that Harry seemed prone to give her. By the end of the night, her steps were rather wobbly. Evelyn had retreated to get some sleep, and Nathaniel had returned to Hollings Estate when their mother sent a note saying she was ill.

  Meet me in the gallery at the strike of two. H.

  Harry’s note lay folded in her pocket, a secret that made her stomach flutter. Or was that the wine. She giggled behind her glove as she looked in the mirror in her room, then she slowly stripped the glove off. A two a.m. rendezvous required less formality. She pulled the plume from her hair, letting her dark curls down over her shoulders. Scarlet dabbed a bit of perfume on her pulse and slipped out the door into the dark corridor of the palace. The faint whisper of her slippers and the silk of her dress followed her through the slumbering halls. She jumped slightly at the first strike of the clock and paused, leaning one hand on the wall while the other covered the bare skin over her pounding heart. The sound of giggling, followed by a deep male voice, came from behind the door closest to her.

  Scarlet hiccoughed and continued on, listening to the end of the second strike resonate through the grand entryway where the clock stood. Her slippers seemed to move on their own accord, and she reached the gallery. It was dark except for one candle at the end, like a beacon, and she rushed toward it.

  “Harry?” she whispered, and he stepped out from behind one of the curtains framing a dark window. His cravat was undone, as was his jacket. He’d taken off his wig, and his short hair lay flat with dampness. As she neared, she could smell the alcohol and tobacco on him with the underlying smell of sweat, likely from the long night of dancing with the ladies and talking politics with the men.

  “I am here, my sweet pigeon,” he said and pulled her into his arms. Without any words, he kissed her, his wet mouth sliding along her lips as one hand held her back, the other pressed to her breast. She gasped against his mouth, but he didn’t let go. The wine made her mind sluggish, but her stomach tightened, followed by a wave of nausea. Raising both hands, she pressed against his chest until he finally lifted his head.

  Sucking in breath, Scarlet stared up into his face. In the light of the ballroom, his features had been exceedingly handsome, but in the shadows, alone, he looked altered, darker. As usual, she placed a smile on her lips. “Lord Covington, you take liberties,” she said, admonishingly.

  He ran a hand through his hair to his neck. “And you, Lady Worthington, should expect such roguish behavior when meeting a man alone at two in the morning.” He smiled. “Is this not what you want, Scarlet. To be kissed and touched?”

  Her cheeks warmed in the darkness. “A young woman desires the love that makes the kisses sweeter.”

  “Love? Well, certainly, Scar.” He pulled her to him again, and she could feel his erection press against her. His fingers worked to ruck up her skirts. “Let me give you some love.”

  She kissed him, but when he touched the bare skin of her thigh she tried to step away. He backed her up until she felt the wall. Her heart raced. “What are you doing?” she breathed. His fingers worked up her bare legs, and she pawed at his hand. But he was stronger and continued until his fingers reached the heat between her legs, forcing them open.

  She gasped as he pushed them inside. She tried to shove away, but he held her with his hard body against the wall, his lips sliding a wet trail up her neck to her ear. “Relax, Scar,” he said. “You will like it.”

  “Stop,” she said, but he continued, moving his fingers in her body. A hint of pleasure may have started, her body responding to the stimulus, but panic drenched her in cold fear. “I will be a maid on my wedding day,” she said.

  Harry withdrew his fingers and looked into her face. “Highly doubtful, but you’ve no need to fear my cock tonight,” he said, his humor dark. “There is another cock that desires your virgin’s blood.”

  Scarlet stared in horror at Harry. The flickers from his candle cut across his features, revealing a mix of lust and anger in the tightness of his jaw and eyes. “What?” she asked, the word barely a breath.

  He leaned into her, his hot breath against her cheek. “I am doing you a favor actually. I’m not sure his majesty knows what to do with a virgin.”

  “Charles?” she asked.

  “You were fashioned by God to be desired, Scarlet. Every man will want to bed you, even a king.” He glanced around as if searching for a drink. “Tonight. But first I will get you used to being touched, show you how to hold a cock with your hand and, in time, with your mouth.”

  His crass words stunned her. He moved closer, grabbing again for her skirts, but she slapped at his hands, her heart pounding. “I thought…I thought you wanted to marry me.” Tears burned behind her eyes, but she blinked them away. “We talked of children and your estate near Bath.”

  “Likely I will, eventually,” he said, his gaze running down her, assessing her like she was a mare to be bought. “You are a beauty and of good breeding.” He pressed against her. “But first I need Charles to trust me completely, and delivering you, wet and willing, to his cock will do just that.”

  The words shattered through Scarlet. “Deliver me?” she asked, her voice hard.

  He rubbed his pelvis against her. “You will be obedient,” he said and pressed his lips against her throat, inhaling the perfume she’d placed there. To think, she’d wanted to entice him. Fool!

  “You would deliver me to another man?” she asked, pressing against his chest.

  Harry lifted his head, annoyance on his face. “Not just a man. The king, you silly girl. But once he tires of you, I may offer for your hand. Alth
ough that depends on the reputation you earn in his care.”

  Fury welled up inside Scarlet, and she turned, stalking down the hallway. Before she could take more than a couple of steps, Harry’s arms crushed around her from behind, halting her. “Unhand me,” she yelled.

  “Shhhhh,” he hissed in her ear, practically lifting her from the ground as he half carried, half dragged her toward a door in the wall. One hand came up to clamp over her mouth. Her struggles were impotent against his strength. Fear made Scarlet weaker, her eyes wide over his hand. “Keep your mouth closed, else you find yourself gagging on something quite shocking, my sweet,” he said, pressing his cock into her backside. Even with the layers of skirts, she could feel the hardness.

  Slowly he removed his hand and turned the knob on the door, his other hand still around her. “Behold,” he whispered as the door swung in, allowing them to see a candlelit room. It was a salon, one of many in the palace, with chairs, card tables, and a settee. Looking up from his position in a chair was King Charles, Louise sitting atop him, completely undone but for the tower of curls on her head. Her breasts jiggled before the king’s face as she jogged up and down on his staff while the king’s head lolled back on the chair. Another man stood watching them, his erect member out as he stroked it.

  Scarlet struggled as Harry’s hand slid up her bodice to yank the low-cut edge down, exposing her one breast. He cupped it hard and continued to rub himself against the back of her.

  Charles, his eyes half closed in either pleasure or drunkenness, pinched Louise’s nipples hard until she squeaked. He smiled at the open door. “Come in. Come in,” he said. “Join our small party.” He groaned, reaching down as if to adjust himself. Louise glanced toward the door, a look of interest lighting her face as she saw Harry, but she didn’t stop her rhythm. The other man moved to stand behind her, laying his hand down to stroke her moving backside.

  Scarlet stood frozen, her body numb. Never before had she seen the act. Harry held her tight, and she felt her skirts slide up her legs as he once again dove his other hand under, seeking her out. She couldn’t swallow or inhale properly, and sparks began to fire in her periphery. Lord help her. If she swooned, what would they do to her?