The Savage Highlander

by Heather McCollum

  Beside them, the stone-covered door swung inward, and men rushed inside, a line of kilted and trouser-clad men, brandishing swords. Aiden dropped the soldier to throw his weight against the door, but he caught the glint of a sword coming toward him. He twisted in time, the blade slicing through his shirt and skin across his back. The sting told him it was superficial. He spun around to come face to face with Finlay Menzies.

  The man’s eyes widened, his frown growing as he bared his teeth. “Thought I might find ye here, Campbell,” he said.

  Despite the battle surging behind Aiden, with Hamish raising the portcullis to allow the Campbell warriors inside, Aiden felt his first smile of the night. “Finlay Menzies,” Aiden said his name, relishing it, the coil of cold anger tightening in his gut like the fist he held around his hilt. “Ye made the biggest mistake of your life when ye lied to Scarlet to get her out of her room.”

  Finlay spit on the ground. “Her leaving in the middle of the night raised a bloody lot of questions that got me exiled from my own home, my rightful place as chief. When I finish with ye, I’ll be taking a long moment to thank the bitch myself.”

  With that, Finlay lunged, his sword clanging against Aiden’s. The young man was stronger than he looked but had little experience in battle. He attacked with unchecked emotion, charging over and over while Aiden slid each of his attacks to the side with minimal effort, letting the fool tire himself out. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kerrick fighting off a man in a tattered English uniform, perhaps a deserter with Burdock. He didn’t see the king. Hopefully Charles had barricaded himself inside the keep with the women.

  Frustrated, sweat dripping down his clenched face, Finlay swung with both of his arms, using his momentum to try to cut through Aiden’s middle. But the sword was slower than Aiden, who pivoted out of the way and sank his blade into Finlay’s stomach. The man screamed, falling to the dirt. “For Scarlet and any other lass ye attacked,” Aiden said and spun away to help Kerrick beat back two men in Menzies plaid.

  Aiden met their swords, driving them back until they tired enough to hesitate. Another swing met the enemy’s neck, slicing through and dropping him to the ground. Aiden spun in time to watch a group of three running toward the steps of the keep with a handheld battering ram. It slammed into the wooden double doors, making them bow but not break. When they retreated to take another run at it, Aiden ran toward them. But two more English soldiers, one of whom had accompanied the king, attacked him.

  “I’m protecting your damn king, ye idiots,” Aiden yelled.

  “We want no king,” the one in his bright red uniform called.

  “I don’t bloody hell, either,” Aiden said. “But I’ll be dead before I let ye murder him on Campbell land. Stop or my blade will send ye to hell.”

  The dirtier of the two laughed, lunging forward, and then the soldier in the crisp uniform attacked, too. Aiden dodged the first and met the sword of the other, deflecting it, the clangs becoming part of the cursing and sounds of sliding steel around him. His body moved with a steady rhythm, turning and swinging, taking in the smallest hints of what his opponents would try next. Without conscious thought, he responded to the shifting in their weights as if able to read their minds. It was how Campbells trained, and he prayed the younger warriors were using their instincts as well.

  With a twist in the opposite direction, Aiden caught one soldier with a slash across the middle, so as not to lose his sword, since he had a second attacker. The slashed soldier grabbed his stomach, dropping his sword. The dirtier of the two ran at him, but Aiden was ready and buried his sword in his chest. Yanking the weapon free of the man’s shattered ribs, he spun around, arms held ready to meet the next opponent.

  Hamish shot arrows from the gate tower where Lawrence wrestled a Menzies off the ladder. William took on one of the English outcasts, meeting the man blow for blow until William fell back. Aiden leaped forward, running across to slam into the man’s back before he could lower his sword into William’s chest. The man fell forward, face in the dirt, while Aiden jumped on his back, yanking his face around by the hair. “Are ye working for Burdock?” Aiden yelled in his ear.

  “Get the bloody hell off me,” the man yelled, his English accent obvious.

  “Or do ye battle under a different Devil’s orders?” He flipped the man over, shoving his mattucashlass against his swallowing throat, hard enough to cause blood to seep from a shallow cut. Aiden leaned in. “Where the fok is Harry Covington?”

  The man spit, baring his teeth. “He’s likely rutting on top of your woman.”

  Aiden stared at the man’s red face, his brutal words sinking in as his mind raced. Covington was outside the castle walls, while Scarlet was still safely inside. Wasn’t she? He glanced toward the stone fortress, and his stomach roiled with fear. Bloody hell!

  …

  The scream tore through the night, and Scarlet ducked down, her legs, without the hindrance of skirts, leaping to take her behind the cottage. The musket went off, making her jump, but no fire bit into her body. Burdock had missed. Hallelujah for Cici’s banshee scream.

  Scarlet ran around the other side of the solid cottage, peeking out to see two arrows fly across the space in rapid succession, striking Burdock in the chest. Cat leaped out of the night, carrying her bow, her face tense with concentration as she slid her dagger from her boot to leap upon her once-tormentor. Knees pinning Burdock’s arms, she didn’t see another English soldier run toward her.

  “Cat,” Scarlet yelled, but before Cat could even turn, a large rock smacked the runner in the center of his forehead, throwing him off his feet. A knife followed, hitting him in the hand, and he yelled as he hit the ground. Another knife flew from Kirstin where she stood on the edge of the bushes; it hit the man’s shoulder.

  One of the soldiers grabbed the fallen gun, working to reload it, but Fiona threw several rocks, hitting him in the eye, nose, and head. Blood gushed from his nose, and he bent over, cursing. Alana ran into the clearing, Robert leaping ahead of her to tackle one of the men, his teeth coming down on the man’s arm to shake him in his jaws.

  A high-pitched scream came from the far side, different from Cici’s scream. Scarlet turned to see Izzy with her hands cupped to her mouth. Izzy? Screaming? The realization stunned Scarlet until Izzy began to frantically point behind the cottage. Scarlet gasped softly and pivoted, getting halfway around as Harry slammed his body against her, pinning her to the cottage wall.

  His large, open hands pressed against her shoulders. “You little bitch. Trying to ruin all the hard work I’ve accomplished. Ingratiating myself with the merry ass, sitting by with a blasted smile on my face while he leads our country to ruin.”

  He leaned into her face. “First, your sister kills Philip Sotheby and her Highlander kills Cross, our link into Scotland. And now that I’ve mended the mess and convinced Charles to come up here, you’re trying to ruin my plans again. I even found the girl, Jacqueline, to bring up here to convince you to come back to England so I could protect you from all this. And what appreciation do I get?”

  The more he talked, the darker his face became, until fury made his words snap out with spittle. Mouth contorted with rage, he spoke through his teeth. “And now I foking have to kill you, all of you! Think I won’t because you are ladies? Ha! I’ll do more than kill you, Scar,” he boasted. “I’ll peel you naked first.”

  Beyond the cottage, Scarlet heard a woman scream and another yell. Had the tide turned against the Roses? Good Lord! She’d drawn them into this. Please save them, God. Blood rushing in her ears, Scarlet fought to keep her breathing even. Think. Don’t panic. Think.

  Harry pressed his mouth against her ear. “Hear that? Your stupid Roses are already dying.” He pulled back, a maniacal leer on his face. “And you owe me a good fok before you stop breathing. I kept away from you to give you to the bloody king, to further win his trust. But none of that matters now. Your dying memory can be of me between your legs and leaving you to be fo
und that way.”

  Harry used his thick body to trap her against the wall, his hard cod jamming into her stomach. His hands dove down to shove at her trousers.

  “No!” she screamed in his face. “Get off me! Stop.” Twisting, she fought, scratching and pushing, but he pressed his weight into her chest, pinning her shoulders, which made her hands useless.

  Ye have powerful legs, lass. Use them. Aiden’s voice filled her mind, his encouragement and faith urging her to escape. It washed through her, giving her strength and helping her breathe and think. Without the hindrance of heavy skirts, her legs were free to fight.

  “Bloody hell, you are armed,” Harry said, throwing away the two daggers that were strapped to her hips. His fingers yanked the ties at the top of her trousers.

  “If you touch me, you will die, Harry Covington,” she said, her words seething.

  Free of fear, her tone made him pause as if surprised. Harry’s eyebrow rose in wry contemplation. “We shall see then, Scarlet dear. One of us will die, then, as I’m definitely touching you.” His fingers curled into the top of her trousers.

  “No,” she screamed as loudly as she could. At the same time, she lifted her boot, slamming the heel down on his foot. He grunted, backing up slightly. “No,” she screamed again as her knee shot upward, straight into his erection.

  Harry yelled, lurching forward, his hands grasping her arms in a bruising lock as he fell forward.

  “No!” Scarlet reached up, yanking her hair sticks out of the bun at the back of her head. Curls tumbling down, she grasped the iron spikes in solid fists, driving them forward into Harry’s chest.

  He screamed, eyes going wide. His hands clawed against her as he fell, taking her with him to the ground. Scarlet fought against his weight, pounding his chest, hitting the ends of the sticks protruding like thick needles. She hit his recently broken nose with her fist, and he gasped. Blood poured from it again as crimson soaked through the white ruffled shirt covering his chest.

  Fury and disgust whirled through Scarlet like a ferocious storm. She lifted her legs to use her feet to push against his heaviness until he rolled away from her to stare at the dark sky above. With a gurgled breath, he stilled. Taking large gulps of air into her burning lungs, Scarlet turned to the side and vomited.

  “Scarlet,” Alana yelled, running around the side of the cottage. Robert leaped over to Scarlet, his wet tongue hanging out. He jammed his nose into her face, sniffing. “Oh God! You’re covered in blood! Cat!” Alana called.

  Cat ran around the corner, falling to her knees before Scarlet. “Where are ye cut?” she asked, her voice firm.

  Scarlet shook her head, wiping her mouth as the dog continued to sniff her all over as if checking for injuries. “’Tis his blood, not mine.” She looked up, meeting Cat’s gaze. “Highland Roses fight to survive.” She blinked but knew she’d lost the fight to keep her tears inside. They washed out of her eyes, and she bit back a sob with the back of her hand across her mouth.

  “Thank God,” Kirstin said as she ran up in time to hear Scarlet.

  Cat nodded to Scarlet and reached down to help her stand. “Killing is nasty business.” She spit toward Harry’s unmoving form. “Sometimes there’s no other choice.”

  “The others?” Scarlet asked, hurrying around to the front of the cottage. Her stomach tightened again at the scene. Jacey wrapped linen around an unconscious Titus in the doorway of the cottage, the queen, unbound and dirty, handing her rolls of material to use. Jack lay where she’d struck him with her flying dagger. Burdock lay with two arrows sticking out of him. The other men lay dead or unconscious. Robert ran from man to man, growling and sniffing, as if to make certain they wouldn’t rise again.

  Scarlet spun to Alana, which made her wobble with dizziness, and she wrapped her arms around herself. “Fiona?”

  “Her leg is badly slashed,” Rebecca said, pointing where Cici was hovering over someone lying behind low bushes.

  “She will heal,” Cat said. “I stopped the bleeding.”

  Izzy leaped out of the cottage, dropping more wrappings to hurtle into Scarlet’s arms, hugging her. Scarlet hugged her back, kissing her head. “You helped save me.” She pulled back to look into Izzy’s mud-spattered face. “You spoke.”

  “She spoke?” Cat asked, bending before her sister. Izzy’s mouth stretched into a wide grin.

  “She screamed to get my attention,” Scarlet said. “So I had a second to realize Harry was about to grab me.”

  Cat met her sister’s smile with her own and nodded. “Maybe words will come again,” she said and pulled Izzy against her into a hug.

  “Fiona’s going to need stitches,” Cici said, walking up to them, shaking her head. Her shirt was ripped, and she held it closed over her bosom with one hand. Rebecca and Alana hurried past her to see Fiona.

  “We need to get her to safety,” Martha whispered. But where was that?

  Silence descended, broken only by whispers as they checked each other’s wounds, and the sky above them began to lighten to a dark gray.

  Scarlet turned as Queen Catherine walked toward them. The Roses, in ripped and stained shirts and trousers, gave small curtseys, and Scarlet bowed her head. “Your majesty. I’m sorry you have had to witness such bloodiness.”

  “Especially from ladies,” Martha said, and Cici nodded vigorously.

  Even undone and in her robe, the queen walked with dignity, slim shoulders back and chin high with courage. She reached forward, grasping Scarlet’s bloodstained hands, and squeezed. She glanced toward the Roses. “We do what we must do to fight for what is right and just. I am proud of and thankful for all of you.” She spoke from her heart, bowing her head to them all with slow grace. Scarlet could see why she remained the Merry Monarch’s wife despite his scandalous ways. She, too, did what she must to guide him toward the right.

  “We are very welcome to be of service,” Scarlet said. “Your majesty.”

  She sighed. “We will see if I am still queen or if Lord Covington was ultimately successful as his small army met the warriors of Finlarig.”

  “I will stay with Titus,” Jacey said, glancing up. “He kept them from us, protecting us until they shot him.” She looked back down at him. “They promised freedom for his younger sister if he got us out of the castle, but he didn’t know that Harry Covington’s plan included killing us.”

  The queen caught Scarlet’s sleeve, tugging gently for her to meet her gaze. She spoke low. “Charles wasn’t willing to send anyone to save us, was he?” Sadness mixed with muted anger in her gaze.

  Scarlet let regret show on her face. The queen met her look for a long pause and then turned toward the horses that Kirstin and Izzy had rounded up—Caora and Eigh, and the horses Harry and his small group of villains had used.

  “We don’t know what we will face when we return to Finlarig,” Scarlet called out. The sky above continued to brighten as dawn broke over the forest. “Anyone who would care to stay here may.”

  Cat stood up from Titus’s side, nodding to Jacey. “Just keep him still and resting until we return. Try to give him water if he wakes.” She strode toward a horse. Scarlet went to Caora, pressing her forehead to the horse’s nose for a moment before helping the queen up onto the filly’s strong back. Scarlet watched the others mounting the horses then climbed up from a log to ride in front of the queen.

  “You are all going?” Scarlet asked. “They could still be fighting, or worse. Harry’s army may have won.” She swallowed past the ache in her throat and wiped again at her eyes. Aiden could be injured or dead. The thought made her want to rush back to Finlarig no matter what was happening.

  “Of course we are going,” Cat said, a bit of annoyance in her voice. “We are Highland Roses, and, as these bastards found out, our thorns are deadly.”

  Around the clearing, every student nodded. Although she was grim, filthy, and exhausted, hope unfurled inside Scarlet. “Falbh!” she called to Caora in Gaelic, and they plunged through the w
oods toward Finlarig.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Aiden tore through the splintered front door to find the king and Louise dodging behind the table, away from a man brandishing a bloody sword, while Kerrick fought another. Aiden leaped an overturned chair to tackle the man who wore a Menzies kilt, easily dispatching him.

  Louise screamed, and Charles helped her to another chair where she slumped against the back, her eyes fluttering with a near swoon. Kerrick grunted as he pulled his sword from the other man’s middle, then nodded to Aiden and ran back out into the bailey.

  Aiden glanced at the king, but his gaze went to the stairs above. “Ye are unharmed?”

  “Mon Dieu,” Louise said, looking at him. “Because of you, Monsieur Campbell.”

  The words slid off Aiden. “Where are Scarlet and her students?”

  Louise shook her head, while Charles spoke. “Louise went above. Searched every floor, but couldn’t find them. They have been seized like Catherine.”

  More likely, they found a way out of the castle without anyone seeing. Which would mean the English soldier’s last words out in the bailey could possibly be true. Rutting on top of your woman. The words cut like the sharpest of knives. How could he have let Scarlet go? Even if at the time he didn’t know the man of her nightmares was also a traitor. Regret surged through Aiden—regret and desperation.

  “Barricade yourselves in your bedchamber on the top floor,” he yelled at the king as he ran back outside.

  Dawn was brightening the courtyard, revealing the bloodied corpses and unconscious soldiers. William ran up to Aiden, blood smeared along his forehead, his shirt cut. “We have them caught,” he said, and Aiden realized that Hamish had lowered the portcullis while two Campbells guarded the door in the wall. Once the tide had turned in favor of the Campbells, the bastards couldn’t escape. Those few who remained standing were being tied up with rope. The dead were being dragged toward the gatehouse.

  “Kerrick,” Aiden called, and his friend ran over. “The ladies, Scarlet and her Roses,” he said, pulling in a breath. “I think Covington has them.”