A Protector in the Highlands (Highland Roses School)

by Heather McCollum

  “Ah, yes,” Covington said. “Captain Cross and Lord Sotheby. We received Viscount Worthington’s missive.”

  “Yet ye came all the way up here?” Aiden said.

  The king chuckled slightly. “The safest place for a monarch is where a treasonous scheme has been disrupted and flushed out.”

  Covington nodded as if bolstering up the idea. “The perfect place for the king and queen to spend Christmastide amongst good country folk where no one can reach them.”

  “But Chief Campbell—” Aiden began.

  “Will turn around and return once he finds the king is not in residence,” Covington said. “When he returns, we will be here to greet him with a cup of wassail.”

  Lawrence made a choking sound next to Aiden, making him look past the king toward the coach where a richly dressed woman emerged, followed by two other ladies. Aiden bowed his head. The king looked to them. “My queen, Catherine, and her ladies.”

  The two ladies curtsied, and Aiden bowed his head again. One was the age of the queen and had dark hair. The other woman was bonny and young with blonde hair. Her face seemed familiar, something in the tilt of her eyes.

  “Ye…may come inside Finlarig,” Aiden said, his words slow. Ballocks. He felt completely inept dealing with bloody royalty. As much as he wanted to stuff Scarlet away in a hidden cave, her guidance could only help the stilted situation. He tried to remember what his mother had told him about kings and queens of England, but it had been long ago, and he’d paid more attention to his father’s teachings on weaponry. The only thing he knew of the monarchy was that encountering any member of it increased the chance of a man’s head leaving his shoulders.

  The king turned on the thick golden heel of his shoe to survey the bailey, where chickens scratched about with two peahens, a donkey bit at tufts of grass, and a large peacock strutted toward the stables where the sheep were held. “Where now is our friend, Lady Scarlet Worthington?” His dark eyes turned their intensity on Aiden. “I am told that her sister married the chief of the Campbells, and that Lady Scarlet was in attendance, despite her brother reporting that they journeyed south toward Plymouth.” The king frowned slightly but recovered his smile, one of his dark eyebrows rising.

  “Lady Scarlet is a teacher here at the Highland Roses School,” Aiden said. “She was beginning a class in ciphering numbers in the library, but I have sent word of your arrival.”

  The wind blew a gust, making some light snow swirl around them. A prompt from God? Aiden cleared his throat. “Ye are welcome to enter Finlarig, where it is warmer.”

  “I dare hope it is,” Charles said, laughing. He held out an arm for his queen to take, and they proceeded them toward the steps. Aiden had no idea if he was supposed to walk in front since the king had never been to the castle or continue to follow behind. No doubt he would insult the king numerous times while he was here. By the time Grey returned, his head might be cleanly cut away and residing in a basket.

  Covington walked up next to him, an easy smile in place as he spoke low. “Keep his cup full of good Scottish whisky, and this visit will go quite smoothly.”

  Behind him, several men emerged from the second coach. Two were soldiers in their red uniforms, but the one who caught Aiden’s eye was a large blackamoor, his dark skin a contrast to the white wrappings he had about his head.

  One soldier lowered several deer from the roof while another caught them. The Moor squatted down to examine them. Lawrence and Hamish talked with two of the guards, who nodded, and all muskets remained unlit. Aiden followed the royal group inside, their colorful garb reminding him of the peacocks sauntering over to peck with the chickens. He took another glance toward the flock. Since when did Finlarig have peacocks? And a donkey?

  Aiden took the steps quickly, catching up to Covington as he entered.

  “’Tis dark as a tomb,” he heard the king say.

  “Just the entryway, my majesty,” Aiden called ahead. “Inside the great hall it is quite light.”

  “Your majesty,” Covington whispered.

  “What?”

  “You say your majesty, not my majesty,” the man said, a wry smile quirking his lips.

  Aiden had thought saying your majesty would sound like he was saying the king wasn’t the king of Scotland. Ballocks. He’d much rather be on a battlefield than paying court to a jewel-encrusted king and his fancily-costumed cocks.

  The king walked the ladies directly to the hearth fire. Where was Kerrick? Hadn’t he been able to find and warn Scarlet?

  A movement from the arch made him turn. Scarlet stood beside the unfinished mosaic of roses on the burned wall, his blue piece sitting at the center of a half-finished red rose. Scarlet wore a gown that he hadn’t seen before, its blue material smoothed with a shine that looked like silk. It billowed around her and was trimmed with lace and sewn beads. Her hair was piled up high on her head, but he could see the coil of steel in the shape of a rose sticking out of the wavy mass. Seeing her armed helped him draw breath.

  She wore a sophisticated smile that he knew was false and held her head high as she practically floated across the floor. Behind her, the ladies came quietly, their dresses back in place and looking shabby compared to the English gowns. The Rose students walked slowly, in pairs, their expressions a mix of fear, torturously fake smiles, and in the case of Cat and Izzy, open hostility.

  Foking hell. He needed to start pouring whisky for the king and possibly himself.

  “Your majesty,” Scarlet said, her voice a practiced purr that made Aiden’s middle clench. She curtsied low before him, rose, then curtsied to the queen. “Your majesty,” she repeated. The queen smiled at her, and the sentiment reached her eyes.

  When Scarlet rose, the queen caught Scarlet’s hands with her own gloved ones and squeezed. “It is good to see a familiar face here in the wilds of Scotland,” she said, her voice thick with her Portuguese accent. It was her foreign ways and accent that had made her unpopular with her people, much like the Scots. And just like the English in Scotland, Aiden reflected. He frowned, focusing his attention on the stiff, silent stances.

  Scarlet ignored the man Covington and dipped her head to the king. “What brings you to Finlarig Castle?”

  “Christmastide,” the king said, his arms flying out wide as if announcing the plans for a grand siege. “Though, it would seem that nothing is yet prepared.” He looked around, the queen and her ladies following his lead.

  “The Scots do not celebrate Christmas,” Aiden said, his deep tone seeming to draw all eyes, which grew wide. “In a very Protestant country, Christmas is viewed as a Catholic holiday. We celebrate the last night of the year, Hogmanay.”

  The queen pressed a hand against her heart, her face drawn as if she might weep. “However,” Scarlet said, her voice high and merry, “since the Highland Roses school is run by two English sisters, we intend to celebrate Christmas from now on.”

  Had Evelyn informed Grey? Since none of them had been raised acknowledging the holiday, Finlarig Castle would likely be the only part of Breadalbane making merry.

  “How fortunate,” Queen Catherine said, a soft smile returning. The woman seemed remarkably genuine. Perhaps it was her Portuguese heritage, so different from most English. At a time, Aiden would have said all English. His gaze slid back to Scarlet. Her whole body seemed stiff, coiled, and restrained, very unlike the warm woman he’d come to know. It made his heart pound as if readying for war.

  “Excellent,” the king said, clapping his hands. “Harry, see that my men help them in any way. They must find holly and mistletoe to hang. And a yule log to burn. Christmas Eve is only a few days away.” The king sounded like a child excited by the thought of candy.

  Scarlet looked between him and the queen. “We are very honored to have you for Christmas; however, I fear you will not be comfortable here as we are still making improvements. There is only one large bedchamber, Chief Grey’s chamber on the fourth floor.”

  Charles flapped a berin
ged hand. “My queen and I will share the chief’s room.”

  Catherine’s eyes widened, and the king took her hand. “Of course we will,” he said and looked to Scarlet. “My queen may be with child again. ’Tis another reason to leave London, where my enemies will do anything to squash out the life of a legitimate heir to the throne. Once I received the letter from your sister about the traitors, and then your brother about their visit to London, Lord Harry suggested we venture north to the wild and secluded countryside where the traitors have already been thwarted.” He threw his one arm out to take in the bare great hall. “Hence our visit.”

  Unannounced and unwanted visit. Aiden’s gaze drifted amongst the visitors. The more mature woman, who had accompanied them, had such a low-cut bodice that her breasts nearly fell out. Her gaze remained riveted to the king as if he were a feast. She was most likely one of Charles’s many mistresses. His audacity to bring her along with his queen spoke to his immoral character.

  When he glanced at the younger woman with light-colored hair, she met his gaze as if she’d been studying him. She was bonny, rather like Rebecca.

  “We will make do with the lodgings,” Harry Covington said, staring at Scarlet. “And we will make merry together.”

  Scarlet would not make direct eye contact with the man, whereas Covington nearly devoured her with his gaze. What the bloody hell? Aiden’s fists clenched. They knew each other. He was certain. And Scarlet would rather entertain the king’s conversation than Harry Covington’s.

  “We have no cook, either, your majesty,” Scarlet said, though her tone showed no sign of trying to dissuade the visit and held a note of cheerful resignation. Aiden was certain the cheerfulness was a learned role she’d been required to play often.

  The king looked to his queen. “See, my dearest, it was good to bring Titus with us.” His gaze slid to Scarlet. “He is our dark and mysterious Moor, who is also an exceedingly talented cook. He is likely filling your kitchens with the foods we stuffed into the second carriage and the deer we shot this morning as we neared this quaint village.”

  Scarlet bowed her head. “Royal forethought, your majesty.”

  The king laughed. “Of course. And our ladies of the queen’s bedchamber are quite talented,” he said, his gaze roaming over them, especially the lady who displayed her breasts in the lifted, open bodice.

  Covington smiled. “How rude I am. Let us introduce our two brave ladies who have accompanied us into the wilds. Lady Scarlet, you know her grace, Louise de Kérouaille, Duchess of Portsmouth,” he said, his hand out to indicate the more mature of the two. “And…” he smiled, indicating the younger, bright-eyed woman, “Lady Jacqueline…Beckett of Nottingham.”

  Everything inside Aiden clenched. Beckett? The name tore through him like vicious daggers flowing through his veins. Beckett from Nottingham. He stared as the young woman bowed her head in a slow curtsey, rising, her gaze directly on Aiden. It couldn’t be… The woman in his nightmares had come back to life before him.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Scarlet nodded to the two ladies, even though her stomach ached with knots. The first woman was one of the king’s high-ranking mistresses, one that the queen tolerated best. Louise had born Charles a son and lived at Whitehall Palace, her rival being the actress, Nell Gwyn.

  Scarlet breathed evenly to dispel the sparks of light that signaled a possible swoon. Did Louise remember last St. Valentine’s night or had wine numbed her memories? The flush that rose along Scarlet’s neckline might never recede.

  Scarlet turned her focus on the second lady, who was beautiful, young, and…watching Aiden. While Aiden stared back. The connection between them was obvious, and Scarlet’s stomach turned in on itself with a wave of nausea. Beckett? That was the name that Aiden had uttered once in his nightmare. He’d said she was dead, but this woman was exceedingly alive and mysteriously riveting.

  Scarlet swallowed down the acidic air coming up her throat as Aiden’s possible lie twisted inside her. “Molly, we will prepare rooms on the third floor for those in the king’s party, along with the room adjacent to Grey’s room for the queen’s attendant,” Scarlet said, the words coming softly, a part of her mind still functioning even if the rest of her was numb. “I will help you.”

  She bowed her head to Charles and Catherine. “Please warm yourselves and take refreshment,” Scarlet said. She nodded encouragingly to her wide-eyed students, donning her practiced smile. “The wine. Alana, Kirstin, please pour and serve.” Hopefully Cat wouldn’t try to skewer any of them.

  Without waiting for an acceptance, Scarlet willed her legs to move toward the archway with Molly. She wanted to flee from the room, flee from Finlarig. Harry Covington, with his arrogant confidence, had brought the king and someone from Aiden’s past. All her carefully tended courage seemed to desert her. She clutched her skirts as she met Molly just inside the archway.

  “They will lop off our heads,” Molly whispered, ending in a panicked hiss.

  Losing her head was certainly not the worst that could happen, but Scarlet wasn’t about to feed the woman’s odd slant toward the grim. “I won’t let them lop off your head, Molly,” she said. “Go above and start making beds with the fresh linens. With the cook, the ladies, and Aiden needing a new room, we should freshen four smaller bedrooms along with Grey’s large room. The soldiers can sleep in the guardhouse. I will be along in a moment.”

  “Yes, milady,” Molly said and scurried up the stairs.

  Scarlet rested her open palm on the rough stone wall and breathed slowly to combat her pounding heart. “Lord. Help me.”

  “I don’t think the Lord readies rooms.” Aiden’s voice lurched through Scarlet, and she wobbled slightly as she turned. He stood in the archway.

  Scarlet leaned against the wall, her fingers pressed between it and her back. Questions spewed up inside her. Why wasn’t the woman dead? Why had he lied? Had he loved her? But all the questions boiled down to one. Scarlet wet her dry lips and met Aiden’s gaze in the shadows. “Who is she?”

  Scarlet watched Aiden carefully as her heart pounded in her ears. His frown did not change. “Do you love her?” she whispered before he could answer the first question.

  Aiden let out a huff from the back of his throat and shook his head. “Love her? I don’t even know who she is!”

  Scarlet narrowed her eyes. “You’ve dreamt of her, Aiden. How could you not know her?”

  He shook his head. “I’ve never seen that woman before.”

  “Lady Beckett?” she said, the name snapping on a whisper.

  He scratched his neck, glancing down at the floor as if answers were painted there. “’Twas a different Lady Beckett.”

  “A different Lady Beckett?” Scarlet repeated. “How many blasted Lady Becketts are there?”

  He met her gaze. “Apparently one that your Harry Covington wanted to bring up here.”

  “My Harry Covington?” Scarlet asked, her gaze shifting to the room behind them, where the man of her nightmares laughed lightly with Cici as she handed him a goblet of wine. She’d have to warn the ladies to stay far from him. “He is not my Harry Covington.”

  “His gaze on ye is heavy with ownership,” Aiden said softly, the frustration in his voice softening to a lethal tone. “And ye avoided looking at him completely. Is he the high-ranking bastard who sent you running from London? Is he the man of your nightmares?”

  Scarlet pushed off the wall, grabbing Aiden’s sleeve to pull him toward the stairs. “Don’t go after Harry Covington. He’s currently King Charles’s closest confidant. Any slight against him will be viewed as one against the king. With Charles’s fear of traitors, especially Scottish ones, he’s liable to act without thought. And what thought he does have will be influenced by Harry Covington.”

  With a hushed growl, Aiden pulled her with him behind the stairs, the shadows hiding them. He captured her shoulders with his large hands, keeping her between the back wall and his chest. Fear rolled through her. Not of
Aiden but of what might happen if he drew his sword, threatening Harry. “What did he do to ye?” His words gritted out, and she knew Harry’s life teetered on her next words. Aiden’s life balanced there with it.

  “Nothing permanent,” she said. “I was a virgin when I asked you to take me.”

  The questions on his face hardened to condemnation. Blast. She’d said too much.

  “Nothing permanent?” he repeated, his voice deep and hard. “You’ve fought your fear for months, but it’s still there. I could see it in the set of your shoulders.” He glanced toward the great hall and back at her. “He may not have raped your body, but he raped your soul.”

  Scarlet shut her eyes, willing the tears to stay in place. Shame prickled her skin, and she sniffed. She wouldn’t let Aiden jeopardize his life over her folly. “I let him touch me, Aiden,” she said. “I was foolish. I thought he loved me, would wed me. He led me along with talk of children and a home but never promised me anything. He’s broken no vows. I… encouraged his attention. Evelyn even warned me that Harry was a rogue, but I didn’t listen.” She shook her head. “Foolish and naive, I…” Her words trailed off.

  She listened to Aiden pull in a breath. He didn’t move away, but she couldn’t bring herself to look up at him. Luckily the shadows covered her.

  His voice was strained, as if tortured. “He convinced the king to travel two weeks in a carriage to come up here to see ye.”

  “I have no idea why,” she said, meaning it. She was just another one of Harry Covington’s conquests. Surely, he’d found others when she fled. At first, she’d feared he would follow her north, but as the months went by, she’d realized more and more what a fool she’d been.

  Aiden’s hands lifted to her cheeks, and he ducked down to capture her gaze. His eyes were dark in the shadows and impossible to read. “I know why. He realizes he wants ye. Maybe loves ye.”

  She shook her head, but Scarlet wasn’t willing to explain more. She clutched her shame tightly around herself. Hopefully, she’d told him enough to stop him from confronting Harry, but she couldn’t give him more details. How she knew Harry Covington couldn’t possibly love her.