A Protector in the Highlands

by Heather McCollum

  “King Charles would likely send funding to refurbish this ruin,” Harry said to her and backed away.

  Louise opened her mouth to say something as she passed. “The queen will—”

  “Decide that she prefers me to you and send you back to France, your Grace,” Scarlet said, and stepped past. Her heart beat wildly as the threat left her mouth. It was likely no one had spoken to Louise de Kérouaille that way before. The woman’s flushed, venom-filled face said as much.

  Moving down the line, Kerrick stepped forward, once again partners. “Whatever ye said surely made the duchess sour.”

  “To match my stomach,” Scarlet said, the hint of a real smile touching her lips as she decided that it would be good if Louise told Charles and Catherine that she despised Scarlet and didn’t want her to return to court.

  The music continued, laughter and the sound of rustling petticoats and tapping boots adding to the cadence in the hall. The holiday greenery and flowing wine and whisky worked together to make the party seem gay for everyone else in attendance.

  Rebecca had partnered with Lawrence, and the two of them turned and glided into an odd gallop down the line on the outside, much to most everyone’s mirth. Louise still looked annoyed, her eyes narrowing. She murmured something to Aiden that made him glance at Scarlet, one brow raised.

  Scarlet met Harry once more, his palm pressing hard enough that their fingers intertwined before Scarlet could yank them back. He smiled at her, but the glint of annoyance in his eyes made a shiver run up her spine. “Drawing Louise’s blood?” he asked. Had he heard the exchange, or could he read Louise’s obvious disapproval?

  Scarlet backed away, but she let a satisfied smile touch her lips to hide her rapid pulse. “Beware a rose’s thorns,” she said. “They are sharp and can cause pain or even death if underestimated.”

  She moved into line and then stepped forward to meet Aiden, but instead of meeting his palm with hers, his large hands gripped around her waist, lifting her up against him. He turned her in the intimate La Volta step, setting her down so that he now stood next to Harry.

  Keeping with the dance tempo, Aiden turned to Harry as Scarlet was forced to meet Louise, who stared with wide eyes at the change in partners. Aiden leaned into Harry, his hand on the hilt of his sword. “She isn’t going back to England, ye tolla-thon, so stop hissing in her ear about it.”

  Harry raised an eyebrow, his feet keeping with the steps but his hands by his sides. “Are you so sure of that, Highlander? Have you known any Englishwoman who has found enough in Scotland to anchor her here?” Harry’s face was tight with bitter humor and contempt. Was he talking about the mysterious Lady Beckett?

  Aiden began to draw his sword. Without thought, Scarlet stepped forward to take Aiden’s arm as if they were at the top of the dance and tugged him up the middle. His feet seemed to drag along, but eventually they made it through the startled dancers to the top where they continued to walk away from the two lines.

  Aiden’s fists were tight as he held his one arm out for her to take. “If I were but on a battlefield,” he said, “I’d slice the man in two.”

  She pulled him before her near the archway to the stairs. “You are on a battlefield,” she reminded him. “But it must be fought with slights, disguised threats, and sharp glances.”

  He huffed a deep, short growl. “I’d rather draw blood than frowns and sneers.” He lowered his hands to her shoulders and exhaled before glancing out at the room then back at Scarlet. “Jacqueline Beckett spoke with me.”

  “I saw,” Scarlet said, keeping her tone as light as she could. “What did the lovely lady have to say?”

  He absently rubbed the hilt of his sheathed sword, his glance going out to the room. “She wants me to help her.”

  “Help her?” Scarlet said. “With what?”

  He met her gaze. “She has her own battle going on.”

  “What is she fighting?”

  The tension in his jaw was obvious as he spoke. “She fights against the same fate that sent ye up to Finlarig.”

  Scarlet stared at him, letting his words sink in. “The king wants her,” she said softly.

  He stared at her for a long moment. “Mo chreach,” he murmured, grabbing the back of his neck. Aiden’s mouth tightened, as treason and fury spread across his face. She had just confirmed that it wasn’t Harry Covington alone who had sent Scarlet fleeing England. She watched Aiden turn narrowed eyes on King Charles. “Aye, the king wants her,” he said. “She thinks if you return in her stead, he will leave her alone. Covington has told her as such.”

  “And she confided in you? Why you?” Scarlet asked without bothering to hide the tight note of jealousy in her words.

  Aiden turned his full attention back to Scarlet. “Because… Jacqueline Beckett is my sister.”

  …

  Aiden watched Scarlet’s beautiful face. She looked so bonny and fresh in the Campbell tartan, though her tight curls and grace reminded him of the queen and courtiers. He’d said to Covington that she would never leave the Highlands, but the man’s question, though asked to wound, was valid. Would an Englishwoman ever stay in the Highlands?

  “Your sister?” Scarlet repeated. “Beckett?” She shook her head. “You said you’ve never met her.”

  “The name was my mother’s, Alyce Beckett of Nottingham, a Viscountess who widowed young and met my father on a trip north on holiday. She was pregnant when she left us to return to England. Rebecca and I didn’t know. I don’t think our da knew, either, or he would have gone after her.”

  Scarlet stared at him. “Your mother…left you. She was English.” Her face opened as if understanding had broken through her. “You hate Englishwomen not because one broke your heart—”

  “She broke my father’s heart,” Aiden said. “And aye, she broke mine, too, a lad of thirteen years. Rebecca was only seven.”

  Scarlet pressed a hand against her chest. “She left her children,” she whispered as if she spoke of great sin.

  She met his gaze, and he saw pity there, something he couldn’t tolerate. It curdled in his stomach, and he looked away, his gaze resting on the dancers starting a minuet. Foking Covington and the duchess walked back toward the king and queen.

  He leaned against the shadowed wall. “Rebecca and I recovered, but we had to see our da suffer for years, quietly watching the south road, his hate for England growing each day, calling for her in his dreams and on his deathbed… It took nearly a decade before he discovered that she’d died within a year of returning to Nottingham. I wrote his letters for him, as my mother had taught me to read and write, but they went unanswered by any of her kin.”

  “Cruel,” Scarlet whispered. Half her lovely face was caught in shadow while the candles from the other room lit her high cheekbone and the gentle slope of her nose.

  “Ye are the only thing from England I’ve encountered that has not been cruel.” He waited as if the statement were a question, and he realized how vulnerable he’d just rendered himself.

  “And Jacey?” Scarlet asked lightly. “She has not been cruel. Or has she known about you up here all these years?”

  He shook his head. “She claims to have only learned of us from Covington when her grandmother grew ill and died before they came north, leaving her the estate in Nottingham. Apparently, the estate, without any other male heirs…is mine.”

  “Aiden,” Scarlet said, her eyes wide. “A viscountess’s son?”

  “Not that I want anything to do with it, but I would claim the estate to give to my sister if the law requires.”

  Scarlet’s hand rested on her mouth and chin. She let it drop. “So she could live independently, away from court.”

  He nodded, staring at Scarlet. “Is it far enough from court to protect her?” he whispered.

  Scarlet exhaled, her gaze dropping. “I’m finding that Scotland may not be far enough.”

  He stepped closer, grasping her arms. “Aye, it is. Ye can stay, no matter what the royals
have planned. No matter what they ask of ye, ye can say no.”

  She nodded, looking into his eyes. “But we need to save your sister.”

  The same questions rolled through Aiden. Scarlet still hadn’t told him what had befallen her at Whitehall Court. And a warrior, fighting against an unknown foe, was at a disadvantage. But something in her eyes made him hold his tongue. Her nightmares were her own until she was ready to share.

  “Aiden.” Kerrick’s voice made him drop his arms. Kerrick nodded to Scarlet and then looked at him. “Edgar Menzies and his son, Calum, just showed up. Calum’s been named the new chief of the Menzies. They’ve come to greet the king and queen.” No one moved, and Kerrick looked between them. “Thought ye’d want to know.” He slowly backed out of the alcove.

  “Go,” Scarlet said. “We will untangle this mess later.”

  Aiden stepped to the opening but turned back to her. “Ye look bonny, lass,” he said, his accent thick. “Wearing our colors.”

  Her lush lips turned upward into a smile. “I wanted the king, and you, to know where I stood.”

  “And where do ye stand?” He needed to hear it again.

  “I stand on the north side of the border,” she said.

  Aiden’s chest loosened enough to allow a full inhale. Covington’s talk of the school hadn’t swayed her. He nodded and walked into the hall. His smile faded as he saw Covington next to the king, shaking Edgar and Calum’s hands. Had the bastard really brought Jacqueline up here to trade for Scarlet like his sister said? Had he gone to the trouble to find something that he could use to persuade Aiden to convince Scarlet to return, not knowing that the temporary Campbell chief of Finlarig had… His heart pounded hard. Had fallen in love with her.

  Love? His breathing was shallow, his brow low. Had he actually followed exactly in his father’s footsteps? Love, the most powerful force to weaken a man.

  Aiden stopped near the group where Edgar and Calum greeted the queen. “My son, Calum, has just been recognized as the new chief to the Menzies,” Edgar said, as his son bowed low over the queen’s hand.

  “What happened to the old chief?” she asked.

  “James Menzies died a year ago of disease,” Edgar answered.

  “What of his son?” Covington asked. “I believe he had a son.”

  Aiden’s hands fisted at his sides, and he forced his focus on Harry Covington. “Finlay Menzies was a merry idiot,” Aiden said, pulling everyone’s attention. “He preferred to celebrate everything and anything rather than lead his clan.”

  “There is no crime in making merry,” King Charles said with a dazzling smile that made Louise twitter like a bird atop bramble.

  “When it is at the expense of his people, it is a crime,” Aiden said slowly. Aiden bordered on traitorous innuendos. It was a much safer topic, in his mind, than his possible love for an Englishwoman.

  As if looking to save his neighbor, Calum spoke up. “Finlay Menzies was a poor leader and ran away as soon as I opposed him. His cowardice proved his unfitness to be laird. My council and I will see the Menzies Clan as a strength again in the Highlands.”

  Covington raised the tankard he was holding. “To the new Chief Menzies, then. Congratulations are in order, and we happen to have a celebration going on. Please partake,” he said, throwing his arm out wide as if he were the host instead of Clan Campbell.

  Calum turned to Aiden. “Thank ye. And know that Clan Menzies is an ally of Clan Campbell of Breadalbane.”

  “Do not forget your allegiance to your sire, King Charles,” Covington said.

  Calum bowed to the king. “Of course. Menzies clan is loyal to he who governs the land.”

  The new Menzies chief seemed clever enough to know that he wasn’t actually pledging to support Charles. However, Charles’s condescending smile and nod quite clearly showed that he was not as clever.

  Harry Covington’s gaze rested on Calum as if assessing if he was treasonous or loyal. He finally smiled. “Shall I take you and your father over to the bounty that Titus, the king’s personal chef, has laid out for the celebration.” With a bow toward the monarchs, Covington led the Menzies away.

  “It seems we have an Abbott of Unreason,” Aiden said, watching the bastard saunter.

  “Pardon?” Queen Catherine asked.

  Aiden smiled, though it was wry. “The Lord of Misrule for the Christmas festivities from decades ago. ’Twas called the Abbott of Unreason in Scotland. A fool to rule over the festivities.”

  The queen raised a gloved hand to her lips, hiding a smile. The king chuckled outright. “Perhaps we should make Lord Covington don a crown and order the dances.”

  Louise’s dainty laugh won a grin from her king and lover. But was she lover enough to hold the roguish sovereign’s attention? As Aiden watched the king follow his newly discovered sister across the dance floor, he doubted it. Did Louise wish for Jacqueline to stay here in Scotland, thinking the king would forget her with the distance? Had he forgotten Scarlet?

  Aiden stared at the man, wishing to see inside his thoughts, when he felt a hand touch his. He looked down to see the quiet queen glancing up at him. “Would you take me to dance, Sir Campbell?”

  The Queen of England wished to dance with him. Aiden’s mother, if she could see him from the grave, would rejoice. Not that he had any wish to make her happy after she shattered his family by leaving them all.

  He bowed. “I would be honored,” he said, and she stood to walk with him toward the dancers, who made space immediately. A minuet was playing. The queen’s participation seemed to refresh the musicians, and they picked up a more intricate song to the beats. Queen Catherine’s feet moved in rapid grace. She smiled as she stepped out, turning to come forward to meet Aiden, who performed the same.

  “You dance well, Sir Campbell,” Catherine said. “A gift from your mother, perhaps?”

  Aiden turned her in time. “She taught me as a lad,” he said, not bothering to keep his smile. But his frown didn’t seem to bother the queen.

  She nodded. “Lady Beckett of Nottingham. Her own mother, your grandmother, just passed away, leaving Lady Jacqueline Beckett alone, as I believe you know.”

  They stepped away from each other, the small steps taking them in mirrored circles. Aiden noticed Scarlet talking with Jacqueline, but he couldn’t see their expressions. He came around to Queen Catherine once again. “Lord Covington would use her against you, you know this,” she said.

  “Why would he?” Aiden asked, the queen pulling his attention.

  “He wants Lady Worthington. Once he realized where she was hiding, from her brother’s letter, and then that an Aiden Campbell was in charge, he asked the king to investigate you. Lord Covington was quite enthusiastic when he discovered the young and beautiful Lady Beckett and asked her to accompany us. It is unfortunate for her that the king has found her youth enticing.”

  They moved apart, the queen’s cool features showing no emotion to her discussion of her husband’s roving appetite. She bowed her chin and turned, her tall tower of curls like an odd extension of her head.

  Aiden kept a tight hold on his temper as he moved through the steps that his mother had taught him. It seemed sadly appropriate that her lessons would help him now in this battle where a sword would do naught but get him hung or shot.

  He came back around to the queen. “Scarlet is a free woman. She has her brother’s permission to remain in Scotland to help her sister with the school. She has no reason to return.”

  “Lord Covington thinks to trade one for the other,” the queen said.

  “They are not connected in any way.”

  “Oh, but they are,” she said and turned, but instead of stepping back, she stepped forward as if chasing him, yet she made the move look like it was part of the minuet. “They are both beautiful and desired by the king, a man no one can refuse.”

  “I can refuse him,” Aiden said, following the queen forward as she stepped back.

  “A dead man cannot refuse
him,” she whispered, her warning coming like a hiss, the most emotion he’d heard in her voice.

  “I would rather be dead than see Scarlet return to whatever hell chased her from England,” Aiden said.

  He turned the queen in a slow circle, their small steps keeping in time with the musician’s beats. “Lady Worthington chased Lord Covington,” Catherine said. “She was hurt when he refused to offer for her hand at the time because the king desired her, but Charles has said Lord Covington may now ask to wed her. He immediately began to persuade my husband to venture up here for Christmastide.”

  Aiden’s blood rushed through him, making him want to charge instead of turn, bow, and continue the ridiculous little steps. “What does that matter if Scarlet refuses him?”

  “Sir Campbell,” the queen said, meeting his gaze. “How pray can you protect Lady Worthington from my husband? If she weds his favorite, Lord Covington can persuade the king to leave her be. If Lady Worthington returns with us to England, Charles will allow your sister to remain here as Lord Covington has already suggested to him. Both ladies will feel safe.”

  They turned and stepped, coming together one last time as the final notes of the minuet stretched out. “Pardon me, your majesty,” Aiden said low, meeting her sturdy gaze. “The conception of safety is a personal opinion and must be built by that person. Lord Covington is a villain to Scarlet, not a hero, and not a possible husband.” He leaned close to her ear. “And beware the schemer, your majesty, for he may endeavor to trick even you.”

  He bowed to her and offered his arm. She hesitated, then gently lay her gloved hand on his forearm to let him guide her back to her throne. Did she ever despair at not being able to traverse the room alone? All the webs of etiquette seemed to stuff the hall, making people walk in practiced, measured beats of expectation. It was all Aiden could do not to pull his sword and slice through it all.

  “That was lovely,” the king said, turning to them as the queen took a glass of chilled wine that Molly quietly offered.