A Rose in the Highlands

by Heather McCollum

  Admittedly, they couldn’t keep their hands off each other nor their clothes on when alone. But she’d stolen his castle, for fok’s sake. And she was bloody English! Love? Aiden would slice him in two, and Gram would poison his ale.

  Grey paced before the cold hearth. Love? It was a dangerous emotion, which led intelligent people to do stupid things. His mother had loved his father and had apparently followed him to her death. Nay. Love was for fools, not Highland chiefs, even ones without control of their castles.

  Grey tied his shirt at the neck. He needed to talk to the lass. Maybe he should give her a dram of whisky first. Would Evelyn take it badly if he said that she was so incredibly wrong? He tucked in his tunic and strode out into the corridor. She would be teaching in the library. Blast. The library now made his blood run hot every time he walked in through the door. Evelyn boils my blood. His mouth twisted with a hard frown. Maybe she was a witch. That would be a bloody good reason for not being able to get her out of his head, except that he didn’t believe in witches and spells. Ballocks.

  Steeling himself against the vision of her spread naked across the chair near the hearth, Grey knocked on the frame of the open door. The room was full of females. Alana, the two new students, Scarlet, and Izzy with her sister. They all stood around Evelyn, who held a folded letter before her, reading. He cleared his throat. “Evelyn. We have something to discuss.”

  Slowly her gaze lifted from the paper. She leaned forward to squeeze Izzy’s hand. “We certainly do,” she said and turned her gaze to his, her face open with happiness. Och. He didn’t want to wash it all away.

  But before he could say anything else, she raised the paper in her hand, flapping it like a flag. “We need to discuss how Isabel just saved Finlarig for you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  For the worthy Captain William Cross alone

  Plans are in motion. Remove the Campbell Covenanter from Finlarig. The castle will become our outpost in the north for our rebellion. I will travel to you as things are settled this spring. When the Merry Bird lands to the north, we will be ready to pluck his head from his neck. This kingdom will be ruled by a new parliament and God.

  The XIII of December MDCLXXXIII

  The Surgeon of London

  Evelyn pointed at the letter that Grey studied on the table. “See the date. That is thirteen December of 1683, last year. The Covenanter at Finlarig must be your father. He was tricked into going to meet with others, to remove him from the castle.” Her voice raised with each word. “He did not lose his clan’s castle, Grey,” she said, her voice lower, even though the students had left. Only Alana and Scarlet remained. “It truly was stolen from him.”

  “She found this on Cross’s desk?” Grey asked.

  Grey had come in to talk to her, probably about her risky suggestion about him loving her. But now all focus was on the short letter that Izzy had taken. “Yes. When Burdock brought her in, she saw Cross slide something under another paper on his desk. Cross tied her next to it when we arrived.” She couldn’t help the proud smile on her face. “Isabel had learned enough about deciphering letters to know it spoke of Finlarig, and she took it with her when she escaped.

  “I’m almost certain that the Merry Bird is King Charles. People call him the Merry Monarch. This letter proves that Captain Cross is plotting an assassination with this Surgeon of London. If we show this to Charles, Cross will be arrested.”

  Grey turned his head while still leaning over, so that he met her gaze, his brow cocked. “And Finlarig will be returned to the Campbells of Breadalbane?” His voice was flat, so that it came as a question. Not about the transfer of the castle but about whether she’d deciphered that the school would be evicted.

  Evelyn straightened, her smile thinning into a line. “Killin needs a school, Grey. If Isabel hadn’t read Finlarig on the letter, she would not have taken it.” Would Grey stop everything she’d begun? Would Nathaniel ask her to wed Philip if she couldn’t become an independent woman, able to survive without an inheritance? “Being able to read can protect your clan,” she said. “Knowing the basics of how the world works can only help you all survive.” She leaned closer to him. “Determination can only save a person so far. One must also be knowledgeable and clever.”

  Grey stood upright, crossing his arms over his chest. “Ye would wish to stay on at Finlarig?”

  Her stomach flipped, and she swallowed, hope billowing up in her. “You would share it with me?”

  The corner of his mouth twitched until it became a half grin. “I have need of a groundskeeper,” he said, her words from their first meeting coming back to her.

  She released a breath, her tight mouth relaxing as her stomach flipped about with excitement that she worked hard to hide. “I have always said I would share Finlarig with you. If you would do the same…” She let the sentence hang, a smile turning up her lips. “We can sort out the particulars after we send word about Cross to my brother to take to Charles.”

  Grey’s smile faded. “Your brother?”

  She nodded. “He has the king’s ear. If the king reinstates parliament, my brother is sure to be one of his advisors, taking the place of my father. I…I trust him with my life.” She breathed deeply, hoping she hadn’t misplaced her faith. The printed banns in the London Gazette made the words stick to her tongue. Why hadn’t Nathaniel stopped Philip from printing them?

  Grey straightened without breaking their connected gaze. “When did he purchase Finlarig?”

  “This past winter, right after the new year,” she said, her words coming slowly.

  A small muscle in the side of Grey’s jaw ticked. He rubbed it. “Right after my parents were killed.”

  “You don’t think—”

  “How did he find out that Finlarig was for sale?”

  “I…I am not certain,” she said. “Scarlet and I came home to Hollings from court in London after Charles’s Saint Valentine’s Ball, and within the week, Nathaniel told me of the purchase. I made plans to come as soon as the roads were passable.” Evelyn’s throat felt tight, and she swallowed, shaking her head under Grey’s silent stare. She glanced toward the far wall where Scarlet shelved books and Alana disentangled Robert from her skirts. Her voice came in a whisper. “Nathaniel may not be fond of Charles or a dictatorial state, but he would never plan treason or mix the two of his sisters into it.”

  “Ye have faith in him, but I’ve never met the man who owns my family home,” Grey answered, not hiding his suspicion.

  The tightness in her throat seemed to migrate to her shoulders and up the back of her neck, making her head ache. “He should be visiting soon,” Evelyn said, reaching her nape to press her fingers into the base of her skull. “He planned to come up promptly after we were settled.”

  “I would have Kerrick take the letter directly to Whitehall,” Grey said.

  Defensive anger sprouted in Evelyn’s middle, but Grey didn’t know Nathaniel at all. The way he had saved her in the pond when she was a child or brought her a lemon ice when she’d been stung in the field. He didn’t know how angry her brother had been when reading their father’s will outlining whom she must marry to inherit any of the estate money, how he’d let her set her forehead on his shoulder until she’d collected herself. Grey knew only that Nathaniel was an Englishman who’d unfairly bought his family estate, which had led to the burning of it and eviction of his family.

  Evelyn nodded, swallowing. She breathed deeply and handed him the letter. “It is yours, to do with as you please.”

  His fingers grasped it, but his other hand came up to clasp her hand. “And we,” he said, pulling her gaze again, “will talk about your accusation abovestairs.”

  Accusation? She cleared her throat. “I would certainly hope so,” she said, keeping her face neutral. He couldn’t possibly feel the quick thudding of her heart through the top of her hand.

  …

  “Once you remember the sounds which the letters make, you can start to put them to
gether into blends like shhhh and trrrrr,” Evelyn said, her finger smoothing down the page to point to each set of consonants as Rebecca imitated the sounds they made. “Very good,” Evelyn said as Rebecca finished the repetitions. She’d gone to visit Rebecca with the hornbook after Martha and Fiona had left for the day.

  Rebecca smiled. “I remember some of this from my ma. She knew how to cipher words.”

  “She taught me,” Aiden said from his seat on the bed. “And I can teach ye, Rebecca.”

  Evelyn glanced at the large man, who was doing much better after four days with snails crawling across his back. He had wheat-colored, closely cropped hair, broad shoulders, and was devilishly handsome when he wasn’t glaring at her.

  “There’s no need for outsiders to teach ye,” he said, bracing himself on the bed so his back did not touch the wall.

  Evelyn cleared her throat. “Why did your mother teach only Aiden?” she asked.

  The siblings glanced at each other before Rebecca turned a stiff smile her way. “I’m sure Ma would have gotten around to it, I was still a wee lass when she left.”

  “Left?”

  Rebecca opened her mouth, but Aiden interrupted her. “We don’t discuss family with outsiders. And I said that I can teach her.” Rebecca tipped her head back to the hornbook and continued to sound out the letter blends.

  Evelyn came to sit in the chair beside Aiden’s bed. “You’ve been too busy defending Finlarig and Killin to teach her, and without being able to read my medical book, we’d never have known to place snails upon your back.”

  “Cat knew about the snails,” he said and gingerly leaned his poultice-covered back against the wall.

  “Cat may not have arrived in time. It would be best if resources like medical books and atlases and current gazettes were available to all the people of Killin, not just the men who were fortunate enough to learn as youths.”

  Aiden’s eyes remained narrowed as he met her stare, his jaw set. “I hear that your brother bought Finlarig directly after Grey’s parents were murdered for some mysterious traitor to set up a trap to kill your king.”

  Was that how Grey had presented the information to Aiden, or had the suspicious man twisted his words? “Someone informed my brother of the castle being put up for auction. Nathaniel had talked of sheep farming for the last year, so it seemed like a wise investment. When he arrives, I will find out exactly who told him about the sale, although that alone won’t prove anyone’s guilt.”

  Evelyn’s spine remained straight, her chin high, even though her stomach churned, and she fought a blush. Nathaniel was a good man, an honorable man. He sought reform through civilized ways, not by plotting an assassination. If Grey had already decided Nathaniel’s guilt, she must change his mind. She still needed to speak with him about Philip and what she’d said earlier.

  She stood and smiled at Rebecca. “I will leave the hornbook with you tonight, and we can meet again day after tomorrow.”

  “Thank ye,” Rebecca said, and Evelyn caught a hint of sincerity in her voice.

  Evelyn smiled. “You are most welcome.” She nodded to Aiden, who kept his frown, and stepped out into the evening light. Maybe if she were able to remain at Finlarig, the villagers would begin to accept her enough to learn from her. She let out a long sigh as she traipsed through the woods, where the buds had erupted into leaves on nearly every tree. Stopping at the edge of the village, Evelyn rested her hand on the rough bark of a slender oak.

  “Nathaniel,” she whispered. She needed to talk to him. Who had told him about Finlarig? Had he known how the Campbells would be treated? Why had he allowed the wedding banns to be posted? Everyone in London and Lincolnshire would be expecting a wedding between the houses of Worthington and Sotheby sometime in the next month. She had to tell Nathaniel that wedding Philip was impossible. Not only was she no longer a maid, but she could be with child. The thought sent a shudder of joy and worry through her, the two emotions tangled together. Good God, she needed to sort things out with Grey.

  Pushing away from the tree, she strode into the lane that wound through the village. She waved to Craig, the blacksmith, without waiting to see if the grumpy man would return her greeting. She spied Kirstin ahead, hanging out some wool that dripped water.

  “You are missed at the school,” Evelyn said, pausing on the lane.

  Kirstin peeked around the fluffy, wet mass. “Doubtful,” she said, her face hard.

  Evelyn exhaled through her nose. She stepped to the side so that Kirstin could see her. “Learning is more important than petty squabbles.”

  “I threw fish water on ye,” she said without taking her eyes off stretching the wool.

  “And made me a sack for a dress and tried to make me into a man with a set of trousers. I know Grey asked people to make things difficult here for me. Perhaps you were just following orders.” Evelyn folded her hands before her.

  Kirstin narrowed her eyes. “Regardless, I don’t like ye.”

  “You don’t like me, or you don’t like the possibility that Grey might like me?”

  “Both,” Kirstin said.

  Evelyn’s mouth relaxed in a grin. “I don’t like much about you, either, but I do like honesty. If you can resist the urge to throw more things on me or bump me into a fire, you are welcome back up at the school.” Kirstin didn’t accept, but she didn’t refuse, either.

  Evelyn continued up the path, rounding the corner. Yellow gorse was blooming low to the ground in bushes on both sides. Pausing, she let her shoulders slump forward and lowered her hands to brace on her knees. The day had taken its toll on her. Isabel being taken, Grey, the letter, Aiden’s distrust, Kirstin’s scorn… She wanted to curl up under warm covers with Grey, wrapped in his strong arms where treasonous intrigue and hurtful stares couldn’t touch her. It must mean that she forgave him for anticipating her failure before, but did that mean she loved him?

  If she loved him, she must tell him about the guilt pressing on her heart. Even if she hadn’t given Cross his evil ideas, she still should have researched Killin and its people before jumping in with her own plans. She’d not considered them at all, only Scarlet, herself, and the school.

  Evelyn straightened, and her boots crunched on the gravel as she neared the open gate. She glanced behind her as she picked up on the growing sound of wooden wheels. Her hand flattened against her chest. “Oh God,” she whispered.

  A finely appointed carriage was pulled by four horses. Two armed drivers sat in front while two armed livery stood alert on the back with one armed English soldier following on horseback behind. But it wasn’t the massive display of importance that caught Evelyn’s breath. It was the coat of arms emblazoned on the side as it stopped before the gate. The shield sported a knight with three dogs underneath him. It wasn’t the Worthington coat of arms. No, it belonged to the Sotheby family.

  …

  Grey leaped down from the stone steps of the keep, striding across the bailey. “Ye need to get inside,” he said, tugging Evelyn behind him. Kerrick strode past them to join Hamish before the gate. Grey glanced at Evelyn. “Inside, Evelyn. They have muskets. Bar the door.” Her face was pale, ashen almost, her pink lips parted. Ghosts seemed to haunt her eyes, and he took both of her arms, moving them slightly in a small shake. “Lass?”

  “I…I know the carriage,” she said, her voice weak. Was she going to faint?

  He looked back where Kerrick talked to the drivers. The door of the carriage swung open, and a dark-haired man stepped down wearing tailored English clothing. Evelyn gasped softly. “Nathaniel.”

  “Your brother?” Grey asked, and watched the man offer a hand to Hamish. Was Evelyn frightened of him? Her voice had held fondness for her elder sibling before, but there was no way to miss the near panic in her features now that he was here.

  Evelyn’s brother wore an uneasy frown, but he shook both Hamish and Kerrick’s empty hands. The two Campbell warriors held their swords ready even though neither would get very far with the mu
skets trained on them.

  “Nathaniel,” Evelyn called, and he turned toward her, his frown turning into a slow smile.

  “Evie,” he said and began to walk forward.

  Without warning, Evelyn broke free of Grey and hastened across the bailey, holding her skirts. She hugged her brother, and he wrapped her in his arms, her head coming below his chin. Apparently, she wasn’t frightened of him. Grey traipsed closer, motioning for Hamish to let the carriage onto the grounds. Hamish called up to the driver and stepped aside.

  Nathaniel pulled Evelyn out of the way, and the carriage rattled under the pointed portcullis. He said something to her, his gaze reaching out to scan the area. When he met Grey’s assessing stare, he stopped, his eyes narrowing. The man was tall and broad, looking like he must train as a warrior despite the tailored English clothes. He wore a long jacket over slender trousers and no wig that the dandies from London seemed to favor. In fact, the man looked rather rugged, like he could fill out a Highlander’s shirt and kilt.

  Grey’s stomach tightened. Was this the man who’d ordered his parents removed from Finlarig? Was he the Surgeon of London who had tricked his father, luring him into a deadly trap, his mother following for love? The one who had ordered Finlarig burned? And yet Evelyn clasped him to her heart.

  “I didn’t expect you yet,” Evelyn said as they walked toward him. “But it is good you came. We have things to discuss with Chief Grey Campbell about the ownership of Finlarig.”

  “We came as soon as we were able,” Nathaniel said, making Evelyn’s smile falter.

  “We?” she asked, glancing between the carriage and her brother. “Oh, Nathaniel.” She closed her eyes momentarily just as the carriage door swung open again.

  How many blasted English were stuffed inside? Had her brother brought more reinforcements on top of the five armed guards? Would they slowly fill the bailey to order them out? Over his dead body.

  Another man stepped down, his clothes notably richer, with gold thread edging. He wore a plume in his hat, which was pinned atop a long, curly wig. He smoothed his gloved hand over a velvet cloak that lay over one shoulder, and the feather bounced in the breeze. A ridiculous fashion that looked like he waved to everyone. He was shorter, with a paunchy, stout frame, as if he sat much of the day. His features were smooth, without emotion.