A Rose in the Highlands (Highland Roses School)

by Heather McCollum

  “Unhand her,” Grey yelled as he drew his sword, holding it level with Burdock’s chest, although Evelyn struggled between them as the soldier held her wrists. Grey ignored the three other soldiers behind him but noted that they drew their own swords. Better swords than muskets.

  Burdock’s grin soured as he looked over Evelyn’s head. “Damn, Campbell. I suppose a devil like you would survive the flames.”

  “Let the woman go,” Grey said, his teeth set so that the words seethed.

  “How dare you touch me,” Evelyn yelled, bringing Burdock’s glance down. “I am Evelyn Worthington of Hollings Estate in Lincolnshire, England, and you, soldier, are making all English hated up here in Scotland when we are trying to bring our countries together. I’ve just met you, and I already hate you.”

  His brows furrowed, and Grey swore the man paled as he released Evelyn’s wrists. “Lady Evelyn Worthington?”

  “Yes,” she snapped and looked toward Grey. “Is this the fiend who burned my castle?”

  “One of many,” Grey answered without lowering his sword. It was all he could do not to run the sarding bloke through. Killin will burn.

  Evelyn turned to Burdock. “Tell your captain that I will have an audience with him to deliver a parchment from my brother, Nathaniel Worthington, and that I have written to my brother, alerting him to the mess you and your captain have made in this fine town.” She waved her hand at the soldiers behind him. “Put your swords away. The audacity of threatening war before a lady. Your mothers and wives would be ashamed. I should take down your names and write them letters.”

  The paleness in Burdock’s face changed to an angry flush the more Evelyn spoke. Her snapping English accent commanded shame, forcing the three soldiers to lower their swords as if each of her words weighed heavily upon the sword tips. Grey lowered his weapon but kept it ready. He was certain he could win against four English cocks, but Evelyn was in the middle of it. And if he killed them, Killin would likely pay in flames and destruction. He was walking a very thin line between keeping the peace and letting the English steal away his dignity. Foking hell!

  She stared into Burdock’s scowl with one of her own. “And to come up behind a woman like that!”

  “Like what?” Grey asked, his sword rising back up without thought.

  “I thought you were…” Burdock started.

  Evelyn’s cold stare turned hot with her flushed face. “What? A Scottish woman? For shame,” she said, her words so powerful, Grey imagined that the bastard felt their sting against his cheek. “You do not treat any woman like that.”

  “Like what?” Grey repeated, stepping closer, which made the three red-faced soldiers raise their weapons again.

  Burdock looked up from Evelyn to Grey. “Start something, Campbell, and see how quickly your village burns.”

  “Absolutely not,” Evelyn yelled, hands fisted at her sides. “Step down, and give me your name and rank, soldier.”

  The moment stretched until Burdock finally broke the stare and shook his head. He turned away. “I’ll be telling Captain Cross that you are still in the area.” The words carried the heaviness of a threat. Would Cross come back and order the town burned?

  “Of course he is,” Evelyn shouted, making Burdock glance at her. “I’ve hired him to repair the castle and open my school. Tell Captain Cross that I will be sending the bill of repair costs to him.” Her voice came as if she spoke from atop a throne. Her head held high and chin tipped upward, she was on fire with indignation and English propriety. She looked glorious. “And all four of you would do well to remember to bow when leaving a lady’s presence.”

  Two of the soldiers bowed right away, while the third glared with annoyance. Burdock stalked off toward the woods, adjusting his wee cod.

  Out of the corner of Grey’s eye, a rock whizzed by, hitting one of the soldiers in the calf. The soldier turned, his gaze searching, but returned to his stride, never seeing the smudged face of little Izzy, as she ducked behind a cottage.

  Kirstin flew out of her yard and up to Evelyn. “Bloody hell,” she said, looking Evelyn up and down and then to Grey.

  The fury in Evelyn’s face seemed to drain away, leaving her pale. He noticed a fine sheen of moisture on her forehead. She nodded. “Yes, just…” She shook her head, glancing at Grey. “That man is the devil, isn’t he?”

  Grey’s lips thinned. “One of many.”

  “Not all Englishmen are like him.”

  “So ye say,” Grey said, his tone flat.

  As if giving up on his opinion, she turned to Kirstin. “Truly, I’ve met some very respectable Englishmen. Like my brother.”

  “The one who’s stolen Finlarig?” Kirstin asked, although the bite from her tone was softer.

  Evelyn sighed as if tired of hauling boulders all day, her shoulders rounding slightly. “Like I’ve said, Nathaniel had no idea that the castle was taken so brutally or that the family felt wrongly accused of treason.” She walked over to sit on a stump in the yard. She looked shaken, and Grey had the traitorous desire to carry her back to his home. His home? Mo chreach. He didn’t even have a home. “We would never have agreed to a fire or trapping people inside to burn,” she said, her words growing soft as she stared at the ground.

  “Ye came into Killin for something?” he asked.

  Kirstin retrieved a wrapped bulk of woven fabric from the road. “The wool.”

  “Thank you,” Evelyn said, her words soft. She took a deep breath and sat straight, though Grey saw her tremble. “I need some help with the sewing up at the school.” She flapped a hand. “Castle. And costumes in which to work. Although I might as well surrender this gown now to the irreparably damaged.” She held out the hem, showing the stains of soot nearly six inches up and a small tear.

  Grey came closer and lifted her arm to lead her. “I will take ye back to the castle. With Cross’s troops wandering without their leashes, it isn’t safe for any woman or child to be out without escort.”

  It was the first time he’d touched her. She rose easily, the faint smell of flowers coming from her hair left free of a hood. Grey let his hand drop and stepped back, purposely turning away from her to Kirstin. “Remind Izzy to stay away from the English. She was lucky the soldier didn’t see her.”

  “The girl?” Evelyn asked, looking down the road. “Her name’s Izzy?”

  “Isabel Campbell, but we call her Izzy,” Kirstin said. “She lives on her own since her parents died and her older sister, Cat, moved away from the village to live in the forest. Cat is the town midwife.”

  Evelyn’s eyes opened wider. “Isabel must come to the school then.”

  Kirstin shook her head. “Ye’ll never get her under the roof. She’s skittish and won’t talk. Runs about wild.”

  “All the more reason this parish needs a proper school,” Evelyn said, making Grey’s teeth grind.

  He began to walk toward Finlarig. “Stay if ye want. I’m headed back.”

  Evelyn caught up quickly, striding next to him, two steps to every one of his. She didn’t say anything, but he could hear her breathe through her mouth. He slowed slightly, glancing her way. More curls had come out of her bun, framing her pink cheeks. Lips parted for breath and bosom rising, she looked full of determination, like she planned to move mountains or fight wolves. If she had been born with the physical strength of a man, she’d be a fearsome warrior.

  “Ye should have twisted your hand at the wrist and jerked it toward the place Burdock’s thumb and finger touched,” he said.

  “Excuse me?”

  “To break his hold on your wrists,” Grey answered and rubbed his ear. Reaching his arms out before him, he grabbed his own wrist, encircling it, then jerked it loose. “Here, where his thumb and fingertip touch… If ye turn your wrist to widen it slightly and jerk toward it, ye will break free.”

  He took the folded wo
ol. “Try it.”

  Evelyn grabbed her own wrist, turned and jerked. “He was much too strong.”

  “It works on anyone,” he said. “Turn and jerk. Ye could have also stomped on his foot, kicked his kneecap or his ballocks, and then turned and jerked your hands.”

  “Ladies in England are not taught any of this,” she said, trying the twist and jerking action again.

  “Ye aren’t in England anymore, Evelyn Worthington,” he said. “And I’m fairly certain that ye just made an enemy.”

  She looked up. Pretty green-gray eyes stared into his as they walked. “It seems that we have something in common, then,” she said, tipping her head slightly. Lord help him, she was bonny, and he felt his blood stir. He looked toward the path, breaking the connection.

  Evelyn cleared her throat. “You could teach me some more defense techniques. Scarlet thinks we should add it to the school curriculum.”

  “Grand,” he said with a touch of sarcasm. “In less than a day I’ve been promoted from groundskeeper to repairman to instructor. At this rate, I’ll be chief of Finlarig Castle again by next week.”

  A dark chuckle escaped her, the low rumble of it thrumming through him. “No one has taken away your chiefdom, Laird Campbell, just your castle.”

  They stopped at the bottom of the steps leading into the keep, the arched stone etched with the Campbell Clan heraldry, the boar’s head with the Latin words Ne Obliviscaris, meaning “Forget Not,” inscribed above it. He caught her gaze. “And that, Lady Evelyn, is the problem.”

  “How so?”

  “Finlarig Castle and the head of clan Campbell…” He placed his hand, palm open, on the stone balustrade. “We are one and the same.”

  Chapter Five

  “Ye want me to grab ye?” Grey asked as he righted another chair that he’d just repaired, its new legs looking out of place against the scorch marks across the seat.

  “Yes,” Evelyn said, making him turn, his eyebrow rising. She set the broom she’d been using against the wall.

  The lass wanted him to touch her again. He studied her serious face, her lush bottom lip slightly bowed out. He crossed his arms out of annoyance, he told himself, and not to stop himself from grabbing her to him. Mo chreach.

  Holding her arm up, she encircled her own wrist like he’d shown her earlier in the day. “Like before, so I can practice.” Her eyes, a warm green in the light from the broken windows above, searched his face. “A woman should know how to break away from a harsh grip.”

  He glanced around the empty hall. His sister was upstairs tending the pups, and he hadn’t seen Evelyn’s sister and maid for the last hour. He lowered his mallet to the table, the clunk sounding hollow in the two-story hall.

  The gown fit her waist snugly, and one errant curl lay uncoiled against the smooth skin of her bare collarbone. The lowering sun outside painted golden highlights along it.

  Evelyn raised her arms for him to take, as if she were offering herself up to him, determination etched on her face. He grasped each of her wrists. They felt fragile, her skin soft. She stared down at them. “Twist and jerk,” she murmured, and he tightened his hold. She yanked toward the sliver of opening but couldn’t quite pull out.

  She huffed. “I thought you said this works every time.”

  He tipped his head. “I’m stronger than most, and I was expecting it. Others wouldn’t, but you can add a kick to distract them.” He dropped one of her wrists to point to his knee. “If you step into my knee with the weight in your foot, it will bend my knee backward.”

  He grabbed her wrist again, and she stepped into him, raising her foot under the skirts, but missed her mark. “It’s hard to see where I’m aiming,” she said.

  “Try again.”

  This time she was still too far out from him, so she hardly pressed his knee. “Ye need to step in closer to shove with your weight,” he said.

  “Don’t I want to get away?”

  “Aye, but first ye need to escape an enemy’s grasp with surprise and strength. A warrior carries a lot of power in his thighs but often forgets to use it. If ye must shove upward, use the muscles in your legs.”

  “Strength in my legs,” she repeated, just under her breath.

  He watched her lips move over the words and wondered what they tasted like. Bloody hell, he’d likely tent out his kilt if he followed his thoughts. And she was his adversary, an aristocratic Sassenach who was stealing his castle.

  “Like this?” she asked, stepping into him, her foot finding his kneecap. She pushed against it, and at the same time, twisted her wrists and jerked, breaking away. But instead of backing up, she stayed close, a smile softening her tight expression. She looked up at him, a raw happiness opening her features. “I did it.” Excitement flushed her cheeks, and her open lips were incredibly close. All he’d have to do was dip his head to take a taste.

  “Aye, lass. Very good,” he said, his words coming slowly. They didn’t touch, yet he felt her presence as if they did. She smelled of woman and hard work, with an underlying scent of flowers. Evelyn’s smile faded as she met his gaze. She closed her mouth, the tip of her tongue giving a quick slide over her bottom lip to wet it.

  Grey’s fingers curled into fists at his sides. She remained directly in front of him, and neither of them were backing up. Stubbornness or attraction? Perhaps both.

  “I…” Evelyn started and damned if she didn’t wet her lips again. “I have a proposition for you.” She tipped her head slightly.

  Without breaking his stare, Grey’s eyebrow rose. She seemed to be breathing quickly, as if she struggled to keep her inhales and exhales even. “Aye?” he asked, his voice deep and soft.

  “Well now, are ye about to gut her or tup her?” Alana’s voice flowed through him like an icy river off Ben Lawers, slicing through any tether holding the two of them together.

  Evelyn jumped back. “I’m learning how to break away from an attack,” she said, holding up her wrist to show Alana how to twist and jerk. “Do you know this trick?”

  Alana narrowed her eyes, her glance going between the two of them to land on Grey with a look that yelled “traitor.” “Nay,” she said. “I just need to find a musket or pull my sgian dubh.”

  “If a man has your wrists, you can’t grab a musket or whatever the other thing is,” Evelyn argued.

  “A sgian dubh is a knife or dagger,” Grey said and slid his black-handled knife from a strap he had around his thigh. “’Tis kept secret, to be used up close.”

  “Something else I need to learn,” Evelyn said, turning back to him. “Which brings me to my proposition.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m waiting,” he grumbled, disappointed that the proposition was nothing she sought to hide from Alana. Damnation. He certainly didn’t need to tangle naked with the enemy. Although, if he made her writhe, she might be more willing to listen to reason. His cod found a lot of merit in his argument.

  “I would like to hire you to teach my students how to protect themselves,” Evelyn said. “As an instructor, you would reside in the castle. Even carry on your clan responsibilities as chief, but you’d also work for the school. Captain Cross should have no reason to exile you for being in Killin or Finlarig.”

  “Exile?” Alana said with a snort. “Cross wants us dead, not exiled.”

  “Well, dead then,” Evelyn said. “There’s no reason for him to—”

  “I’m Scottish,” Grey said. “That’s reason enough.”

  She opened her mouth to argue but stopped, as if remembering the welcome she received from Cross’s right-hand man in town. Shaking her head, she met his gaze. “I will speak to Captain Cross.”

  “Not alone,” Grey said.

  After a long moment, she nodded, and Grey felt a tightness lessen in his gut. Not that he was concerned for a Sassenach. He wouldn’t want any woman to confront
the devil alone.

  “And where exactly are all these students coming from?” Alana asked and sat on one of the seats refitted with fresh legs. Behind her, the sound of Ceò and her pups came from the stairwell.

  “All over Scotland,” Evelyn said as she went to the sideboard to pour some weak ale into a mug. “Starting with ladies in Killin and the surrounding area. You may stay, too.”

  “Bloody aye,” she said. “’Tis my home.”

  Evelyn took a drink and nodded. “As a student, Captain Cross can’t throw you out.”

  “He ordered me thrown inside, not out,” Alana said, and Grey watched his sister blink, leaning back in the seat. He knew she suffered demons, too, memories of flames in her dreams.

  Evelyn sat across from Alana and folded her hands in her lap, her knuckles growing white. “Not all English are evil, Alana.”

  “I haven’t been impressed by those I’ve met,” she said, staring directly into Evelyn’s gaze.

  Evelyn straightened until it looked like her spine might snap. “Stay if you’d like, but to do so, you’ll have to start lessons.”

  “Lessons?” Alana asked, her voice pinching to match her expression.

  Evelyn nodded deeply. “As soon as my books and supplies arrive. Meanwhile, I need to get the library set up and this hall righted. We can move you and your brother up to the third and fourth floors.”

  Alana looked to Grey, and he uncrossed his arms to saunter over to pour himself some ale. “I sleep in the laird’s room, but Alana can move to the students’ floor.”

  Evelyn braced fisted hands on the table. “You have no need for such a large room.”

  He set his mug down and leaned in to imitate her, their faces drawing close. This time he purposely did not inhale her floral scent. “I am a large scoundrel,” he said, using her term for him upon meeting. “And a large scoundrel needs a large bed. The room accommodates it.”

  “For what could you possibly need a bed that size?” she asked.

  He let the side of his mouth tip upward into a wicked grin. He opened his mouth, but she held up a hand to stop him, her cheeks flushing. “No. Do not answer that.”