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 muskets 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.
“Lady Evelyn,” he said, bowing his head. He wore a thin mustache, which curled upward at the tips over thin lips. “You look…lovely,” he said after his pause.
Evelyn did look lovely. She wore the gown that Grey had stripped her out of in the kitchen that morning; curls still broke free from her bun that she hadn’t fixed after they’d attacked each other between their rooms. But her skin looked pale. He stepped closer, while completely aware of her brother’s assessing stare.
Evelyn looked at Nathaniel. “We must discuss this immediately,” she said, her gaze shifting to Grey. When no one said anything, she cleared her throat and gave a small curtsy to the feathered fop. “Lord Philip, welcome to Finlarig Castle,” she said. “I am sorry that you came all this way for nothing.”
“Evelyn,” Nathaniel started, but the fop interrupted him, raising his pudgy hand.
“Nothing?” the Englishman asked. “I came right away once I found to where you whisked away your sister.” He smiled broadly. “And I posted the banns two weeks ago in the gazette.”
“Yes,” she breathed.
Banns? Wedding banns? Grey looked between Evelyn and Lord Philip. “Evelyn?” Grey asked and felt the heavy gazes of both Englishmen. Evelyn’s lips opened as if she breathed a silent lament, and she tipped her head slightly to one side, exhaling a long sigh as if her strength was escaping her. But it was her eyes that knotted his stomach. Desperation mixed with regret.
The fop pulled a lace-edged handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed his nose. “Yes, Lady Evelyn, by this time next week, you and I can finally be wed.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
“We will, of course, be married at Whitehall with King Charles in attendance,” the bastard named Philip said, unaware of the barely contained fury growing within Grey.
“My school…” Evelyn murmured, tearing her gaze from Grey to rest on her brother. Nathaniel’s expression was dark and unmoving as she seemed to silently beseech him.
Philip peeled off his gloves, tucking them into a hidden pocket. When Nathaniel didn’t respond, Philip waved his pale, soft hand. “Nathaniel told me about your idea,” he said with an indulgent smile. “But I daresay that you will be too busy being a wife and mother to entertain such an endeavor. Especially all the way up here in the north of King Charles’s kingdom.”
Wife and mother? The bloody cock wanted her for a broodmare, and her brother was standing by to let him take her. Grey wasn’t sure which one he hat
ed more.
Scarlet flew down the steps. “Good God, Lord Philip.” She halted next to Evelyn, taking her arm. “Nathaniel?” Scarlet asked as if the questions were apparent without further words.
Nathaniel came across and gave Scarlet a kiss on the cheek. Grey could see her lips move near her brother’s ear, and the look on her face surely accompanied a curse.
Nathaniel backed up, clearing his throat. “Yes, we have come to let Evelyn know that Lord Philip has received an official royal blessing for the union by King Charles and Queen Catherine.”
Evelyn wobbled, but Scarlet held on to her so that he didn’t need to pick her up out of the dirt. There was no doubt that Evelyn wanted nothing to do with Philip Sotheby. Mo chreach. Grey could claim her right there before them. Go against the royal blessing from the king of England and Scotland. What would the feathered fop do then?
Flaming torches. Screams filling the air. Killin cottages ablaze. If the man went to Cross, the English captain would have the perfect reason for razing the Campbell clan. Bloody foking hell. He needed to talk to Evelyn alone.
Evelyn sniffed. “I did not realize you were close to the king and queen.”
Philip’s soft face remained neutral. “I mentioned our upcoming union when I introduced him to one of my lovely cousins.” He smiled. “The king was quite grateful for the acquaintance.” His gaze shifted to Scarlet. “Although King Charles did ask after you, Lady Scarlet. He hopes you will soon return to Whitehall. You left in such haste.”
Grey heard Scarlet hiss as she exhaled. “For now, I am committed to helping my family with our Scottish endeavor,” she said. It was the first time Grey had heard fear in Scarlet’s voice. Both sisters had more reasons for leaving England than wanting to educate the women of Breadalbane.
Philip tipped his head as if examining Scarlet closer. He seemed curious. “You know that our Merry Monarch despises delays set against his desires.”
“Scarlet is in need of time away from the bustle of court,” Evelyn said, her voice firmer. “For her health. Here the air is clean and sweet.”
Philip nodded, his expression flattening back to neutral. Grey could tell that the man was used to getting what he wanted. Grey’s palm rubbed against the pommel of his sheathed sword. How much did the man want Evelyn?
Philip’s chin raised, his gaze sliding to Grey. “We have not yet met. Are you one of Finlarig’s hired hands?”
Meet our new groundskeeper. Evelyn’s condescending words, from their first meeting, dug into him. Everyone in the bailey stood motionless, as if they waited for the spark to ignite a battle. Grey didn’t need to look at the armed men near the carriage to know that they held muskets, lit and primed to fire.
“This,” Evelyn said, and laid her hand against Grey’s chest. Grey watched her brother’s eyes narrow at the familiar touch. “This is Greyson Campbell, the fifth chief of the Campbells of Breadalbane, the town of Killin, and Finlarig Castle.”
Nathaniel met Grey’s gaze with unblinking questions and growing anger. Would the man order him shot at the mere suggestion of his sister’s attachment?
“Formerly of Finlarig, now that your brother owns it,” Philip said.
Evelyn’s gaze shifted to Nathaniel. “That is something we must discuss. The Campbells were—”
“I am an instructor at the Highland Roses School,” Grey said, his voice overriding Evelyn’s. Until he knew that Nathaniel wasn’t the Surgeon of London, the letter should be kept a secret. Evelyn’s brother didn’t need another reason to attack his clan.
“Instructor?” Philip asked, feather bobbing as he turned to Nathaniel. His thin lips tilted in a small smile. “On what subject?” The smaller man’s words were considerate enough, but the underlying tone was that of a man who believed his own shite didn’t stink. If he wasn’t the king’s friend and apparently Evelyn’s betrothed, he’d pick his velvet-clad arse up and throw him off the grounds.
“Lifting heavy things, perhaps? Or war cries?” Philip continued. To think, the weakest of England’s dandies could influence kings when he probably couldn’t lift a sword. Such was the way of men with coin and hired muskets.
“He instructs on self-defense,” Evelyn called out, her words rushed. “And French philosophy.”
“He is also vastly important to the defense of the property,” Scarlet said, following Evelyn to stand next to her. They were defending him. Against a foking prig with a feather flapping about his head.
Grey let a smug smile curve his mouth. “I also lift heavy things and shout war cries, especially when I’m skewering Englishmen who try to steal my castle.” He let his unblinking stare focus on Philip’s dim eyes before moving on to meet Nathaniel’s gaze.
From the corner of his sight, Grey saw Evelyn run her hand down the side of her face. “I think we should all step inside and discuss…things…over a brewed pot of tea.”
Silence. Grey continued to suck air through his nose, readying himself to drag Evelyn away if guns exploded. Evelyn cleared her throat. “Nathaniel, Lord Philip, James can show your men where to water their horses. Come now, for a bowl of tea.”
“It is good to see the wilds of Scotland haven’t stripped away your manners, Lady Evelyn,” Philip said, though Grey continued to meet the silent stare of Nathaniel. “Your lovely mother’s influence, no doubt.”
Damn. This man knew Evelyn’s family and moved in the same societal circles. He possessed obvious wealth and intended to wed her. The fact, however, that she had given herself freely to Grey meant that she didn’t want to marry the fop. Didn’t it? Had she used Grey to take her maidenhead? Would she use her ruination to get out of the marriage? What would the fop do then, or King Charles do to Killin, if he realized that Grey was responsible for liberating Evelyn from their marriage plans?
Grey stepped back, glancing to where Hamish and Kerrick waited. He could leave this conversation over tea to join his men. He glanced at Evelyn as she turned toward the castle. Straight and strong as always, but then he spied a slight tremor in her hands as she clasped them before her. Grey stepped forward briskly, offering her his arm before either of the other men could. She took it without hesitation, her fingers curling in to him.
The great hall was empty. “’Tis rather bare,” Philip said. He turned in a small circle, his heeled shoes clicking on the scrubbed stone floors.
“Scorch marks?” Nathaniel asked, indicating the wall.
Grey felt Evelyn wobble, her one hand going to her chest. “Uh…yes.” She cleared her throat. “Captain Cross of the local English company instructed his lieutenant to burn the castle, with the Campbells within its walls,” Evelyn said.
“Well,” the fop said, drawing a finger down the dark wall. “Seems Captain Cross took your suggestion quite literally, my dear.” His lips tilted up in a smug grin as his gaze cut to Grey. “Scottish vermin indeed.”
“Suggestion?” Grey asked, his gaze shifting to Evelyn.
Pale, her lips parted, she pulled in a shallow breath. “The captain gave no indication that the vermin to which he referred were people. I would never have—”
“Smoke them out,” Philip said, interrupting. “I believe that’s what Evelyn had the solicitor write back. Wasn’t it, Nathaniel? I questioned your solicitor when the ladies disappeared.” He tsked as if their journey north had greatly annoyed him.
“We had no idea that the captain meant that the Campbells were still in residence,” Nathaniel said, frowning as his gaze slid about the room, following the scorch marks.
Philip dropped his hand and turned to look at them, his pudgy face firming into foking amusement. “Cross called them Scottish vermin. Did you think he meant rats dressed in Campbell tartan?”
Grey released Evelyn’s arm, his fists balling up. “A warrior nearly lost his life in the blaze,” Grey said, his voice rough as his heart pounded warrior’s blood through him. “We were held a
t gunpoint while the English soldiers smashed what they could and set it ablaze. They threw my sister inside with us when they discovered who she was. Cross’s lieutenant ordered the doors bolted once the flames caught.”
“And yet you survived,” Philip said with the same bloody smile. “A testament to the strength of Scottish vermin.” He saluted.
In two strides, Grey had the bastard by the neck, shoving him up against the scorched walls. “Strong enough to crush English bastards trying to steal our home.”
“Grey,” Evelyn yelled, running up to them, but Grey’s focus was on the bulging eyes of the man who currently represented all the English who had stolen his parents, his castle, and the security of his clan. Evelyn pulled on his arm, but he didn’t budge.
“Let him go, Campbell,” her brother yelled from behind. Did he have a musket trained at his back? Did Grey even care? Evelyn. He’d begun to trust her, despite her English blood. Why hadn’t she told him that she’d insisted that the castle be emptied of rats or men?
“Grey,” Evelyn said, her voice low. “Think of your clan.”
Her words cut through some of the blood rushing in his ears, the hollow pain in his middle breaking through to make him want to double over. But he just dropped the sputtering bastard and turned before he changed his mind and drew his sword.
He turned his face to Evelyn. “Ye didn’t take the time to see if anyone was still in the castle? Ye just wanted us cleared out for your school.” He’d known this from her surprise when she arrived. Or had she been surprised to see him still there after Cross had tried to smoke him out? Aiden’s voice beat in his brain. She’s English. They lie…
“It…It all happened so quickly,” she said. “I’ve regretted my hasty advice ever since I saw what had happened, who had been hurt.” Her eyes begged for understanding.
“You assaulted an English gentleman,” Philip said, his voice sounding like a croak. “I want him arrested.” He staggered dramatically to the table and plopped down.
A Rose in the Highlands (Highland Roses School) Page 26
