Scarlet smiled at Evelyn. “You are the only person I heard bring up disagreeable things to Benjamin Worthington.”
Evelyn huffed through her nose. “And I barely survived it.”
Knock. Knock. Knock. “Evelyn,” Kirstin called through the door. “I have your cloak. We need to go. Grey is waiting for ye.”
“What do we do?” Scarlet whispered.
Evelyn walked up to the locked door. “Kirstin, who really sent you to get me? I know it wasn’t Grey.”
Silence.
“I’m not coming out until you tell me,” Evelyn said.
Evelyn heard Kirstin say something softly outside the door. The words sounded Gaelic and were whispered like a prayer. “Evelyn,” she said a bit louder. “They have him. If ye don’t come down, they will shoot him.”
Evelyn threw the wooden bar up, dropping it to clatter on the floor. She stared at Kirstin, the woman’s hair poking out from her braid, her cheeks flushed. “Who will shoot him?”
“The English.”
“Good Lord, woman,” Scarlet said, striding up beside Evelyn. “There are English all over the damn castle. Which English?”
She hesitated slightly. “Captain Cross.”
Evelyn felt Scarlet squeeze her hand as if she were in a nightmare, her heart galloping and her body growing numb. “And Cross thinks Evelyn has his letter?” Scarlet asked.
Kirstin nodded. “He says he will leave us all alone if the letter is retrieved,” she said, a high pitch making her voice sound as if she were pleading.
“I don’t have the letter,” Evelyn said, her lips parted to suck in more air as the room seemed to close in on her. “Grey does. I don’t know what he’s done with it.” Grey. No.
Kirstin’s face fell, her jaw going slack. “Just come. Do something, or they’ll kill him and burn Finlarig to the ground, and possibly Killin.”
Cross would burn everything in hopes the letter would turn to ash before it could be sent to King Charles. She shook her head, her mind breaking free of the shock to churn. She had no sound strategy, but she couldn’t just hide away when Grey and the villagers were in danger. Evelyn stepped out into the corridor, Scarlet following.
“Not your sister,” Kirstin said, shaking her head at Evelyn. “She could get hurt.”
Scarlet frowned, her lips pulling back. “And you could get hurt by trying to stop me.”
Evelyn grabbed her wrist. “Nathaniel must be out there. If something happens, I need to know that you are safe. You could help both of us if Cross orders his men to arrest us. Only you know the whole of it.”
“Damn,” Scarlet said, pinching her lips tight. “I don’t like this.” She exhaled in a rush and finally nodded.
“Go with Molly,” Evelyn said. “The two of you can hide and sneak away if something goes wrong. James will come for you, or Kerrick will help you.”
Evelyn gave her a quick hug and hurried with Kirstin to the curving stairwell, descending to the empty great hall. “They are out in the bailey,” Kirstin said. “Grey wants ye to get in the carriage that’s waiting. To take ye to safety.”
“What? No. I need to—”
“Hurry,” Kirstin said, tugging Evelyn’s arm. “Ye will ride away, and Cross will follow ye for the letter. Grey can get away from them.” The woman was amazingly strong, and everything was rushed. They stepped out onto the front steps of Finlarig. As Kirstin had said, the Worthington coach waited with the door open.
Evelyn’s heart became a boulder as she saw Grey standing near the wall, three armed Englishmen aiming their muskets at him while Captain Cross spoke to Nathaniel. She recognized the horrible soldier, Burdock. He wore a satisfied grin as he said something to Grey. Grey did nothing but stand tall, legs braced. But it was an unfair contest. He had only his sword and muscle when three of Cross’s soldiers, and the men who had come with Philip, held muskets ready.
“This is my castle, and I have asked you to vacate the premises, Captain Cross. And take your men with you, or I will make sure you are relieved of your duty.” Nathaniel’s threat came out loud and powerful, his words reaching her ears over the growing wind. A loud whinny came from the stables where Grey’s horse was housed. The sound of hooves hitting wood caused several of the guards to glance that way.
“This man is charged as a Covenanter, like his father. He must come with me to be questioned,” Cross replied.
“Get in the carriage,” Kirstin said, her fingernails digging into Evelyn’s forearm.
With a twist and jerk, Evelyn freed herself and ran toward Grey. “No, Grey Campbell is a teacher at the Highland Roses School. He is not going anywhere.” She threw her back against Grey’s chest, shielding him.
“Evelyn,” Grey said, trying to push her behind him. “Go back.”
Captain Cross tipped his head to the side, studying Evelyn with a condescending grin. “Ah, Lady Evelyn, so glad you could join us. It seems there is a private post missing, and your teacher’s life hangs on its location. Perhaps you could shed some light on its whereabouts?”
Grey would sacrifice his life to keep Killin safe, and he was convinced that ousting Cross was the way to do so. Evelyn knew he would never give Cross the letter. She also knew that she couldn’t stand to watch Grey die. Evelyn stepped out beside him. “He doesn’t have the letter, Captain Cross. I do.”
“Evie,” Nathaniel said.
She held up a hand. “If you let Grey Campbell go and leave the village in peace, I will make certain the letter is returned to you.” Could the scoundrel tell that her suggestion was hollow? She made sure to keep her gaze strong, unwavering. It had worked with her father. Benjamin Worthington didn’t retaliate over a stern stare, just her rousing words.
Cross’s eyes narrowed. “Then perhaps we should take you in for interfering in governmental policy where a woman has no business.”
Evelyn stood taller despite knowing that she was now the target. She didn’t look at Grey. He was likely furious at her for taking risks. “Kindly produce the written law that shows this to be a crime.”
The fox-like man’s grin faded. “Certainly. I have it in my office. You will come back with us.”
“She will not,” Nathaniel commanded.
“Nay,” Grey said at the same time, causing the armed men to lift their weapons.
The wind blew Evelyn’s curls across her eyes. It whistled like a mournful shriek about the stone walls surrounding them.
Behind her, gravel crunched. “Goodness. What goes on here?” Philip strode up alongside Evelyn. “Surely there is no need to train a musket on a lady.” His words came out with a snapping cadence, clipped like the heels of his decorative shoes on the floors of Whitehall Palace. “Captain Cross, stand down.”
Cross signaled to his men, and their muskets lowered. “The woman possesses a private letter of mine.”
Philip flapped his hand, its motion mimicking the bending of his plume in the wind. “If she does, it belongs to me, as I am nearly her husband.”
“Lord Philip,” Evelyn started, but the fop held up his hand. Apparently, he didn’t know her at all if he thought a raised hand would stop her tongue. “I am not marrying you. I believe I made that clear yesterday.” How could they be discussing marriage in the middle of this battle of wills and muskets?
The edge of Philip’s brown teeth showed between his lips. He smiled. “Let us away from all of this danger, Lady Evelyn. We can discuss whatever letter this scoundrel seems to think you possess.” He opened his arm wide to indicate the carriage behind them.
Evelyn opened her mouth to refuse, but Grey reached out to catch her arm, pulling her closer, and she let him. The world around her seemed to pause, as she felt his reserved strength, the passion and heat in his grasp on her. Wind whipped her skirts about her legs as she looked up into his gaze.
“Evelyn,” he said, his voice hushed. “Go
. I cannot think with muskets trained on ye.”
“But Grey—”
“Ye were right. The accusation yesterday in my chamber,” he said, and the look in his eyes held her tongue. Love. “Ye were right, lass.” He didn’t need to say it there where they could be heard. It filled his gaze.
“I am so sorry,” she whispered. “The fire—”
“Wasn’t your fault,” he said.
She felt tears press against the back of her eyes, and she blinked. “I love you, too,” she whispered so softly she could barely hear it, but Grey could read the movement of her lips.
“Go,” he said. “Be safe.”
“No rushing in with sword drawn,” she said, reminding him.
The side of his mouth tipped upward in a half grin. “With ye safely in that carriage…” He nodded.
Philip cleared his throat and took Evelyn’s arm. Something in Philip’s expression caused chill bumps to prickle along her back. She looked over her shoulder. Cross watched her, and Nathaniel stood with his musket in one hand. Only Grey was without a firearm, his long sword sheathed at his side.
“Come along,” Philip said, the words coming through his teeth. His hand clamped down on Evelyn’s arm, pinching it.
“You are hurting me,” she said.
Philip increased his gait, pulling her along. “Keep walking, Evelyn.”
A few heavy drops of rain spattered the dry ground, and the trees danced around the outside of Finlarig’s walls. Kirstin waited by the steps to the castle, her eyes wide. As they came to the open carriage door, Kirstin stepped up.
“Lord Philip,” she said. “Ye promised.” She glanced toward Grey.
“You’ve done a service today,” Philip said with an annoyed gesture. “You have saved your town.”
What were they talking about? Evelyn’s gaze snapped between them, her stomach clenching, making a wave of nausea rise.
“But Grey?” Kirstin asked.
“That is up to Captain Cross, my dear,” Philip said. “But Killin will be left untouched as long as I own Finlarig.”
“What?” Evelyn asked, the word flying from her lips as she turned back to look at Nathaniel and Grey.
Captain Cross nodded at Lieutenant Burdock, who raised his musket straight at Nathaniel.
“No!” Evelyn screamed as the matchlock musket discharged, and Nathaniel flew backward into the dirt.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The clouds cleaved open, dropping rain like a bucket pouring out. Grey twisted when he heard Evelyn scream. The anguish on her face shot fury through him, but what turned him to ice was how Philip grabbed her around the waist, yanking her back to throw her into the carriage. There was no concern for her in the brutal movements.
Cross smiled down at Evelyn’s brother as blood seeped through his white shirt. Damn. Evelyn’s brother would bleed out. At the top of the steps, a woman screamed, and Cat and Scarlet ran forward.
“Stay back,” Cross yelled, but Cat continued, throwing herself down over Nathaniel, her fingers plucking away his shirt.
Behind him, the carriage moved in a circle, Philip’s driver swinging the horses through the curtain of rain toward the open gates. Suspicion and instinct slammed together inside Grey. Philip was working with Cross. They wanted Finlarig for their plot against Charles. Grey’s hand grasped the hilt of his sword, and the steel blade sang as he slid it free.
“Aim,” Cross yelled, and Burdock, with his two men, raised their muskets straight at Grey.
Grey kept his eyes open, sword raised to the angry sky. Regret felt like a cold, wet blanket. How could he get to Evelyn if he were frozen in death? Please Lord! Evelyn.
“Fire!”
He heard the clicks of the triggers and then…rain, the rush of heavy rain.
“Fire!” Cross yelled again over the torrent, his smile washing into a vicious frown.
“The match is wet,” called one of the English soldiers as he cupped his hand over the once-lit rope on the back of the weapon.
His words, yelled with an uneven pitch of annoyance, also held a hint of fear. Rain was the fiercest enemy to the matchlock musket. The uncovered bit of rope, or match, must remain lit to ignite the gunpowder. Otherwise, a dead firearm, in the hands of a muscle-weak, untrained man, was merely an awkward club.
Without firepower, Grey had the advantage, even if the numbers were against him. A dark grin spread slowly across his dripping face as he met Cross’s gaze. Grey stretched his massive shoulders, slicing his lethal long sword in the air as he advanced through the wet curtain of blessed rain. His gaze moved between Burdock, Cross, and the two others who held their useless muskets tightly as if the match would suddenly relight and save their bloody necks. Behind him shouts filled the bailey, and Campbells rushed inside to find the few other English soldiers who had accompanied Philip, bloody Aiden at the lead despite Grey’s earlier order.
Grey held his long sword, glossy with rain, before him as he strode toward Cross. One of the captain’s soldiers yelled, hurling toward Grey, swinging his musket. Grey easily spun out of the way, delivering a slash down low to cut through the man’s hamstrings. He dropped to the ground, screaming, as Grey parried against the bayonet jutting out of the second soldier’s useless musket. Cumbersome, it was hardly an attack, and Grey sunk his sword into the man’s chest. He used his boot to kick the body off his blade and spun in time to see Burdock running toward the wall. Grey would follow, but Cross remained. And even though Burdock had destroyed Finlarig with fire and shattering force, Cross was the man who’d ordered it, the bastard who had plotted against his family, leading to the deaths of his parents.
Cross drew the sword that he had strapped to his side.
“How much blood has that brittle piece of steel drawn?” Grey called and slashed his sword through the air, making it sing. “My claymore has slaughtered those who’ve tried to take Finlarig from Clan Campbell over the last two centuries. It sings for English blood.”
Cross kept his gaze on Grey while Grey circled around him. “I am an officer of King Charles. If you kill me, England will destroy your clan.”
“Not after I send your bloody king the letter proving your traitorous plans for him.” Grey slashed forward, and Cross jumped back, but not before the tip of Grey’s blade sliced through the sash and braiding on his long red coat. The man gasped.
Cross spun away from Grey’s next thrust, his curved hat flying off in the wind that tore through the bailey like a living creature joining the battle. “Sotheby will retrieve the letter,” Cross yelled, water flying off his beaklike nose. “He’ll tear it from your woman.” Cross’s words spat from his mouth, confirming Grey’s instincts about Philip. He must get to Evelyn.
From the corner of his eye, Grey saw his horse, Adhar, standing outside the barn. Evelyn’s groom, James, had the beast tacked and ready to ride. Adhar pawed the ground, his nostrils flaring. He was used to being in the thick of battle, not watching from the side.
Grey took two long steps to meet Cross. His long sword crossed into an X with Cross’s paltry dress sword. Cross spit the rain from his mouth and pressed back against Grey’s strength. “Finlarig will burn,” Cross yelled. “Your whole family will die, Grey Campbell.” With a grunt he shoved his weight against the braced swords, but Grey didn’t give up an inch. “You will die along with your whorish woman and eventually an unjust, popish king.”
Grey stared into the dark eyes of the devil. The rain lessened, giving the feel that the world had hushed and the very walls of Finlarig watched. With a sudden surge of power, Grey shoved forward, putting his whole weight into the thrust. Cross stumbled backward, unbalanced, but before he could right himself, Grey’s right arm shot forward, the sword an extension of his might. The Campbell claymore pierced the bright red coat, the white shirt, the pale skin, straight into Captain Cross’s black heart. Overhead, thunder rumbled as it
moved away.
Shock widened Cross’s eyes, his jaw going slack. Grey followed him, his blade still embedded. Grey leaned forward, his face inches from Cross’s face. “I’ve never meant this as much as I do now,” Grey said, his words seething from his teeth as his lips pulled back. “Captain William Cross… Go. To. Hell.” Bracing his boot against the bastard, Grey jerked back the sword, twisting it to dislodge Cross, who fell into a heap of expensive red wool in the mud.
Without another word, Grey ran to Adhar, his sword slick with the devil’s blood.
…
Evelyn leaned against the far wall of the carriage, tears streaming down her cheeks. Nathaniel. Dead. Shot by Captain Cross. Had Grey been executed next? “We must go back,” she said, her gaze fastening onto Philip as he sat across from her, fixing the lace on his ornate cuffs. His wig was frizzed from the damp air, the plume limp. He didn’t respond.
Evelyn sat up in her seat. “I said, we must go back.”
Philip’s gaze rose, sliding from her waist, over her breasts and neck to her face. “Not until Cross finishes.”
His words tore into Evelyn, sharp hooks grasping onto her heart. “You’re working with Cross,” she whispered.
“For an intelligent girl, I thought you would have worked it out by now.” He tsked.
Her breath stuttered on a silent sob. “Where are we going?” she asked, her fingers curling into the seat.
Philip smiled, his brown teeth like a row of rotted corn between thin lips. “To consummate our marriage at a private little inn just south of here.”
“We aren’t married,” Evelyn said, her stomach recoiling at the thought of him touching her.
Philip chuckled, the sound plucking a chill to run along Evelyn’s spine. “That lovely lass,” he said with a mock Scottish accent. “The one who got you out of the keep. She will swear that you agreed to be my wife before her and God. Charles will see her name on a fabricated marriage document, although I could just forge that as well.”
A Rose in the Highlands (Highland Roses School) Page 30
