The Scottish Rogue

by Heather McCollum

  “I didn’t sleep with Kirstin. I felt like a dolt for making ye cry—”

  “One tear,” she said, her voice louder than proper, but there was no one else to hear. “I didn’t cry. It was one tear, because I was exhausted, and tricked, and angry about it. I do not weep.”

  He studied her, then gave a brief nod, his lips pressing together before continuing. “I was walking through the village to make certain that no English were about. Kirstin saw me and came out of her cottage. She noticed the missing button and offered to sew one back on, so I gave the shirt to her. But I continued on.” He leaned against the doorframe. “Is that what has ye so riled? The idea that I might be sleeping with another woman?”

  “No,” she said without hesitation.

  “Then ye are still yelling at me because…?”

  Evelyn realized her hands were fisted as she crossed them over her chest. She let her arms relax by her sides. Blinking, she inhaled fully and indicated the door between their rooms. “It was unexpected, and you tricked me by not asking. You at least knew that I intended to make your room into the library. And…” She cleared her throat. “I do not like for people to see when I am upset. I pride myself in being a strong woman.”

  His brows narrowed. “Tears do not make a person weak.”

  What a ridiculous notion. “Tears are the evidence of weakness,” she said, watching him shake his head. “And if you don’t mind, I must change before my students wander off and miss their lesson on letters.”

  He shut his mouth and stepped back, a halfway grin making him look rather roguish. Evelyn’s pulse stepped up, and she swallowed as she went to close the door. “Not that ye care for my opinion,” he said, standing in the corridor. “But I think the trousers suit ye.”

  “They are scandalous,” she said, her voice low.

  His grin turned into a smile as he tilted his head toward his room. “I like scandalous things, lass,” he said, referring to his huge bed. “They make life much more interesting.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “Thank the Lord,” Scarlet said, walking around Evelyn as she stood before the mirror. “This is much better than that sack of a gown Kirstin stitched for you.”

  “Rather, thank Molly’s quickness with a needle and my forethought to purchase this bolt of flannel in Stirling on our way north.”

  The soft material was colored in a blue gray and medium green plaid. Evelyn had purchased it with the plan to create a gown in the Scottish fashion to wear at the school. The plaid outer skirt parted to show a purple material that was embroidered with a vine of white roses down the middle, with a few simple dragonflies. The bodice skimmed her waist, resting on the swell of skirts at her hips. A satin-edged smock showed above it, flowing loosely down her arms. A sash, made of the same plaid material, tied behind, and loops of plaid held the bodice snuggly over her shoulders.

  “You could wear one of your gowns from London to the Beltane Festival,” Scarlet said with a shrug. “Though I agree that this will show that you are trying to blend in, but in a more refined way.”

  “Refined way?”

  “Well, not wearing-a-sack kind of way,” her sister teased. “I swear that woman wanted you to look laughable with that high neck and misshapen bag. And then making you put on the trousers…”

  I think the trousers suit ye. Grey’s words repeated in Evelyn’s mind, and she glanced at her wooden chest where they lay hidden, folded under her clean smocks. The whole shirt and button innuendo had made Evelyn, once again, play the fool where Grey was concerned, and she’d avoided him for the last four days.

  I will just move past it and not worry. Like her comments about smoking out the Scottish vermin. If guilt sprouted up, she just stomped it back. Her heart was good, even if she’d failed to investigate the Campbells before coming.

  “Have you stopped by Isabel’s room?” Evelyn asked, smoothing her hands down the soft fabric of the gown.

  “Yes, but she wasn’t there. She’d made her bed.” Scarlet met Evelyn’s gaze. “But left the gown we altered for her.”

  “You’re certain she slept there? The candle was burned?” Each night since Isabel had timidly entered Finlarig, Evelyn had placed a new candle in her room to see if she lit it. The girl was so quiet, like a shadow, that it was difficult to know if she were actually residing with them or not.

  “You’re clever, Evie,” Scarlet said, shaking out her shawl to place over her shoulders. “Yes, it was lit sometime last night or early this morning. Probably both.” She handed Evelyn a shawl. “Let’s see what has begun out in the field where the Beltane Festival is set.”

  It was May first, the traditional start of the new growing season, and Beltane was all about fertility and new growth out of the ashes of fire. Quite appropriate for a new life being given to Finlarig.

  Scarlet snagged her sister’s arms and walked them toward the door of her small room. “Alana said a maypole has been set upright in the meadow west of the village, and games and races will begin mid-morn, and there is judging of stitching and baked goods. Tonight, a large fire will be lit for people to dance around.” She smiled brightly. “It sounds quite heathenish.”

  The dark circles that had marred her sister’s eyes since London, had lightened in the weeks they’d been in Scotland. It had been a good plan to travel to Finlarig, for everyone, if Grey and his people would accept her. They could all benefit.

  “Come,” Scarlet said. “Let us show off how a refined Scottish lass looks.”

  Evelyn chuckled. “You look lovely, too, Scar.” The rose-colored gown brought forth the warm pink in Scarlet’s cheeks and contrasted well with her long, mahogany-colored hair.

  “If I keep eating your tarts, I won’t be able to lace my stays.” Scarlet laughed.

  “I should have entered them into the judging,” Evelyn said, pulling her door snug. She glanced toward Grey’s door. Would he partake of the frivolous games? She couldn’t imagine him dancing.

  “I think Molly did,” Scarlet said.

  “Did what?” Evelyn turned toward the stairs at the end of the corridor.

  Scarlet’s perfectly plucked brows scrunched inward. “Enter your tarts for judging.” She glanced back at Grey’s room and then at Evelyn, a slight smile on her lips as if she were thinking of a way to tease her. But she could have no idea of the sinful thoughts that had wormed into Evelyn’s dreams last night. As sisters, they were close, but Scarlet couldn’t know Evelyn’s foolish heart, not that her heart wanted anything to do with Grey Campbell.

  “Molly is a smart girl,” Scarlet said as they filed down the turning steps. “She had me write a sign saying that for more tarts, people must come to classes up at the Highland Roses School. I think we should include Molly in our lessons.”

  Evelyn trailed her fingers across the rough stone wall. “I’ve asked her to.” She held her soft skirt away from her delicately turned leather boots, so she wouldn’t trip on the uneven steps. The great hall was empty. “Everyone is either still abed or already outdoors.”

  A few rolls with fresh butter sat on a wooden trencher, along with some milk. “Molly must be out,” Scarlet said, spreading some butter on a roll. “She said something last night about the young ladies rolling in the morning dew at dawn.”

  “Rolling around in wet grass?”

  “Aye,” came a deep voice from the entrance. Grey walked in, his hair wet and shirt untucked from his kilt. “’Tis magic, said to make one look lovely.”

  Evelyn chewed her roll and swallowed, gesturing toward him. “I think you’ve been deceived, milord. You just look wet, not lovely.”

  Grey cocked a grin on his freshly shaved face. “I bathed in the loch.”

  “No rolling in the dewy grass?” Evelyn asked, a look of mock surprise.

  “’Tis more of a female custom.” He indicated the door. “The meadow outside Killin is covered with rolling lasses.”

  “Well, blast,” Scarlet said with a mock frown. “The sun is coming up, and we’ve m
issed it, sister.”

  “I suppose we will be hags this year,” Evelyn said. Her stomach flipped around the swallowed roll as she realized that Grey hadn’t taken his gaze from her. His hair, damp from the lake, lay dark around his face, the ends having left droplets upon his white linen shirt, which lay untied at his neck. Without the scruff, Grey looked nearly civilized, and most definitely clean. His broad shoulders and solid chest would fill out an English vest and cloak, and his muscled calves would show through a nobleman’s hose. But the Highland dress suited him.

  He nodded to her. “’Tis a bonny costume.” The corner of his mouth rose. “A pleasant departure from your brown frock.”

  “See,” Scarlet said, throwing her hands onto her hips. “God knows that Kirstin is out to make you look dowdy.” She wagged a finger at Evelyn. “No more gowns from her.”

  Evelyn brushed the softness of her new dress. “It is fine for work.”

  “Perhaps ye should wear the trousers when at work,” Grey said as he headed toward the turning steps that led above. “As long as the work is indoors.”

  Scarlet’s eyebrows rose to her hairline, and she tipped her head, a broad smile growing as she watched Evelyn. Evelyn breathed past the flutter in her chest, wishing it away. She waved off any comment Scarlet was thinking up. “Come, let’s see if Molly needs to be dried off, and we must remember to tell her that she looks radiant.”

  Scarlet grabbed them each a basket from the table and met Evelyn to walk out into the awakening bailey. “Did you keep them?” Scarlet asked.

  “Keep what?”

  “The trousers.”

  Evelyn huffed as if the idea was ridiculous, but Scarlet wasn’t to be deterred. “Well?”

  “Yes, but only in case they are needed for fighting.”

  Scarlet laughed. “Oh, of course, Evie. But it sounds as if Grey might like seeing them on you, as he said, inside…his chambers.”

  Evelyn’s head snapped around. “He didn’t say that,” she whispered, leaning toward her sister.

  She flipped her hand. “It was in his tone.”

  Evelyn gave a little growl under her breath, enough for Scarlet to hear but no one else. Scarlet snickered. Evelyn ignored her and nodded to Hamish. He stood in the guard tower where he could crank down the toothy portcullis if needed.

  Evelyn and Scarlet walked through the quiet town, ducking onto a wooded path where several children galloped along on lanky legs, giggling. “I haven’t seen the village in the light of day,” Scarlet said. “It is quaint.”

  “Earthy and slower-paced than even Lincolnshire.” Evelyn squeezed her arm. “You should come out more with me. Since Captain Cross’s crude lieutenant, Grey makes certain that I have an escort. We’d be completely safe.”

  A weak sun pushed up into the sky behind them, the golden rays filtering through the budding trees along the path. Some leaves had already unfurled, while others remained tightly wrapped in buds. “We should hunt for herbs some morning,” Evelyn said. “I’m sure I have a book on the medicinal properties of wild plants. We could make up some tinctures and have herbs ready for poultices.”

  They stepped past two large oaks and paused at the edge of the sunlit meadow. Dew sparkled on the grass. Girls and women of all ages spoke and laughed in clusters, some of them still rolling among the wildflowers that were already blooming.

  Molly ran over. Out of breath, with her cheeks pink from exercise, Molly looked definitely damp and quite happy. “Good morn,” she said, her voice stronger than Evelyn had ever heard.

  “Molly,” Scarlet said, laughing. “You look… radiant.”

  Molly held out her skirt. “And wet as a drowned kitten.”

  “No,” Evelyn said. “Lovely with May Day dew.”

  Behind Molly, several of the girls and their mothers had turned to study them. Evelyn held an easy smile. “What an amazing sight.” Evelyn surveyed the increasingly sunny field. She pointed toward the tall maypole standing in the middle. It was a tree, stripped of its bark, with leggy wildflowers attached to the top. Yellow and blue blooms waved gently with the morning breeze around it, and colorful ribbons hung down, shifting and waiting to be woven about the pole in dance. Farther out in the field, games were being set up; hay bales sat with targets attached and long logs lay together. “Do you suppose that they really throw those heavy cabers?” Evelyn asked, thinking of the illustration she’d seen in a Scottish customs book.

  “Aye, that they do,” Kirstin said, as she and Alana walked over, their hair wild, lying in wet waves about their shoulders.

  “And the boulders there,” Alana said, pointing to rocks piled next to the cabers. “To prove their strength.”

  Kirstin’s gaze dropped to Evelyn’s dress. “Ye have a new costume?” Her lips closed in a tight smile as she surveyed the embroidery on the underskirt.

  “Yes, she does. Isn’t she lovely?” Scarlet said with a grin bordering on sardonic. “Molly and Evelyn worked for many nights to finish it in time for the festival.”

  Alana reached out to feel the flannel. “So soft. Where did ye find this fabric?”

  “On our journey here, south of Stirling,” Evelyn said. Had Kirstin truly sought to make her look dowdy to keep Grey from thinking her pretty? Such jealousy was a foolish waste of the woman’s time, since there was nothing between Evelyn and Grey. Nothing but a door and a key, which I possess.

  Kirstin grabbed Evelyn’s hand, tugging her to follow. “We must roll ye in the dew before the sun dries it all away for another year.”

  Scarlet caught Evelyn’s other hand and dug in her heels. “Not in her new costume, she’s not.” For a moment, Evelyn felt caught in a struggle to pull her in two.

  With a quick twist and jerk, Evelyn was free from Kirstin. Self-defense skills were useful against plotting women as well as dastardly men. “I have no desire to look dewy or radiant,” Evelyn said.

  “Perhaps ye are beyond the age of trying to snare a husband,” Kirstin said. “An old maid concerned only with books.”

  “Kirstin,” Alana said, her eyes widening at the slight.

  Evelyn let a polite smile relax along her lips and pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth, counting to five before speaking. “The grass seems to have stained you green, Kirstin,” she said. “Or might that be envy?” She shook her head as if in pity, lowering her voice. “Jealousy is a shade that makes even the loveliest woman look sour.”

  “Ho, lasses,” Kerrick called, walking over. “Dew rolling this morn?”

  As he walked into the quiet that had descended, he paused. Were his warrior instincts alerting him to the danger, the waspish retorts and piercing glares that were held in check, ready to be unleashed like the fabled Titans?

  “The Sassenachs are too proper to enjoy our backward customs,” Kirstin said, her stare flat with feigned boredom. She pulled Alana as she turned away. “Let us change,” she said.

  “Sir Kerrick,” Molly said. “My ladies said no such thing.”

  “Kirstin is easily riled,” Kerrick said, his frown going from Evelyn to the woods where they had disappeared. “I’ve known her since she was a wee lass. I’m sure she means no harm, but I can speak to Grey about her if—”

  “Not necessary,” Evelyn said. Lord, she didn’t need Grey to think they were fighting over his affections. She smiled, redirecting her gaze to the field. “Might we have a tour of the festivities?”

  Kerrick bowed to them both, his roughish smile bright. “Certainly. I’d be honored to take ye around. Such radiant lasses bring the gold of dawn with ye upon the field,” he said.

  Scarlet rolled her eyes heavenward. “The warrior is a poet.”

  “I can slice with both sword and word,” he said, making Scarlet laugh.

  Evelyn clapped her hands. “Well said. A word, well placed, can defend or slay with as much power as a sharpened blade.”

  Molly trotted away, taking the tarts to the long table that had been erected for judging, and Kerrick escorted them over to inspect
the targets and large throwing items. Two stacks of limbs and logs were being placed toward the far end. “Later we will light both and run the cattle between the fires on their way to the summer fields for grazing,” Kerrick said. “’Tis good luck.”

  Scarlet pointed to the archery sets. “You should try, Evelyn. You always had a knack for hitting the target when we practiced with James at Hollings.”

  “For you, milady,” Kerrick said. He bowed in an exaggerated gesture toward the quiver full of arrows.

  “It has been some time,” Evelyn said, weighing the light bow in her hands, feeling its balance, the way James had showed her as a young girl. “’Tis well made,” she said, and pulled out an arrow, nocking it in place on the taut gut string. With a clean, swift motion, she raised the bow, drawing back, the familiar feel steadying her gaze on the target.

  Without warning, a hard body slid along her back, arms coming up around her. “Wait,” a deep voice said. Grey. She knew it was he the instant he made contact. Twitching, her fingers holding the string slipped, and Grey pushed her aim down so that the arrow shot mere feet in front of her. The feathers on the back of the arrow shook with the force of the tip embedding into the grass.

  “Why…?” Evelyn’s question faded from her tongue as she spotted a form sit up from the tall grass just beyond the target. “Isabel? Good God, I could have shot her.”

  Grey stood at her back but had dropped his arms. She turned, her head tipping up. “I didn’t see her,” she whispered.

  “I know,” he said.

  “You silly goose,” Scarlet called, waving Isabel toward her. “Did you fall asleep in the dew?” She strode toward the startled child, whose hair stuck out even worse than usual.

  “You saw her?” Evelyn asked, feeling slightly numb. Chances were good that she would have hit the hay bale, but what if she’d missed? What if the arrow had shot right into the sleepy young girl?

  “Nay, but I…” Grey’s eyes lifted to gaze over her head. “A movement perhaps.” He shook his head, looking down at her. “A warrior’s instinct to know when someone is hiding in ambush.”