“And he’s ill.” Grey didn’t say anything. “Grey,” she said, and he glanced toward her. The hardness in his face brought her stomach up tight. It’s not directed at me. “I need to know more than what I can glean from one-word answers. Tell me about Aiden so I can better help him.”
Grey strode along briskly with her, past Kirstin’s house where she had fresh wool hanging out to dry. “Aiden is the second-in-command of Finlarig.”
“I thought Kerrick was.”
“He is third. Aiden was with us when Burdock came with his foking torches to smoke out us Scottish vermin.” Fury twisted the very words that she had once mistakenly used, sending gooseflesh to scatter up Evelyn’s back, pocking her skin and making her shiver.
I thought they were rats. She struggled to draw a full breath to feed her stride. “And he was hurt?” she asked, her voice low, barely heard over the crunch of Grey’s boots on the pebbles.
“He was trying to beat back the flames in the keep when one of the burning tapestries fell across his back. The weight crushed him flat, making him hit his head so that he lay unconscious. By the time we were able to get the tapestry off him, his back was blistered, the flames having burned through his shirt and hair.”
Evelyn inhaled. “Good God,” she whispered.
“I thought he was healing. I stopped by Rebecca’s yesterday morn before the festival. He was of good cheer but with a bit of a fever. Rebecca didn’t seem worried over it.”
They traipsed past the empty smithy, the fires already banked for the night. Past Isabel’s cottage, he led her into the woods, taking the lead. He reached behind, his fingers out for her hand.
She hesitated. What would he think if he knew she’d said the very words Burdock had used? Even if she hadn’t meant them, even if she’d been mistaken, she hadn’t taken the time to investigate why the castle was suddenly up for sale. Her sin was not in the words themselves, but in her failure to explore and educate herself on the truth of what was happening to the Campbell clan.
He pulled his hand back around when she didn’t take it. “I apologize,” he said, glancing back. “For having to leave ye this morning without a word all day.”
She shook her head. “You saved me this morning. I hadn’t heard Scarlet at all. And the day has been busy with new students.” She was breathless, and he slowed his steps. “And now we have the more important matter of your friend’s life.”
He held branches away from them as the path wound between tall trees until Evelyn caught sight of muted candlelight. Like a fairy haven, the small cottage sat tucked away in the woods. Thatched roof and daubed walls held several wavy panes of glass in the windows.
“Rebecca,” Grey called, and a breath later, the door swung open.
“He started shaking again, nearly fell off the bed,” Rebecca said.
Evelyn stepped forward. “From a high fever.” The cottage was lit only by the hearth fire and several tallow candles in holders, one next to the bed where Evelyn could see a man lying on his stomach.
“Ye also know the ways of curing?” Rebecca asked.
“Some, but I have a book of medical knowledge.”
Rebecca stared at her like Evelyn had brought a live hog to assist. “Some good that will do,” Rebecca said and planted her palm on her sweaty forehead. She looked back to Grey. “Do we know how far Izzy must go to find Cat?”
“Nay,” Grey said, closing the door behind him.
The cottage smelled strongly of rosemary, garlic, lemon balm, and a mash of other medicinal herbs. Evelyn hastened over to Aiden, lying unconscious on his stomach, a damp poultice on his back. Evelyn touched his forehead. “Burning,” she said.
Grey stood next to her. “His wounds must be tainted.” Worry etched dark lines into his face.
Evelyn turned to Rebecca. “What is in the poultice?” She hurried to set the book on the table near the hearth to see better, flipping open the pages. Leaning close, she ran a finger down the list of ailments.
“Lemon balm, onion mash, and honey,” Rebecca said. She stuck her fingers through the rough plait of her braid, tugging at it absently. “And I change it daily. Sometimes I add lavender and marigold.”
“The fever has grown, though?” Grey asked.
Rebecca nodded. “I hadn’t realized how high.”
Evelyn ran her hands along Aiden’s arms. “The convulsions are from the high fever. We need to get his temperature down.”
“I’ve been giving him feverfew, too,” Rebecca said.
“The book says to use damp cloths over his body.”
“Grey,” Rebecca said, running to a wooden bucket in the corner. “Fetch water from the falls. It’s icy cold.”
“No,” Evelyn said, going back to the book. She began to read. “The cloths should hold clean, medium cool water to bring down the temperature. Water that is too cold will shock the body, making it harder to heal.” She met Rebecca’s gaze. “Just clean water, not freezing.”
Rebecca leaned fists on the table. “Does it say anything about burns?”
“I’m sure. You get the water, and I’ll look.”
Rebecca ran to a pot next to the hearth and lifted the lid. “I boiled it early this morning. ’Tis cool now and clean.”
Grey knelt beside Aiden and turned his head so that his ear hovered near the man’s mouth. “His breathing is shallow.”
Evelyn came over and gingerly lifted the poultice. Raw burns lay across his back. Some spots were crusted over with scabs, but some oozed.
Beside her, Grey cursed. “Blast,” he whispered and glanced at Evelyn. “He is like my brother.”
The agony in Grey’s voice clenched at Evelyn’s stomach. This man was in mortal jeopardy, partly because of her. Lord, help me.
“Here,” Rebecca said, handing Grey a wet cloth. He placed it on Aiden’s forehead and returned to the hearth to carry the heavy cauldron to the bed.
“We must wipe him down,” Evelyn said. “His legs, arms.” She brought the book to the bed, studying it under the splash of candlelight. “Snail slime,” she murmured. She stood straight and met Rebecca’s gaze. “We need to find snails. The slime that they produce will heal his burns.”
“I can find them in the forest,” Grey said.
“Nonsense,” Rebecca said, her face pinched. “It says snails?”
“Yes,” Evelyn looked to Grey. “Perhaps have your men hunt for them. We will set them to crawl over his burns.”
“Bloody hell,” Rebecca cursed. “Are ye sure this book speaks true?”
“It’s a well-known medical reference in England.” Evelyn took a fresh cloth and replaced the soiled one that stuck to a few of the burns on Aiden’s back. “And we must keep him as clean as possible.”
“Except for having snail piss all over him, ye mean,” Rebecca said.
“Snail slime,” Evelyn corrected and wiped her arm over her brow. Luckily the tea had given her some energy. After a night of little sleep, the low light was making her limbs heavy. A yawn forced her jaw open.
“Ye look tired, lass,” Grey said, meeting her gaze. “I will fetch a chair.”
“So am I, but ye don’t see me sitting down, do ye?” Rebecca called out.
“I’ll be fine,” Evelyn whispered.
Grey walked toward the hearth where he picked up another pot. “I’ll draw more water from the cistern to boil and gather men to hunt. When we place the snails, ye both should rest.”
“Rest…” The word issued from Aiden’s parched lips. He moved upon the bed, his face pinching in a grimace. Evelyn squatted down closer to his mouth, her skirts pooling around her on the swept floor.
“The fever was making him speak nonsense earlier,” Rebecca said, hurrying over. “Repeating words.”
“Rest, Grey,” Aiden whispered and breathed little shallow pants. “Let the Sassenach’s school fail. Rest and wait. ’Tis a good plan. The woman will fail.” He continued to mumble, but nothing else sounded like words, in English anyway.
Evelyn’s hand paused, her fingers curling in around the wet rag she held draped on Aiden’s forehead.
The woman will fail?
The words burrowed through Evelyn like a dirty rat through a wall, the wall of trust that she’d built around Grey and herself. Was this Grey’s plan? Was he so certain that she would fail in her endeavor to create a school that he could just rest and wait? After lowering his sword on the front steps of Finlarig and hearing her dream of a parish school, had he decided that she would never succeed? So instead of fighting for his castle, like he would against a man, he was waiting for the woman to fail all on her own.
Chapter Nineteen
Evelyn’s lungs wouldn’t allow a full breath. Heart pounding, she lifted her gaze to Grey.
“The ramblings of a feverish tongue,” Grey said, his face grim.
“Quite specific ramblings,” she said and swallowed against the dryness in her throat. She dipped the cloth, ringing it out. Her back straightened so far that she felt her spine might snap. And what of last night? Had his ideas about women just been ramblings to get her naked?
Rebecca tapped the book. “Is there anything else in here that could help him?”
“A word, Evelyn,” Grey said. “Outside.”
Evelyn looked down at the book, ignoring him. But the words grew fuzzy in her vision as hurt and anger warred through her. Could he have loved her so completely, only to trick her heart into softening toward him?
“I will have to study the book,” Evelyn said and kept her eyes on the page as if she could actually decipher the small letters in the shadows.
“Evelyn,” Grey said, and she felt his hand coil around her wrist.
With a twist and a snap, she jerked it away. “I don’t think there need to be any more words between us,” she said, her teeth clenched together, giving her tone a decisively hostile note.
“Bloody hell there do,” he said, his words as strong as the battle stance he’d taken. If fury hadn’t taken root in her belly, Evelyn might have noticed how large and imposing he looked, full of predatory power and muscular strength. Blast! She was noticing.
She turned away. “We will need to tend your brother through the night,” Evelyn said to Rebecca.
Rebecca looked at her, then past her to Grey and then back, her brows rising high. “I’ll keep washing Aiden down while ye two decide if ye’ll be having any more words.”
Hmmph.
“Ye can remain silent,” Grey said. “But I will say the words, either here or outside.”
Damn. The man was threatening to expose her foolishness of falling into his bed, or chair, or floor, all the places they’d come together last night. Evelyn turned on her heel and walked around him toward the door. The cool night air felt like ice water on her flushed face, and she wrapped her shawl tighter around her arms. She strode forward until she came to the first tree, then turned to stand with her back against it.
Grey closed Rebecca’s door and came closer, close enough for her to realize that she probably shouldn’t have backed up to a tree. “I spoke to Aiden about ye when ye first arrived,” Grey said.
She met his gaze in the darkness. The weighty boulder of anger in her middle squashed her earlier guilt over her failure to ask why the castle was for sale. It was something of a relief, and she held onto it. “Certainly, sir. Of course, you would consider strategy when faced with an adversary.”
“Sir? Blast it, Evelyn,” Grey said, and she watched his hand rise to rake through his hair. “When ye’re mad, ye sound like the bloody queen of England.”
“You do not know Queen Catherine very well, then, since she does not say much of anything, but attends herself in quiet misery while her husband plays the lover to his many mistresses. I, on the other hand, have the freedom that many women do not have, to speak my mind.”
“I mean,” he said. “Ye become severely formal when ye’re furious. I imagine your words are like daggers on your tongue right now, ready to fly and slice.” He took a step closer in the dark until she had to look up to meet his gaze. “Not at all like ye sounded last night in my arms.”
Evelyn sucked in a breath. “How dare you bring that up when I’ve just found out that you are so certain of my failure that you and your friend thought to rest and wait to let my school fail all on its own.” By the end of her rant, Evelyn crossed her arms over her chest. Apparently, she had a number of words to share with Grey.
Grey rubbed his jaw. “Would ye rather I’d have thrown ye out of the castle? Barred the door against ye?”
Damn the man. He knew her answer would be no, but the thought of him discussing her destined failure dug into her like a thousand burrs. “Why bother when you are certain of my upcoming failure? Without lifting a finger against me.”
“Would it make ye feel better to know that I asked people not to help ye?”
Throwing aside all of her upbringing, Evelyn growled through her teeth. “And,” she said, her voice a hiss, “You probably want me to believe that last night had nothing to do with trying to get me to lower my guard, to believe that you actually think teaching women is a noble and needed endeavor?” The thought of her foolishness made her nauseous.
He lowered his arms. “Evelyn, ye have created a lot out of a few words said between warriors a fortnight ago, before I knew anything much about ye.”
She stared hard at him, her hurt and embarrassment and the strength of the tree at her back, keeping her straight and strong. She wanted to believe him, but she had little experience with trickery. Her father may have been a brutal man, but he always attacked outright. Grey was completely different, and the fact that she’d fallen so easily and so completely made unshed tears ache in her eyes.
“Did you lie to me last night?” she asked again, her words clipped. “Telling me that you believe women are as intelligent as men?” She swallowed hard as the next words stuck in her throat. “Did you say all that to trick me into your bed?” The question made her cheeks burn when she remembered how Scarlet had suggested that she seduce him into her bed. But she hadn’t. The night around them seemed to hold its breath as she measured time by her pounding heart.
Grey let out his breath as if the world sat heavy on his shoulders. As a chief who’d lost his castle, Evelyn supposed that his world did, but that had little to do with seducing her. You wanted to be seduced. Even if she hadn’t actively sought it, she had been exceedingly willing. But she would never lie to trick a person into bed.
“Lass,” he said. “A lie is a bitter dram that eats away a man’s gut. I avoid them at all cost.”
“I’ve known men to have strong guts, then.” Her arms dropped, and her fingers caught the deep grooves of the bark behind her. Evelyn inhaled the cold night air through her nose. She stared into his eyes, but they sat in shadow, impossible to read.
He did not look away. “I did not lie to ye last night.”
“How do I know if your answer is not just another lie?” she asked on a whisper, wishing she could see him speak in the light. Lies were easier said in darkness, as if someone could hide their heart in the shadows. Evelyn felt like they stood on both ends of a double-ended sword, her point aimed directly over her pounding heart.
“If ye don’t believe my words, believe this,” he said, and pulled her away from the tree, into his arms.
…
Grey’s blood pumped through him with the fervor of battle. But this battle was like nothing he’d ever fought before. He could not wield a sword or mace to cleave the pain he heard in Evelyn’s anger.
So stiff, her softness from the night before had frozen to brittleness. Feel me, he willed, his mouth slanting against her tight lips. His hands stroked down her back as he poured the heat he felt into his kiss. His hands came up to slide into her hair, gently parting her tresses with his fingers.
Like a mountain waterfall in spring, Evelyn’s mouth softened little by little, her lips opening under his kiss. The grip in his gut began to relax as she shed the stiffness in her shoulders,
her body leaning slightly toward him, accepting his press against her. His hands moved to cup her cheeks, and he slowly pulled back to lean his forehead against hers. “Feel the truth in my touch, lass. Nothing last night was a lie.”
She remained there in his grasp, their heads gently against each other. “Do you want me to fail, Grey? My school?” She took a step back, and he let his hands slip from her face.
“Nay,” he said and felt in his very soul that it was the truth. “But for the sake of my clan and my pride, lass, I want Finlarig back.”
Grey watched her in the shadows, the glow from Rebecca’s window splashing across her smooth face as she weighed his words. Her hair lay over one shoulder, making her look like a simple Highland lass. Though nothing about Evelyn Worthington was simple, from her heritage and determination to keep his ancestral home to the hold she was beginning to have on him.
“I am sorry for that, Grey,” she said, and he could feel her pull away from him even if she didn’t take a step. “But these people need a school, and Finlarig is a perfect place for it. I would never bar your clan from Finlarig if it is needed for their protection, which is why I haven’t questioned your order to reinforce the defenses around the castle, including a toothy maw for a gate.”
The clever lass had noticed all his preparations for war. She paused as if waiting for his response, but what could he say? The crunch of pebbles along the path saved him, and he turned, drawing his sword. Izzy and her sister hurried out of the woods, breathless.
“I have come,” Cat said in Gaelic. “I was on the bank of Loch Tay seeing to a birth, but the babe is not ready to come.”
Cat frowned at Evelyn and turned to Rebecca’s door, which opened as if Rebecca had been standing there listening. Evelyn stepped out from around Grey and followed Cat and Izzy inside. Grey scratched a path through his hair, settling his large hand to rub at the ache that had started again at the back of his skull. Blast this bloody mess.
Rebecca started talking rapidly as she ushered Cat over to Aiden. “The Sassenach’s book says to use slime from snails on the burns,” Rebecca said, pointing to the medical book that lay open on a table near the bed.
The Scottish Rogue Page 20
