“It speaks of snail slime in this?” Cat asked.
“Aye, somewhere on that page. There are pictures throughout, but I can’t cipher what the letters say,” Rebecca answered.
Evelyn came up beside them, pointing to the paragraph that held the information on healing burns. “It is right here. If you come up to attend school at the castle, I’ll teach you to read all of this.” Her voice sounded rough, and she cleared her throat.
Cat cursed softly in Gaelic, glaring at Evelyn. Evelyn’s hands went to her hips and she stared back. “Is the book wrong? I believe I’ve heard about using snails in healing.”
Grey cleared his throat. “I can go hunt for snails.” All three women and Izzy turned to stare at him as if suddenly remembering that he was there. Izzy moved first, rushing past him toward the door. She tugged on his arm. “I’ll come along soon,” he whispered, and she ran out.
After a silent pause, Evelyn nodded to Cat. “We met at the festival. I am Evelyn. You are Cat? Isabel’s sister?” Evelyn smiled, though it looked forced. “I heard that Queen Elizabeth, herself, had a best friend during her reign named Cat. Is it short for anything?”
“Catriona,” the woman said, though she looked wary. “Ye are the teacher who’s taken my little sister to the castle.”
Evelyn nodded. “I hope that once she is warm, clean, and fed, she will start to speak.”
Cat’s eyes squeezed to slits. “I wish ye luck. I’ve tried to keep her warm, clean, and fed for the last year, and she continues to sneak away from her only living family without a word.”
“So, she did speak at one time?”
“Aye, but not a word since our mother died of a broken heart. I’ve tried everything, so I don’t believe a Sassenach will be able to break her silence.”
“I meant no disrespect,” Evelyn said, the slight happiness leaking out of her tone.
“First,” Grey said, arms crossed over his chest. “Ye can work together to save Aiden. Then ye two can plot how to care for Izzy.” They turned once more to look at him like he didn’t belong. He backed slowly toward the door. “I’ll get snails,” he said.
“Where did ye get this book?” Rebecca asked.
“My brother,” Evelyn said. “He gave it to me for my birthday last.” The brother who’d bought Finlarig? Grey paused, his hand on the door latch.
“And it contains all types of healing ways?” Rebecca asked and shook her head. She glanced to her still unconscious brother. “Now that’s a gift, not a butter churn.”
“Ye needed a new butter churn, Rebecca,” Grey said. “And he’s hardly in a state to be scolded.”
Cat leaned over the book while Evelyn held it. “His fever has grown worse tonight,” Evelyn said, glancing at Aiden.
“Fevers are always worse at night,” Cat said without looking up. “We will get some more feverfew down his throat, and when Grey actually goes out to get the snails…” she said, glancing up at him with a pointed look, “we will set them to creep along his burns.”
Grey nodded, his gaze sliding to Evelyn. She met his, her beautiful face taut with determination. Determination to heal his friend, work with Cat, or take away the seat of his clan?
…
Evelyn watched the door shut behind Grey.
“Good,” Cat said. “Men are not meant for the sick room. They bring pain and death while women bring comfort and life.” Cat’s tone brooked no disobedience. She was definitely used to taking charge of medical situations. Evelyn handed the book to her, and she carried it to the table near the hearth. “Rebecca, brew some of my feverfew for us to get into Aiden.” Cat leaned forward over the open book, her brows lowered, then looked at Evelyn. “What is this?”
Evelyn drew closer. “It shows how a baby sits inside a woman’s womb halfway through her pregnancy.”
“How would the artist know this?” she asked.
Evelyn released a breath. “I am not certain. Perhaps from autopsies of a sadly dead mother-to-be or from imagination after feeling the shape of the babe inside.”
“They haven’t cut a woman open to see this?” Cat asked, her face wary as if they discussed dark magic.
“An alive woman? Heavens no,” Evelyn said. Cat nodded as she continued to peruse the book.
“You are very welcome to attend our school up at the castle.” Evelyn glanced between the women. “Both of you. You can learn to read this book.”
“I likely know everything inside it,” Cat said.
“I have other medical books to read. And an atlas of the world, and books on plants and animals, as well as art and fashion.” Evelyn’s mind flew through possible topics that might interest the two women. Let Grey see just how successful she could be when her library filled with eager-to-learn women, their minds open and bright and full of possibility. He said he thought women were as intelligent as men, and…she believed he did. But she wanted him to see it, understand the need for it. That the need was more important than his pride.
“You could read about the history of our countries or how to…rig a ship or embroider a pillow.” She noticed a stack of pinned cloth in the corner and motioned to it. “I have a book on sewing and how to design a gown. Books have mountains of information, if you can read.”
“I cannot leave Aiden,” Rebecca said, crossing her arms. Cat didn’t reply but went to sit next to her patient, taking the book with her.
The weight of their distrust, and the lack of sleep the previous night, pushed at Evelyn’s shoulders. Exhaustion and the ebb of her anger worked together in the dimness of the room to make her want to curl up with a blanket. She sat in a chair by the hearth. There was such horrendous animosity between the people of Killin and anything remotely English. No matter how badly she wanted to impart knowledge, unless a person was willing, they would never learn. Hatred and bitter resentment closed a mind completely.
“Maybe I could come here to go over the letters,” Evelyn said softly and waited.
Rebecca placed another wet cloth on Aiden’s neck. Only the slight crackle of the flames in the hearth could be heard. “Come around tomorrow, then,” Rebecca said. “And bring the book on sewing.”
Her words strengthened Evelyn, and she inhaled. “And the offer to learn is always open.” Her gaze shifted to Cat, who poured some infused feverfew into a wooden cup. “To both of you and any others who wish it.”
Cat ignored her and continued to page through the book, stopping to lean closer to the pictures.
The door opened, and Grey walked in, Izzy behind him. They both held their hands palm up, filled with little black snails. “Here are some to start,” he said. Cat shot up, waving him over to Aiden.
“The book says to rinse them with clean water first,” Evelyn said. “So the dirt from the forest doesn’t taint his wounds.”
Cat grabbed a bowl, putting some of the cooled boiled water in the bottom. Evelyn helped her pluck each snail from Izzy and Grey, gently swishing them in the water, and then they placed them on the worst of the weeping burns. Once they were all set, they stared. Slowly, the snails emerged and began to move, a glistening trail began behind each one.
“We need more of them,” Cat said.
“I will take Evelyn back to Finlarig and have Kerrick and the night watch help me find more,” Grey said. Izzy was already running out the door, hopefully in search of more snails. “Let’s go.” He handed her the shawl she’d worn. “Ye are tired.”
Evelyn frowned. Why did he continue to single her out? She saw Rebecca’s face tighten, and she shared a glance with Cat. “We are all tired,” Evelyn said. “I will stay here to help.” There was no way she would allow him to drag her away from assisting these women. She stared hard at him, her arms crossed to mimic the warrior stance of which he seemed so fond.
Gray returned her frown but pivoted on his heel, and Evelyn exhaled. He shut the door snugly, and Evelyn turned back to the two women. Rebecca and Cat shared a glance, and then Rebecca looked directly at Evelyn. “Is he bedding ye?�
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Chapter Twenty
Evelyn’s heart jumped up her throat, an instant flush prickling her cheeks. She blinked several times. “I…” Her mind went blank. She wasn’t about to discuss the intimate details of her life with two women who were not only strangers but also fairly hostile.
If she were her father, she’d start yelling at them for their insolence. If she were her mother, she’d weep and faint. If she were Scarlet, she’d smile and make light of the question without actually telling them anything. But what would Evelyn do? She’d never had anything to hide before, except for her radical ideas about women, which no one wanted to hear.
Evelyn took her sister’s smile, letting one side of her mouth curve upward like the idea was humorous, her brows rising high. She folded her hands in her skirt and met Rebecca’s questioning stare. “How about this? I will write about any and all of my exploits, with all the men I’ve encountered, in my journal, and when you come to my school and learn to read, I will hand it over for your pleasure.”
Cat made a sound like a chuckle in her throat, but she continued to reposition the snails on Aiden’s back. “Ye will likely find blank pages,” Cat said.
Evelyn shrugged, picking up her book from the side table and walking toward the hearth. Her gaze followed the lines of text, though she didn’t see any of the words. “You will need to learn to read to find out.”
“I could ask Kirstin,” Rebecca said with a frown. She turned to look at Cat. “I hear that she’s sleeping with Grey. Likely, she’d know if he was throwing up another’s skirts.”
Was Kirstin already Grey’s lover? Perhaps Evelyn was just another woman to lose her virginity to the fierce Highland warrior. But his kisses last night… The kiss just now under the tree… There seemed such passion and heat in it. And truth. But some men were known for being generous lovers while not tangling themselves in affairs of the heart, King Charles for one.
Evelyn stood, brushing her skirts. She hefted the book to her chest, wrapping her arms around it. “I believe the two of you have Aiden’s health well in hand. I will return to Finlarig unless you wish me to stay.”
Cat met her gaze. “No one wishes for ye to stay.”
The statement fell like an ax, and Evelyn’s strength toppled. She managed to nod and turned to step out into the night.
Numbness infused her as she walked through the silent woods, the book heavy in her arms. No one wanted her here. No one had wanted her at Hollings either or court, for that matter, not unless she kept quiet and married well. Even Nathaniel probably wanted her gone. Why else would he have agreed to her school idea so quickly? Exhaustion breeds self-pity. She’d seen it often in her mother as her tears would begin in the evenings when she was tired. But the hateful thoughts continued to pock Evelyn’s confidence until the pressure of tears in her eyes ached, pushing past the dam. Hot tears blurred her vision, a few rolling past her eyelids to course down her cheeks.
She ignored them. Let them fall in the dark where no one could witness her weakness. Perhaps they would bleed the self-pity out of her, and she could go on stronger. Evelyn trudged through the woods, breaking out onto the road behind Isabel’s hut. Was that why Cat disliked her so much? Because Isabel had actually been coaxed away from her family home? As she stared at the house, a large shape came from the shadows, making her heart beat fast. Grey.
He walked straight toward her, a lit lantern before him. “Lass?” he asked as he neared, flooding her face with light.
Good God, could he see her remaining tears? Evelyn turned to present her back, walking to cross to the other side of the dark road. He followed, of course. The man couldn’t let her sulk in peace.
He came even with her stride as they passed the smithy. “I thought ye were staying to assist.”
They are cruel, and I’m pathetically weak. The silent words made her eyes ache. She cleared her throat. “They have everything under control.”
He blew out the lantern, leaving it near one of the smithy hearths, and took the heavy book from her arms. He didn’t say anything as they walked side by side, their feet crunching.
Thoughts flitted into and out of Evelyn’s mind. But with each thought of Grey’s plot against her, the memory of their recent kiss dissolved her anger. He was caught in this mess, just as she was caught. Maybe even more if he was committed to another woman.
She glanced at his regal profile, his hair resting around his strong chin. “Are you having sexual relations with Kirstin?”
He continued to look forward. “Is that why ye were weeping? Did Rebecca or Cat tell ye I was lying with Kirstin?”
“I was not weeping, and even if I was, it would not be over something like that,” she said, her tone clipped.
He turned his face toward hers, and she could see his serious expression in the light of the rising moon. “Nay, I am currently having sexual relations with only one woman.”
She pressed her tongue hard against the roof of her mouth. “In the past then?”
Grey stopped, his hand on her arm. They stood in the dark lane alone. “Ye wish to know about all the lasses I’ve tupped?”
“No,” she said and huffed. “But…just Kirstin. Is that why she wishes me ill?”
After a long moment, Grey looked up at the sky where stars were beginning to break up the darkness. Evelyn waited, but with each heartbeat, her stomach tightened. He lowered his gaze back to her. “Last Hogmanay I kissed her. We might have ended up in my bed, but she drank too much whisky and passed out. Alana took care of her. The next day, we received word of my father’s death with a package that held my mother’s wedding ring and sash within it.”
“They killed your mother too?” she whispered. “The English?” Why hadn’t she asked about all of this before coming?
He looked back at the stars. “It has not been confirmed. Only my father’s body was returned for burial.”
“I am sorry,” she said, her voice soft.
Grey began to walk again, ushering her past Kirstin’s house where a light shone in the window. The woman, no doubt, hoped to rekindle their earlier romance.
“Why were there tears on your cheeks?” he asked.
Damn. “There were not,” she said but knew he’d seen them. He’d likely not rest until she admitted it. “Tears only make one appear weak, so I do not acknowledge them.”
“Ye think tears make one weak?” he asked.
All the years of her father berating her sex for their penchant for tears, his sharp, disdainful gaze whenever she tried to comfort her weeping mother, filled her memories. She snorted. “So I’ve been told.” Evelyn saw a white stone on the path and kicked it, watching it skitter farther up the road without rolling off.
“When I was a lad,” Grey said and rubbed his chin, “I thought the blacksmith was the strongest person alive. He banged steel into shape all day, and his biceps were mountains compared to a child’s.”
Evelyn kicked the rock again, her gaze on the dark path flanked by bushes. The slight smell of gorse from the meadow came on the breeze that rustled the bushes.
“And then,” he said, “my mother birthed Alana. I remember that night, as Ma cried and yelled. It was a very hard birth, from what the midwife told my Da. But Ma carried on without pause, and Alana came screaming into the world at dawn.”
“They were fortunate,” Evelyn said and kicked the stone again, watching it roll almost to the hedge.
“What I realized then was that my mother was actually the strongest person I knew, not the blacksmith.”
She inhaled and lifted her gaze to the night sky as they walked without touching.
“I’ve sat outside many births now,” Grey said, “with my warriors as they wait, listening to the cries and tears of their wives. A woman is at her strongest while releasing tears.”
Evelyn swallowed past the tightness in her throat. “Good God, Grey, they were only a couple tears from letting another’s poor opinion of me weaken my resolve for a few minutes.” She pulled her shawl
closer around her arms. “You don’t have to talk about my weakness.”
His hand gripped gently around her upper arm, making her stop on the road. “That’s just it, Evelyn.” He waited until she finally met his gaze. The tears that she refused to acknowledge had dried, leaving the skin of her cheeks tight.
Grey leaned closer as if he were imparting a secret. “Tears are not a show of weakness, especially when a woman continues to battle to birth a babe or build her school.”
“Do your men weep in battle, Grey?” She pursed her lips tightly together.
“Nay, not usually, though they curse and yell, which is just another way to release the pressure that builds up. It’s the silent ones who often crumple, especially outside the birthing room.”
Back at Hollings, Evelyn had helped a couple mothers through births when no midwife could be found in time. Her frown softened. “Is that why you sit with them?”
“Aye, the midwife is too busy helping the wife and babe, so I catch the falling husband.”
She sniffed a small laugh and turned back to the road, spied another rock, and kicked it ahead of them. “Well, I was raised by a mother who wailed all the time. She used her tears to sway my siblings and me to do her bidding, but it just made our father furious. He railed against her lack of control. No one should lose control of their dignity. It was my father’s strictest rule,” she said, her voice lowering. “For everyone else but he, I suppose.” When Benjamin Worthington ranted, threatened, or struck her, he did not see it as losing control, for he was the head of the house, and she was a weak woman.
Grey’s tone was soft. “I’ve learned over the last months that fathers can make some very poor decisions.”
“Finlarig?” Evelyn asked.
“Aye.” He breathed in through his nose and stepped up to her stone, kicking it with the toe of his boot. It flew straight, up the path nearly to the open portcullis.
She stopped before the raised gates that were flanked by lit torches. “What a rotten mess,” she whispered.
He turned to face her. “Aye,” he said. “A rotten mess.” Hard eyes met her own, reflecting the bright flame. Strength and determination warred with a pain Evelyn knew only too well when remembering her own sire. Her father’s disregard of the future happiness of his daughter had led him to set a contract for her marriage, damning her to a loveless life.
The Scottish Rogue Page 21
