Chapter Eight

Her arse was the most perfect thing he’d ever seen. Aiden stood next to Kerrick in the school’s self-defense gymnasium, their arms crossed, legs braced. Aiden heard Kerrick inhale through his teeth as they watched Scarlet show Cici how the woolen trousers she wore allowed her to kick, knee, and touch her toes without the burden of skirts. It was the touching of her toes that stopped Aiden’s breath and made Kerrick cough into his fist.

“A gentleman would avert his eyes,” Aiden murmured to Kerrick.

“I don’t see ye looking away,” Kerrick said, frowning at him.

“I’ve never been known as a gentleman,” Aiden said, stepping out from the wall.

“And they keep your legs warm if you wear them under your skirts,” Scarlet said. “But the wool is so warm, you can go without the skirts.”

“Lady Scarlet,” Kerrick said, coming up next to Aiden. “I don’t think your sister would approve of everyone wearing…” He threw his hand out toward her trousers. “’Tis indecent.”

Scarlet’s hands came down on her hips as she turned toward Kerrick, her frown fierce. “I’ve noticed that you call me Lady Scarlet whenever you think I’m doing something wrong.”

Kerrick’s brows lowered, and he glanced at Aiden, but Aiden just shrugged. “Ye do.”

“And,” Scarlet continued, “you seemed to have no problem with Evelyn wearing hers while training. What has suddenly made you so straitlaced? Was Evelyn’s backside more acceptable than mine?” She threw her arm out to the other lasses. “Or theirs?”

Nine sets of eyes turned on Kerrick, frowns all around. “I…” he began and stopped, his face red. Kerrick swallowed. “Your backside is quite acceptable, Scarlet,” he said. “Carry on.”

She gave him a tight smile and turned back to the ladies. “Kirstin and Alana have volunteered to sew pairs for each of us.” Izzy raised her hand high in the air. “Yes, and Izzy volunteered, too,” Scarlet said with a genuine smile.

“I think black wool will look more…acceptable,” Kirstin said, using Kerrick’s word.

“Mo chreach,” Kerrick swore under his breath.

Kirstin glanced at him and then back at Scarlet. “Less likely to see anything through a light coloring of wool.”

Bloody hell. Did Scarlet own any light-colored trousers? Aiden certainly didn’t want anyone seeing through a pair of trousers she wore.

“Black is best for hiding in the woods at night,” Cat said, nodding her approval.

“And we will all have the same,” Kirstin continued.

“We could embroider a rose on the waistband,” Alana said. “Make them pretty.”

Scarlet nodded. “Excellent idea. We can each embroider our own as a lesson.” She glanced at Kerrick. “Even Lady Evelyn would approve of that. But if any of you feel uncomfortable wearing the trousers, even if it is just inside for training, you can continue to wear your proper skirts. Though, do consider wearing them underneath to stay warm this winter.”

“I might need several pairs,” Cat said, apparently planning to wear them more often than in the school. She’d been coming to the self-defense classes regularly now. Perhaps she was sleeping in Izzy’s room and had brought her animals.

Cici laughed lightly, shaking her head. “I will try them, but all this,” she moved her hands around her full hips, “might be just too much woman for even our proper instructors to handle.”

Scarlet smiled, her gaze flashing to Aiden. He kept his face neutral, and she turned back to her students. “Very well. We will work on the trousers to help our three seamstresses get started, and later this week, we will embroider them. But today Aiden and Kerrick will be teaching another lesson in throwing our attackers off balance with the goal of thrusting our knees into their ballocks.”

Aiden paired up the students with Kerrick opposite Cici, her wide eyes gazing up at him as he wrapped his arms around from behind. Aiden walked along the row. “Just simulate the punches and kicks on each other, unless you’re paired with one of us. At some point I want ye all to have a chance to feel what it’s like to actually punch or kick someone. Without that, ye will hesitate in a real situation.”

Cici flashed Kerrick a smile, her dimples tilted up toward him. “I would not want to hurt ye.”

“We are both wearing chain mail under our kilts,” Aiden said and walked close to Kirstin and Scarlet. “Scarlet, show us what ye did to get away from Finlay.”

She nodded once, then pretended to stomp her heel onto Kirstin’s toes. “Watch, everyone,” Aiden said. “She places her hands on his arm, ready to push away as soon as she delivers the stomp, turns, and shoots her knee up. She braces herself for the knee up by grasping the man’s shoulders.” He nodded at Scarlet as she performed her move and looked down the line. “Now the rest of you try it.”

“’Tis difficult to knee up under heavy skirts,” Cici said.

Cat snorted slightly. “A reason I wear very light skirts that I can tie. Easier to climb up into trees if needed.”

“I pulled my skirt up and to the side with one hand while I grasped his shoulder with the other,” Scarlet said.

“Make certain to use your thigh muscle to thrust upward,” Aiden said, pointing to Scarlet’s raised leg. Och, but she had magnificent legs. Long and powerful, and the trousers stretched snuggly along them. He cleared his throat and looked away, frowning at Kerrick, who seemed fascinated with her legs as well. “Our thighs are strong and often forgotten in battle. A good warrior remembers to use her strengths.”

“Her?” Fiona asked. “Are we to become those Amazon warriors, then?” She giggled. “I thought Cat was teasing.”

“Aye,” Martha chimed in. “Why must we become warriors?” She looked at Aiden as if he were the one to dictate the class curriculum. He gestured to Scarlet.

Scarlet gave a nod. “Good question, Martha.” She stood with her legs braced, arms crossed over the small white shirt she wore. She already looked like a warrior, a bonny one with a long dark braid lying over her shoulder. “Because every single man we encounter could attack us, and we, as women of the Highland Roses School, will not allow him to win.”

“Every man?” Kerrick asked, brows drawn. “Not sure I agree with that.”

Scarlet looked down her nose at him. “You’re not a woman.”

Kerrick looked to Aiden for help. Aiden let one eyebrow rise. “She said ‘could attack,’ and she’s correct.” Aiden’s jaw tightened with anger as he thought of Scarlet having to defend herself, not only against Finlay, but apparently against a much bigger foe. “There are plenty of bastards in the world who would attack a weaker person. Women are at a terrible disadvantage, and if she has no one to protect her, she needs to learn to protect herself.”

Scarlet stared at him, the edges of her lips curving slightly up, yet she kept the rest of her face firm. Slowly she turned back to Martha. “As a student here, you will learn the basics, but only you can decide if you want to be fully equipped to save yourself if it is needed.”

Cat stepped forward. “Izzy and I will learn everything we can. We have no one left to protect us.”

Alana nodded, determination touching her features. “I want to be a warrior, too. I won’t allow anyone to throw me back into a burning castle,” she said, referring to the horror she’d faced months ago before the school started.

“Well, I certainly don’t have a man with strength and integrity left to watch out for me,” Cici said, her hands landing on her hips. She nodded to Aiden. “So be sure to don your chain mail, as I’ll be kicking for real.”

“Aye,” Kirstin called, her fists clenched. “I won’t be made to feel helpless and afraid.”

Martha nodded, as did Fiona. “We will be the Highland Rose Warriors,” she said.

“Highland Rose Warriors,” Scarlet said with seriousness, as if she was trying out the name. She smiled, but her eyes were hard as she looked at Aiden. “Villains best watch out for our thorns.”

…

“Pointed and sharp,” Scarlet said, nodding to the long, twisted steel hair stick that Craig examined. The ill-tempered old warrior with a shock of unkempt white hair was the blacksmith for Killin. “It should be sculpted in a twist to be at least six inches long, preferably eight, with a knife-like point on the end. The pommel should be smooth so someone wielding it won’t harm themselves. Perhaps with something that looks like a rose.”

Craig stared at her for several heartbeats, but she didn’t blink. “Ye are wanting a dagger then, not a hairpin,” Craig said, holding the twisted stick up in the air to squint at it.

“Call it what you will,” Scarlet said. “But each lady at the Highland Roses School will use one to secure her coiled hair. I, therefore, will call it a hair stick or hair spike.”

Craig chuckled. “A handy hiding place for a dagger.” He eyed her the same way he’d studied the hair stick. “I heard ye were training a pack of lasses up there at the castle.”

She smiled. The man reminded her of the ornery beekeeper back at Hollings Estate in Lincolnshire who, despite his temper, always saved some of the honeycomb for her and Evelyn. “Yes, a pack of lethal roses,” she said. “Especially if we are armed with your hair sticks.”

“And twisted, ye say?” he asked, signaling to his apprentice, a younger man named Eagan who shoed all their horses.

“Yes,” Scarlet said. “So, once it stabs in, it can’t just be yanked back out.”

Both men looked at her, their eyes wide, though Craig recovered quicker. He swore softly and rubbed his bristly chin. “Aye, right vicious. Aiden wasn’t spouting nonsense.”

“Aiden?” she asked, watching Eagan take the hair stick to examine. Aiden was talking about her?

“Aye, said ye were fierce, a warrior in a Sassenach’s body,” Craig said and shook his head, one fuzzy eyebrow rising higher than the other. “The man doesn’t throw out compliments very often.”

“I take it then that being a fierce warrior in a female body is a compliment,” she said. Back in England, any reference to being manly would have been a severe slight, but not in this rugged, wild country.

“In an English woman’s body,” Craig said with emphasis. “Aye, ’twas a boast about ye. Never heard him speak of a Sassenach without spitting afterward.”

Scarlet watched Kirstin and Cat step out of Kirstin’s thatched cottage, Izzy trailing behind them. They carried woven black wool and walked up the path toward Finlarig. She must hurry, but Craig’s comment caught at her. She turned back to him. “Aiden doesn’t like English because of his burned back.”

“Aye,” Craig said, scratching his head. “True, but his hate started way before that bastard Captain Cross set fire to the castle.” The man pinched his lips tight together as she waited for him to continue. Several breaths later, it was apparent that he had no intention of doing so. “How many of the sticks do ye need?” he asked.

Scarlet kept her frustrated huff soft. “A dozen to start with,” she said, placing shillings in his palm. “But each new student will require one.”

“Trousers and daggers,” Craig said with a shake of his head. “Never thought the English prims would build up an army of lasses. Ye’d be better off letting a strong man and God take care of ye, lass.” Judgment twisted with a twinge of mockery in the man’s tone.

Tipping her head to one side, Scarlet regarded him with disdain. This man had likely never felt trapped by someone larger than he, stronger than he, someone who wanted to violate his body. She stood tall, staring him in the eyes without blinking. “And I thought God would have already struck down all the bloody, raping bastards with pox, boils, and the clap, but since God only judges them after they are dead, we lasses are helping God by sending the bastards to Him.”

Scarlet took great delight in watching Craig’s beard drop as his mouth opened. Perhaps he’d never heard those particular words come from a woman’s mouth before. “I expect the first dozen hair spikes before the end of the week,” she said. “Good day.”

Scarlet walked away, anger fueling her steps, but she made sure to keep a slow, even gait so as not to appear running away. Something she’d done too much in the past. “Not anymore,” she whispered through her teeth.

Her gaze scanned the road ahead of her. Would she be able to defend herself right now if faced with an ambush? Not likely. Women were practically shackled in their own clothing, making them even weaker with the weight of petticoats and the bindings of their skirts and stays. Like trussed up turkeys.

Scarlet snorted softly. Maybe she’d wear her training trousers all the time. Aiden’s face coalesced in her mind. Would he be fine with her wearing trousers? He hadn’t said much against them the other day, like Kerrick had. Not that it mattered what Aiden Campbell thought of her. “Damn,” she said low, because even if Scarlet wasn’t truthful all the time with others, she was always truthful with herself. And she knew very well that she did care what Aiden thought of her. When the hell had that happened?

Up ahead, Scarlet saw Rebecca, Aiden’s sister. She lived on the outskirts of town at the other end. She’d been coming to the castle for reading lessons, but since Evelyn left, she hadn’t. “Hello,” Scarlet called and raised her hand.

They met on the road near Kirstin’s cottage. Rebecca smiled, glancing down, and sidestepped to go around Scarlet. “Wait, Rebecca,” Scarlet said. “Won’t you come up to the school for some classes? We miss having you.”

“I…I couldn’t,” she said.

“Why?”

“I…well, I haven’t anything to pay ye with.”

“The others are paying by helping us get the school up and running. All of them except our newest student, Cecilia Menzies. And I know you’ve been helping Kirstin sew our trousers. If you attend, you can continue to learn to read the clothing patterns in the library, and more importantly, you’ll learn how to protect yourself.”

Rebecca pinched her lips tight. “I don’t think I’d like to attend, thank ye.”

“Why don’t you want to attend? You have friends there. Has someone told you that you shouldn’t? You don’t have to wear the training trousers.”

“Nay, it’s not that,” she said quickly and huffed. “My brother”—she lowered her voice—“doesn’t think I should come up to the castle.” Her hand went to her mouth as if she’d said too much.

“Aiden?” Scarlet asked. “Why not?”

“See now,” Rebecca said, her words muffled from behind her hand as she frowned. “I can’t keep words inside. They just spill about.” She shook her head. “I must go,” she said, practically running up the lane that led through town.

Scarlet stood in the middle of the road, watching her flee. “What the bloody hell?” she whispered, her anger growing like a rising yeast roll. Why didn’t Aiden want his sister to attend? He knew they were trying to educate the whole town. Did he not want her learning, preferring to keep his sister ignorant? Doubtful. He seemed to approve of the book learning going on in the library, never wanting to interrupt when it was time for classes in the gymnasium next door.

Scarlet resumed her walk toward the castle. Could it be that he didn’t want his sister learning to defend herself? Maybe he had a problem with the trousers but hadn’t said anything. Well, whatever it was, she was going to find out.

…

The sheep corral was snug with the daub between the lathe and a sturdy thatched roof. “There now, Snowball,” Aiden said to the lamb as it nuzzled against a wide ewe who must be its mother. “Now ye can shite wherever ye want.” And Scarlet wouldn’t have a reason to run out of his room to save her wandering lamb. He snorted at the foolish thought. The woman hadn’t come back down to his end of the fourth-floor since that first night.

He washed in the ice-edged bucket of clean cistern water and walked back into the castle. He’d been away for a night and day, meeting with Donald Campbell at Balloch Castle, to see if he’d heard about any goings-on at Castle Menzies. Kerrick had heard from a man passing through Killin that there’d been crowds up at the castle. Donald had sent a man who’d returned to say that Edgar Menzies was rallying against the young chief, saying he wasn’t fit to lead.

It was Sunday, so no classes would be held up at the castle. Except for the chickens, a set of peahens, and what seemed to be a furry, scurrying pine marten, the bailey was empty. A day of rest and biblical reflection were the mandates from the church even if Killin didn’t have a chapel, something that Grey said his new wife was planning to change.

What would Scarlet be up to today? The great hall was quiet, but the remains of a fire showed that someone had stirred it before noon. The haunting sound of someone singing came up from the back corridor that led out to the gardens and kitchens.

“And the wind blows low over the bloody moor.

As the raven’s beak plucks at frosted eyes.

I’ll never again see me Johnny love,

But will hear his voice when err the breeze cries.”

Molly with one of her melancholy songs. Aiden climbed the steps, hesitating on the second floor when he heard a bang. Walking along, he heard it again and stopped before the closed gymnasium to nudge the door open a crack.

Scarlet bent over, the black trousers hugging her arse, to pick up a dagger from the floorboards. Back-stepping nearly to the door, she held the knife cocked, took a step forward, and threw. The steel blade made it across the room to a straw-filled tick he’d erected at one end but hit the floor right before it.

“Ye need to step more into the thrust,” Aiden said, pushing the door open. Scarlet whirled toward him, and he had the briefest relief that she wasn’t still holding the dagger, else he’d likely be dodging it. He crossed his arms, walking into the room. “Keep practicing the timing to get the blade to rotate fast enough to hit the mark with enough forward motion to stick.”

She was splendid with her fierce frown, rosy cheeks, and hair braided to hang over one shoulder. She wore a man’s shirt, tied at the neck, the ends tucked into trousers that showed her long legs. With each breath, her breasts rose under the tunic where he could barely make out some banding, probably to hold her full breasts firmly without stays. He remembered those beautiful breasts resting on the surface of her bath water.

“You’ve been gone,” she said.

He cleared his throat and took a few steps closer, noticing the pink of her lips. What would Scarlet Worthington taste like? Tea and tarts? “Only for a night,” he said. “To meet with Donald Campbell at Balloch. I see ye are continuing your training, even on Sunday.”

She walked to retrieve her dagger. “I had a need to work off some ire.” She bent down, and Aiden’s breath stuttered at the perfectly round display.

“Ire?” he repeated.

She turned on her heel and tilted her head. “You don’t want your sister to attend the Highland Roses school.”

Blast. “Did Rebecca say that?” he asked. He inhaled, bracing his legs.

“Yes, that you didn’t want her up at the castle.” Her hands rested on the perfect slope of her hips, which he could follow easily while she wore her trousers. The thin, soft wool slid right along her skin, showing all her woman’s curves.

“Why wouldn’t you want your own sister to come to school here? She doesn’t have to wear the trousers, but if she wants to, she can decide on her own.”

“She can wear whatever she wants,” he said, frowning over his immediate reaction to her attire.

As if feeling the slant of his thoughts, she crossed her arms over her chest. Her hip jutted out, showing her annoyance. “Do you not want her to look in the art book then? I keep putting it away, but someone keeps pulling it out in the library, leaving it open.”

“An art book? What art book?” he asked, his gaze following her tightly plaited braid. She reminded him of the female warriors of legends. Though, he doubted Boudica or Joan of Arc could have been nearly so beautiful.

“Why then would you not want Rebecca to come up here?”

Aiden met her steady gaze. The tug, to be honest, was more insistent than he’d ever felt. He rubbed a hand through his short hair, glancing away. “Rebecca can’t keep her thoughts and… well, anything to herself. She spouts words, anything that comes into her head.” Which was why he didn’t trust his sister to keep their family information buried in the past where it belonged. But Scarlet wouldn’t understand the feelings he barely allowed himself to recognize—anger, shame, betrayal.

She looked doubtful. “And this is why you don’t want her at the school? Because she will talk us to death?”

He grinned past the heaviness of the past. “She could. But really, I’d told her that before,” he said, not altogether lying.

“Before what?” she asked, walking toward him.

“Before ye impressed me with being so bloodthirsty,” he said, indicating her stance. “Ye aren’t the typical Sassenach.”

The corners of her mouth tipped upward, and she looked beside herself at the mirror they used in training. “No?” she asked. “What is the typical Sassenach then?”

Flashes from the past filled him with details, but he shook his head. “Just more easily affected by cold and the wildness of the Highlands. Peevish and easily irritated.”

She laughed. “Since when have you known me not to be cold?”

A memory of her in a tub of hot water at his cabin, her glorious display on the surface, pushed away his distasteful thoughts about frigid, complaining Englishwomen.

“And,” she continued, “I am almost always irritated.”

Her easy admission made the corner of his mouth go up. “I know better than to argue with a lass holding a mattucashlass in her hand.”

She gazed at him for a moment as if replaying their words. Had he answered the questions about Rebecca enough to suit her? He’d have a serious talk with his sister before she came up to the school for daily classes. Rebecca was clever and quick, but she had no control of her tongue.

Scarlet came closer, their gazes locking. The woman had the longest lashes framing her hazel brown eyes. So clear and confident, as if she wished for him to see her for the strong woman she was becoming. He held his breath as she neared, but then she turned, presenting her back. She raised the dagger in her throwing hand. “I step and throw,” she said, simulating the movement without releasing the mattucashlass. She looked over her shoulder at him. “Some further instruction will help me be less irritating.”

Aiden came forward and closed his hand around her wrist. He leaned in toward her head, his lips near her ear. “Your mark is about sixteen feet away right now, but if a man was running at ye, ye should wait until he’s closer to throw, so the blade won’t fail to penetrate.” He pressed her with his body from behind, making her take several advancing steps.

Aiden’s whole body felt alive as his blood surged within him. Without her skirts, she’d no doubt feel him grow against her, but there was no help for it. Everything about Scarlet wrapped around him, her womanly clean scent, tinged with flowers; her warmth and softness; her silky hair, which he brushed his cheek against.

He cleared his throat. “Hold the dagger loosely, so it will slip from your fingers, and raise it over your shoulder.” He lifted her arm, her sleeve sliding up to expose the underside of her wrist. Its paleness was soft as he rested his thumb there. He felt the thrum of her pulse. His lips hovered so close to the velvety skin of her neck. Och, how he craved a taste, trailing kisses down it. Feeling her pulse fly.

He swallowed and inhaled her fragrance. “Ye whip it forward with the shift of your weight to the other foot, but keep your wrist straight.” He moved her arm through the motion slowly, stepping with her. It took his rock-hard discipline to step back. “Ye try.”

Without turning, she took a step back and paused. He watched the slight rise and fall of her shoulders as she breathed. Lifting her arm, she took aim, stepped, and released. The blade flew through the air, bouncing off the target.

“Good,” he said.

“It dropped on the floor,” she answered and strode forward to retrieve it.

“But your form was right, and ye have strength.”

She turned to walk back, and he noticed a flush up her neck. Embarrassment or desire? She didn’t meet his gaze but turned her back to him again.

“With this dagger, the blade is heavier than the handle, so make sure the blade is facing the mark when ye release. It doesn’t need to spin in the air.” He stood there, staring at her straight back, his gaze following the soft coil of her hair down over her shoulder. She didn’t move, as if listening intently to his words. “Every blade throws differently. Ye should pick a blade that has a good balance of weight and practice with it. Make it your own.”

She lifted her arm, aimed, and stepped forward to release. Whump. The point of the blade hit the hay-filled tick, cutting through and quivering where it stuck. She spun on her heel, a broad smile stretching her lips and lighting her eyes.

He smiled and nodded. “Ye follow direction well. Nice throw.”

She hurried to the tick and yanked the dagger out, holding it across her finger pads to weigh it. “I like this one.” She glanced up at him, happiness in her bonny face replacing the nearly constant unease she wore like a neutral expression.

“Then it is meant to be yours, Scarlet.”

“Perhaps I should also acquire a sword,” she said. “And become a true Highland warrior.” She sauntered toward him, a definite tilt of feminine cockiness in the sway of her hips.

He shook his head but kept his appreciative expression. “Nay.”

Her brows lowered. “Why not? I could find one that doesn’t weigh as much as yours.”

He stood before her. “Apart from not wanting to see ye in the middle of a blood-soaked field being circled by ravens,” he said, “a lass’s battles will most likely be more up close. To protect yourself from those who think they can overpower ye with muscle, ye should wield daggers that can be hidden upon your body. A sword is long and meant to slice a man in two. Ye just need to protect yourself.”

She looked up into his face, her frown softening. “What if I want to slice a man in two?”

The side of his mouth quirked upward. “Craig said ye were bloodthirsty.”

She scoffed and walked away toward a wall that had two practice swords. She hefted one, feeling its weight. The lass didn’t really want to slice a man in two, did she?

“If women had the strength of men, we would be treated very differently,” she said and slid the blade slowly through the air, testing her arm muscles. He could see the strain in her shoulders as the heavy blade pulled her arms downward. Some of the tightness that she normally wore in her face returned.

“Were ye born bloodthirsty?” Aiden asked, his tone light, but he watched her closely.

She laughed. “Only when my sister stole one of my ribbons or my brother pushed me out of his way.”

“But ye’ve changed,” he said.

Scarlet sliced the air again with the blade before lowering it to look at him. “The world changes a person.” She set it back against the wall and walked toward him, turning as if she planned to throw her dagger again. “I would think that someone as serious-minded as you would know that. Or were you born bad tempered?” She glanced over her shoulder at him.

He met her stare for several heartbeats. “Who made ye want to slice a man in two, Scarlet?”

She didn’t say anything, but her smile faded, leaving a haunted look in her eyes. He took a step closer. “Who hurt ye before Finlay?” He searched her face, the cheeks that looked soft that may have once showed bruises, her curved bottom lashes that may have held teardrops. “Who betrayed ye, Scarlet?”