Chapter Thirteen

She always smelled of flowers, her creams for which she sent away came with letters from the south. The air seemed especially filled with the scent as the trees danced overhead, and a muted sun shone down without adding any warmth to the summer day. The yipping of a dog shot from the window of a rich carriage that stood behind her.

“Don’t go,” Aiden said, grasping her soft hand. “Stay.”

Sad eyes stared at him, her lips moving, but then she looked away, her gaze going to the coach that waited. “Don’t leave me,” Aiden said, but she turned her back, walking quickly to board the conveyance. “Nay,” he yelled, running after the coach as four horses pulled it down the road. “Nay. Lady Beckett. Don’t leave us. Lady Beckett!”

Tears flooded Aiden’s eyes, but he would say no more. She looked at him from the carriage window, but her hazy visage sharpened until every detail slid into place. It wasn’t the woman he’d known. Instead, brown eyes framed by long, dark lashes looked back, her lush lips tight, subduing her natural smile. Scarlet watched him as she rolled away.

Aiden jerked awake, blinking at the image of Scarlet staring down at him in the pre-dawn light, her brows furrowed. “You were dreaming,” she said. “It didn’t look pleasant.”

Aiden’s arm came up to his forehead as he closed his eyes again, taking in measured breaths to calm his pulse. It had been a long time since he’d had the nightmare. He slid his hands behind his head, cradling it. “Sorry. Did I wake ye?”

She lay her head back on her pillow, her face turned to him, her gaze searching with a pinch between her brows. “A bit.”

Aiden stretched, trying to shake the heaviness sitting in his chest, and wiped hands down his face. He pushed up in the bed, the carved posts soaring toward the ceiling. “Perhaps we should knock down the wall into the next room, like Grey did, to accommodate your new furniture.”

“That would raise some eyebrows,” Scarlet said, still staring at him.

He chuckled, even though the nightmare clung to him, and rose, bending to gather up his kilt. “I best get started with the day.” He turned back to her. “Ye sleep. I kept ye up much of the night.”

“You got as little sleep as I,” she said. “But I despise mornings, especially cold ones.” She snuggled back into the covers, giving him a slight grin, though her face still looked tight.

He leaned in to kiss her, his lips brushing the softness he’d enjoyed so thoroughly. His fingers slid across her cheek, relishing the velvet cream of her skin. “Catch some more dreams, lass.” He straightened, heading toward the door.

“Aiden?”

“Aye?” He turned to see her eyes filled with questions.

“Who is Lady Beckett?”

The name felt like a boulder growing in his gut as he held his breath. He gave a small shake of his head. “No one to concern us. She is dead and gone.”

Scarlet stared without blinking. “She may be dead, but she’s apparently not gone.”

“She is no one,” he said. “I’ll be back in time for class. Get some more rest.”

Aiden pulled the door shut behind him, and he stood for a moment in the dark hall. His blood pounded through him, and his hands fisted as he tried to shake off the feeling of disapproval. From Scarlet? He scratched his scalp through his hair. Perhaps. From the woman turning her back on him in the dream? Absolutely. Pray God, that they weren’t one in the same.

…

“No,” Scarlet yelled, letting some of her tension out in the word. “No,” she repeated, her hands going to Aiden’s arm. With a kick backward, she shoved his arm away, escaping his hold. Wrapping her hand around the hair stick holding her coiled tresses, she snatched it free. Her heavy hair fell down her back, but the side pins kept it out of her eyes as she brandished the lethal spike before her. With two forward steps, she shoved the weapon toward the dip in Aiden’s neck, the one she’d kissed in the early morning.

He kept his ground, and she stopped the point inches from him, a slow smile spreading on her face. “You didn’t even flinch,” she said, dropping her arms. The students in the room clapped.

He leaned near her ear. “After what I’ve done to make ye moan over the last week, I’m fairly certain ye don’t want me dead.”

His whispered words sent a giddiness through Scarlet. Since the gift of the beautiful bed, they’d slept together every night. He hadn’t spoken through any further nightmares, although some nights she watched him sleep, wondering what transpired behind his eyelids. Lady Beckett? Who were you?

Their passion was hotter than anything she could have dreamt, but Scarlet knew time was required for full trust to develop between them. One day, Scarlet, consider telling me about your nightmares. If Aiden could ask it of her, she surely could ask it of him. The time just hadn’t been right, as passion consumed them quickly when they met in the night, each time with her having to invite him from his room down the hall. The days had been full with students—eight in total, now, with Rebecca attending and Cat showing up regularly. Nine when Molly stopped in at Scarlet’s continual urging.

Scarlet gave Aiden a smile but puckered her lips to stop herself from laughing. Whenever they were together, they attracted questioning looks from the ladies and frowns from Kerrick. Was their attachment so obvious?

She stepped away from him and clapped her hands twice to catch everyone’s attention. “I want you all to practice putting your hair up with your hair stick. Try very hard not to poke or cut yourself.” She made sure to catch twelve-year-old Izzy’s gaze and held it until the girl nodded.

Cat gave a dark chuckle, tossed her hair stick in the air to catch it by the rose knot, and quickly fashioned a bun to shove it through. “Well done, Cat,” Scarlet said. The woman had a natural way with weapons.

Rebecca stepped forward, stabbing the air with her stick. “Och, the trousers make it so much easier to move.”

Molly shook her head but smiled a toothy grin. “I just don’t know if I could get accustomed to wearing trousers.” She’d opted to keep on her skirts.

“It’s time to change back to skirts and have tea in the library before we start our lessons in summing numbers,” Scarlet continued. Kerrick and Aiden gathered up the daggers they had brought for further training. Most of the ladies were starting to have success with throwing, though Fiona and Cici were less coordinated. Perhaps a separate class could be arranged to give them more practice.

“’Twas a good class. Ye are a natural teacher,” Aiden said as he neared her on the way out. His compliment warmed her inside. Apart from her beauty, Scarlet hadn’t received many compliments.

Had Lady Beckett been beautiful or studious?

God’s teeth. She needed to put the woman from her mind.

“Thank you,” she said. “It helps that the students are eager.”

Aiden met her smile. “I will check on the sheep before heading to the smithy to let Craig know that none of ye have lopped off your heads with his skewers. Yet.”

She gave him an exaggerated glare.

“’Tis true,” Kerrick said. “The old goat is worried about ye all slicing your own throats.”

“Tell him that my Roses are doing wonderfully with their training. He will want them on his side in battle,” she said, loud enough for the ladies to hear her boast.

Aiden paused near her at the door. Without a glance toward any of the ladies or Kerrick, he leaned into Scarlet’s face, brushing a slow kiss over her lips. Eyes wide, Scarlet stood there stunned.

Aiden nodded to the ladies who were no doubt staring open mouthed behind her. “Good day.” He walked out, Kerrick’s head twisting between her and Aiden before he took off after him.

Scarlet turned around, the feel of Aiden’s very public kiss still on her lips, though she didn’t dare touch them with a finger. Nine sets of eyes stared at her, mouths set in all sorts of smiles and frowns and shock. Rebecca’s eyes and mouth were open the widest.

“He…is going to check on the sheep.” She indicated the empty hallway behind her as if nothing apart from the ordinary had happened. “My lamb, Snowball, seems secure with her mother in the new corral.” She paused. No one said anything.

“Nathaniel will be surprised,” Scarlet continued and crossed her arms over her chest, flipping one hand out to all of them. “The school has come a long way in a short time. Hopefully Evelyn will like the direction I’ve taken the self-defense classes.”

Was she rambling? “Because, in order for you to truly protect yourself, you must be willing to hurt the attacker.” Face flushing, she wove her own hair stick through her bun to secure it and walked across the room toward the changing screen to retrieve her skirts. “I’m determined to equip all the Highland Rose students with weapons, strength, and technique.”

“Does that technique include kissing the brawniest Highlander I’ve ever seen?” Cici called as Scarlet dipped behind the screen.

“Aye? If I’d known that was part of the curriculum, I would have signed up on the first day,” Kirstin said, her voice a bit strained.

“No wonder Aiden wanted Da’s bed,” Rebecca said. “Not just for ye, but for the both of ye.”

This whole thing was spiraling out of control. Scarlet stepped out, once again attired in her skirts, which she finished cinching. She raised her hands. “Enough, ladies.”

“In the Highlands, sleeping with a man practically makes ye married,” Alana said, nodding. She turned to Martha. “I heard about a MacPherson who lay with a Menzies, and her clan made her go with him as if they were married.”

Scarlet sighed, lowering her hands to walk out of the gymnasium. Let them go beyond propriety with their questions without her. She gritted her teeth as she strode to the stairwell. “Bloody hell, Aiden,” she whispered. What had he been thinking, kissing her before everyone? Hopefully Kerrick was giving him an ocean of trouble.

“Scarlet? Where are ye?” Alana’s voice came from behind her as she climbed the stairs toward her bedroom.

“Ye dolts,” scolded Cat. “If the woman wants to bed one of our strapping men, it’s her business.”

“He’s my brother,” Rebecca countered. Their voices were getting louder as if they followed. Good Lord.

“Since when does being someone’s sister give ye the right to know where he lies at night?” Cat asked.

“She’s English,” Rebecca said, though her voice was softer. “Aiden hates Englishwomen.”

Scarlet paused on the steps. Englishwomen? Not English or Englishmen. She said Englishwomen.

She is no one. Scarlet would bet a pound of tea that Lady Beckett was an Englishwoman.

“Perhaps she’s bewitched him,” Cici said, making Scarlet roll her eyes and continue her upward climb.

“Shame on all of you,” Molly said, her voice snapping. “My lady is neither a witch nor a loose woman. If anyone’s had their soul sucked out of them, it’s Aiden Campbell sucking on Lady Scarlet.”

Good Lord, Molly. Scarlet shook her head and alighted on the top floor, traipsing toward her very crowded room. She closed her door, stepping to her polished mirror to practice using two hair spikes to hold her heavy tresses. She’d return to the library in a few minutes, once her blush had receded.

Knock. Knock. She didn’t answer. Knock. Knock. She sighed. “What is it?” she called, turning toward the door.

“We want to see the bed,” Kirstin called. “Rebecca says she remembers it being bonny.”

Truly? They wanted to see the bed. Scarlet stared at the door. If Evelyn was here, she’d shoo them away and remind them that ladies did not barge into their teacher’s bedroom or gawk at their bed or question them about what they did when they weren’t teaching. But Evelyn wasn’t here. “Blast,” she whispered. Although, if Evelyn were here, then Grey would also likely be here, and Aiden would still be frowning at her from a distance.

Scarlet whipped open the door and crossed her arms, barring their way. All nine students crowded in the hall, eight of them still wearing their black trousers and white men’s shirts. She met their gazes with a steely frown and waited. Her one eyebrow rose slowly as she looked down upon them, even Cici, who was taller than she.

Heartbeats passed as one by one they lowered their gazes until Alana cleared her throat. “We don’t mean to pry.”

“But you do anyway,” Scarlet answered. “Whom I kiss and what I do after school hours is none of your concern.”

Rebecca opened her mouth, but Scarlet spoke first. “Even if it involves a member of your family.” Rebecca’s mouth clamped shut.

“It’s gorgeous,” Cici said, gazing over Scarlet’s head toward the bed. “Did your da carve it?” she asked Rebecca.

“Aye,” she said, her frown relaxing.

Scarlet sighed. How could she refuse to let Rebecca show off her father’s craftsmanship? She stepped aside with an ushering wave of her arm. The ladies filled the room. They ran their hands over the vines, flowers, and birds carved into the light oak.

Outside the door, the sound of heavy footfalls echoed, and Kerrick appeared in the doorway. Good Lord. Was he coming to view the bed, too?

He stopped, eyes wide as he took in the room, every bit of floor space filled with ladies in black trousers. “Scarlet,” he said. It was the edge of panic that snapped Scarlet to attention. She’d never seen a Campbell warrior frightened, not that Kerrick was filled with fear, but he looked as if someone had told him the moon was about to fall to the earth. The babble of female voices stilled, the whole room seeming to hold its breath.

“What is it, Kerrick?” Scarlet asked.

“Aiden told me to prepare ye,” Kerrick said. He flapped his hands at the students. “All of ye.” He looked back at her. “Because he’s asking for you. Lady Scarlet Worthington, daughter of the late Viscount Worthington of Lincolnshire,” Kerrick said. Her formal name sent a shiver up Scarlet’s spine.

“Who is asking for me?” she whispered on what little breath she had left.

Kerrick swallowed, looking her directly in the eyes. “Bloody King Charles.”

…

Aiden stood in the bailey with Lawrence and William as Hamish raised the portcullis. The foking king of England, Scotland, and Ireland was paying an unexpected visit to Finlarig. But what made his warrior instincts roar was the fact that the man was asking for Scarlet. A man of the highest rank. One couldn’t find a higher rank than king.

A tall man with sand-colored hair had taken the black drapes off the two richly appointed coaches outside the gate. The man asked for entrance, but the lion and unicorn heraldry emblazoned on the conveyances demanded it. It wasn’t until Charles himself, dressed in rich ermine splendor, stepped down from the carriage that Aiden ordered the portcullis raised.

As far as he knew, Grey Campbell wouldn’t bar the king, and Aiden must act as steward. Any move that could seem treasonous would affect not only his own life, but the lives of his clan. Mo chreach. Grey walked this line all the time. Aiden was damned happy to be an independent man, except when he must represent the Campbells of Breadalbane parish for Grey. Had Grey passed the king on the road?

Both the king and the tall man climbed back into the carriage, and the conveyances rolled under the thick teeth of the raised gate. Two red-costumed soldiers rode on top of each carriage, along with one driver. Two horses led each. They stopped before Aiden near the steps to the keep, and the door swung open again.

The tall man jumped out, his smile pleasant as he scanned the area. His short trousers and hose showed strong legs, and his tailored jacket fit snuggly across a broad back. Unlike the monarch, who stepped down after him, the man didn’t wear a wig, though his short hair hinted that he likely did. Unless, of course, it had all been burned off by sadistic bastards and was still growing in.

The king was richly garbed in an elaborate blue and gold waistcoat and coat, trimmed with fur, over white silk breeches that showed the man’s thin legs. His long wig was a tumble of dark curls that rested past his shoulders. His thin dark mustache tipped up at the corners as he smiled mildly.

Lawrence gave Aiden a small poke in the ribs with his elbow, which prompted Aiden to bow his head. “You are welcome to Finlarig Castle, home of the Campbells of Breadalbane.”

“Yes,” Charles said, stepping closer, his dark eyes shifting about as if anticipating an attack, though he didn’t relinquish his smile. “’Tis cold and damp and away from everything civil,” he said. He sounded happy about the complaints. “’Tis perfect, as you said, Lord Covington.”

“Yes, sire,” the tall man answered and stepped forward, his gaze focused on Aiden. “I am Lord Covington, Earl of Salisbury.” He swept his hand toward the king. “Advisor and personal assistant to our sovereign, Charles, King of England, Scotland, and Ireland.”

Aiden bowed his head briefly to the king and then nodded to Covington. “Greyson Campbell is not in attendance at Finlarig as he is taking the heads of two traitors down to London.”

“Ah, yes,” Covington said. “Captain Cross and Lord Sotheby. We received Viscount Worthington’s missive.”

“Yet ye came all the way up here?” Aiden said.

The king chuckled slightly. “The safest place for a monarch is where a treasonous scheme has been disrupted and flushed out.”

Covington nodded as if bolstering up the idea. “The perfect place for the king and queen to spend Christmastide amongst good country folk where no one can reach them.”

“But Chief Campbell—” Aiden began.

“Will turn around and return once he finds the king is not in residence,” Covington said. “When he returns, we will be here to greet him with a cup of wassail.”

Lawrence made a choking sound next to Aiden, making him look past the king toward the coach where a richly dressed woman emerged, followed by two other ladies. Aiden bowed his head. The king looked to them. “My queen, Catherine, and her ladies.”

The two ladies curtsied, and Aiden bowed his head again. One was the age of the queen and had dark hair. The other woman was bonny and young with blonde hair. Her face seemed familiar, something in the tilt of her eyes.

“Ye…may come inside Finlarig,” Aiden said, his words slow. Ballocks. He felt completely inept dealing with bloody royalty. As much as he wanted to stuff Scarlet away in a hidden cave, her guidance could only help the stilted situation. He tried to remember what his mother had told him about kings and queens of England, but it had been long ago, and he’d paid more attention to his father’s teachings on weaponry. The only thing he knew of the monarchy was that encountering any member of it increased the chance of a man’s head leaving his shoulders.

The king turned on the thick golden heel of his shoe to survey the bailey, where chickens scratched about with two peahens, a donkey bit at tufts of grass, and a large peacock strutted toward the stables where the sheep were held. “Where now is our friend, Lady Scarlet Worthington?” His dark eyes turned their intensity on Aiden. “I am told that her sister married the chief of the Campbells, and that Lady Scarlet was in attendance, despite her brother reporting that they journeyed south toward Plymouth.” The king frowned slightly but recovered his smile, one of his dark eyebrows rising.

“Lady Scarlet is a teacher here at the Highland Roses School,” Aiden said. “She was beginning a class in ciphering numbers in the library, but I have sent word of your arrival.”

The wind blew a gust, making some light snow swirl around them. A prompt from God? Aiden cleared his throat. “Ye are welcome to enter Finlarig, where it is warmer.”

“I dare hope it is,” Charles said, laughing. He held out an arm for his queen to take, and they proceeded them toward the steps. Aiden had no idea if he was supposed to walk in front since the king had never been to the castle or continue to follow behind. No doubt he would insult the king numerous times while he was here. By the time Grey returned, his head might be cleanly cut away and residing in a basket.

Covington walked up next to him, an easy smile in place as he spoke low. “Keep his cup full of good Scottish whisky, and this visit will go quite smoothly.”

Behind him, several men emerged from the second coach. Two were soldiers in their red uniforms, but the one who caught Aiden’s eye was a large blackamoor, his dark skin a contrast to the white wrappings he had about his head.

One soldier lowered several deer from the roof while another caught them. The Moor squatted down to examine them. Lawrence and Hamish talked with two of the guards, who nodded, and all muskets remained unlit. Aiden followed the royal group inside, their colorful garb reminding him of the peacocks sauntering over to peck with the chickens. He took another glance toward the flock. Since when did Finlarig have peacocks? And a donkey?

Aiden took the steps quickly, catching up to Covington as he entered.

“’Tis dark as a tomb,” he heard the king say.

“Just the entryway, my majesty,” Aiden called ahead. “Inside the great hall it is quite light.”

“Your majesty,” Covington whispered.

“What?”

“You say your majesty, not my majesty,” the man said, a wry smile quirking his lips.

Aiden had thought saying your majesty would sound like he was saying the king wasn’t the king of Scotland. Ballocks. He’d much rather be on a battlefield than paying court to a jewel-encrusted king and his fancily-costumed cocks.

The king walked the ladies directly to the hearth fire. Where was Kerrick? Hadn’t he been able to find and warn Scarlet?

A movement from the arch made him turn. Scarlet stood beside the unfinished mosaic of roses on the burned wall, his blue piece sitting at the center of a half-finished red rose. Scarlet wore a gown that he hadn’t seen before, its blue material smoothed with a shine that looked like silk. It billowed around her and was trimmed with lace and sewn beads. Her hair was piled up high on her head, but he could see the coil of steel in the shape of a rose sticking out of the wavy mass. Seeing her armed helped him draw breath.

She wore a sophisticated smile that he knew was false and held her head high as she practically floated across the floor. Behind her, the ladies came quietly, their dresses back in place and looking shabby compared to the English gowns. The Rose students walked slowly, in pairs, their expressions a mix of fear, torturously fake smiles, and in the case of Cat and Izzy, open hostility.

Foking hell. He needed to start pouring whisky for the king and possibly himself.

“Your majesty,” Scarlet said, her voice a practiced purr that made Aiden’s middle clench. She curtsied low before him, rose, then curtsied to the queen. “Your majesty,” she repeated. The queen smiled at her, and the sentiment reached her eyes.

When Scarlet rose, the queen caught Scarlet’s hands with her own gloved ones and squeezed. “It is good to see a familiar face here in the wilds of Scotland,” she said, her voice thick with her Portuguese accent. It was her foreign ways and accent that had made her unpopular with her people, much like the Scots. And just like the English in Scotland, Aiden reflected. He frowned, focusing his attention on the stiff, silent stances.

Scarlet ignored the man Covington and dipped her head to the king. “What brings you to Finlarig Castle?”

“Christmastide,” the king said, his arms flying out wide as if announcing the plans for a grand siege. “Though, it would seem that nothing is yet prepared.” He looked around, the queen and her ladies following his lead.

“The Scots do not celebrate Christmas,” Aiden said, his deep tone seeming to draw all eyes, which grew wide. “In a very Protestant country, Christmas is viewed as a Catholic holiday. We celebrate the last night of the year, Hogmanay.”

The queen pressed a hand against her heart, her face drawn as if she might weep. “However,” Scarlet said, her voice high and merry, “since the Highland Roses school is run by two English sisters, we intend to celebrate Christmas from now on.”

Had Evelyn informed Grey? Since none of them had been raised acknowledging the holiday, Finlarig Castle would likely be the only part of Breadalbane making merry.

“How fortunate,” Queen Catherine said, a soft smile returning. The woman seemed remarkably genuine. Perhaps it was her Portuguese heritage, so different from most English. At a time, Aiden would have said all English. His gaze slid back to Scarlet. Her whole body seemed stiff, coiled, and restrained, very unlike the warm woman he’d come to know. It made his heart pound as if readying for war.

“Excellent,” the king said, clapping his hands. “Harry, see that my men help them in any way. They must find holly and mistletoe to hang. And a yule log to burn. Christmas Eve is only a few days away.” The king sounded like a child excited by the thought of candy.

Scarlet looked between him and the queen. “We are very honored to have you for Christmas; however, I fear you will not be comfortable here as we are still making improvements. There is only one large bedchamber, Chief Grey’s chamber on the fourth floor.”

Charles flapped a beringed hand. “My queen and I will share the chief’s room.”

Catherine’s eyes widened, and the king took her hand. “Of course we will,” he said and looked to Scarlet. “My queen may be with child again. ’Tis another reason to leave London, where my enemies will do anything to squash out the life of a legitimate heir to the throne. Once I received the letter from your sister about the traitors, and then your brother about their visit to London, Lord Harry suggested we venture north to the wild and secluded countryside where the traitors have already been thwarted.” He threw his one arm out to take in the bare great hall. “Hence our visit.”

Unannounced and unwanted visit. Aiden’s gaze drifted amongst the visitors. The more mature woman, who had accompanied them, had such a low-cut bodice that her breasts nearly fell out. Her gaze remained riveted to the king as if he were a feast. She was most likely one of Charles’s many mistresses. His audacity to bring her along with his queen spoke to his immoral character.

When he glanced at the younger woman with light-colored hair, she met his gaze as if she’d been studying him. She was bonny, rather like Rebecca.

“We will make do with the lodgings,” Harry Covington said, staring at Scarlet. “And we will make merry together.”

Scarlet would not make direct eye contact with the man, whereas Covington nearly devoured her with his gaze. What the bloody hell? Aiden’s fists clenched. They knew each other. He was certain. And Scarlet would rather entertain the king’s conversation than Harry Covington’s.

“We have no cook, either, your majesty,” Scarlet said, though her tone showed no sign of trying to dissuade the visit and held a note of cheerful resignation. Aiden was certain the cheerfulness was a learned role she’d been required to play often.

The king looked to his queen. “See, my dearest, it was good to bring Titus with us.” His gaze slid to Scarlet. “He is our dark and mysterious Moor, who is also an exceedingly talented cook. He is likely filling your kitchens with the foods we stuffed into the second carriage and the deer we shot this morning as we neared this quaint village.”

Scarlet bowed her head. “Royal forethought, your majesty.”

The king laughed. “Of course. And our ladies of the queen’s bedchamber are quite talented,” he said, his gaze roaming over them, especially the lady who displayed her breasts in the lifted, open bodice.

Covington smiled. “How rude I am. Let us introduce our two brave ladies who have accompanied us into the wilds. Lady Scarlet, you know her grace, Louise de Kérouaille, Duchess of Portsmouth,” he said, his hand out to indicate the more mature of the two. “And…” he smiled, indicating the younger, bright-eyed woman, “Lady Jacqueline…Beckett of Nottingham.”

Everything inside Aiden clenched. Beckett? The name tore through him like vicious daggers flowing through his veins. Beckett from Nottingham. He stared as the young woman bowed her head in a slow curtsey, rising, her gaze directly on Aiden. It couldn’t be… The woman in his nightmares had come back to life before him.