Chapter 7
The moment Iain saw Cait, he headed toward her, as if his feet were far ahead of his brain. She watched him warily, but at least she didn’t run from him. That was something, wasn’t it?
“I hear it’s bad,” she said, looking up at him.
He ran a tired hand through his hair, thinking of the relentless hunger of the flames that had reached at least seven feet as they devoured his crop. “We managed to contain the damage to the north field, but it’s gone. All of it.” All of the food meant to feed the livestock over the winter.
“Oh, Iain.”
His gaze raked the room, taking in the wounded. There were more than he liked to see but fewer than he’d expected.
“It’s no’ as bad as it looks,” she said, apparently reading his mind. “Most of the burns aren’t serious.”
“They shouldn’t be here at all.” He shook his head at his negativity.
He was extremely grateful that Cait had agreed to help.
“I apologize. Thank you for coming. As soon as…Well, as soon as I realized how bad it was, I knew I would need your talents as a healer. I appreciate that you were willing to come.”
“Of course I would come. Ye needed me.” She cleared her throat. “I mean yer people needed me.”
“We all needed you.”
She looked away, a pink flush creeping up her cheeks. “They’re saying it was deliberate.”
He turned his thoughts away from her pink cheeks. “I don’t want to believe it, but I think so.”
“Ye’ve made many enemies over the years. Do any of them despise ye so much they’d burn yer crops?”
The activity of the makeshift hospital swirled around them, but for Iain it was as if they were all alone. Such a strange sensation, this unexpected pull toward her.
“Do ye have everything ye need?” he asked.
“I brought my own salves, and the women have been providing bandages and extra sets of hands. Gavin has helped as well.”
“Gretchen is the housekeeper. Just let her know if you need anything. I need to get back to the field.”
She pulled at his sleeve and frowned down at his arm. “Ye’re hurt.”
He was surprised to see that his shirt had a burn hole in it, with a long strip of angry pink skin showing through the hole. “It’s nothing.”
“That’s not nothing.” She tugged on his sleeve to have him follow her, but he dug his heels in. “I need to dress the burn.”
“There’s no time. I have to get back to the field.”
She took a firmer hold on his sleeve and dragged him across the room. To his chagrin, he followed her.
“Ye leave that to fester and ye’ll have worse problems.” She pushed him onto a small bench that he felt sure he’d never seen before. “Roll yer sleeve up,” she commanded.
He complied, smiling inwardly as he did so. He enjoyed it when she became dictatorial. It amused him when so few things these days were amusing.
On her knees, she bent her head over his arm.
Her red hair caught the light of the dozens of candles, streaking the fiery orange with gold.
He half wondered if it would singe his fingers if he touched it.
He leaned forward slightly and sniffed, wondering what she smelled like, but all he could smell was the pungent aroma of the salve she was smearing on his burn and the stink of the smoke that he felt sure would never leave his nostrils.
She wrapped his arm in a clean white bandage, then rolled his singed sleeve down. “Ye’re now free to return to the field, but please be careful.”
“Why, Cait, I’d almost think you were worried about my welfare.”
—
Cait stood at her small kitchen counter and kneaded her bread dough while she looked out her window at the peaceful view of the woods.
Her horse, rarely ridden, was in the paddock, happily munching on grass after the frantic ride last night.
A few chickens pecked about in the dirt.
The sun was shining. Birds were chirping in the trees.
She was making four loaves of bread because Iain, Adair, and Gavin had eaten all of her bread over the past few days, and she suspected that she would get a group of hungry fugitives tonight.
The house was quiet. Black Cat was asleep on the floor in a patch of sunlight. Adair had left earlier in the day after Cait finally gave up and told him he could return to the big house but commanded him to rest.
She was alone, trying not to think of the last time she’d made bread while watching Iain chop wood.
Occasionally, she found herself listening for Adair upstairs.
But both men were gone, and that was all a good thing.
She didn’t have to worry about Iain being present when Halloway appeared at her door, or feel guilty for turning Sutherland’s fugitives away.
Things were as they should be.
Well, almost.
She was going up to the big house later to check on the wounded, which meant she had to see Campbell, and she really didn’t want to face him again.
He troubled her on a deeper level. She didn’t like that he’d shaken up her safe world. She was doing her bit to help Scotland, and she definitely didn’t want Campbell sticking his nose into her activities.
She had no idea what side he was on. He spent a large amount of time with the English.
He knew the Duke of Cumberland, the man who’d led the battle that had killed so many of her brethren.
While other chiefs were fighting to keep their clans together and trying to stay out of the path of the English, Campbell didn’t seem worried about any of that.
And yet he had the unwavering loyalty of Adair, who had fought at Culloden on the side of the Scots and who didn’t like the English.
And Cait couldn’t ignore that her John had been just as unwavering in his dedication to Campbell and just as supportive of the Scottish cause against the English.
She’d always thought of Campbell as cold, but she’d seen the grief in his eyes when they’d spoken of John’s death.
She was beginning to doubt her long-held beliefs, and the anger she’d held so tightly was slowly melting. Suddenly, she remembered what John had always told her when she’d questioned his loyalty to Campbell: “Caitie, lass, things aren’t always what they seem to be.”
—
Silently, Cait stood by the door as Sutherland led a ragged group of people inside.
As always, Sutherland had men posted around her house looking for English soldiers. But she also scanned the area. Only when the fugitives were hidden could she breathe a sigh of relief.
Sutherland moved the chair to the side and opened the hatch to the underground hiding place.
There were six of them this time, four men and two women.
The men’s expressions were a mixture of dour anger and weary acceptance.
The two women wouldn’t meet her eyes and kept their gazes on the ground.
Their gowns were torn, the hems caked in mud.
Their skin was drawn tight across their cheekbones.
They were scratched and bruised, and she couldn’t imagine how long they’d been in hiding.
As soon as they were all inside the cottage, Cait closed the door and blew out the candle in the window.
She wished she could make it better for them.
She wished they weren’t on the run. She was doing what she could for their cause, but it never seemed enough.
Sutherland had told her that eventually they would make it onto one of two ships continually sailing between Scotland and Canada.
In Canada they would meet up with Sutherland’s sister and brother-in-law, who would find housing and employment for them.
Because of Sutherland and the hundreds of other Scots who had fled on their own, Canada was becoming quite the refuge for the displaced.
“I apologize that the accommodations aren’t better,” she said as soon they were settled in the cellar.
“But ye’ll be safe here.” It was at this point that she crossed her fingers and prayed she wasn’t lying to them.
So far not one fugitive had been discovered on her property, and she meant to keep it that way.
“Ye’ll have blankets and ye can sleep,” she said.
“If ye need anything, please let me know.”
“Cait is our local healer,” Sutherland said. “Occasionally, she’ll get an unexpected visitor needing her healing.” His voice dropped to stress the seriousness of what he was about to say. “The redcoats sometimes visit.”
One of the women gasped and put a hand over her mouth, her eyes filling with tears.
“If she can, Cait will warn ye if someone is approaching,” Sutherland said. “We implore ye to keep silent. Try not to even move. She’ll get them out as soon as she can.”
Tears were rolling down one woman’s face, and she looked as if she wanted to run.
“It will be all right,” Cait said. “I will make certain ye aren’t discovered.”
A few minutes later they were in the kitchen and Sutherland was leaning against the counter. “It’s never-ending,” he said wearily.
Cait handed him a mug of ale. “How’s Eleanor?
” she asked. She had met Eleanor Sutherland twice, once when Sutherland brought her along on a run and Eleanor had been forced to help deliver a baby.
She was nothing like Cait had thought a fine English lady would be.
She had grit and determination and was completely on the side of the Scots. Cait had liked her instantly.
“She’s doing well,” Sutherland said with a small smile. “Busy tearing up my old garden and putting in a new English-style one.”
“Send her my regards,” Cait said.
“I will. Thank ye. How long were Campbell and his man here?”
“A few days. I think Campbell saw us taking the refugees out. That was my fault. He probably saw us through the window in the hayloft.”
Sutherland shrugged. “I would no’ worry overmuch about it. I don’t think Campbell will say anything.”
“Ye trust him that much?” she asked in curiosity.
“I don’t believe he’s a traitor.”
Cait looked at him thoughtfully. She trusted Sutherland. She trusted his judgment, and she trusted that he could keep secrets. After all, he was sneaking wanted Scotsmen out of the country on a weekly basis.
“I have something I want to ask ye,” she said.
His gaze sharpened with interest. “Aye?”
“Ye heard about the fire that devastated Campbell’s north field?”
“I did.”
“I heard Campbell say that he’s having problems with drovers.”
“I was no’ aware of that.”
“Who do ye think set fire to his crops?” she asked.
“Why do ye think I would know?”
“Because ye know the happenings in these parts and because the other chiefs trust and like ye.”
“The other chiefs don’t tell me everything.”
“But maybe ye’ve heard things. Like who would be stealing his cattle and possibly setting fire to his land.”
Sutherland tilted his head to contemplate her. “Why are ye asking?”
She shrugged. She had no idea why she was asking, other than maybe needing to know if it was MacGregor.
“I’m a Campbell. It directly affects me.
The droving is thinning his herds, and it will make it difficult for him to provide food over the winter.
The loss of the fields means he can’t feed what animals he has left.
To me it seems like a deliberate sabotage. ”
“I don’t know who set the fire, but my guess is that it’s MacGregor stealing the cattle. It seems like something he would do,” he said.
“It’s so pointless when ye think about what we’re facing with the English. We should work together.”
Sutherland nodded. “I agree. Most of us are working together, but MacGregor has always been a lone wolf, doing what’s best for himself. He thinks like a Highlander of old, when droving was a way to get back at an enemy.”
Cait looked toward the corner where the trapdoor was open and the chair askew, where six people were huddled beneath the floor, scared and running for their lives.
“The Highland of old is gone,” she whispered.