Chapter 11
The next morning Cait was dusting and gathering her clothes for wash day when a knock on her door startled her.
Black Cat was sitting in front of the door, looking at her in accusation as if saying that Cait should have been down long before the knock.
Cait opened the door and squealed like a young lass as she catapulted herself into her cousin. “Rory Graham,” she said.
He caught her and laughed as she pulled back to look at him. “Cait Graham. Excuse me. Cait Campbell.” He shook his head and put her down. “I’ll never get used to that.”
“It’s been eight years.”
“I’ll never get used to thinking of ye as a Campbell.” Though his lips twisted when he said the name, his obvious hatred of her clan couldn’t dim her happiness at seeing the cousin she’d grown up with who was more a brother to her.
“Why are ye here? No’ that I don’t want to see ye.”
“Grandfather seems to think that ye’re starving out here in the backwoods and that Campbell is no’ taking care of ye. He sent me with provisions.”
She put her hands on her hips and glared at him. “Campbell is no’ taking care of me because I don’t need him to. I can take care of myself.”
Rory looked skeptical, but Cait was tired of defending herself and her life choices to these overbearing men. She looked behind him to the cart loaded with provisions. “There’s enough to feed an army here,” she said as she walked around it. “I have nowhere to put all of this.”
“Well, I’m no’ taking it back or Grandfather will have my head.”
“There must be an entire cow here,” she said as they began unloading the cart.
“Most likely.”
“And so much flour and cloth! When am I going to find time to sew, and where would I wear gowns made of this fine cloth?”
Rory grunted as he hefted a large sack of flour over his shoulder. It had been four years since she’d seen her cousin, when he’d come to pay his respects after John’s death. She didn’t fault Rory. No doubt he was following Grandfather’s orders. She was happy to see him now.
“Stay and I’ll fix ye a meal,” she said. “Obviously, I have plenty of food.”
“I have to get back, but I’ll return and we can have a proper visit.” His look turned serious. “Grandfather is worried about ye.”
She sighed. “I’ll be fine. I’ve lived out here for years, and nothing has happened.”
He looked around as if assessing the security of her home. “There are more redcoats in the area than usual. I keep hearing about the things they’re doing to our people, especially the women. It’s no’ as safe as it used to be.”
“I’ll be fine, Rory. I’ve treated a few English soldiers, and they know I mean no harm.”
His gaze narrowed. “Ye’ve had redcoats in yer home?”
“If they know they can come to me for salves and poultices and healing, they’re more likely to protect me.”
“I don’t like it.”
She patted his arm and smiled reassuringly. “Trust me. The soldiers patrolling this area know me well, and they’ll watch out for me.”
“That may be true, but if it comes to ye or their fellow soldiers, they’ll pick the fellow soldiers every time. Ye can’t trust them. I’ve seen what they can do.”
“Were ye at Culloden?” she asked softly. She’d heard the horror stories. She’d patched up some of the wounded and knew of a few widows.
“Aye,” he said, his gaze taking on a faraway blank look.
“I’m sorry, Rory. I’ve heard it was horrible.”
“It was worse than horrible. It was hell. They butchered us and they did no’ care. Stay away from them, Cait. Stop treating their ailments. Avoid them.”
“Rory—”
His gaze sharpened and she was frightened by what she saw in its depths. She understood her people’s dislike of the English and agreed with it, but Rory’s ran to something deeper and more disturbing.
“I’ll tell Grandfather that ye’re entertaining English soldiers.”
If his look hadn’t been so serious, she would have laughed. It was something he would have said to her when they were children. “I’m no’ entertaining them. I’m healing them.”
“I don’t care. I’ll tell Grandfather anyway.”
“Rory!” she said in surprise. “We’re not children anymore. Grandfather has no control over me.”
He rubbed his forehead before taking a deep breath. “Ye’re right, of course. My emotions got the best of me. But please be careful. I mean it when I say ye can’t trust them.”
“I’m always careful.” She wondered what he would say if she told him that she was aiding Sutherland.
—
The next day Cait was feeding the chickens when Iain came striding around the side of the cottage, his long coat nearly brushing the ground.
She drew in a breath at the sight of him and cursed herself for the strange reaction.
It wasn’t wrong to admit that he was a virile man.
He had such a commanding presence that it made people want to stop and watch him.
That was all. It wasn’t like she was going to act on her reaction to him.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” she asked.
“I came to see how you are.”
She held her hands out to the sides and indicated the chickens. “I’m feeding chickens. I wish everyone would stop worrying about me.”
“Who else is worried about you?” he asked as he stopped in front of her. A chicken wandered over and pecked at his boot before moving away.
“My grandfather and my cousin Rory.” And Halloway, but she wasn’t about to say that.
“They care about ye.”
She made a noncommittal sound and tossed more feed.
She didn’t want to get into a discussion about her grandfather.
She’d thought a lot about his sudden reappearance in her life and couldn’t sort through it.
She was glad to see him again, but she still harbored hurt.
He’d cut her and her little family out of his life as if they were nothing, and that was something she could not easily forgive.
“Have ye heard?” Iain asked.
She put down the empty feed pail and swiped at a piece of hair tickling her cheek. “Heard what?”
“Two English soldiers were found dead on the road to the Douglases’.”
She instantly thought of Halloway. Was he dead? As mixed as her feelings were toward him, she didn’t want him to be dead. “That’s too bad,” she said.
“There’s a murderer out there, Cait. It’s not safe.”
“The redcoats hassle our people constantly. It was probably someone defending themselves.”
“Do you think that matters to the English? They will be searching for the killer, and they don’t always follow the rules when doing so.”
He was right. The English wouldn’t care if their soldiers were killed because they were doing something wrong.
Damn the English and damn this stupid war between England and Scotland.
It was about so much more than religion and politics.
It was about the people and their way of life, but the ones waging the war seemed to forget that.
The road the soldiers had been found on was close, uncomfortably close, to her cottage.
The Douglases were Campbell’s eastern neighbors whose land abutted Campbell and Sutherland land.
“I’m worried about you, Cait.”
“You needn’t be concerned for me.”
“But I am.”
She shot him an exasperated look. “Why? Why now? I’ve lived here for four years, and ye’ve never paid me any mind.”
His jaw worked as a slight breeze brushed through his hair.
Dark eyes assessed her, as if he were thinking of the words to say.
He looked away, turning his head to the side to contemplate the woods.
“I’ll admit I stayed away. I didn’t like seeing you because it reminded me that I’d failed John after promising him I’d take care of you. ”
“Is that why ye’re here now? Because of guilt? Because of a promise made to a dying man? Pardon me if I don’t feel gratitude at yer sudden interest.”
“That’s not why I’m here.”
“Now ye speak in riddles. I have animals to take care of and chores to do, Iain Campbell. Ye’re wasting good daylight.”
“I’m not speaking in riddles. I’m just as confused as you are. Maybe more so.”
“Well, ye need to figure yerself out. In the meantime, figure it out somewhere besides my barn.”
“You amuse me, Cait.”
She laughed. “I’m glad to be of service. Now either feed my cows or find someone else to bother.”
“I’ve never fed a cow before.”
“Welcome to my life.”
He followed her into the barn, and she wondered just what was happening.
She was hard-pressed to find a word to describe his strange mood.
Worse, she was hard-pressed to find a word for what she was feeling.
Her words told him to go away, but other parts of her, namely the yearning in her heart, were telling him to stay.
Why in the world would she want Iain Campbell to stay? She had too much to do and no time to trade insults with him.
He watched her spread fresh hay and feed the two milking cows. She worked in silence and he watched in silence.
When she was finished, she grabbed the empty pail by the door, but he took it from her.“I’ll get the water.”
She washed up in the bucket outside her back door and went inside to contemplate the afternoon meal.
Iain walked in with her pail of water and set it on the counter.
“I suppose ye’ll want to be fed,” she said.
“Thank you, but no.”
She waved toward the small table and chairs. “Sit down.”
He sat while she sliced fresh bread, cut cheese, and laid it all on a plate with what was left of the roasted turkey, or what the Scots called bubbly-jock, from the night before.
“I’m no’ moving to the big house,” she said as they dug in to their simple lunch.
“Dead English soldiers on my land is bad, and I’m concerned for all the Campbells. You live the farthest away, and you’re the most vulnerable.”
She wiped her hands on her apron and sat back. “I’m strategically placed.”
“You’re as far from me as you can be and still be on Campbell land.”
“Aye. Like I said, strategically placed.” She studied the worry lines around his pursed lips. “Ye truly are worried,” she said in surprise.
“I am.”
Black Cat appeared, padded around the kitchen, sniffed Iain’s boots, turned up his nose, and walked away with his tail high.
“This is more than the English soldiers,” she said.
“It is.” He seemed reluctant to say more, and she was reluctant to push him for fear of stepping into the strange territory of thoughts and feelings that were best left alone. “A lot has happened lately,” he finally said.
“Culloden has turned our country upside down.”
“It’s not just Culloden. It’s the hunting of the Scottish people. It’s the fact that England feels they can do what they want without thought to how it affects our way of life. It’s…” He shook his head and appeared at a loss for words.
“Our way of life? Ye act more English than Scottish, and ye keep company with more Englishmen than Scotsmen. Are ye sure ye want to include yourself in ‘our way of life’?”
She’d thought for sure that she’d stepped too far, but to her surprise, he didn’t seem to be offended by what she said.
“What I meant was that it’s not right what England is doing to Scotland. I would feel that way if it were England and France or England and Spain.”
“I would think ye would like it. The English can make ye mighty wealthy.”
“This isn’t about wealth.”
She tilted her head to study him. “Isn’t it? All of the Campbells before ye thought it was.”
He pressed his lips together as if he wanted to argue, but his history was clear and well documented.
His grandfather had killed her great-grandfather MacGregor at the command of the English and with the promise of more land and gold.
She held no ill will toward the Campbells for that, even though her grandfather MacGregor tried endlessly to make her hate the Campbells.
The story had been told to her so many times that it was just that—a story.
It held no meaning other than she’d grown up knowing not to mention the Campbells in front of her grandfather MacGregor.
“I’m not like the other Campbells,” Iain said. “Wealth and privilege don’t mean as much to me.”
“Yet ye want people to think it does. What games are ye playing?”
It was as if a mask came down over his face and the Iain Campbell she knew—whom everyone knew—emerged. This was the man who let no one inside.
“I should let you get back to your chores,” he said.
“Now? Ye want to leave now, when things are just starting to get interesting?”
“There’s nothing interesting happening here.”
“I think there is.”
“Ye’re imagining things that aren’t there.”
“I disagree.”