Campbell's Redemption Page 2

  John’s panicked gray eyes had looked up at him; his hand had clutched Iain’s coat sleeve. His mouth moved, but no words emerged. Iain knew, though. He knew what John was trying to say. Iain had promised his friend and comrade and the only man he’d ever trusted that he would look after his wife.

  John had taken two ragged breaths and died in Iain’s arms. Telling Cait had been the second hardest thing he’d ever had to do, the first being holding John while the life drained out of him.

  She’d taken the news with dry eyes and a curt nod, but he’d seen the devastation lurking in those mossy depths, and in the way she held her body so tightly that he feared she would shatter. He could only assume that she broke down in private, but he didn’t know.

  He’d had every intention of following through with his promise to watch out for her, but one thing led to another and…Hell, he’d not done it because seeing Cait brought back the grief of losing John. He didn’t want to see the accusations in her eyes or the deep-seated sadness or the way she stiffened and looked like she wanted to run from him every time he came close. He’d sent patrols this way and had them report back. The reports had always been the same—she lived alone, seemed content, and practiced her healing on those who sought her out. He’d been happy to leave it at that.

  He’d forgotten how pretty she was, with all that red hair. Tonight she’d worn it in a braid down her back, but pieces had escaped and continuously fluttered over her eyes, prompting her to brush them away with the back of her hand.

  Her hands were capable, quick, and sure. It wasn’t until she was finished fishing the ball out of Adair’s belly that he detected the slight tremor in her movements. Was it because of the stress of healing Adair or because Iain was in her home and she wanted him out?

  His eyes drifted closed, and despite the itchy straw beneath him, his mind continued to swirl with unwanted memories. They’d never caught the shooter. Iain had sent men to scour the area, to ask questions, but nothing had come of it. No one had admitted to hunting in the area, and eventually, he’d had to end the search.

  There was speculation, of course. Was it a MacGregor? MacGregors hated Campbells, so the possibility was there, but the chief of the MacGregors had denied any involvement. Truthfully, it could have been anyone. Iain was a hated man, the hatred going deep and burrowing into several generations. There had been attempts on his life in the past and attempts on his father’s life and his father’s before him. Had this been one of them?

  Had John lost his life because of him? The not knowing was the worst. Maybe if he and Cait knew why John died, it would bring some sort of closure to their pain. But there was no closure. It could have been anyone. A hunter, an enemy, the hated English. Unfortunately, there were some questions that simply did not have an answer.

  The horses stirred below, and Iain found the sound comforting. While he’d prefer a nice soft bed, he’d bunked down in plenty of haylofts in his time.

  Something else stirred, and he realized that it wasn’t an animal in the barn with him but something outside. He rolled to his stomach and raised himself up on his elbows to peer out of the small window used to chuck hay to the animals outside.

  The full moon shed blue beams across the hard-packed dirt and sparse grass between the cottage and barn, dousing the outer edges of the small yard with a darkness so severe that everything appeared to dissolve into the surrounding forest.

  Cait suddenly stepped into a moonbeam. Her appearance was so jarring that Iain jerked. Another figure stepped out of the shadows of the forest, opposite where Cait was standing. She didn’t appear to be frightened, and that was the only thing that kept Iain in the loft. That and his intense curiosity.

  Did she have a lover?

  It was an idea that had never occurred to him.

  Iain scooted up to get a better look and was stunned to find Cait speaking to none other than Brice Sutherland. If there was one clan leader whom Iain would consider a friendly acquaintance—who didn’t hate him—it would be Sutherland.

  Since Sutherland had just wed the beautiful Eleanor and was madly in love, Iain knew that Brice and Cait wouldn’t be lovers. So what the hell was Sutherland doing here in the middle of the night?

  Cait’s hands fluttered about in agitated, jerky motions.

  Sutherland glanced at the barn, then nodded to Cait and drifted back into the shadows of the forest. With determined strides, Cait made her way into the cottage and closed the door behind her.

  Iain rolled over and sat up, contemplating what he’d just witnessed, when he heard more noises. Quickly, he rolled back over to see what was happening.

  Cait was outside again, standing halfway between the cottage and the forest, when, to Iain’s amazement, people began filing out of her house. He counted seven, walking in a line. Cait was hurrying them along, giving each a comforting touch on the shoulder. Occasionally, she would glance at the barn, but she never looked up at the window.

  Iain couldn’t be sure, but he thought he counted four men and three women, although one of the women could have been a young boy. They crossed the clearing silently and were swallowed up by the trees so quickly that he almost doubted he had seen them. In a gesture that he was getting to know well, Cait swiped at the hair hanging in her face. Her shoulders slumped, and she walked with nearly dragging steps back into her house.

  What the hell had he just witnessed?

  He’d been in her house. It was a small cottage with a sitting room and kitchen on the ground level and one bedroom on the top level. There was nowhere to hide seven people. Hell, he doubted seven people would fit comfortably inside her home.

  Which meant that they hadn’t been in the house.

  Or…

  They’d been hiding.

  Chapter 3

  Empty water pail in hand, Cait stepped out of her back door into the early-morning sunlight. She was brought up short when she saw Campbell coming out of the woods behind the barn. He was without the leather coat but wearing the same tight, worn breeches and white shirt, unbuttoned at the throat and spotted with Adair’s blood.

  His short hair was mussed, sticking up in various places. A piece of hay was perched atop his shoulder. She looked past him, down the path he’d come from. The same path that the seven fugitives had sneaked down in the middle of the night. Her heart beat a little harder and her palms began to sweat. Was it a coincidence? What had Campbell been doing in the woods?

  After Campbell had bunked down in her barn, she’d decided it was far too risky to keep the fugitives in the safe room beneath her floor, so she’d sent one of the men to find Sutherland’s party. She knew they weren’t far; she’d overheard one of them say they were going to make camp a mile or so away.

  Sutherland warned her that more fugitives were coming tonight, so she needed to get rid of the Campbell men today. She wasn’t so sure that Adair would be leaving by tonight, but she would make certain that Campbell was gone. Somehow.

  “Good morning, Cait.” Campbell ambled up to her, and she had to look up at him. He was tall and lean, not muscular, like Adair or John. “Wily” was the word that came to mind when she thought of Campbell. He was wily and unpredictable, and she never knew what he was thinking.

  Cait was oftentimes referred to as a witch for her healing ways but also because she had an uncanny ability to read people. It had more to do with observation than witchcraft, but some of her clansmen preferred to think she had superhuman abilities. Though some avoided her because of it, it was mostly what drew people to her.

  Long ago she’d tried to read Campbell, but he’d been far too good at hiding his thoughts. His body language was always loose, yet she knew he could spring to action immediately.

  Today, as always, she had no idea what thoughts were going on behind those dark, nearly black eyes, but a feeling of foreboding shivered up her spine.

  “What were ye doing in the woods?” she asked, trying to mimic his casual pose.

  “Checking on my land.” His narrowe
d gaze traveled around the very small clearing between her home and her barn, taking in the trees that hugged her property. She didn’t trust him, and she didn’t believe for one moment that he was merely checking on his land.

  That inscrutable gaze landed on her. She looked intently into his eyes but came up against a wall of darkness.

  She glanced at the barn, then back at the piece of hay still stuck to his shoulder, and she suddenly had her answer. He’d been sleeping in the hayloft, perfectly positioned to witness everything through the small window.

  Campbell was one of the best warriors in Scotland and was attuned to his surroundings. He had heard something and then seen the fugitives leaving her home.

  She clutched her pail tighter. Had he gone in search of them?

  She doubted that Sutherland had stayed in the area for long. She’d put him in a bind by handing them over to him in the middle of the night, but he always had a backup plan and hideouts in place.

  It was common knowledge that Campbell was an English sympathizer. One had only to look at his English style of hair and listen to his English way of speaking to know. The rumor mill was rife with stories of Campbell’s clandestine and sometimes not so clandestine meetings with the English soldiers and his acquaintace with the Duke of Cumberland. Or, as the Scottish called him, the Bloody Butcher. Named because of the way he cut down any Scotsmen who opposed English rule.

  If Campbell investigated the goings-on that she assumed he’d witnessed last night, then she could have put Sutherland and the secret movement in serious jeopardy.

  Campbell’s gaze fell to the pail she was clutching. “Were you about to collect water?”

  “Aye.”

  “I’ll do it.” He held out his hand for the pail, but Cait was slow to give it to him, for her mind was swirling with possibilities.

  Their gazes clashed, and she couldn’t be sure that she’d adequately hidden her fear. In fact, she knew she hadn’t adequately hidden it when Campbell’s eyes narrowed a wee bit.

  She handed over the pail and folded her shaking hands in front of her.

  “Where is the well?” he asked.

  “On the other side of the barn, before you get to the trees. You would have seen it when you left the woods.”

  He considered her for a long moment. She bit the inside of her cheek and waited to see if he would tell her what he’d been doing in the woods. But he merely nodded and left to gather the water. Cait stood there for a moment, trying to collect her scattered thoughts and calm her hammering heart.

  Keep calm. Get a message to Sutherland to warn him that Campbell might be aware of the happenings of last night. Check on Adair. Act like nothing is wrong.

  As long as Campbell was here, there was nothing he could do about Sutherland. But that also meant she couldn’t get a message to Sutherland.

  She returned to her kitchen and stood at the rough-cut wooden counter, bracing herself against it with her hands and breathing deeply to control her racing thoughts.

  First things first.

  Both men would want to break their fast, so she reached for the half-loaf of bread and the crock of butter. It would be a meager breakfast for them, but it was all she had at the moment. She needed to make more bread today. She also needed to purchase some meat, but she couldn’t do that with Adair in residence, and there was no way in hell she was leaving these two men alone in her cottage.

  A loud crash from above had her racing up the narrow stairs.

  The bed was empty, the bedclothes and blankets trailing off the side and onto the floor, where Adair was struggling to stand.

  “Ye big numpty.” She struggled to help him up.

  “I tried to get out of bed,” he said a bit sheepishly.

  “And ye found ye couldn’t.”

  “Why are my legs weak when it was my stomach that took the pistol ball?”

  “Because ye lost a fair amount of blood, and it makes ye weak.”

  He scoffed as if healing were beneath him.

  “What the hell happened?”

  Cait and Adair looked up to find Campbell standing in the doorway, a fierce scowl on his face.

  “He thought he could walk right out of here,” Cait said.

  Campbell helped Adair back in bed, muttering, “You damn hardheaded fool.” Cait was surprised to see the care Campbell showed toward Adair.

  With Adair settled back in bed, clearly exhausted and hurting from his tumble, Cait took the opportunity to inspect his wound and re-dress it. She left Adair with Campbell, the bread and butter between them, to start a new batch of bread. Just because she had two unwanted visitors didn’t mean the chores completed themselves.

  Cooking for the fugitives took many hours. She tried to be frugal by growing her own vegetables. But meat was a different matter. She couldn’t purchase a large amount of meat from the butcher. A lone woman consuming an entire cow would raise suspicion. She tended to make hearty soups with a lot of vegetables, little meat, and thick slabs of bread. She could make the bread herself, although she had to be mindful of the amount of flour she purchased from the mill.

  Hers was one of the few hideouts where the fugitives received adequate food. Usually, they ate berries if they were in season and the dry oak cakes called bannocks if they were able to start a fire. Dried meat was their staple, and while that was suitable for a day or so, it was inadequate for the long journey they were taking, particularly for the women and children.

  Today Cait made two loaves of bread and put a pot of water on for vegetable stew. She was cutting up vegetables when Campbell appeared from upstairs. Instantly, she felt the spiny fingers of anxiety tiptoe up her spine.

  “You should move closer to the big house,” he said, referring to the white stone castle-turned-manor that he lived in.

  “I’m perfectly happy here.”

  “Are you?”

  Her kitchen was a cheery place, and the cottage was plenty big enough for her needs. She didn’t have visitors often, but her privacy was a relief.

  Campbell moved closer, and she decided that yes, being alone was definitely a relief. She heard him pull out a chair and settle into it. Why didn’t he just go away.

  “Don’t ye have business up at yer big house? Englishmen to meet with?”

  “I’m here for as long as Adair needs me.”

  She noticed he ignored the jab about the English. He was such an even-keeled fellow that it was unnerving.

  “And what is he doing now?” She scooped up the chopped carrots and dropped them into the pot of boiling water.

  “Sleeping like a babe,” he admitted after a pause.

  “So he needs ye at the moment?”

  “Sit down, Cait.”

  She reached for a fat white onion. “If the two of ye are going to stay, then ye’ll want to be eating. I need to get dinner in the pot if it’s to be ready in time.”

  “You don’t have to feed us.”

  She laughed. “And what will ye do? Send for food from the big house?”

  A long silence fell over them as her knife easily cut through the onion. The sharp, pungent scent made her nose and eyes water.

  “Do you need me to do anything?” he asked.

  “Are ye partial to cutting onions?”

  “Not particularly.”

  She gathered up the onion and dropped it in the pot with the carrots, then reached for a potato as she glanced at the bread to make sure it was rising properly.

  “I noticed your firewood is running low,” Iain said.

  She turned to face him. His gaze went a little nervously to the knife she was wielding.

  “What is this all about?” she asked.

  “Adair and I barged into your home, and it seems we’re here until he heals enough to travel. I thought I’d help.”

  “Ye live not an hour away. Ye can go home and ease yer guilt of leaving yer commander in my care. I’ll take good care of him.”

  “I know you will.”

  “Then why are ye staying?�
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  He looked around her home and his jaw worked back and forth. There had been a time long, long ago when Campbell would sit in her kitchen as she made dinner. She would listen as he and John talked strategy or about crops or a particularly difficult clansman. They would drink their whiskey, their voices low and comforting, while she bustled about the kitchen, Christina fast asleep in the cradle beside the stove.

  Now John and Christina were gone, and Cait didn’t cook for anyone but herself and the fugitives. Campbell’s presence brought too many sad memories to her door.

  “I want to help you,” he finally said.

  She turned back to the potato and chopped it in half with a violent flick of her wrist. “I don’t need yer help.”

  Chapter 4

  It couldn’t have been any more obvious to Iain that Cait didn’t want him there than if she’d stabbed him with that damn knife she was brandishing. And yet he didn’t leave.

  He was caught in his web of memories. It had been a different house, a bigger house, one that John had been proud of and one he had earned for his dedication and loyalty to Iain. Cait had been a different woman then, and Iain…Well, Iain would like to think he’d been a different man, but had he been?

  There had been a child. A little girl whose name escaped him. The three, John, Cait, and the child, had been a happy family. Now there was only Cait, and something in Iain didn’t want to leave her out here at the edge of the woods.

  He watched her cut the potato in short, angry bursts of movement. Her shoulders were tense and her face was pinched. Her hair was bundled into a knot, all willy-nilly, as if she’d had no time to think about herself. Rogue strands of fiery red hair had escaped to travel down a slim, pale neck. As she had yesterday, she continuously swiped at the piece that fell into her eyes.

  She was older now. They were both older. Only four years had passed, but he felt a hundred years older in his bones.

  He was walking a fine line, hated by his follow Scots who had no idea that he was playing a game with the English, discovering their secrets and passing them on as he could, ambushing them if possible. Was it enough? Was he fighting a losing battle? Should he give up and just live peacefully in the home his grandfather built and let things happen as they would?