“I don’t despise ye,” she said, but she couldn’t look him in the eyes when she said it.
“You don’t like me overmuch,” he said.
“I have a hard time being friendly to someone who has ties to the English like ye do.”
“You can’t believe every rumor you hear.”
“There are far too many rumors about ye to ignore. I can’t believe all of them are false. Ye break bread with the redcoats at the expense of yer men.”
“Are you referring to John’s death? Do you think my…connection to the English killed him?”
She cocked her head to the side and studied him. “Did it?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never been able to prove who killed John.”
“I…I heard ye searched for the killer.”
“I did. For a long while I looked. I wish I could give you a name of the person who shot that pistol. I’d give anything to know.”
“Would it assuage your guilt?”
He drew back. “If anything, it would probably increase it. I think we both believe that pistol ball was meant for me. And Cait?” He waited until she met his gaze. “You don’t know how sorry I am for it.”
She swallowed her tears through a thick throat. She’d not stopped to think overmuch about Iain’s grief or guilt, and while it didn’t ease her own, it shed new light on the man’s suffering.
“I’m no’ leaving here,” she said softly.
Suddenly, the sound of a galloping horse broke the quiet of their thoughts. They looked at each other in surprise. It was late for visitors, but Cait was accustomed to late-night interruptions.
Campbell moved to the window and peered out. His tense shoulders relaxed. “It’s Gavin,” he said as he opened the door.
The horse had barely come to a stop before Gavin, a Campbell lad on the cusp of manhood, was inside the house, covered in dust and grime and breathing heavily.
“Fire,” he said, then gulped in another breath.
Chapter 6
The orange glow lit up the night sky as far as Cait’s cottage. From her vantage point out front, it looked like the entire north field was aflame. After saddling up his horse, Campbell had rushed out with Gavin, a grim look on his face. Before they left, Cait had shoved half a loaf of bread and a small mug of ale at Gavin.
“What happened?”
She spun around to find Adair leaning in the doorway, his arm protectively shielding his belly. “What are ye doing down here?” she asked sharply.
But Adair was looking at the orange sky with a bleak expression. “What happened?” he asked again.
“Fire,” she said. “That’s all I know.”
“Campbell?”
“Gavin came to fetch him and they left.” She studied the horizon with a worried frown. Of course she was at odds with Iain Campbell, but she didn’t want to see him hurt, and she knew him well enough to understand that he would run into that field and fight the flames on his own if it meant saving just a small portion of the fields.
She’d been standing out here a long time, watching the orange sky and thinking of their conversation. Reliving the day of John’s death had been painful, but there had been a sort of cleansing in discussing their mutual grief. She’d not spoken to anyone about it since moving out this way, and in a way it felt freeing to discuss it. Strange that it felt good to discuss it with Campbell, of all people.
“I should go to him,” Adair said.
“And do what? Ye’re not fit for fighting fires. Or even walking.”
“I could command the men.”
