She huffed out a laugh. “From yer sickbed? I know men like ye, Adair Campbell. Ye’re no’ satisfied with just giving orders. Besides, ye wouldn’t make it ten feet on that mighty beast of yers.”
“He needs me,” he said.
“What is it with ye commanders that ye’re so loyal to that man?”
“He’s a good man.”
If she hadn’t known any better, she would have thought it was John standing in that doorway, speaking those words. He used to tell her the same thing when she asked him that very question.
What did John and Adair see in Iain Campbell that she didn’t? Both commanders were Highlanders at heart, loyal to their country, ready to lay down their lives to keep Scotland free of English tyranny, and yet they allied themselves with a man known to be an English sympathizer.
As with his father and his grandfather and many other Campbells in history, Iain’s loyalty was fluid, easily bought and easily changed. It was the Campbell way. Always had been. When it came to fighting, the Campbells had a long history of taking whatever side would benefit them the most. It was why they were the richest clan in Scotland. Yet most of their coffers were filled with traitorous gold, jewels, and land grants.
“This is bad,” Adair muttered, staring at the orange glow.
Cait waved Adair back into the house. “There’s naught ye can do now but rest and heal. I have a feeling Campbell will need yer services later.”
She tucked a grumbling but exhausted Adair into bed and noted that his fever was getting worse but by no means as bad as it could be. His strong body was fighting it. She left him already half asleep and went back to her kitchen, where she gathered supplies. Adair was unable to help, but she could, and she knew she would be needed soon.
She didn’t have to wait long. Gavin arrived again with a plump young woman who had kind, dancing eyes.
“He’s askin’ for yer help,” Gavin said. “He sent Margie to sit with the commander.”
Cait grabbed the bag of healing herbs and salves she’d put together in anticipation of this moment. She pulled Margie to the side while Gavin devoured another half a loaf of bread and drank some ale.
“The commander is sleeping but occasionally gets it in his head to get up, and he may want to leave. Don’t let him. Also…” Cait glanced over at Gavin, who was happily chewing the bread. He was covered in black grime and smelled of smoke, his black hair gray with ash.
Cait pulled Margie a little farther away. “Don’t put a candle in the window.” She knew this was a strange request and wished she didn’t have to say it, but Margie merely nodded, her expression serious. “Keep all candles from the window,” Cait reiterated, feeling a little foolish. Of course Margie wouldn’t put a candle in the window. But it was Cait’s signal to Sutherland that all was clear, and the last thing she needed was Sutherland’s men arriving with fugitives. If her window was dark, they knew to move on. She hated disappointing them, but she couldn’t accept them if she wasn’t here, and she couldn’t risk Adair seeing them if he got it into his head to wander around again.
“I understand,” Margie said.
“Check on the commander periodically. He’s fighting a fever.”
“If he’s restless, I’ll bathe his head with cool water,” Margie said. “Me ma taught me some healing.”
Cait patted the woman’s shoulder, nervous to leave her patient but also anxious to help Iain. “Come, Gavin,” she said.
Gavin brushed the crumbs off his hands and led the way out. Cait didn’t miss the wink he threw at Margie or the blush that crept up the girl’s cheeks. Ah, to be young again. Sometimes Cait felt like she was a hundred years old when she was not yet twenty-eight. By the time she was twenty-four, she’d buried a child and a husband and been ready to give up on life.
Her mount was waiting for her, apparently brought by Gavin. He helped her up and they were on their way. Gavin set a brutal pace, but Cait didn’t mind. The longer they rode, the more anxious she became, and surprisingly, the more she thought of Iain Campbell. He would take it hard, the loss of such important crops. They’d had a good storm a few weeks ago and a few smaller showers since then, so it wasn’t that the crops were unusually dry. This must have been deliberate.
She heard the roar of the fire long before they reached it. The heat was intense and the smoke smothering. Gavin led her to the big house. It had gone through enough renovations that it more resembled an English country estate than a Scottish holding. It was the way of things, she supposed. Many Scottish chiefs were renovating their homes and moving away from the strong defenses of the past to elegant English-style mansions.
Large windows looked out over a sweeping lawn and curved driveway. The old gatehouse had been converted into guest housing. Cait turned her head away from the south-facing buildings and blinked wet eyes. A whitewashed two-story building sat off to the side, away from the main house but within walking distance. It was bigger than the others, with a flower garden just to the right of the doorway. She knew that a vegetable garden would be in the back. This was where she and John had lived and where Christina had been born. Seeing it now twisted her heart until it physically hurt.
How many more children would have come after Christina? It had taken a long time for Cait to get pregnant, but the pregnancy had been so easy that it had been a joy. Though she’d been unable to conceive again after Christina, she’d always held out hope.
But then John and Christina had died, and all of Cait’s hope had vanished.
Gavin stopped the horses outside the main doors and tossed his reins to a waiting boy, then helped Cait off her mount before handing over her pack. “The injured are inside,” he said, leading the way.
Six were badly burned, and twice that had inhaled too much smoke. She put Gavin to work, instructing him on how to treat the least injured as she went from one person to the next. Luckily, there were no major burns—although a few would be scarred, they would heal well.
Hours later, she arched her aching back and found that the woman wrapping the wound of the person next to her was Ina. Cait paused and for a small moment fought the ridiculous urge to flee.
Ina straightened and their gazes met. Ina smiled shyly. “It’s good to see ye, Cait.”
To her great surprise, Cait’s throat closed up, making it difficult to breathe. At one time she and Ina had been the best of friends. Ina’s husband was a Campbell warrior, and the two women often spent their evenings together while their husbands were away.
