“TheMary Katherinewas lost in a squall three days ago.”
Iain pressed his thumbs into his gritty eyes and tried not to be sick. Though theMary Katherinewas only one ship of his fleet, its loss would be keenly felt in his mercantile business. Still, that was not his immediate thought. “The crew?”
Silence, and then, “They all perished.”
For a long moment Iain sat in the silence and breathed deeply. He was fairly certain he couldn’t take another blow, and yet they kept coming. “Get me a list of everyone on that ship. I want every family compensated. I’ll also need a list of the cargo she was carrying.”
Patrick silently slid a piece of paper onto the desk. “The cargo,” he said. “I’m working on getting a list of the crew.”
Iain’s shipping ventures were based in England. An enterprise that had started as a hobby when he was at Oxford had grown quite profitable over time. He’d lost ships and he’d lost entire crews before; it was the nature of the business. But it always hit him hard, and this time was the hardest yet. That the crew would have been mostly English didn’t make it easier to bear. They were still his people, employed by him, their families relying on his pay to keep them alive.
Iain leaned his head back, wishing everything away. But that wasn’t possible and there were things that needed to be done. Graham was expected for dinner tonight, and Iain had to play the part, put on the impassive face that he was known for, and convince one of the most beloved, respected, and powerful clan chiefs to cooperate with the English.
First he needed a drink.
—
Cait was pleased with the recovery of the people who’d been burned during the fire. Luckily, none of the injuries had been too terrible, and she was fairly certain that she didn’t need to check on them anymore. They knew where she lived and knew they could call on her if needed.
While she’d been at the big house, the housekeeper had asked her to look at one of the young serving girls who was complaining of stomach pains. Though the girl was terrified, Cait thought she did a good job of putting her at ease. She was suffering from nothing worse than sneaking too many tarts from the kitchen. Cait told the housekeeper it was a minor stomach ailment that would be gone by the next day. Both the serving girl and the housekeeper had been pleased.
Her worn heels clicked along on the highly shined foyer floor and echoed through the cavernous, cold space as she headed toward the tall front doors. A sweeping double staircase flanked the marbled entryway. She passed closed doors that she knew from past visits with John led to a formal sitting room, a music room, a vast library, and an informal dining room. While it was a beautiful home, Cait preferred her small cottage, which was cozy and warm and felt lived in. This was a large house for one person, and she wasn’t the first one to speculate about Iain Campbell’s plans to fill it with heirs. He was wealthy, powerful, pleasing to the eye, and held both an English title from his mother’s side and a Scottish title from his father’s side. For years it had been rumored that he would marry an English lass, thus allying himself with England. So far there had been no English lass in Campbell’s life, which provoked the rumors even more.
“Cait.”
She spun around, jerked out of her thoughts, to find Campbell descending the stairs. She was shocked at the weary lines around his eyes and the bowed shoulders. His hair stood on end, as if he’d run his hands through it a dozen times. His breeches were worn and his coat was absent, leaving only a comfortable-looking saffron shirt. He must have been working in the fields or with the cattle.
He stopped before her and looked a bit lost, as if all of his words had deserted him. She’d never seen him this way, without his usual mask of indifference. Right now she saw it all, and it was heartbreaking and frightening.
“I was checking on the last of the injured,” she said, feeling a need to explain her presence.
“And how are they?”
“All healing nicely. I see no reason for me to return unless you would need me.”
He looked down at the toes of his boots. They were old, caked with mud, and she had a fleeting thought that his housekeeper would be furious if she saw him wearing them in the house.
“Is everything all right?” she finally asked into the thick silence.
“No.”
She waited, but no more information was forthcoming. “Is there anything I can do?”
He looked at her with bleak eyes that worried her. “Stay for dinner.”
She glanced at the massive front doors she’d come so close to walking out of. She wanted nothing more than to go home to Black Cat, eat a small dinner, and read. She didn’t want to get caught up in the activities of the big house and the intrigues that Iain was involved in. Yet she wasn’t certain she could turn away from the pleading in those eyes. She knew what it meant to not want to be left alone with your own thoughts. “I don’t think—”
“Please, Cait.”
She plucked at the old gown she was wearing. It had been mended too many times to count and was definitely not suitable for dinner at the big house. “I’m not dressed appropriately.”
“We don’t stand on ceremony here.”
“I really shouldn’t…” But she knew she would. Because she understood his reasons for the invitation even if she didn’t know the specifics of what had brought him to this point tonight. “Very well.”It’s only a meal.
To her surprise, he took her hand and led her to the formal sitting room. She’d been in here a few days before, when it had been a makeshift sickroom. The furniture had since been put to rights, the carpets unrolled, and the various and sundry decorations back to their rightful places.
Iain poured a tumbler of whiskey and held up the bottle to silently offer her a glass. She declined. Even when she’d been deep into her grief, she’d never turned to drink for solace.
