“Forty years of retribution?” she asked.
“He seems to think so.”
“So when will enough be enough?” she asked.
“I don’t know, lass. Why don’t ye ask MacGregor?” Graham’s piercing blue eyes pinned her and she looked away.
—
When dinner was finished, Cait’s grandfather insisted on accompanying her.
“I can ride home alone,” she said.
“Nay,” Iain said. “Not with the drovers out there, and we still haven’t caught the person responsible for burning my fields.”
“I’ve been riding between our homes for days to check on the wounded. I’ll be fine.”
“Campbell is right,” Graham said. “A woman should no’ be roamin’ around these parts alone. It’s no’ safe.”
She plunked her hands on her hips and scowled at Graham. “Ye no longer have the right to tell me what to do.”
He scowled right back. “I’m goin’ with ye.”
“I don’t want ye to go with me.”
Iain looked between the two of them, clearly a bit amused and a bit alarmed.
Graham shrugged again.
“Stop doing that,” she said in exasperation. “Stop acting like what I say is no’ important.”
Graham harrumphed and turned to the door. Cait stared at Iain, who held his hands out at his sides. “What can I do?” he asked innocently.
She shook her head and followed her grandfather out, frustrated and irritated.
Despite her exasperation, riding beside her grandfather brought back warm memories of sitting atop a gentle mare, clutching the silky mane until her fingers ached and thinking it was a long way to the ground. But her grandfather had been beside her, his big strong arms always there in case she fell.
He’d called her a natural on a horse, and she’d been so pleased at his pride. Later, when she was accomplished enough, they would ride together and he would talk to her about the land and the different plants. He would discuss the crops, and when she was older he would ask her opinion. She’d always felt a wee bit honored when he seriously considered her opinion.
Tonight the breeze was warm and the sky clear. The moon shone down upon them, lighting the path. She could almost convince herself that nothing had changed since the last time they rode together, long before she wed John. But thingshadchanged. They were both older. She had wed, borne a child, and lost her husband and daughter.
Her grandfather was older, a little more stooped, a little thinner, not nearly as large and muscular. But his mind was still as sharp as a dagger and his wit just as cutting. Those blue eyes still missed nothing and said everything he wouldn’t let his mouth say.
They’d left the clearing of the big house a while ago. The woods were quiet but not eerie.
He cleared his throat and shifted in his saddle. “It’s sorry I was to hear about the passing of yer husband,” he said a bit awkwardly.
Cait’s fingers tightened around the reins and her stomach churned. “Thank ye.”
He peered down the path. “I heard about the wee one, too.”
“Her name was Christina.”
“It’s…” He paused, frowning and blinking rapidly. “It’s one of my biggest regrets, not knowing my great-granddaughter.”
“If ye hadn’t been so hardheaded, ye would not have missed out on anything.” Truth be told, she’d been just as hardheaded. So many times she’d wanted to take Christina to visit both her great-grandfathers, but she hadn’t because she’d been fearful of rejection and still angry that they’d cut her and her child out of their lives.
“Aye,” he said. “I was hardheaded, and I paid the price for it.”
