She looked at him in surprise, but they had rounded the bend and he was looking at her cottage critically. She could practically read his thoughts. The Grahams were a powerful clan, as were the MacGregors. Neither chief had thought that their granddaughter would live in a wee cottage buried deep in the woods.
He grunted and, being sensitive, she took it as criticism of her home. “It’s lovely, and I like being out here,” she said defensively.
“ ’Tis no’ safe,” he said.
“Ye’re the third man to tell me that in a week.”
He slid off his mount, not as nimbly as he had in years past but still good for a man his age. “What three men would that be, lass?”
“Campbell and Hal—” She stopped herself from mentioning the English sergeant. Graham held no love for the English and would be furious to know that the soldiers came to her for healing. “And Sutherland,” she said, hoping that her grandfather didn’t speak to Sutherland often.
He walked around the outside of her cottage, eyeing the woods perched close to her home, surveying the house with a critical eye. Cait dismounted and led her horse to the barn, where she gave it oats and made sure it was comfortable for the night.
Her grandfather was walking the perimeter of her land when she returned.
“Would ye like to come in?” She opened the front door and Black Cat was sitting there, waiting for her. She bent down to pet him, feeling his purr all the way through her arm.
Her grandfather gave the cat a cursory glance as he walked in. Cait lit some candles and stood uncertainly in the middle of her sitting room.
“Good Lord, lass. This is what the Campbell has forced ye to?”
“Of course not. I choose to live out here. I like it.”
He glared at her, clearly disbelieving her. “This is where ye and yer husband lived?”
“His name was John, Grandfather. And no, we lived by the big house. When he died…” She swallowed as the grief washed over her. “When he died, all I wanted was to be left alone.”
He shook his head as he continued to look around. Finally, he turned that bright blue gaze to her. “It goes without saying that I was no’ happy about yer marriage to John Campbell.”
“Oh, I think there was plenty said on the matter.”
He grunted, but his lips twitched in a smile. “I regret my actions and words.”
She’d waited so long to hear him say that. One of John’s biggest regrets was that she had no relationship with her family. He blamed himself, though she’d always told him it didn’t matter, that he was her family now.
“But as much as I hated ye marrying John Campbell, I will no’ tolerate ye with Iain Campbell.”
She blinked, taken aback. “Ye think I’m in a relationship with Iain Campbell?” She laughed because the thought was so ridiculous she could do nothing else.
Her grandfather glowered at her. “This is no’ funny.”
“This is very funny. Grandfather, I have no interest in Iain Campbell.” As she said it, her heart did a funny turn that bemused her. “I was at the big house tonight because I was checking on the men who had been burned during the fire. Iain asked me to stay for dinner.”
He was silent for such a long time that Cait wondered if he’d even heard her. Then he grunted again and turned toward the door.
“Wait,” she said. “What does that mean? Ye don’t believe me?”
“Nay.”
“I don’t like Iain Campbell. I could never do that to John.”
He turned to face her. “John’s dead. He’s been gone for four years.”
She drew back at the frank words that stabbed her as easily as any dagger would. “So I should just forget him? Grief has a time limit and I’ve exceeded mine?”
His gaze softened. “Nay, lass. Ye should never forget him. But ye do have to move on. If ye don’t, ye become a crotchety, lonely old person whom no one much wants to be around.” He opened the door. “But no’ with Iain Campbell. I will no’ tolerate that. I’m serious, lass. He’s dangerous, that one. I don’t trust him.”
—
