“I’m worried about you, Cait.”
“You needn’t be concerned for me.”
“But I am.”
She shot him an exasperated look. “Why? Why now? I’ve lived here for four years, and ye’ve never paid me any mind.”
His jaw worked as a slight breeze brushed through his hair. Dark eyes assessed her, as if he were thinking of the words to say. He looked away, turning his head to the side to contemplate the woods. “I’ll admit I stayed away. I didn’t like seeing you because it reminded me that I’d failed John after promising him I’d take care of you.”
“Is that why ye’re here now? Because of guilt? Because of a promise made to a dying man? Pardon me if I don’t feel gratitude at yer sudden interest.”
“That’s not why I’m here.”
“Now ye speak in riddles. I have animals to take care of and chores to do, Iain Campbell. Ye’re wasting good daylight.”
“I’m not speaking in riddles. I’m just as confused as you are. Maybe more so.”
“Well, ye need to figure yerself out. In the meantime, figure it out somewhere besides my barn.”
“You amuse me, Cait.”
She laughed. “I’m glad to be of service. Now either feed my cows or find someone else to bother.”
“I’ve never fed a cow before.”
“Welcome to my life.”
He followed her into the barn, and she wondered just what was happening. She was hard-pressed to find a word to describe his strange mood. Worse, she was hard-pressed to find a word for what she was feeling. Her words told him to go away, but other parts of her, namely the yearning in her heart, were telling him to stay.
Why in the world would she want Iain Campbell to stay? She had too much to do and no time to trade insults with him.
He watched her spread fresh hay and feed the two milking cows. She worked in silence and he watched in silence.
When she was finished, she grabbed the empty pail by the door, but he took it from her.“I’ll get the water.”
She washed up in the bucket outside her back door and went inside to contemplate the afternoon meal.
Iain walked in with her pail of water and set it on the counter.
“I suppose ye’ll want to be fed,” she said.
“Thank you, but no.”
She waved toward the small table and chairs. “Sit down.”
He sat while she sliced fresh bread, cut cheese, and laid it all on a plate with what was left of the roasted turkey, or what the Scots called bubbly-jock, from the night before.
“I’m no’ moving to the big house,” she said as they dug in to their simple lunch.
“Dead English soldiers on my land is bad, and I’m concerned for all the Campbells. You live the farthest away, and you’re the most vulnerable.”
She wiped her hands on her apron and sat back. “I’m strategically placed.”
“You’re as far from me as you can be and still be on Campbell land.”
“Aye. Like I said, strategically placed.” She studied the worry lines around his pursed lips. “Ye truly are worried,” she said in surprise.
“I am.”
