Black Cat appeared, padded around the kitchen, sniffed Iain’s boots, turned up his nose, and walked away with his tail high.
“This is more than the English soldiers,” she said.
“It is.” He seemed reluctant to say more, and she was reluctant to push him for fear of stepping into the strange territory of thoughts and feelings that were best left alone. “A lot has happened lately,” he finally said.
“Culloden has turned our country upside down.”
“It’s not just Culloden. It’s the hunting of the Scottish people. It’s the fact that England feels they can do what they want without thought to how it affects our way of life. It’s…” He shook his head and appeared at a loss for words.
“Our way of life? Ye act more English than Scottish, and ye keep company with more Englishmen than Scotsmen. Are ye sure ye want to include yourself in ‘our way of life’?”
She’d thought for sure that she’d stepped too far, but to her surprise, he didn’t seem to be offended by what she said.
“What I meant was that it’s not right what England is doing to Scotland. I would feel that way if it were England and France or England and Spain.”
“I would think ye would like it. The English can make ye mighty wealthy.”
“This isn’t about wealth.”
She tilted her head to study him. “Isn’t it? All of the Campbells before ye thought it was.”
He pressed his lips together as if he wanted to argue, but his history was clear and well documented. His grandfather had killed her great-grandfather MacGregor at the command of the English and with the promise of more land and gold. She held no ill will toward the Campbells for that, even though her grandfather MacGregor tried endlessly to make her hate the Campbells. The story had been told to her so many times that it was just that—a story. It held no meaning other than she’d grown up knowing not to mention the Campbells in front of her grandfather MacGregor.
“I’m not like the other Campbells,” Iain said. “Wealth and privilege don’t mean as much to me.”
“Yet ye want people to think it does. What games are ye playing?”
It was as if a mask came down over his face and the Iain Campbell she knew—whom everyone knew—emerged. This was the man who let no one inside.
“I should let you get back to your chores,” he said.
“Now? Ye want to leavenow,when things are just starting to get interesting?”
“There’s nothing interesting happening here.”
“I think there is.”
“Ye’re imagining things that aren’t there.”
“I disagree.”
Chapter 12
He never should have come, but something had overruled his gut feeling, and he’d come anyway.
When he’d learned of the dead soldiers, his first thought had been of Cait. The murders had happened far too close to her cottage for his comfort, and his instinct had been to demand that she move closer to the big house. Now she was prying and thinking things she shouldn’t be thinking. She was getting too close to the truth, and it was time for him to leave before more was revealed. He’d send Adair to check on her next time.
“Ye’re no’ going to argue?” she asked with a twinkle in those dark green eyes that put him on edge.
“There’s nothing to argue.”
She was seeing too much. He wanted to kick himself for letting her see a part of him that he let no one see. He was tired, weary of the games that she rightfully accused him of playing. Things were escalating from all directions. One enemy he could face. He wasn’t certain he could take on two at the same time.
“Ye’re no’ a traitor,” she said softly.
“I never said I was.”
“But others do, and ye never disagree with them. Ye let them believe it. Why?”
