“I’ll sleep in the barn, where I’ll be close in case you need me.”
“There is no’ one scenario that I can think of that would make me need ye.”
He tilted his head and felt amusement ripple through him. “Nevertheless—”
She waved her hand in the air. “Nevertheless, ye’re staying.” She blew a piece of red hair out of her eyes and glared at him.
“I am.”
She considered him for a long time while he stood waiting and watching. It felt as if his heart had a small tear in it, a place that burned with regret and grief for things that had happened long ago that he could never change or make right.
John had been his best friend, the only man Iain trusted implicitly. John’s death had left a hole inside of Iain for a time, but eventually, that hole had healed. Or at least that was what he told himself. Seeing Cait made him think twice on that. It was strange seeing her without John. Strange and sad.
“Very well,” she said, her shoulders suddenly drooping as if large hands had pushed them down. “But ye’ll bunk in the barn.”
“If you’ll allow me to bring up a chair…”
She shot him a dark look. “The barn.”
—
Slightly amused and slightly confused, Iain settled into the barn’s hayloft, listening to the soft lowing of the milking cow and the rustling of his and Adair’s horses as they munched on well-deserved oats. He wasn’t surprised to discover that the barn was very clean and well kept. He remembered that about her, that she was fastidious and cleanly. He wondered who helped her with the chores. Did she bring in her own firewood? Chop it herself? Muck the stalls? Strangely enough, he could picture her doing all of that and didn’t like the image of her relying only on herself, all alone at the edge of Campbell land.
He folded his hands behind his head and stared at the moonbeams filtering through the slatted ceiling while his mind wandered back to that fateful night—a place he rarely let his thoughts go.
They’d been riding across Campbell land, he and John, having come from the far northern border to check on cattle and visit the few tenants who lived out that way. He remembered it being a fair day, the sun shining, clouds absent. The pistol shot came from nowhere, the sound reverberating through the trees, silencing the birds, making the small animals in the underbrush scurry away.
His mount had shied, and it had taken some effort to bring it under control. Cursing, Iain had looked around wildly for the shooter, thinking it was a hunter gone astray. It was a few moments before he realized that John was no longer seated on his mount but lying on the hard-packed dirt, gurgling with his last breaths.
Iain had dropped down beside him, realizing immediately that there was no hope for his friend. The pistol ball had pierced his throat.
John’s panicked gray eyes had looked up at him; his hand had clutched Iain’s coat sleeve. His mouth moved, but no words emerged. Iain knew, though. He knew what John was trying to say. Iain had promised his friend and comrade and the only man he’d ever trusted that he would look after his wife.
John had taken two ragged breaths and died in Iain’s arms. Telling Cait had been the second hardest thing he’d ever had to do, the first being holding John while the life drained out of him.
She’d taken the news with dry eyes and a curt nod, but he’d seen the devastation lurking in those mossy depths, and in the way she held her body so tightly that he feared she would shatter. He could only assume that she broke down in private, but he didn’t know.
He’d had every intention of following through with his promise to watch out for her, but one thing led to another and…Hell, he’d not done it because seeing Cait brought back the grief of losing John. He didn’t want to see the accusations in her eyes or the deep-seated sadness or the way she stiffened and looked like she wanted to run from him every time he came close. He’d sent patrols this way and had them report back. The reports had always been the same—she lived alone, seemed content, and practiced her healing on those who sought her out. He’d been happy to leave it at that.
He’d forgotten how pretty she was, with all that red hair. Tonight she’d worn it in a braid down her back, but pieces had escaped and continuously fluttered over her eyes, prompting her to brush them away with the back of her hand.
Her hands were capable, quick, and sure. It wasn’t until she was finished fishing the ball out of Adair’s belly that he detected the slight tremor in her movements. Was it because of the stress of healing Adair or because Iain was in her home and she wanted him out?
His eyes drifted closed, and despite the itchy straw beneath him, his mind continued to swirl with unwanted memories. They’d never caught the shooter. Iain had sent men to scour the area, to ask questions, but nothing had come of it. No one had admitted to hunting in the area, and eventually, he’d had to end the search.
There was speculation, of course. Was it a MacGregor? MacGregors hated Campbells, so the possibility was there, but the chief of the MacGregors had denied any involvement. Truthfully, it could have been anyone. Iain was a hated man, the hatred going deep and burrowing into several generations. There had been attempts on his life in the past and attempts on his father’s life and his father’s before him. Had this been one of them?
Had John lost his life because of him? The not knowing was the worst. Maybe if he and Cait knew why John died, it would bring some sort of closure to their pain. But there was no closure. It could have been anyone. A hunter, an enemy, the hated English. Unfortunately, there were some questions that simply did not have an answer.
The horses stirred below, and Iain found the sound comforting. While he’d prefer a nice soft bed, he’d bunked down in plenty of haylofts in his time.
Something else stirred, and he realized that it wasn’t an animal in the barn with him but something outside. He rolled to his stomach and raised himself up on his elbows to peer out of the small window used to chuck hay to the animals outside.
The full moon shed blue beams across the hard-packed dirt and sparse grass between the cottage and barn, dousing the outer edges of the small yard with a darkness so severe that everything appeared to dissolve into the surrounding forest.
Cait suddenly stepped into a moonbeam. Her appearance was so jarring that Iain jerked. Another figure stepped out of the shadows of the forest, opposite where Cait was standing. She didn’t appear to be frightened, and that was the only thing that kept Iain in the loft. That and his intense curiosity.
Did she have a lover?
