If Campbell investigated the goings-on that she assumed he’d witnessed last night, then she could have put Sutherland and the secret movement in serious jeopardy.
Campbell’s gaze fell to the pail she was clutching. “Were you about to collect water?”
“Aye.”
“I’ll do it.” He held out his hand for the pail, but Cait was slow to give it to him, for her mind was swirling with possibilities.
Their gazes clashed, and she couldn’t be sure that she’d adequately hidden her fear. In fact, she knew she hadn’t adequately hidden it when Campbell’s eyes narrowed a wee bit.
She handed over the pail and folded her shaking hands in front of her.
“Where is the well?” he asked.
“On the other side of the barn, before you get to the trees. You would have seen it when you left the woods.”
He considered her for a long moment. She bit the inside of her cheek and waited to see if he would tell her what he’d been doing in the woods. But he merely nodded and left to gather the water. Cait stood there for a moment, trying to collect her scattered thoughts and calm her hammering heart.
Keep calm. Get a message to Sutherland to warn him that Campbell might be aware of the happenings of last night. Check on Adair. Act like nothing is wrong.
As long as Campbell was here, there was nothing he could do about Sutherland. But that also meant she couldn’t get a message to Sutherland.
She returned to her kitchen and stood at the rough-cut wooden counter, bracing herself against it with her hands and breathing deeply to control her racing thoughts.
First things first.
Both men would want to break their fast, so she reached for the half-loaf of bread and the crock of butter. It would be a meager breakfast for them, but it was all she had at the moment. She needed to make more bread today. She also needed to purchase some meat, but she couldn’t do that with Adair in residence, and there was no way in hell she was leaving these two men alone in her cottage.
A loud crash from above had her racing up the narrow stairs.
The bed was empty, the bedclothes and blankets trailing off the side and onto the floor, where Adair was struggling to stand.
“Ye big numpty.” She struggled to help him up.
“I tried to get out of bed,” he said a bit sheepishly.
“And ye found ye couldn’t.”
“Why are my legs weak when it was my stomach that took the pistol ball?”
“Because ye lost a fair amount of blood, and it makes ye weak.”
He scoffed as if healing were beneath him.
“What the hell happened?”
Cait and Adair looked up to find Campbell standing in the doorway, a fierce scowl on his face.
“He thought he could walk right out of here,” Cait said.
Campbell helped Adair back in bed, muttering, “You damn hardheaded fool.” Cait was surprised to see the care Campbell showed toward Adair.
With Adair settled back in bed, clearly exhausted and hurting from his tumble, Cait took the opportunity to inspect his wound and re-dress it. She left Adair with Campbell, the bread and butter between them, to start a new batch of bread. Just because she had two unwanted visitors didn’t mean the chores completed themselves.
Cooking for the fugitives took many hours. She tried to be frugal by growing her own vegetables. But meat was a different matter. She couldn’t purchase a large amount of meat from the butcher. A lone woman consuming an entire cow would raise suspicion. She tended to make hearty soups with a lot of vegetables, little meat, and thick slabs of bread. She could make the bread herself, although she had to be mindful of the amount of flour she purchased from the mill.
Hers was one of the few hideouts where the fugitives received adequate food. Usually, they ate berries if they were in season and the dry oak cakes called bannocks if they were able to start a fire. Dried meat was their staple, and while that was suitable for a day or so, it was inadequate for the long journey they were taking, particularly for the women and children.
Today Cait made two loaves of bread and put a pot of water on for vegetable stew. She was cutting up vegetables when Campbell appeared from upstairs. Instantly, she felt the spiny fingers of anxiety tiptoe up her spine.
