Cait’s visit with her grandfather weighed heavily on her mind all night. She tossed and turned with thoughts of MacGregor, which ran from irritation to regret—and thoughts of Iain, which ran from heated images of making love to irritation that she was thinking of him at all. She was angry at herself for listening for Iain’s return, for waking up with a start, hoping the noise she’d heard, which turned out to be nothing more than the night creatures, was him.
She was wrapped up in all of those confusing thoughts as she rode the few miles to Alice Campbell’s cottage. Alice was close to delivering her fourth child, and Cait wanted to check on her. Also, Murtagh Campbell had a knee that was paining him, and she wanted to make a quick stop at his cottage. She’d been trying to get him to stay off it for a bit, but like any Highlander, he was stubborn, and he refused to sit with his leg up.
It was a cool day for July. White fluffy clouds drifted lazily along a bright blue sky. It was the kind of day that had her forgetting they were just months out of a major battle with England and there were English soldiers roaming the countryside causing mayhem. She felt fairly safe, since the road she was on was well traveled. So it was with some surprise that she came across a contingent of four English soldiers who jolted her out of her thoughts.
She had a weapon, a smallsgian dubhthat was useless against well-equipped soldiers. She immediately thought the worst, then forced herself to remember that not all of the English soldiers were bad. Halloway was an excellent example. But the reminder didn’t stop her heart from hammering.
The soldiers reined in their horses across the road, barring her from moving forward and forcing her to rein in also. They sat in silence with only the birds chirping in the background, a strangely incongruous sound.
Her shoulders were tense, her stomach was churning, and her palms started to sweat on the reins. Nervously, her horse sidestepped.
“What is your name?” the man in the middle asked. His uniform was impeccable, his coat blue, the facings red. Cait knew that meant something about his regiment, but in her panic she forgot what.
“Cait Campbell,” she said through a dry throat.
“Campbell?”
“Y-yes.” She hated that her voice wavered, showing her fear.
The other three glanced at one another. She suppressed a shiver of fear.
“Where do you live, Cait Campbell?” His voice was genial enough, but there was an undercurrent of steel that warned her not to play him false. She had heard the stories and knew that refusing to answer him meant immediate consequences—especially for a woman alone. She waved her hand down the road she’d just ridden.
“Over that way. I’m the healer in this area, and I’m riding out to attend to a few patients.”
One of them shifted stiffly and winced. “A healer, you say?”
He was hurt. She looked him over carefully and saw a growing spot of blood at his side and a rip in his coat. “Aye. Are ye in need of a healer?”
“Not a Scottish healer,” he said with disdain.
She shrugged, more angry now than scared. “As ye wish.”
His horse shifted and he blanched. The one who had done all the talking kicked his horse forward. Cait shifted her focus to him and watched him warily.
He looked her over, circling her, his gaze moving up and down her body. She sat stiffly and kept her gaze straight ahead while her heart pounded and her mind told her to run as fast as her mount could carry her. But they would give chase and inevitably catch her. If she stayed passive, maybe they would grow bored and leave her be. She realized she was thinking like a frightened rabbit and wished she had the power to fight back. But no Scottish woman had that power. Scottish women were seen as second class to these men, no better than the servants who served in their fine English homes.
The man came so close that his leg brushed hers. It took everything in her not to draw away. Her breath was coming quickly as fear wrapped itself around her.
He stopped and faced her. Their mounts were almost nose to nose, and she had no choice but to look at him. The corners of his lips were turned up in a sneer. His nose was thin, the tip of it red. His eyes were close-set and dark brown. He sat straight and tall, his shoulders squared. His boots held a bright sheen, his white breeches were impeccably clean, his coat was tailored to his frame. Only the very wealthy and noble could afford to have their uniforms tailored. He had the look of the nobility, his expression haughty. “I am Lieutenant Donaldson of the English Royal Horse Guards. Do you live alone, Miss Cait?”
“Mrs. Cait.”
One brow rose and the smirk deepened. “Is it, now? I’m surprised your spouse allows you to ride alone. In England our wives always ride with chaperones. You never know whom you will meet along the way.” She could see the derision in his eyes that the Scottish men didn’t have control over their women.
“My husband is no’ available to ride with me, and I have people relying on me to treat them.”
“ ‘No’ available,’ ” he said, mimicking her Highland accent. “I take that to mean that your husband is dead. I assume he died at Culloden, fighting against the English, eh?”
“Nay.”
He grinned. “Come,Mrs. Cait. We know that you are alone in life as well as on this road.”
Oh, wasn’t he so clever?
He moved his mount so that they were side by side, his back to his fellow soldiers. She’d made the mistake of thinking that the first soldier was the leader. This man was obviously the leader, because the other three watched with bored expressions. The one who was hurt looked pained and not at all interested in what was happening. She’d get no help from that quarter.
“I travel through this area quite often.” He pitched his voice low, and she got a sick feeling in her stomach. He leaned forward, and despite her warning to herself not to move, she leaned back. Just slightly, but enough that he saw, and his eyes narrowed. “Do I frighten you,Mrs. Cait?”
