“You should move closer to the big house,” he said, referring to the white stone castle-turned-manor that he lived in.
“I’m perfectly happy here.”
“Are you?”
Her kitchen was a cheery place, and the cottage was plenty big enough for her needs. She didn’t have visitors often, but her privacy was a relief.
Campbell moved closer, and she decided that yes, being alone was definitely a relief. She heard him pull out a chair and settle into it. Why didn’t he justgo away.
“Don’t ye have business up at yer big house? Englishmen to meet with?”
“I’m here for as long as Adair needs me.”
She noticed he ignored the jab about the English. He was such an even-keeled fellow that it was unnerving.
“And what is he doing now?” She scooped up the chopped carrots and dropped them into the pot of boiling water.
“Sleeping like a babe,” he admitted after a pause.
“So he needs ye at the moment?”
“Sit down, Cait.”
She reached for a fat white onion. “If the two of ye are going to stay, then ye’ll want to be eating. I need to get dinner in the pot if it’s to be ready in time.”
“You don’t have to feed us.”
She laughed. “And what will ye do? Send for food from the big house?”
A long silence fell over them as her knife easily cut through the onion. The sharp, pungent scent made her nose and eyes water.
“Do you need me to do anything?” he asked.
“Are ye partial to cutting onions?”
“Not particularly.”
She gathered up the onion and dropped it in the pot with the carrots, then reached for a potato as she glanced at the bread to make sure it was rising properly.
“I noticed your firewood is running low,” Iain said.
She turned to face him. His gaze went a little nervously to the knife she was wielding.
“What is this all about?” she asked.
“Adair and I barged into your home, and it seems we’re here until he heals enough to travel. I thought I’d help.”
“Ye live not an hour away. Ye can go home and ease yer guilt of leaving yer commander in my care. I’ll take good care of him.”
“I know you will.”
“Then why are ye staying?”
He looked around her home and his jaw worked back and forth. There had been a time long, long ago when Campbell would sit in her kitchen as she made dinner. She would listen as he and John talked strategy or about crops or a particularly difficult clansman. They would drink their whiskey, their voices low and comforting, while she bustled about the kitchen, Christina fast asleep in the cradle beside the stove.
Now John and Christina were gone, and Cait didn’t cook for anyone but herself and the fugitives. Campbell’s presence brought too many sad memories to her door.
“I want to help you,” he finally said.
