Campbell's Redemption

by Sharon Cullen

  On her knees, she bent her head over his arm. Her red hair caught the light of the dozens of candles, streaking the fiery orange with gold. He half wondered if it would singe his fingers if he touched it. He leaned forward slightly and sniffed, wondering what she smelled like, but all he could smell was the pungent aroma of the salve she was smearing on his burn and the stink of the smoke that he felt sure would never leave his nostrils.

  She wrapped his arm in a clean white bandage, then rolled his singed sleeve down. “Ye’re now free to return to the field, but please be careful.”

  “Why, Cait, I’d almost think you were worried about my welfare.”

  —

  Cait stood at her small kitchen counter and kneaded her bread dough while she looked out her window at the peaceful view of the woods. Her horse, rarely ridden, was in the paddock, happily munching on grass after the frantic ride last night. A few chickens pecked about in the dirt. The sun was shining. Birds were chirping in the trees.

  She was making four loaves of bread because Iain, Adair, and Gavin had eaten all of her bread over the past few days, and she suspected that she would get a group of hungry fugitives tonight.

  The house was quiet. Black Cat was asleep on the floor in a patch of sunlight. Adair had left earlier in the day after Cait finally gave up and told him he could return to the big house but commanded him to rest.

  She was alone, trying not to think of the last time she’d made bread while watching Iain chop wood. Occasionally, she found herself listening for Adair upstairs. But both men were gone, and that was all a good thing. She didn’t have to worry about Iain being present when Halloway appeared at her door, or feel guilty for turning Sutherland’s fugitives away.

  Things were as they should be.

  Well, almost.

  She was going up to the big house later to check on the wounded, which meant she had to see Campbell, and she really didn’t want to face him again.

  He troubled her on a deeper level. She didn’t like that he’d shaken up her safe world. She was doing her bit to help Scotland, and she definitely didn’t want Campbell sticking his nose into her activities.

  She had no idea what side he was on. He spent a large amount of time with the English. He knew the Duke of Cumberland, the man who’d led the battle that had killed so many of her brethren. While other chiefs were fighting to keep their clans together and trying to stay out of the path of the English, Campbell didn’t seem worried about any of that.

  And yet he had the unwavering loyalty of Adair, who had fought at Culloden on the side of the Scots and who didn’t like the English. And Cait couldn’t ignore that her John had been just as unwavering in his dedication to Campbell and just as supportive of the Scottish cause against the English. She’d always thought of Campbell as cold, but she’d seen the grief in his eyes when they’d spoken of John’s death.

  She was beginning to doubt her long-held beliefs, and the anger she’d held so tightly was slowly melting. Suddenly, she remembered what John had always told her when she’d questioned his loyalty to Campbell: “Caitie, lass, things aren’t always what they seem to be.”

  —

  Silently, Cait stood by the door as Sutherland led a ragged group of people inside.

  As always, Sutherland had men posted around her house looking for English soldiers. But she also scanned the area. Only when the fugitives were hidden could she breathe a sigh of relief.

  Sutherland moved the chair to the side and opened the hatch to the underground hiding place. There were six of them this time, four men and two women. The men’s expressions were a mixture of dour anger and weary acceptance. The two women wouldn’t meet her eyes and kept their gazes on the ground. Their gowns were torn, the hems caked in mud. Their skin was drawn tight across their cheekbones. They were scratched and bruised, and she couldn’t imagine how long they’d been in hiding.

  As soon as they were all inside the cottage, Cait closed the door and blew out the candle in the window. She wished she could make it better for them. She wished they weren’t on the run. She was doing what she could for their cause, but it never seemed enough. Sutherland had told her that eventually they would make it onto one of two ships continually sailing between Scotland and Canada. In Canada they would meet up with Sutherland’s sister and brother-in-law, who would find housing and employment for them. Because of Sutherland and the hundreds of other Scots who had fled on their own, Canada was becoming quite the refuge for the displaced.

  “I apologize that the accommodations aren’t better,” she said as soon they were settled in the cellar. “But ye’ll be safe here.” It was at this point that she crossed her fingers and prayed she wasn’t lying to them. So far not one fugitive had been discovered on her property, and she meant to keep it that way. “Ye’ll have blankets and ye can sleep,” she said. “If ye need anything, please let me know.”

  “Cait is our local healer,” Sutherland said. “Occasionally, she’ll get an unexpected visitor needing her healing.” His voice dropped to stress the seriousness of what he was about to say. “The redcoats sometimes visit.”

  One of the women gasped and put a hand over her mouth, her eyes filling with tears.

  “If she can, Cait will warn ye if someone is approaching,” Sutherland said. “We implore ye to keep silent. Try not to even move. She’ll get them out as soon as she can.”

  Tears were rolling down one woman’s face, and she looked as if she wanted to run.

  “It will be all right,” Cait said. “I will make certain ye aren’t discovered.”

  A few minutes later they were in the kitchen and Sutherland was leaning against the counter. “It’s never-ending,” he said wearily.

  Cait handed him a mug of ale. “How’s Eleanor?” she asked. She had met Eleanor Sutherland twice, once when Sutherland brought her along on a run and Eleanor had been forced to help deliver a baby. She was nothing like Cait had thought a fine English lady would be. She had grit and determination and was completely on the side of the Scots. Cait had liked her instantly.

  “She’s doing well,” Sutherland said with a small smile. “Busy tearing up my old garden and putting in a new English-style one.”

  “Send her my regards,” Cait said.

  “I will. Thank ye. How long were Campbell and his man here?”

  “A few days. I think Campbell saw us taking the refugees out. That was my fault. He probably saw us through the window in the hayloft.”

  Sutherland shrugged. “I would no’ worry overmuch about it. I don’t think Campbell will say anything.”

  “Ye trust him that much?” she asked in curiosity.

  “I don’t believe he’s a traitor.”

  Cait looked at him thoughtfully. She trusted Sutherland. She trusted his judgment, and she trusted that he could keep secrets. After all, he was sneaking wanted Scotsmen out of the country on a weekly basis.

  “I have something I want to ask ye,” she said.

  His gaze sharpened with interest. “Aye?”

  “Ye heard about the fire that devastated Campbell’s north field?”

  “I did.”

  “I heard Campbell say that he’s having problems with drovers.”

  “I was no’ aware of that.”

  “Who do ye think set fire to his crops?” she asked.

  “Why do ye think I would know?”

  “Because ye know the happenings in these parts and because the other chiefs trust and like ye.”

  “The other chiefs don’t tell me everything.”

  “But maybe ye’ve heard things. Like who would be stealing his cattle and possibly setting fire to his land.”

  Sutherland tilted his head to contemplate her. “Why are ye asking?”

  She shrugged. She had no idea why she was asking, other than maybe needing to know if it was MacGregor. “I’m a Campbell. It directly affects me. The droving is thinning his herds, and it will make it difficult for him to provide food over the winter. The loss of the fields means he
can’t feed what animals he has left. To me it seems like a deliberate sabotage.”

  “I don’t know who set the fire, but my guess is that it’s MacGregor stealing the cattle. It seems like something he would do,” he said.

  “It’s so pointless when ye think about what we’re facing with the English. We should work together.”

  Sutherland nodded. “I agree. Most of us are working together, but MacGregor has always been a lone wolf, doing what’s best for himself. He thinks like a Highlander of old, when droving was a way to get back at an enemy.”

  Cait looked toward the corner where the trapdoor was open and the chair askew, where six people were huddled beneath the floor, scared and running for their lives.

  “The Highland of old is gone,” she whispered.

  Chapter 8

  The next day Cait had just finished serving her visitors lunch and was bringing the bowls and mugs into the kitchen when she spied Black Cat sitting by the front door, looking at it intently. Her heart began to hammer and the dishes rattled in her hand. She quickly put them down. “Someone’s coming,” she called down the stairs as quietly as possible.

  The man at the bottom of the steps nodded even as his face paled. He shushed the others, and Cait quickly closed the trapdoor and pushed the chair over it.

  Taking a quick glance around to make sure everything looked in place, she opened the door to find Halloway and his two men dismounting.

  Halloway grinned and waved at her. Cait smiled and waved back, but her heart was thundering and she had to breathe deeply to control it.

  “How’s yer back?” she asked as they approached. She remained in the doorway, hoping they wouldn’t ask to enter.

  Halloway grimaced. “It still pains me, but yer poultice helps.”

  “Did ye come for more?”

  “No. We were patrolling and stopped to check on you.”

  “I appreciate that, but I’m fine. Truly I am.”

  “Ye’re all alone out here,” Halloway said hesitantly.

  What was it with these men who thought they should protect her? “I like it that way.”

  Halloway looked down at the toe of his boot, then back up at her. “There were men here the other time we came by. You didn’t seem comfortable with them.”

  “That was Iain Campbell, chief of clan Campbell, and his commander, who was hurt.”

  “You don’t like him, the chief.”

  “I like him well enough.” She was surprised to discover that she was telling the truth. Her anger was not nearly as intense as it had been at one time.

  Halloway shot a pointed glance at the two men behind him. Immediately, they moved to the edge of the woods. Cait kept her eye on them and wished them all away.

  Halloway had first arrived at her cottage much like Campbell had, with an injured man.

  She’d patched up the soldier, and while she was doing so, Halloway had complained of his bad back, and she’d given him a poultice. During his periodic visits, she’d learned that he was the fifth child of minor gentry with no prospects but the priesthood or the military. He liked the military well enough but missed England. He wasn’t comfortable with the fighting but didn’t mind the patrolling. He preferred keeping the peace rather than destroying it.

  Against her will, she’d grown to like him. He was open and honest and kind, and his initial shyness had endeared him to her. She wouldn’t necessarily call him a friend, but neither was he an enemy.

  Their conversations had never gone past the superficial. She’d never told him about John or Christina. He’d never asked about a husband or family, and he’d never stayed longer than half an hour.

  He took a step closer, and it took everything inside Cait not to step back. Black Cat wound around her ankles, his soft fur tickling her.

  “I know we don’t know each other well, and I’m English and you’re Scottish.” He laughed nervously and glanced back at the other soldiers. “I like you, Cait, and I worry about you all alone out here.”

  For a moment her mind went blank before thoughts collided with each other. Oh, no. Please, no.

  She was nice to Halloway because it gained her a small bit of freedom from the English eyes, but in no way had she intended for feelings to become involved.

  “Sergeant Halloway—”

  He held up his hand. His face was red and he shifted from one foot to another. “I wanted to tell you this the last time I was here, but Campbell was here as well, and you appeared so nervous…” He licked his lips and shifted again, looking so much like a lad fresh out of the nursery rather than a soldier who had fought in a bloody battle just weeks ago. “I think about you all the time,” he whispered, not looking at her.

  Cait closed her eyes. “Oh, Sergeant.”

  “You don’t have to say anything,” he said quickly. “I understand that this is unexpected. Just think about what I’ve said and…I want you to know that my prospects are good, and if you want to get out of Scotland to a better place, I can take you to England with me. I have some money set aside, and we’d live in a nicer cottage than this on my parents’ land. Not that this isn’t a nice cottage,” he hurriedly added.

  Cait wanted to be offended, but she just couldn’t. He meant well, and he clearly believed that he would be delivering her to a better place if she followed him to England. He had no idea what their lives would be like—she a dreaded Scot in England. He’d be shunned, his career ruined.

  “Sergeant.” While she didn’t want to offend him, she knew that if she turned down his advances, she could make a powerful enemy.

  “Don’t say anything yet. Just think about it.” His smile was wobbly and embarrassed, and she wondered if she was the first woman he’d ever approached. Oh, Lord. This was so bad in so many different ways.

  Mute, Cait watched as Halloway and the others rode away. Her hands were shaking so hard when she closed the door that she fumbled with the latch. She had only enough strength to stumble to the settee and slump into it. Black Cat jumped into her lap and rubbed his face against Cait’s cheek.

  “Oh, Lord,” she whispered.

  Turning Halloway down would be disastrous for her, but agreeing to go to England was out of the question. The thought of lying and telling him she would go, getting his hopes up, seemed so wrong.

  She grabbed Black Cat and held him to her, finding little comfort in the soft fur and warm body.

  —

  Sutherland arrived the next day to move the refugees. It was rare that she saw him two days in a row, because he liked to spend as much time as possible with his wife and preferred to let his men move the fugitives.

  “I asked around,” he said as soon as he entered the cottage.

  She was still shaken by her encounter with Halloway and had no clear answer for how to proceed. Asking for Sutherland’s advice would be the most commonsense thing to do, but she knew what his reaction would be. For the most part, Highlander men were alike. They hated the English and they protected their own and they fiercely protected the women. Sutherland would vehemently disagree with her reasoning, and he might even stop bringing the refugees to her. She didn’t want that. She wanted to keep helping.

  “Asked around about what?” she asked as she shut the door behind him.

  He frowned at her. “About the burning of Campbell’s crop and the droving.”

  “Oh. That.”

  “Are you ill?” Sutherland asked in worry.

  “No.” She laughed weakly. “Of course no’.”

  He considered her for a bit longer. “Ye’re acting strange.”

  “I’m fine. I promise. What did ye learn?”

  He watched her for a few more moments before finally saying, “No one is taking credit for the burning of the field. MacGregor has always been vocal about his hatred toward Campbell, but he’s been surprisingly quiet lately.”

  “Which tells us nothing,” she said.

  “I’ll keep my eyes and ears open and let ye know if I hear anything.”

  �
�I appreciate that.”

  “Now I have a question for ye,” he said. “Why isn’t Campbell asking these questions?”

  She shrugged. “He probably is, but I thought I’d ask ye.”

  Luckily, he let the topic drop and she was relieved. She was sick enough as it was, with Halloway’s proposal hanging over her head.

  Chapter 9

  “It’s coming, Campbell. Mark my words.”

  Iain swirled the wine in his glass and contemplated the burgundy depths, feeling sick to his stomach over Captain Palmer’s predictions. They were sitting in the formal dining room after having finished a sumptuous dinner, the remains of which had been whisked away and replaced with a platter of cheese and grapes. They were enjoying their after-dinner wine, both leaning back in their chairs, their legs stretched before them. Palmer belched and popped open the buttons of his red coat to scratch at his stomach.

  Iain first met Palmer through the Duke of Cumberland, a man Iain had been loosely acquainted with for some time. Cumberland introduced the two because Palmer was in charge of this area of Scotland. Iain had been flattered because it meant Cumberland trusted him and that he had a reliable source of information from the English military. Long nights such as this had yielded valuable information.

  “There must be a way to compromise,” Iain said as he set his wineglass down on the dining room table and pushed it away. He’d invited Palmer for dinner because he’d wanted to discuss the recent fire, but Palmer was unaware who had started it and didn’t seem overly concerned, though he did insist it wasn’t the English. So Iain had learned nothing new but had to entertain the man anyway when all he wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep for three days.

  His mind drifted to the fire. Whether it was one man—MacGregor—or a more concerted effort by a handful of Scotsmen, Iain didn’t know. Hell, it could even be the English, but he doubted that, as he’d given them no reason to burn his crops. MacGregor had been a pain in his arse for years. Cait was right. MacGregor needed to end this anger over offenses that happened generations ago and work against the scourge that was eating Scotland alive.