“I think we’re beyond compromise,” Palmer was saying, bringing Iain back to the present discussion, which was far more frightening than anything MacGregor could think up. “It’s time for the Scots to recognize that England is not going away. Scotland is now under English rule, as it should be.”
“It’s a small portion of the Scots who are protesting,” Iain said, trying to make it appear that the Scots weren’t really a threat when, inside, he was seething at Palmer’s condescending attitude. The English considered the Scots barbarians. Especially the Highland Scots. But the real barbarians were the English.
“You’re delusional, my friend.” Palmer motioned for the servant to refill his glass. “I believe a much larger contingent of Scots are protesting. Damn, but I wish all of the stubborn Scots had as much common sense as you. You understand the English. You understand that we’re the greatest country on earth. Hell and damnation, Campbell, some countries would kill to be under our protection. We can only bring better times to the Scots, but they stubbornly cling to their old beliefs. It’s a new age now. Time to drag them all screaming and kicking into the modern era.” Palmer smiled and waved his now full glass toward Iain. “Not you, my friend. You are firmly on board with us, and let me tell you, we appreciate it. Maybe you can talk some sense into these savages.”
Iain smiled and chuckled with Palmer, all while trying to control his fury. The man was a bloody English sheep shagger, and Iain wanted to take his dinner knife and drive it through the man’s neck. But he pretended to agree while his thoughts went in a hundred different directions.
If Palmer was right, then the Scots were in terrible trouble. Far more trouble than they were in now. Palmer predicted that in a year the Scots would be stripped of their weapons and their way of dress. Worst of all, the clan system would be abolished. It had taken everything inside of Iain not to protest that prediction. How in the hell did the English think it was right to march into a country, take it over, and change its entire heritage?
If Palmer was correct, then Iain’s problems with MacGregor were nothing compared to the devastation that the Scots were facing.
As a young lad, Iain had been sent to live in Edinburgh with his uncle and aunt, who had educated him in the finer things of life. Edinburgh was so different from the Highlands, more English, for sure. He’d had a dance instructor and tutors who taught him French and mathematics. He’d been introduced to the best, most powerful families of the Lowlands. It was the way of the Campbell chief to learn like this, and it was why the Campbell leaders were more accepting of the English. When it was time, he’d been sent to Oxford to complete his education. It was there that he befriended many English nobles, sons of dukes and earls, who would later become dukes and earls themselves. He liked England. He liked the friends he made there, and he understood the English ways. But his heart and soul belonged to Scotland.
While in Edinburgh and then in England, he had missed the open skies of the Highlands and the clear air, unpolluted with smoke from thousands of homes. He missed the straightforward talk of a Highlander and the simple way of life. In the Highlands, if you were offended, you took it out on the person who offended you. In England, it was much more complex and…sneaky.
It was true that in the past, a Campbell’s loyalty shifted with the wind, but not Iain’s. He was steadfastly on the side of Scotland and had decided long ago that he would do whatever it took to save his people’s way of life. However, he’d learned from his predecessors and understood the need to remain in alliance with the English—or at least pretend to be in alliance with the English.
So he entertained the English soldiers. He made friends with the officers who occupied his country because it benefited him and it benefited Scotland.
Many times he’d taken information that had come his way through nights such as this and passed it to the chiefs, who still didn’t trust him. Oh, he had a few who wondered if he was playing a deep game and occasionally gave him the benefit of the doubt. Brice Sutherland was one, Colin MacLean another. Iain had helped both out of tight situations with the English and had earned their loyalty.
It was a dangerous path he walked, and he lived in fear of being discovered by either side. He had few friends. Adair was one; John Campbell had been the other. But Iain was accustomed to loneliness, and in the end it was the price he paid to help Scotland.
But damn, taking away the weapons and the kilts? Disbanding the clans? Surely Palmer was wrong in this. It had to be a cruel rumor by some frustrated officer who’d said something in the heat of the moment. His people were a hardheaded bunch who didn’t take kindly to their way of life being threatened. Though “compromise” was a word rarely used in these parts, Iain was convinced it was needed. He just didn’t know how to achieve it.
“Do you think you can do it?” Palmer asked, pulling Iain from his thoughts.
“Do what?”
Palmer chuckled. “You’re woolgathering, my friend. Will you talk some sense into your fellow Scottish leaders? Convince them to cooperate with the English, and all will go well.”
“I can try, but they’re not usually open to my suggestions.”
Palmer leaned forward, suddenly serious. “You need to convince them. I’m telling you, Campbell, don’t take this lightly. The Scots will be wiped out if things don’t change. I’m talking big changes. As a soldier, I would hate to have my weapons taken away, and I can’t imagine the Scots will take it well, but it will happen if they don’t stop fighting us.”
The thought truly frightened Iain, and there were very few things that frightened him. “Tell me something, Palmer, why do you so desperately want me to get word to the chiefs about this? I thought you didn’t like the Scots.”
Palmer sat back and contemplated Iain for a long moment. “It’s true that I despised the Scots when I first arrived in the Highlands. But a man can change. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still completely loyal to England. But Scots like you have convinced me that there are some who can listen to reason. I’m damn tired of the war and of fighting. I just want there to be a more peaceful resolution.”
—
The next evening Iain’s mind was heavy with the thought of his burned fields, his stolen cattle, and Palmer’s predictions. He was thinking that he should bring the cattle in closer, but he needed to keep them out as long as possible; if he brought them in sooner, then he would go through what little feed he had faster. If he kept them out, then the drovers could—and probably would—steal them. There was no good answer to this predicament.
He entered his study and stopped short when he saw his secretary’s grim look. “I don’t want to know.” He fell into his chair and waited because Patrick would tell him anyway.
“The Mary Katherine was lost in a squall three days ago.”
Iain pressed his thumbs into his gritty eyes and tried not to be sick. Though the Mary Katherine was only one ship of his fleet, its loss would be keenly felt in his mercantile business. Still, that was not his immediate thought. “The crew?”
Silence, and then, “They all perished.”
For a long moment Iain sat in the silence and breathed deeply. He was fairly certain he couldn’t take another blow, and yet they kept coming. “Get me a list of everyone on that ship. I want every family compensated. I’ll also need a list of the cargo she was carrying.”
Patrick silently slid a piece of paper onto the desk. “The cargo,” he said. “I’m working on getting a list of the crew.”
Iain’s shipping ventures were based in England. An enterprise that had started as a hobby when he was at Oxford had grown quite profitable over time. He’d lost ships and he’d lost entire crews before; it was the nature of the business. But it always hit him hard, and this time was the hardest yet. That the crew would have been mostly English didn’t make it easier to bear. They were still his people, employed by him, their families relying on his pay to keep them alive.
Iain leaned his head back, wishing everything away. But that wasn’
t possible and there were things that needed to be done. Graham was expected for dinner tonight, and Iain had to play the part, put on the impassive face that he was known for, and convince one of the most beloved, respected, and powerful clan chiefs to cooperate with the English.
First he needed a drink.
—
Cait was pleased with the recovery of the people who’d been burned during the fire. Luckily, none of the injuries had been too terrible, and she was fairly certain that she didn’t need to check on them anymore. They knew where she lived and knew they could call on her if needed.
While she’d been at the big house, the housekeeper had asked her to look at one of the young serving girls who was complaining of stomach pains. Though the girl was terrified, Cait thought she did a good job of putting her at ease. She was suffering from nothing worse than sneaking too many tarts from the kitchen. Cait told the housekeeper it was a minor stomach ailment that would be gone by the next day. Both the serving girl and the housekeeper had been pleased.
Her worn heels clicked along on the highly shined foyer floor and echoed through the cavernous, cold space as she headed toward the tall front doors. A sweeping double staircase flanked the marbled entryway. She passed closed doors that she knew from past visits with John led to a formal sitting room, a music room, a vast library, and an informal dining room. While it was a beautiful home, Cait preferred her small cottage, which was cozy and warm and felt lived in. This was a large house for one person, and she wasn’t the first one to speculate about Iain Campbell’s plans to fill it with heirs. He was wealthy, powerful, pleasing to the eye, and held both an English title from his mother’s side and a Scottish title from his father’s side. For years it had been rumored that he would marry an English lass, thus allying himself with England. So far there had been no English lass in Campbell’s life, which provoked the rumors even more.
“Cait.”
She spun around, jerked out of her thoughts, to find Campbell descending the stairs. She was shocked at the weary lines around his eyes and the bowed shoulders. His hair stood on end, as if he’d run his hands through it a dozen times. His breeches were worn and his coat was absent, leaving only a comfortable-looking saffron shirt. He must have been working in the fields or with the cattle.
He stopped before her and looked a bit lost, as if all of his words had deserted him. She’d never seen him this way, without his usual mask of indifference. Right now she saw it all, and it was heartbreaking and frightening.
“I was checking on the last of the injured,” she said, feeling a need to explain her presence.
“And how are they?”
“All healing nicely. I see no reason for me to return unless you would need me.”
He looked down at the toes of his boots. They were old, caked with mud, and she had a fleeting thought that his housekeeper would be furious if she saw him wearing them in the house.
“Is everything all right?” she finally asked into the thick silence.
“No.”
She waited, but no more information was forthcoming. “Is there anything I can do?”
He looked at her with bleak eyes that worried her. “Stay for dinner.”
She glanced at the massive front doors she’d come so close to walking out of. She wanted nothing more than to go home to Black Cat, eat a small dinner, and read. She didn’t want to get caught up in the activities of the big house and the intrigues that Iain was involved in. Yet she wasn’t certain she could turn away from the pleading in those eyes. She knew what it meant to not want to be left alone with your own thoughts. “I don’t think—”
“Please, Cait.”
She plucked at the old gown she was wearing. It had been mended too many times to count and was definitely not suitable for dinner at the big house. “I’m not dressed appropriately.”
“We don’t stand on ceremony here.”
“I really shouldn’t…” But she knew she would. Because she understood his reasons for the invitation even if she didn’t know the specifics of what had brought him to this point tonight. “Very well.” It’s only a meal.
To her surprise, he took her hand and led her to the formal sitting room. She’d been in here a few days before, when it had been a makeshift sickroom. The furniture had since been put to rights, the carpets unrolled, and the various and sundry decorations back to their rightful places.
Iain poured a tumbler of whiskey and held up the bottle to silently offer her a glass. She declined. Even when she’d been deep into her grief, she’d never turned to drink for solace.
She settled into a comfortable chair, richly upholstered in a deep forest green that matched the green of the draperies. The thick carpet beneath her feet was a dark gold flecked with more deep green. Iain sank into the matching chair and sipped his drink silently. Cait looked down at her hands, clasped in her lap. Why had he asked her to dinner if he wasn’t going to talk? And what had happened that he was so morose?
“I’m no’ much company,” he finally said.
His Scottish brogue had crept into his speech, surprising Cait. For as long as she’d known him, he’d spoken like a Lowlander. She knew it was because he’d been educated in Edinburgh and then later in England. It was no secret that all of the Campbell chiefs were to be educated in the English way, thus forming the bond between the Campbells and the English.
“Do ye want me to leave?” she asked.
“Nay. Please stay.”
Cait nodded and they settled into silence again.
“I lost a ship today,” he said after a bit. “The crew perished.”
Her gaze flew to his, and suddenly, his mood made sense. “Oh, Iain. I’m so sorry.”
“I don’t care so much about the cargo, although it was quite a financial loss. But the crew and their families…” He took another drink and stared into the depths of the cut glass.
She was thinking of the families as well, of the women now without husbands, the babes without fathers. Without a head of family, they would be forced to leave their homes. If they were lucky, other family members would take them in. If they weren’t lucky, they would end up on the streets. Life was so cruel sometimes.
“I will compensate them, of course,” he said. “But that doesn’t bring their loved ones back.”
“No, it doesn’t. But they won’t have to worry about where their next meal will come from. That’s very honorable of ye.” She was beyond relieved to see that these people whom she didn’t even know wouldn’t be homeless. Deep down, Iain was a good man. Was that what John had been trying to tell her all along?
He blew out a breath. “It’s the least I can do.” He glanced up at her, then away. “I offered you the same.”
“I…” What was she supposed to say to that? He had offered to let her live in her home after John had died, he’d even offered her money, but she had refused it all. “I know ye did and I’m grateful, but I’m fine without all of that. I didn’t need the money.”
He drained his glass.
“Was it deliberate?” she asked quietly, referring to the ship, afraid to voice the thought that he was losing cattle and his north field, devastated by the fire.
“Nothing would surprise me at the moment, but Patrick said it was a squall.”
The door to the sitting room opened and the housekeeper stepped in. She seemed surprised to see Cait but quickly recovered. “Alasdair Graham, my lord.” She flicked a gaze at Cait. “Should I set another place for dinner?”
“Yes, Gretchen. I forgot to tell you that Mrs. Campbell will be joining us as well.”
“Us?” Cait asked breathlessly. Alasdair Graham? Alasdair Graham was joining them for dinner?
Iain stood and became the Iain she knew so well. The weariness was smoothed from his face. His shoulders were back and he was smiling.
But Cait’s heart was thundering. She hadn’t faced her grandfather in over seven years, and she really didn’t want to do so now.
Chapter 10
&nbs
p; Alasdair Graham paused when his gaze landed on Cait. She’d thought she would feel anger, seeing her grandfather for the first time in eight years, but surprisingly, she just wanted to cry with a mixture of emotions. He looked the same, from the long white flowing hair to the piercing blue eyes set in a face weathered by many Highland winters. The same but different. Older. Wearier.
Their last encounter had ended in harsh language, accusations, recriminations, and tears on Cait’s part. She’d not seen him since then.
“Alasdair,” Iain said. “Welcome. May I introduce Cait Campbell?”
“We’ve met,” Alasdair said, his blue gaze locked on hers.
“You have?” Iain asked in surprise.
“Alasdair is my mother’s father,” Cait said.
A moment of uncomfortable silence stretched between them. Cait didn’t look at Iain but suspected he was having trouble coming up with something to say.
“I didn’t realize you were a Graham before you were a Campbell,” he finally said to Cait.
Cait decided there was no reason now to keep anything secret. Not that she’d kept it secret before. It had just never been something she’d wanted to talk about.
“When John and I decided to wed, we went to Grandfather to ask for his blessing,” she said.
Graham’s eyes narrowed in warning. Cait lifted her chin. His opinion hadn’t mattered to her in a long while.
“I see,” Iain said, clearly uncomfortable. He was probably regretting asking her to dinner. She definitely regretted accepting the invitation. If she had known Graham was going to be here, she would have stayed very far away.
“We’d known Graham wouldn’t be pleased but had hoped he would see how much we were in love and give us his blessing. He refused in a most spectacular display of anger.”
“Catherine,” Graham warned.
She turned to Iain. “All because John was a Campbell.”
At the time Cait had argued that love didn’t care about ridiculous feuds, and Graham had said love was blind and stupid and his granddaughter was not marrying a Campbell. She and John had left and married anyway, and she’d been very happy with her choice, although she regretted the rift it had caused with her family.
Campbell's Redemption Page 6
