Campbell's Redemption

by Sharon Cullen

  “Where are ye going?”

  “Adair said Palmer is looking for me.”

  She would not cling. She’d said she wanted a relationship in which neither felt obligated. He was chief of one of the biggest clans in the Highlands and, as such, had obligations that would frequently take him away from her. She knew all of this, and yet she wanted to grab on to him and insist that he stay. Let her grandfather Graham deal with Palmer and the damn English, who always ruined everything.

  “I don’t know when I’ll be back,” he said as he searched for his other boot and found it halfway under the bed. She took off the shirt she’d just put on and handed it to him, then pulled the blanket off the bed and wrapped herself in it.

  He hugged her tightly. “I don’t want to leave. You know that, don’t you?”

  “I understand. Ye have things to do.”

  He kissed her and she melted against him, wishing they had just one more hour together. Was that too much to ask? Must the world intrude so soon?

  “I’ll not stand for this much longer. I want to be with you all the time, Cait. Snatching bits and pieces of time is not going to work like I thought it would. But we’ll talk about that later.” He turned to go.

  “Wait,” she said, grabbing for his arm. “I…” She had no idea what she should say or even wanted to say. She didn’t want him to leave, but she also didn’t want the feelings that were racing through her. She wanted this to be like Cormac, a fun thing from which both could walk away and resume their lives until the next time they came together.

  “Be careful,” she finally said.

  He hesitated, then kissed her again, softly this time, cupping her cheek. She leaned in to him, loving the soft feel of his lips on hers.

  “I have to leave.”

  “Go.” She stepped back and watched him walk out of the bedchamber. A moment later, her front door slammed shut and she heard two horses gallop away.

  —

  Wallace MacGregor paid her a visit later that afternoon.

  She hadn’t seen her grandfather MacGregor since the night he’d told her and John to leave his home and never return.

  The past eight years had not been kind to him. His face was lined. His hair, once dark red, was completely white and flowing to his shoulders. He used to be wide and tall and imposing. Now his shoulders were stooped, his eyes cloudy, and his fingers curled. From the stiff way he dismounted, she guessed he was suffering from joint pain but was probably too proud to admit it.

  He looked her over, taking her measure. Wallace MacGregor was stubborn, but so was Cait Campbell.

  “It’s good t’see ye, lass,” he finally said.

  Unfortunately, she couldn’t say the same. MacGregor had been the gruffest of her two grandfathers, pushing her to do better at everything: her learning, her riding, her hunting. Whatever she was interested in, he became interested in, but only because he wanted her to become the best at it. To her recollection, he’d never hugged her, never spoken a soft word to her. And yet, as a young lass, she’d known he loved her.

  “Why are ye here?” If he thought she would go running into his arms, then he was mistaken. He’d been the cruelest when she’d told him she was marrying John, and she would never forget it.

  “I was riding by—”

  She snorted. “Ye would never willingly ride on Campbell land.”

  His expression tightened and his lips thinned. Did he think he could stroll back into her life with lies on his lips and no apology and no reference to their fight so many years ago?

  Like Graham had done, he eyed her cottage critically, and she braced herself for the inevitable.

  “So this is where ye live?”

  “This is where I live.”

  “Ye’re the granddaughter of two great families, and ye live here.”

  “I like it here.” She was getting mighty weary of defending her home. She truly did like her small cottage. She’d made it into a comfortable, safe place. “And I’m no’ the granddaughter of two great families, because I’ve been tossed out of both the Graham and MacGregor clans.”

  His gaze continued to take in her small patch of land, her home, her barn, and the trees beyond. He didn’t react to her last comment; she’d not expected him to.

  “Why are ye here, MacGregor?”

  His gaze snapped back to her. She’d always called him Grandfather, but she figured he’d lost that title a long time ago.

  “I wanted to see ye,” he said. “It’s been a long time.”

  “That’s no’ my fault.”

  He grinned. “So ye’re sayin’ ye’d have come for a visit if I’d asked?”

  “We’ll never know, because ye never asked.”

  A spasm of grief and regret crossed his features. At least that was what she thought she saw. “I’m sorry about yer husband and wee one.”

  She sucked in a breath, surprised at how much those words could still hurt. “Ye missed a great opportunity to know yer great-granddaughter.”

  “She was a Campbell.”

  Cait sighed, angry at herself for thinking he’d changed. He was an old man, set in his ways, with the hatred of the Campbells born in his blood. “She was a MacGregor and a Graham as well.”

  He looked away. His jaw worked as if he was thinking hard. “If ye ever find yer way on MacGregor land, ye’re welcome to stop by. Ye’ll always have a place there.”

  She wondered at this change in him and wished she could believe it, but she was no longer the naive lass she’d been eight years ago, thinking that he would see her love for John and overcome his hatred for the Campbells. She wondered what he would do if he knew that just hours ago, she’d made love to Iain in this very cottage.

  “Even though I’m a Campbell now?” she asked instead.

  He looked at her with milky blue eyes, and she wondered how much time he had left with his vision. She imagined it was already fading fast, but he would never tell anyone. Proud, stubborn man.

  “I know ye’re a Campbell now, lass. I haven’t forgotten.”

  She almost smiled at his acerbic tone. Oh, she remembered that well enough. “Did ye come by because ye missed me?” She couldn’t help poking the beast a little.

  “Aye. I’ve missed ye, Cait. And Graham said ye were living all alone out here. It’s no’ safe for ye. Another soldier was found killed. Thankfully, on Graham land, but too close to Campbell’s boundary for my satisfaction.”

  Good Lord, would this ever stop? The men in her life were driving her mad with their worry, and where did all of them come from? For years the only men in her life had been Black Cat and the patients she treated.

  “Do ye know anything about the killings?” she asked. He was a wily old man, always had been, and she was certain he hadn’t changed. She also wouldn’t put it past him to either know something about the killings or have been a part of them. When MacGregor hated, he hated with everything inside of him, and he very much hated the English.

  “I don’t hold with killing innocent soldiers, even if I hate the English.”

  “But ye’ll burn a Campbell off his land even if he’s innocent.”

  “Ain’t never seen an innocent Campbell. Except ye, of course. And my intention was never to burn Campbell off his land. Just irritate him some.”

  Oh, he’d irritated Iain, all right. “Would ye even tell me if ye knew who was doing the killing?” she asked.

  “More than likely no’. But I’m tellin’ the truth in this.”

  “Forgive me if I don’t believe ye.”

  “I like the cynicism. Ye’re a true MacGregor.”

  “Years ago ye told me I was no longer a MacGregor.”

  “A man can have regrets. I find the older I get, the more regrets I have.”

  “Am I one of yer regrets?” she asked quietly, disturbed that his answer meant so much to her even years later.

  “Ye are, lass. I’ll admit only to ye that I regretted my words the minute ye walked out that door with the bastard John Campbe
ll.”

  “So why didn’t ye call me back?”

  “Pure stubbornness and hatred. Yer grandmother was angry at me till the day she died.”

  A spasm of grief passed through her at the mention of her grandmother, who was as opposite to Wallace MacGregor as a body could get. Cait had wondered, especially over the past eight years, how the woman had put up with the difficult man.

  “She never forgave me.” He blinked, turned his face away, and took a deep breath. “I have to go. Just wanted to see where ye were living these days.” He turned back to her. “I’ve heard rumors ye’ve taken up with the Campbell.”

  “Ye can’t always believe everything ye hear,” she said, neither confirming nor denying the accusation, for it was an accusation.

  He grabbed his horse’s reins but hesitated. “Don’t take up with him. He’s a strange one. A lover of the English if there ever was one. Heard tell that King George hisself wanted to marry one of his whelps off on Campbell.”

  The man would believe any bad rumor about a Campbell but couldn’t see the truth before his eyes. “I heard ye agreed to lay off yer feud with him,” she said, ignoring the last statement because it was so outlandish.

  “For now.” His tone turned hard, and she suppressed a shiver. She knew as well as anyone not to trust him, especially when it came to the Campbells. “Stay away from him, Cait. He’s the worst sort of traitor.”

  “Ye lost the privilege of telling me what to do a long time ago, MacGregor.”

  He pointed his finger at her, and she steeled herself for his wrath but it didn’t come. “Ye’re insolent,” he said with a waver to his voice. “But then ye always were. Ye got that from the Grahams.”

  She pressed her lips together, for this was an old argument. The Grahams blamed her worst traits on the MacGregors, and the MacGregors blamed her worst traits on the Grahams.

  “Did ye come all the way out here to tell me to stay away from Campbell?”

  “Aye. Nay.” He mounted his horse with a little more difficulty than he used to. He looked down on her. “Don’t be like me, lass,” he said softly.

  “Stubborn?”

  “Aye. A stubborn, old, lonely man.”

  Chapter 24

  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 small sgian dubh that 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?”

  “Nay.”

  He looked her up and down. “You’re shaking like a leaf, and you’re breathing as if you’ve run a long distance.” He leaned forward. “I’m not a monster, Mrs. Cait. I’m simply a man who is far, far from home.”

  He let that dangle between them, waiting expectantly for her response. She continued with her silence, because anything she said would damn her.

  He looked around but not at the soldiers behind him. She didn’t know what he expected to see. A band of Highland warriors coming at him? She could only hope.

  He leaned sideways, looking back down the road from which she’d come. “Soldiers far from home have needs, as I’m sure you’re aware, being a widow and all.”

  She stared at the three soldiers in front of her. The injured one was looking off into the distance. The other two, confronted with her glare, turned their gazes away. Coming to her aid would surely land them in trouble with this numpty bastard.

  He was going to rape her, and there was nothing she could do about it. Her sgian dubh was no match against four English soldiers—three if she discounted the injured one. The helplessness that washed over her made her angry. She should be allowed to ride the roads unmolested in her own country. But these bastards had been taking and taking for months and years and saw no difference in taking a plot of land or a woman’s pride.

  That didn’t mean she wouldn’t fight. She would give it her all, no matter how futile it was to fight back. She wouldn’t let them leave her without a few injuries of their own.

  She wanted to reach for the sgian dubh but knew that would be a fatal mistake. She eyed the sword at his side and wondered if she would be able to grab for that.

  Sweat dripped down her back, and she thought of all those times when Iain and Rory and Sutherland and her grandfathers had told her she wasn’t safe out here and how often she’d discounted their warnings as ridiculous. Even after all the death she’d witnessed at the hands of the English, she’d naively believed that she was immune to it.