MacLean's Passion: A Highland Pride Novel (27 page)

by Sharon Cullen

BORDER OF CAMPBELL AND SUTHERLAND LAND

JULY 1746

Cait Campbell calmly stood outside her front door with her hands folded in front of her, her heart thundering as heavily and quickly as the hoofbeats pounding their way toward her.

She should have known. She should have paid attention to the warnings in her mind that something strange was about to befall her this night.

Black Cat wound her way between Cait’s legs, peeking out from beneath her skirts to check the dark lane leading to the cottage. Even Black Cat had been acting oddly all day. Another warning Cait had not heeded and should have.

She shot a quick glance over her shoulder. Everything surrounding her small cottage appeared to be normal. She’d forgotten to douse the light that shone in the window. She had to hope that whoever was approaching didn’t notice. Although most people thought her odd enough not to question it.

’Twas a good cover to hide behind—her peculiarities.

Her heart picked up as the hoofbeats drummed ever closer. Two horses appeared, running as though the demons of hell were chasing them.

She hoped the fugitives hiding under the floor of her home would remain quiet. It was just her luck that Sutherland had brought them into her care and left not a half hour ago.

The horses rounded the turn and her shoulders dipped in relief. At least they weren’t the dreaded English soldiers.

Highland warriors bowed low over the necks of their straining mounts. One wore the kilt of the Campbells, the muted blue and green flapping in the wind, his long hair flying behind him. The other…

Cait drew in a sharp breath and released an even sharper curse. The other wore a long leather coat that waved behind him, revealing buff breeches and a white shirt. His hair was cut short, in the style of the hated English.

Iain Campbell, leader of her clan, the most despised Scotsman in Scotland.

Cait had to force herself not to look back at her cottage again. She squared her shoulders, clutched her fingers together, and appeared serene despite the fact that her heart was hammering.

The horses drew to an abrupt halt in front of her, tossing their heavy heads and snorting their displeasure.

Iain Campbell slid off his mount and tossed the reins over the saddle. Cait flicked a glance at his partner who appeared to be pale as the moonlight, sweat beading his brow as he labored to breathe.

Iain helped his companion off his horse and Cait finally recognized him. Adair Campbell, commander of the Campbell warriors. And apparently hurt.

They hobbled over to Cait, Adair dragging his feet.

“We need your help,” Iain said in the clipped tones that bordered on lowland Scots and northern English.

Adair was leaning forward, his arm protecting his middle.

“What happened?” she asked, but she could see by the blood staining his shirt that he’d either been shot or stabbed.

She did not want to let these two into her home, but what choice did she have? She was the local healer and, as such, her door was always open to those in need.

But why tonight? Why not tomorrow night when the fugitives would be gone?

“Follow me,” she said as she turned on her heels.

She didn’t bother waiting to see if they followed. As she walked through her small sitting room, she quickly glanced at the corner. Luckily the shadows concealed the small, padded chair that covered a secret door, under which seven Scotsmen were avoiding the blades of the English.

Tomorrow, Sutherland’s men would shepherd them to their next hiding place, where they’d wait until the dead of night for a ship to take them away to Canada, a place safe from the brutality of the English. There, they would have a second chance. She thanked God no children were with them. Children were unpredictable, crying at the least little thing. She’d not sheltered many, but there’d been a few. That was always the most heartbreaking. The children who knew they were in danger but had no idea why.

Iain paused in the doorway, Adair’s arm draped over his shoulder. Dark, assessing eyes took in the small cottage. Cait turned her back to them and reached into a cabinet for supplies. She didn’t care what Campbell thought of her home. It wasn’t as grand as the one she and John had lived in while John was Campbell’s commander. He would be noting that for sure and she steeled herself against the bitterness that swept through her.

Not because she was living in a far humbler abode, but because John wasn’t with her.

She pushed away the wave of grief that came so suddenly. It was always like this when she was forced to face Campbell. The hurt and anger returned even though it had been four years since he had caused her John’s death.

She waved to one of two straight-backed chairs crowding her small kitchen. “Put him there.”

There was much shuffling behind her and finally a grunt of pain as Adair sat down heavily.

He slumped forward, his arm still hugging his middle, Campbell behind him with a hand on his shoulder.

Cait hesitated. This looked far worse than she had first thought.

“What happened?” she asked again.

“We were attacked by a band of English soldiers while patrolling the perimeter.”

“Dagger, dirk, bayonet, or pistol ball?”

“Pistol ball.”

Cait silently cursed. This would be no quick fix and might require that he stay the night.

She knelt on the ground before Adair. He was a big man. Muscular. A warrior. Just like her John had been. But Adair was dark to John’s light.

He’d been the one promoted into John’s position after his death, so she’d not had much contact with him. She didn’t blame Adair for her husband’s death, but she did blame Campbell, and where Campbell went, Adair followed, so she could not help but feel a pang of bitterness toward Adair.

He was looking at her with surprisingly bright blue eyes. His face had lost all color and drops of sweat dotted his brow. He was in quite a bit of pain and the healer in her softened at the suffering.

“Ye’ll have to pull yer arm away,” she said.

He grit his teeth and moved his arm.

Cait had seen a lot of wounds in her time. This was not one of the worst she’d encountered but neither was it minor. The midsection of his shirt was soaked in bright red blood, as was the arm that had been protecting the wound.

“I’ll need more light.”

A lantern appeared at her side and she lifted it to get a better look.

“The shirt is stuck to the wound,” she said, speaking to no one in particular.

She glanced up at Campbell, who was watching her with those dark eyes. His expression never revealed any emotion, which Cait had always found disconcerting. John had said that Campbell buried his emotions. Cait wasn’t certain the man possessed any.

“I’ll need water. Warm is best. There’s a ewer on the counter. Place it by the fire to warm it.”

Campbell immediately did as she instructed.

“We’ll need to move ye,” she said to Adair. “Ye’ll need to be lying down for this.”

Adair tried to rise and fell back onto the chair with a groan.

Cait shoved her shoulder under his arm, taking his hand and draping it across her back.

“On the count of three,” she said. “We’ll rise. One…Two…” Adair tensed. “Three.”

She braced herself and took Adair’s full weight, rising as slowly as he needed her to rise. He grunted, but she got him standing, although he was swaying dangerously.

“Ye’ll need a bed. The best one is up the stairs. Can ye manage it?”

“Aye.”

“Let’s go then.” She’d patched up enough warriors to know not to baby them. Besides, it wasn’t in her nature to baby her patients. Being honest about what she was doing and direct in her approach worked much better.

They made it two steps before Adair’s legs gave out. She caught him, tucked her shoulder more snuggly under his arm, and propelled him forward.

After another two steps, Campbell was on Adair’s other side, taking half his weight. In spite of herself, Cait was glad for his help.

“We’re going upstairs,” she said. Hopes of moving them out quickly were long gone. But she still needed to get clear of these warriors so that the fugitives beneath their feet could be moved to safety.

Her plan was to set Adair to rights and swiftly send Campbell on his merry way. Any noise Adair might hear could be chalked up to delirium from a fever or the pain draughts she was about to give him.

With Campbell’s help they made it up the stairs and to her bedroom, where they carefully laid Adair on his back. Cait pulled up his shirt, mindful of the spots that had fused to the wound.

“I’ll fetch the water,” Campbell said as he disappeared back down the steps.

The wound wasn’t as bad as she thought. The ball was embedded but close to the surface.

Campbell reappeared with the water and Cait started to cleanse the wound.

“There are cups in the cupboard. On the top shelf is a bottle of whiskey and there’s a bowl of honey next to it. I will need all of those.”

When Campbell didn’t move, she looked up to find him watching her, one corner of his lips slightly crooked up.

“What are ye waiting for?” she asked, turning back to Adair’s wound.

Campbell disappeared again and Cait bit back a grin. No doubt Cambell wasn’t used to being commanded, but he was taking it admirably well.

John would have shaken his head at her mettle, but he would have grinned along with her.

She pushed the thought of John away and concentrated on Adair. The ball had missed the important organs.

“Ye won’t be wielding a sword for a bit,” she said, glancing up to see if he was awake. He was watching her, his eyes glazed.

Campbell returned with everything she had ordered him to fetch.

“Pour the whiskey and make him drink it.”

“Nae,” Adair said.

“Aye,” Cait said. “Ye’ll do as I say. This will be painful and ye’ll want it.”

“Nae.” Adair turned his stare to Campbell.

Cait pursed her lips and shook her head. Damn foolish man thinking Campbell knew better than she did.

“You should do as she says,” Campbell said.

He managed to get Adair to drink enough that he was snoring by the time Cait started fishing for the ball in his gut.

“His tolerance is normally much better than that,” Campbell said.

“The loss of blood helps. Bring the light this way.”

Immediately Campbell raised the light and Cait had hold of the ball after only two tries.

Campbell continued to hold the light without complaint as she cleansed the wound with the honey and stitched it closed.

“All done.” She sat back and ran the back of her hand across her brow.

“You did well,” Campbell said.

She stood and stretched her aching back. “He’ll rest comfortably for a few hours. Ye can go home now.”

Even she had to cringe at the harshness of her words. Other than saying, “I do no’ want ye here,” she couldn’t have been more direct.

“I’ll sit with him through the night. You get some rest.”

“Nae.” She couldn’t have Campbell staying the night. She didn’t even want Adair here, but she had no choice in that.

“I can’t have you nursing my commander all alone.”

She turned to face him. “Ye need to leave, Iain. I do no’ want ye here.”

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