“The consensus is that MacGregor is behind the burning of yer fields,” Adair said.
Iain had suspected as much the night of the fire but had yet to prove it. “Without proof, there’s nothing I can do.”
“These attacks need to stop.”
“I agree, but MacGregor is an old Highlander who holds a grudge better than anyone I know. He refuses to listen to reason. He won’t even allow me on his land to speak to him.”
“We can’t fight two wars on our land,” Adair said. The English were a worse enemy. MacGregor was just a pesky fly that wouldn’t go away. Although the consequences of this last stunt would be felt until the end of next summer. “What about the sunken ship?” Adair asked.
Iain paced to the window, too wound up to sit for long. “It’s what it was reported to be. An unexpected squall that slammed the ship into the rocks.”
“No’ MacGregor, then.”
“Not unless the man can control the weather.”
“I’m sure he’d take responsibility for it if he could.”
Iain looked out the window at the green lawn that sloped gently downward into the Highland woods. In a lot of ways, he was a lucky man. He had this vast house and more wealth than he could count. He held titles in England, thanks to his grandmother’s side of the family, and Scotland, thanks to his father’s family. He was respected among the English, if barely tolerated among his fellow Scots.
For a long while, that had been enough. He knew he was fighting a silent war with England, and that energized him and gave him purpose. Everything he did, every move he made, was carefully thought out to provide the best outcome for Scotland. It was a chess game played in real life, and he thrived on it. While it bothered him that his fellow chiefs and even his fellow clansmen held him in disdain, he knew in his heart that he was doing what was right for Scotland.
But now it wasn’t enough. He felt hollow and lonely inside, and he couldn’t pinpoint why or when this feeling had started. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling, and while he wished it would go away, he knew that something fundamental had changed inside of him and the loneliness would be with him forever now.
He hadn’t seen Cait in three days. For him that was a lifetime. Every day he struggled with himself, wanting to go to her. Wanting to check on her. Wanting to speak to her and wanting to make love to her. He’d had women—mistresses, mostly. There’d been two who had come close to being his marchioness, for political reasons only, and both relationships had fallen through when the women were no longer needed for his ambitions. It was heartless, but Iain was known for being cold. Especially when it came to relationships.
However, after his afternoon with Cait, everything changed. He was like a lovelorn lad, and it irritated him that she was all he thought about, to the point that his work against the English was suffering.
He’d thought a lot about his conversation with Cait, playing it over and over in his mind. She’d pushed him out, forced him to leave with no satisfaction to the roiling emotions. In the end, he couldn’t dispute anything that she’d said. She was right. He’d thought that making love to her would give him leave to tell her what to do, to command her in some way. Unfortunately, that was not how Cait thought, and it confused him. He could easily commiserate with Halloway. In short, he was hurt that his feelings weren’t reciprocated, and it made him feel like a fool. He’d walked away because he’d been embarrassed, and he didn’t know what else to do because arguing with her didn’t work.
“Campbell?”
He turned from the window to find Adair watching him. “Ye were lost in yer thoughts there.”
Iain grunted and Adair laughed. “I find nothing funny,” Iain said stiffly, but the reprimand only made Adair laugh harder.
“I find it very funny. So the mighty Iain Campbell has fallen.”
Iain raised a brow, but Adair couldn’t stop chuckling.
“I wondered if you would find a woman who would crack that stone heart of yers.”
“I don’t have a stone heart,” Iain said, offended.
“Sure ye do. Everyone knows it. All the women speculate about who will steal it. Rumor has it that the most powerful wives of the English nobility have their eyes on ye as a perspective husband to their daughters.”
Iain’s other brow went up. “And how do you know all of this?” Adair stopped laughing and struggled to keep a straight face. Iain wasn’t amused, but he was curious. “People talk about me?” He found it appalling that he’d been discussed at balls and in sitting rooms.
“All the time.”
“Why?”
“Well…” Adair seemed nonplussed. “There are some lasses who find ye pleasing to the eye, I guess. And ye’re wealthy. And ye have those titles.”
All of that was reasonable. Men wanted to ally themselves with other powerful men, and one way to do that was through their daughters’ marriages. Eventually, Iain would have to wed for an heir, but sometimes he thought that the Campbell wealth, titles, and reputation were more of a curse than an inheritance. Mainly, it was the reputation that he wanted to obliterate. But how could he do that when he perpetrated the rumors and groomed the reputation so he could gain the trust of the English and therefore use that trust against them?
“That’s ridiculous,” he said. “Don’t they have more important things to discuss?”
“Ye’re their chief. It’s a matter of great importance.”
Iain made a noise that sounded like “psshh” before turning back to the window.
Cait.
He would bet his fortune that none of these clucking hens had even considered Cait as his marchioness.
Hell, he’d never considered Cait.
Cait.
The woman who had stolen all of his thoughts for the past three days. She was the only woman who made him feel alive and whole and not as empty as he’d been feeling the past few weeks.
“So, Cait Campbell,” Adair said, still sounding amused.
Iain’s back teeth came together. “Does everyone have to speculate about my life? Even you, Adair?”
“Even me.”
This was no laughing matter. Iain was in some serious turmoil and his friend thought it humorous. “There is nothing between Cait Campbell and me.”
“Is that the story ye’re staying with?”
“Shut your gob, Adair.”
Adair laughed. “Ye’re in bad shape, mate.”
Iain rubbed his forehead and wished Adair far away. “Can we please end this conversation? I have work to do.”
“I believe I owe Cait Campbell a visit,” Adair said.
Iain spun around and glared at Adair before he thought better of it. “What for?”
“For fixing me up the way she did. I owe her a bit of gratitude. What should I bring to her as a thank-ye offering?” There was a twinkle in Adair’s eyes, but Iain didn’t know if he was jesting or serious, and he didn’t like the thought of Adair visiting Cait.
“I’m certain she doesn’t expect a gift for healing you.”
Adair shrugged. “Maybe I want to give her something. Maybe I’ll ask if I can court her.”
Iain growled and Adair laughed.
“Are ye certain ye can deny yer feelings for her?” his friend asked.
Iain turned back to the window; he didn’t want Adair to see the truth. He was normally very good at hiding his emotions, but Cait had him all out of sorts. Could he deny his feelings for her? Did he want to?
“She’s not what I need,” he said.
“I disagree.” This time Adair was serious.
“She likes her simple life. My life is complicated even for me.”
“She might surprise ye.”
Iain shook his head and changed the subject. “What are we to do about MacGregor?”
Adair hesitated, and Iain prayed the man had taken the hint. “I think ye need to call Graham into this.”
Iain looked at Adair over his shoulder. “Graham?”
“He’s the most powerful Highland chief, and if ye meet MacGregor on neutral land, he might be more amendable to speaking to ye. Graham can help.”
Unfortunately, Graham was not speaking to Iain at the moment. He believed Iain a traitor who wanted to bring Scotland closer to the English ways. However…“It’s a good plan,” he admitted. Graham was the only one whom MacGregor would accept as a mediator, and Graham was the only way Iain would have a chance of talking to MacGregor.
“I know.” Adair grinned, and Iain couldn’t help but grin as well.
“Graham is not one of my best allies,” Iain said. “I’m afraid he’ll not be amenable to helping us.”
“What if I speak to him and tell him you are willing to end this feud with MacGregor?”
“Me end it? I’ve had nothing to do with it. It’s all been on MacGregor’s end.”
“Let me try,” Adair said. “I can at least find out if he’s agreeable to leading the discussion.”
“Go then. I want this ridiculous feud to end so I can concentrate on more important things.” The worst Graham could say was no.
Cait was mucking out the stable when Rory came for a visit. She was happy to see her cousin, although he seemed a little off as he followed her around while she did her chores. They talked of mundane things. He updated her on some of her Graham clansmen. As pleased as she was to hear the stories, they made her sad that she’d missed out on so much.
“Ye should move back home,” Rory said into a silence that had stretched for over fifteen minutes.
Startled, she straightened and stretched her back. “I am home.”
“Ye know what I mean.”
“No, I don’t. This is my home. If ye’re speaking of Graham’s, that hasn’t been home for a long time. Grandfather made it perfectly clear when I left that I was no longer welcome there.”
Rory waved his hand in the air. “That was years ago. He’s changed. I think he regrets his rash words.”
“Maybe his regret comes too late.” She was irritated at Rory for bringing up the subject and at her grandfather, who felt remorse only now, eight years later.
“So ye will act like him and stand firm to yer misled convictions?”
“My convictions are no’ misled,” she said stubbornly, realizing she sounded more like her grandfather than she wanted to.
Rory smirked.
“Dún do bhéal, Rory Graham.”
“I will no’ shut my mouth, because ye know I’m right.”
“No, ye’re no’.”
“Aye, I am.”
The both grinned, then laughed. This was exactly how they’d behaved when they were ten years old, and it felt good to fall back into that pattern. Good and comforting.
“Why do ye want me to move back?” She leaned on her rake and studied her cousin. He had grown into a handsome man, and she wondered if he had girls trailing him; it was surprising that he wasn’t wed yet. She could see that he would like to stay single for as long as possible. Rory enjoyed having fun and being with his mates.
“Don’t ye want to be with yer clansmen?”
“The Campbells are my clansmen now.”
“Only because ye married into the clan. Ye’re no’ married to a Campbell any longer. Ye can be a Graham again.”
She winced at Rory’s reckless words. He’d never been known for his silver tongue, but what he’d said hurt.
“It’s no’ as easy as announcing I’m now a Graham, or a Campbell, or whoever I want to be. There’s more to it than that.”
“Like what? Ye owe Campbell nothing.”
She wasn’t certain of that, but she wasn’t about to explain her complicated relationship with Campbell to Rory. He wouldn’t understand because she barely understood herself. She’d made Campbell leave the other day because she hadn’t liked his proprietary inclinations, but she’d also needed time to think. However, the time had passed and no amount of thinking had brought her any closer to a conclusion.
The truth was, Campbell, and her feelings for Campbell, confused her. She missed him. Not his overbearing ways but him. Talking to him, eating her afternoon lunch with him, arguing with him. She missed it all.
“Campbell is meeting with Graham and MacGregor tomorrow,” Rory said.
Cait straightened so quickly she almost dropped the rake. “What did ye say?”
“Ye didn’t know?”
“Nay. Why are Campbell, Graham, and MacGregor meeting?” Good Lord, what the hell was this all about? Had her grandfathers been in the same room since her parents’ deaths? She highly doubted it. Why now, and why with Campbell?
Rory shrugged as if her world hadn’t just tilted. “Campbell called the meeting. I think he wants to discuss the recent burning of his land.”
“With Graham, too?” She could understand why he would want to speak to MacGregor, but why Graham?
“MacGregor refused to meet with him. He’s hoping Graham will mediate.”
Ah, that made much more sense, but the uneasy feeling inside of her continued to grow. She’d never kept it a secret that she was the product of the Grahams and MacGregors, but she’d also never talked about it. She wondered how many people remembered. Maybe a few of John’s friends, like Ina and her husband, Kevin, but not many. The story was an old one, quickly forgotten in the face of the more disturbing English presence.
Iain would have been very young when her parents had wed, just a few years old. Chances were he had no idea that Graham’s daughter and MacGregor’s son had wed, and even if he had known, it would make no difference to him.
Would her grandfathers bring it up during their meeting? She didn’t see why, but then stranger things had happened.