Feeling despondent and incredibly foolish now for brandishing a knife she had no intention of using—and resenting him for that fact—Katrine nevertheless forced herself to keep her head high as she stiffly returned the sgian dhu to the table. “I would settle for leeks,” she mumbled, naming the first vegetable that came to mind. That it also happened to be the crop she associated with her home in England struck her as farcical. Her fierce desire to break free of the farming community where she had grown up and to try her fortune in Scotland now seemed totally daft. Yes, she would settle for leeks. If she could ever return home, she would settle for a quiet chair by the hearthside with her tambour frame.
“Leeks?” Raith echoed, interrupting her brooding reflections. He was looking at her curiously, plainly not understanding her obscure thought process. “Very well, I’ll tell Flora.”
He gazed at Katrine for another moment, as if trying to fathom the workings of her mind. Pushing his shoulders from the doorjamb then, he turned and walked out of the kitchen.
Katrine’s hackles rose another notch at being so summarily dismissed. Staring after him, she muttered a word that placed grave doubts upon the legitimacy of Raith’s birth, and as an afterthought included his cousin, Callum, and his clansman Lachlan in the reference. But as she returned to her task, she focused her resentment solely on Raith.
She was taking her anger at him out on the dough when Flora came into the kitchen.
“The laird says you’re to have the same fare as the others,” Flora said matter-of-factly, sounding neither pleased nor disturbed by the new orders.
“How generous of him,” Katrine grumbled, not particularly delighted about being granted the same rights as his other minions. “The insufferable arrogance of that knave!” she added under her breath. “I should have run him through when I had the chance.”
But Flora heard, and her sharp blue eyes narrowed. “We’ve a saying in the Highlands—if ye canna bite, dinna show your teeth.”
“I haven’t tried biting him yet,” Katrine retorted, giving the defenseless bannock another punch, “but I assure you I’ll keep it in mind.”
Only then did she remember her intention to question him about his ward.
Chapter Six
No doubt, Katrine decided, it was because she had raised two younger sisters from an early age that she couldn’t banish the MacLean’s raven-haired ward from her mind. No matter what task occupied her hands, no matter how intently she concentrated on solving her own problem of oversetting Raith’s plans for her and effecting an escape from Cair House, she kept seeing those haunted dark eyes in a pale little face.
That was why Katrine thought her imagination was playing tricks when she felt the child’s presence later that day as she was engaged in sweeping the stone-flagged floor of the servants’ workroom.
But she wasn’t imagining things. When she turned around, she found those solemn eyes watching her. Meggie was standing just inside the doorway, clutching at what seemed to be a ragged doll stuffed with straw. Her face and hair were no less unkempt than the previous day, though she wore a different frock that was marginally less soiled.
Katrine left off sweeping at once. “Hello,” she said with a smile. “Meggie, isn’t it? See, I discovered your name.”
Meggie only stared back.
“I’m honored that you should pay me a visit.” Especially after Flora ordered you away, Katrine added to herself. But she received no response to her greeting. Her smile faded a bit as she surveyed the little girl. The child was so quiet…unnaturally so. But perhaps, like the scullery maid, she spoke only Gaelic.
Remembering the incident that morning in the kitchen, Katrine cast a quick glance at the doorway, half expecting the MacLean laird to be lurking there. But neither he nor his cousin was anywhere in sight, nor could Flora be heard in the kitchen.
“Do you understand English, Meggie? Do you ken Sassenach?”
The child at least understood the word, for she took a step backward, a look of alarm flashing in her young eyes. Katrine realized she had said the wrong thing, and slowly resumed plying her broom. She didn’t want to push the child into accepting her.
Keeping her movements steady and slow, she occasionally darted a look at Meggie, expecting any moment for her to run away. When she didn’t, Katrine began to hum softly under her breath, a song she had learned as a child about two crows discussing the fate of a fallen knight. Seeing Meggie cock her head, like a small, curious bird, she put the words to the song:
As I was walkin’ a’ ma lane,
I heard twa corbies makin’ mane…
A hint—the scarcest hint—of a smile touched the corners of the child’s mouth, and touched Katrine’s heart as well. Her broom went still as she sang the rest of the verses. By the time she ended the last line, Meggie’s dark eyes were shining.
In the silence, Katrine felt her heart grow full. Whether or not they spoke the same language, she had reached the little girl.
“Would you like to sing with me, Meggie? There are a good deal of words to remember, but you look to be a clever girl. The first line is simple. Can you say it after me? ‘As I was walking—’”
“That will be quite enough, Miss Campbell.”
Katrine jumped at the harsh sound of Raith’s voice. The hard edge in his tone, she saw as she whirled to face him, was reflected in the grim set of his features. But the absurd leaping of her pulse had nothing to do with surprise at his sudden presence or fear of his dark expression. It was simply the sight of him that affected her thus.
Such an unsettling realization only added strength to her angry words. “Must you always sneak up on me without warning? You and your cousin both frighten me out of a year’s growth every time you come in here, and my longevity is in question enough as it is.”
But Katrine instantly regretted raising her voice, for Meggie shrank back, inching away from her as she clutched her straw doll tighter. The child didn’t seek out Raith for protection, either, but instead cast a frightened glance up at the unsmiling, silent man, apparently thinking she was to be scolded for disobeying orders. Katrine thought so, as well, and came fiercely to the girl’s defense.
“Meggie didn’t do anything wrong! Indeed, it’s my fault that she’s here. She wanted to leave, but I made her stay and talk to me. If you must punish someone, then it should be me. I’ll eat only oats again if you say so.”
Raith ignored her plea, but gentled his gaze as he focused it on his ward. “Meggie, lass, you shouldn’t be here. Why don’t you go find Flora?”
The child only looked up at him, her eyes huge and haunted again.
“Meggie, go now.”
She gave him one last anguished glance, then slipped by him and fled the room. When she was gone, Raith turned his hard gaze on Katrine. “Keep away from her,” he said in a voice so soft and deadly that she had to control the urge to shiver.
“I wasn’t about to harm her,” Katrine muttered. “I wouldn’t ever hurt a child, no matter what you think me capable of.”
“I don’t want you near her,” Raith repeated in that same lethal tone.
“But why? I think you’re being totally unreasonable. All I did was try to talk to her—”
“She doesn’t talk.”
“You mean she doesn’t speak English? But she seemed to understand—”
“I mean, she doesn’t speak at all.”
“Not to you, no doubt! I wouldn’t speak to you either if I were a little girl and you looked at me so fiercely. No doubt she’s frightened of you. How can you treat the poor child so wretchedly? She’s your ward, she’s your responsibility. You should take better care of her.”
Raith clenched his teeth, the muscles in his jaw working grimly, as if he were fighting for patience. “You’re mistaken on all counts, Miss Campbell. I don’t mistreat my ward, and she can’t speak to anyone, including me.” He paused, looking at her with contempt. “You have the Sassenach soldiers to thank for her condition.”
; The caustic derision in his tone grated on Katrine’s nerves. “Oh, of course, blame it on the Sassenachs! And just what are they supposed to have done to a harmless child?”
When he spoke, his barely audible tone was all the more chilling for its lack of volume. “They raped and killed her mother while she watched.”
Katrine stared at him in shocked silence, her mouth half-open. Shamed by her earlier righteousness, she swallowed hard, her conscience flaying her.
“How—” she began, and found that her voice was a mere croak. She stopped and swallowed again. “How could such a thing be allowed to happen?”
The stony chill of Raith’s dark stare penetrated her like ice. “Allowed? Pray tell, where the devil have you been, Miss Campbell? Hiding your head under the covers? Rape and murder are commonplace in the Highlands—the English way of meting out justice. Since the Forty-five, those of us loyal to the true king have been treated like animals.”
His face was like granite, but the bitterness in his tone vibrated in the air between them. It was the look in Raith’s eyes, though, that chilled her blood. This time Katrine did shiver. Even in her sheltered English world, she hadn’t been shielded from the talk of Highland pillage, but she had thought the atrocities exaggerated. It had been hard to reconcile accounts of wounded men put to the sword, of rebels burned alive in their huts, of women and children attacked and savaged, with the beauty she remembered. But perhaps she hadn’t wanted to believe such horrors.
Yet Meggie was too young to have been caught up in the retaliations after the Forty-five. Indeed, she wouldn’t even have been born.
“When did it happen?” Katrine asked, remembering the tormented look in the child’s eyes and wishing to understand.
“You want the details? What morbid curiosity you have.”
Katrine stiffened at his tone. He obviously didn’t intend to explain a thing to her, a Sassenach Campbell. “No,” she said quietly, “it isn’t morbid curiosity. I only wanted to know more about Meggie.”
Raith’s dark eyes narrowed at her. “It doesn’t concern you. She doesn’t concern you. I want you to keep away from her.”
She might have retorted that she only wanted to help, but her temper had already gotten the best of her twice that day. Recalling her earlier thoughtless remark, Katrine regarded him impotently. “I’m sorry…for my thoughtlessness. I spoke without thinking.”
“You do that rather frequently, don’t you? Perhaps you should try exercising the broom awhile instead of your tongue.”
Some of her contriteness faded under Raith’s sarcasm. Turning her back on him, she took up the broom and began sweeping with grimly determined strokes.
She expected him to leave then; indeed she hoped he would. But a moment later she could still feel his dark gaze boring into her. She couldn’t fathom why he was still there, or even what had brought him to the kitchens, unless it was merely to torment her.
Her anger renewed at the thought, Katrine increased the violence of her stroke, sweeping so furiously that she stirred up a cloud of dust. It was with grave satisfaction that she sent the cloud whirling in the direction of the laird of Ardgour. She hoped he choked on it.
But it didn’t have the desired effect. Raith stepped back a pace, safely out of range. Yet he still didn’t go away. “This morning,” he said, his tone impassive once more, “you mentioned wanting to leave the house. I’ve decided to grant your request. There’s really no reason to keep you incarcerated here every minute.”
Afraid to credit what she’d heard, Katrine nevertheless felt hope flare within her. Yet she tried to keep her eagerness from showing in her expression, even as her thoughts rushed ahead. How much greater would her chances be for escape if she were no longer imprisoned in the house?
“Indeed, I don’t see why you can’t have the run of the place,” Raith continued. “You can’t escape. I’ve given instructions that you’re to be watched every moment. You won’t be able to visit the privy without a dozen pairs of eyes on you.”
It was fortunate then, Katrine thought resentfully, that she wasn’t required to visit the privy; her garret bedchamber was supplied with a chamber pot. But no lady ever spoke of such things.
Biting her tongue, Katrine cast a rancorous glare at Raith. Had he enjoyed raising her hopes, only to shatter them? Of course he wouldn’t have made such an offer if he thought she had the slightest chance of escape.
More than anything, she wanted to throw his magnanimous offer back in his face. But she would only be spiting herself; after being cooped up in his house for days on end, she was desperate to be allowed out of doors, even if she couldn’t escape. She would be drawn and quartered, though, before she thanked him for the privilege.
“Your generosity is overwhelming,” Katrine retorted in as scathing a tone as she could muster. She left off sweeping with her broom and swept him a deep curtsy instead.
The falseness of her gratitude must have pricked his own temper, for his anger showed in the way his mouth tightened. “One day, Miss Campbell…” Raith murmured under his breath.
He didn’t finish the threat, but she had little doubt it was a serious warning. In response, Katrine lifted her chin, meeting his gaze defiantly, staring back at the smoldering eyes that were hooded and dangerous. She had no idea what he was thinking, but it wasn’t pleasant, of that she was certain.
She was determined not to look away first, to maintain her composure under his fierce regard. Katrine was beginning to feel highly uncomfortable, when, without another word, Raith turned away.
She stood there after he’d left the room, listening to his retreating footsteps, her spirits totally deflated. She had known she was being watched by his household, but his revelation just now about the orders he’d given had further dashed her hopes of eventually stealing a horse and making good her escape. And, although she was loath to admit it, it wounded her that he considered her capable of harming his young ward. How could he think so little of her, even if he considered her a hated Sassenach?
Yet what did she care what he thought of her? She was a fool to allow the opinion of an unscrupulous villain to mean a thing to her.
So chiding herself, Katrine resumed her sweeping with renewed vigor, determined to put any thought of Raith MacLean out of her mind. Yet she was only partially successful, for every time she remembered Meggie’s tragic tale, she recalled the contemptuous way Raith had looked at her, the accusation in his eyes, as if he blamed her for what the English soldiers had done.
Katrine couldn’t help brooding over the child, either, and she tackled the subject the moment she next saw Flora.
“Is it true that Meggie won’t speak?”
“Aye, the poor wee mite,” Flora answered with a grim nod.
But that was all the dour woman would say about Meggie. Flora’s mouth shut tighter than a clam’s when Katrine asked what had happened.
It was only when Katrine lost patience and made a disparaging remark about the laird’s ability to protect his dependents that Flora found her voice. “We’ve a saying in the Highlands, Mistress Campbell—ne’er speak ill o’ them whose bread ye eat.”
Flora, Katrine was learning, tended to punctuate her speech with proverbs, and this particular one was well-timed; Katrine had just helped her plate to the first decent meal she’d had since her abduction. Glancing down at the savory meat pie and steaming colcannon, Katrine considered the alternative and decided to still her tongue.
She was glad she did for, on a full stomach, it was easier to be optimistic about her future. Her spirits rose steadily after supper, and by late that evening, as Katrine warily climbed the service stairs to her garret chamber, she had regained much of her former confidence.
She would manage to elude her captors somehow; it would merely be more difficult than she had first hoped. She would keep a sharp eye out for her chance, and if she failed to gain her freedom on her own, her uncle was sure to rescue her. In the meantime she would make the most of her newly granted per
mission to leave the house. Tomorrow she would explore her surroundings and get the lay of the land.
Katrine began forming her plans as she donned her shortened nightshift and braided her hair for the night, and by the time she crawled under the covers, she was actually looking forward to the morrow. Her last thought as her eyes closed in slumber was the hope that it wouldn’t rain.
She dreamed of Highland sunrises, and when she started awake just before dawn, anticipation was building in her veins, both at the prospect of temporary freedom and at the chance to experience the birth of a new Highland day. Fairly leaping from her pallet, Katrine went to the small window in one corner of the room. The only redeeming circumstance of her captivity was the fact that her window looked out at the mountains behind the house.
She hadn’t missed the sunrise, Katrine noted with exultation. The towering peaks and crags were still wreathed in darkness, while ribbons of pale crimson were just now streaking the sky. Excitement filled her, overpowering her previous reflections about escape.
Katrine stood there for another instant, watching the night shadows fade, then hurried to wash and dress. Her fingers tugged at her hair, freeing the wild tresses, but she was too impatient to bother with combing it out, and so left the fiery mass to fall down her back in disarray. Not wanting her dilapidated slippers to be ruined further by the dewy grass, she went barefoot as she had when she was a child, as Scottish lasses all over the Highlands usually did.
Aware of the need for silence, she made no noise as she crept down the back stairs. For even though she had the laird’s permission to leave the house, she was afraid she’d be prevented from exploring the glen if she roused the household.
It seemed, however, that her fear was unfounded, for the house was quiet. Only the scullery maid was up before her, Katrine discovered as she entered the kitchen.
“I mean to go outside for a moment,” she explained, though knowing she wouldn’t be understood. “I won’t be long.” The girl gave her a shy smile but made no move to stop her as she slipped out the door.
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