Page 14 of Love with a Scottish Outlaw
Catherine took a bite of her oatcake. “And I appreciate it.”
She stiffened when she saw Laird Carlyle enter the cave, his impassive gaze focusing immediately on her. She remembered his accusation that she could be lying, and as much as she was offended, the objective part of her understood his concern was for his people.
Laird Carlyle strode toward her, looking intimidatingly large and powerful. He wore a dark green coat over his shirt and belted plaid, with the excess plaid up over his shoulder and held in place with a brooch. A sword hung at his side, a pistol tucked into his belt. His knees were bare above muddy boots, his auburn hair tied back in a messy queue, and his brows lowered in a frown. With his dark, dark eyes, he seemed menacing, and as he came to a stop right in front of her, she had to force herself not to back away.
She wasn’t going to show him any fear. She might be alone in the world, with nowhere to go, but she wasn’t going to cower.
“You are well enough to be out of bed?” he asked.
“I wouldn’t exactly call it a bed.” She was attempting a light, dry tone, but his lip didn’t even quirk with the hint of a smile. “But, yes, I am feeling better. I wish to be of help, to earn my keep.”
“I’ve told the lass she’s our guest,” Maeve said, “but—”
Catherine interrupted. “And that’s kind of you all, but I need to do something.”
Laird Carlyle took a hold of her hand and held it palm up. Her soft skin seemed somehow embarrassing within his big, rough hand. She rose to her feet and tried to pull back, but he didn’t release her, and she faced him over their joined hands.
“I doubt ye’ve worked a day in your life,” he said.
A voice came from a group of men near the entrance. “Unless ’tis on her back.”
Maeve gasped, Catherine inhaled sharply, but before she could defend herself, Laird Carlyle spoke.
“Melville, I will not have Mistress Catherine disrespected,” he said coldly.
One of the men turned on his heel and left the cave, and Catherine thought she remembered that same man glaring at her the day before.
For Laird Carlyle’s ears only, she said, “Didn’t you disrespect me by accusing me of lying?”
“I told ye the truth about my suspicions,” he answered impassively. “Surely ye don’t want things hidden from ye.”
“Like you’re hiding in these caves?” she whispered back, feeling suddenly reckless. Perhaps she was a bold sort of woman.
He arched a dark brow. “Ye know nothing about us.”
“And neither of us knows anything about me. Let us not assume the worst, shall we? I want to help, and that’s all.”
He let her hand go. “Aye, ye can do that, and ‘twill be appreciated.”
“But there are rules in this encampment,” he added, “and ye shall follow them. Ye’ll do whatever Maeve or Mrs. Skinner tells ye to do. And ye’re not to leave this cave.”
She blinked at him. “I beg your pardon?”
“Ye could be a danger to yourself or to us. No one can know we’re here, so if ye don’t know our location, then ye can’t tell anyone.”
“Why can no one know you’re here?” she asked.
“That is none of your concern, mistress. But these people are my concern, and I will protect them however I can.”
He leaned over her, all broad shoulders and threateningly male. She was surprised and confused to feel a flutter of excitement at his nearness. She reminded herself that he was not a suitor, but a man who was trying to intimidate her, and he was succeeding. If she didn’t find a way to ease their concerns, she’d be miserable, as well as trapped in the cave.
And a small part of her, like a tiny child curled in the corner of her mind, was afraid to go outside into the world. She didn’t like that part of herself. “Very well, I accept your terms,” she said coolly. “For now.”
“For now?” he echoed with suspicion.
“I reserve the right to discuss changing these rules later, when you and your clan learn that I don’t mean anyone any harm.”
Don’t cast me out, the little girl in her head pleaded.
