Page 22 of Love with a Scottish Outlaw
He mumbled something, but she didn’t call him on it.
“Finn, that’s a good strong name,” she said. “Come and taste the porridge. Do you like eggs?”
Another shrug. But she made certain the children shared the meal, and that no one with quick fingers ate more than another. Then she just sat back and listened. The children recounted being tied together in a cart, covered over by a tarpaulin, fed blackened oatcakes over several days, seldom even allowed to stretch their legs except at night, when they’d be locked into an old barn. The other four women listened with sympathy, but it was obvious they’d heard this before, after other rescues. To Catherine, it was fresh and appalling, and her chest ached without the release of tears she couldn’t shed.
Finn said nothing, of course, just ate steadily, his eyes downcast. He stared at the eggs on his plate in curiosity, poking them with his finger before finally eating one, gingerly at first, then with more enthusiasm. Catherine suspected he’d just had his first egg, and her throat grew tight at withholding her emotions. The poor boy.
“What do we do now?” the eldest asked, while the youngest put his thumb in his mouth and looked around with interest.
“I want to go home,” whispered another, his voice wobbly.
“We’re contactin’ yer parents, as Laird Carlyle said,” Maeve responded. “Ye know it may take several days until we can bring ye to them. Until then, ye remain in the cave, helpin’ with chores as best ye can and waitin’ for his lairdship to give permission to go outside.”
“Chores!” the oldest said in dismay.
“Busy minds cannot dwell on things best forgotten,” Maeve said.
That seemed reasonable, Catherine grudgingly admitted to herself. She almost asked about tutoring, but stopped herself. The boys would only be there for a few days—she glanced at Finn—she hoped.
And then she had a sudden horrible thought. What about her? Could she read? Could she remember how to read? She tried to remember words, but in her panic, everything stayed a blank. She only grew more and more fearful, wondering what else she had forgotten she even knew.
“But for now,” Maeve was saying, “there are sticks near the burn. Build yerselves some boats.”
And they were off, even young Finn, though he trailed them and stood back while the other boys flung themselves on the embankment, grabbed the sticks and string, and began to build.
Catherine and the other women prepared even more food for the men, who would be returning for dinner at midday. In between, she watched over the children until they grew tired of boats and turned to marbles. Finn continued to hang back, and soon the other boys didn’t even bother to include him in their games. Catherine almost interceded, until Maeve suggested that boys should learn to solve their own small problems, so they’d eventually be prepared for the big ones.
For the first time, Catherine had some time where she had absolutely nothing to do—and she was in a cave. She glanced at the entrance with longing, seeing light and imagining the sun on her face. She would give almost anything to step outside and simply inhale something fresh that wasn’t smoke and men’s body odor. But she knew that wasn’t going to happen until people began to trust her.
Someone sighed loudly right next to her, and with a start, she turned to see Janet, watching the boys and shaking her head.
“What is it?” Catherine asked.
“I tried to interest the boys in chess with Angus, and they would have none of it. Splashin’ and gettin’ wet and dirty was all they wanted.”
Catherine barely heard anything after “chess.” “You have a chessboard?” she asked excitedly.
Janet eyed her. “Ye remember how to play?”
That stopped Catherine, who closed her eyes and imagined the board and all the pieces. In her mind she saw them move. Opening her eyes, she said excitedly, “Yes! I believe I do. Where is the board?”
Janet found the board on an upturned crate along the rough stone wall. The game pieces were in a plain wooden box on top—no wonder Catherine hadn’t seen it. When she lifted the lid and saw the delicately carved ivory pieces, she gave a little gasp.
“’Tis Himself’s set. Few use it.”
“He has forbidden it?”
“Nay, but . . .’tis from his family’s past, when things were better, aye?”
Catherine nodded. “I understand. No one wants to risk damaging it. I’ll be careful.” And the act of mental exercise might help regain her memories, she realized with excitement. “Do you play?”
Janet shook her head.
“I could teach you.”
But Janet was already glancing at the other women as if she couldn’t wait to escape.
“Go on then, I won’t keep you.”
