Page 7 of Love with a Scottish Outlaw
“Well I had to,” she insisted, “but perhaps I’ll take things slowly.”
“Aye, see that ye do,” Maeve said good-naturedly. “Do ye still like the name?”
“I think I do, thank you. I hope you don’t grow too tired of hearing me offer my thanks for all of this.” She gestured with her hand, encompassing the tray and all of Maeve’s work. “I’m determined to be on my feet soon, and then I can repay you all for your hospitality and do my part.”
“Think nothin’ of it, mistress. Here in Scotland, we always help strangers in need. And ye’re our guest—even if ’tis only in a cave. Now, how do ye feel about breakin’ yer fast?”
Catherine sniffed appreciatively. “It smells good.”
“I thought it best to start ye on somethin’ plain as ye’re healin’, so ’tis only porridge, but I’ve added honey to sweeten it.”
Catherine imagined such an encampment didn’t have many luxuries to spare, and surely honey was one of them. “That was kind of you.”
“Do ye need help sittin’ up?”
Between the two of them, they put an extra pillow behind Catherine, and she was able to sit with the tray across her lap. She found herself starving, and the porridge tasted delicious.
“I cannot believe how lucky I was to be found by your chief,” Catherine said, after finishing her bowl and wishing there was more. “I was so confused I could have wandered right into a river. But Laird Carlyle was kind and gentle with me.”
Maeve sent her a startled look, then smiled. “Glad I am to hear that. There are not many who’d use those words to describe him. I’ve known him since we were bairns together, and beneath that gruff behavior is a good man, one he doesn’t often let show.”
“Why not?”
Maeve hesitated. “His life has not been an easy one.”
Catherine thought it strange that a woman with such a devastating scar could say such a thing, but she was obviously loyal.
“It can’t be easy, if his clan is living in this cave,” Catherine said gently. She was far too curious, even though it was none of her business.
“Not the whole clan, of course,” Maeve said, then winced. “’Tis not my story to tell, mistress.”
“I didn’t mean to pry. I have no memory of my life, no idea where to go or what to do next. Asking questions is the only way I can learn anything.”
Maeve sat down in the room’s only chair. “I cannot imagine such a thing. I’ll answer what I can, but there is little I can say about his lairdship.”
“How many people live in this cave?”
“’Tis not our regular home, but right now over twenty people are stayin’ here.”
“Why?”
Maeve didn’t answer.
“More things I cannot know,” Catherine said, hiding her frustration. “Surely Laird Carlyle can tell me something. Where is he?”
“Gone to bury your men, mistress.”
“I cannot just lie here,” Catherine finally said, fisting the blanket with frustration.
“Ye must, for at least another day. Let me look at yer injury.”
Maeve was efficient as she worked, and as she regarded Catherine’s uncovered wound, she gave a critical nod. “It seems to be healin’ well. ’Twill probably leave no scar at all.”
Maeve applied a healing salve before beginning to wrap a clean bandage around Catherine’s head.
“Would you mind telling me what happened with your scar?” Catherine ventured with hesitation. “Only if you wish to, of course.”
“There is nothin’ much to say.” Maeve continued to work, not meeting her eyes. “I was deliberately burned by a cruel person when I was a child.”
