Page 9 of Love with a Scottish Outlaw
Her smile was faint. “Perhaps, Laird Carlyle, but it was a long day there. I hoped you wouldn’t mind if I shared supper with your clansmen.” She lowered her voice. “And I hoped to hear what you found at the sight of my accident.”
As if on cue, the last four men at her table got up and left, making an exaggerated show of handing their empty plates to the women before leaving the cave.
Catriona’s troubled gaze followed them, as Duncan sat down opposite her. He took a drink of ale from his tankard.
“I did not wish to drive anyone away,” she said quietly.
“They saw that ye wished to speak with me,” he answered. “The way we live, they’ve learned to be discreet.”
She looked around with interest, as if she would question him more about that, but instead, her golden eyes found his and focused with determination. “What did you find, Laird Carlyle? Was the scene as I remembered?”
“’Twas just so, mistress. Two poor souls dead. I buried them, then marked their graves so they could be found again.”
Her expression was solemn. “So you found nothing to indicate who they were?”
Or who she was—the unspoken question was vivid.
“Nothing,” he answered. “Your horses had been injured in the fall. I tracked them and found that none could be saved.”
She inhaled sharply, murmured, “Poor beasts,” before saying, “And my baggage? Surely there were packs or . . . something.”
“Stolen, mistress,” he replied, the lie coming easily.
She gasped. “Someone stole my goods but left the horses to suffer?”
She was quick—he hadn’t even considered that he should have claimed the horses had already been killed. “The thieves might have been in a rush, fearing to be discovered. Many Highlanders are desperate for a way to feed their families.”
Though she nodded, she studied him too closely. “I imagine your people know all about desperation.”
He glowered. “Are ye accusing us of—”
“No, don’t misunderstand me.” Wide-eyed, she put up a hand. “I simply meant that because you live here, in a cave, things cannot be good for your clan.”
“This is not all of my clan.”
“So Maeve told me, but when one doesn’t remember even the most basic facts, it’s difficult to believe one can make judgments about anything.” She smiled when Maeve approached with a platter of salted herring and boiled leeks and cabbage.
“Eat slowly, mistress,” Maeve said. “I still think ye should be havin’ soup.”
“I had it for luncheon, Maeve. I need something more, or my stomach will gnaw through my backbone.”
Maeve nodded and moved away. Catriona glanced around, noticing that several men smirked with disdain. “What did I say?” she asked softly.
“Luncheon. ’Tis for ladies of fine birth. We have dinner at midday.”
“Oh.”
She stared down at her plate, her shoulders lowered as if in defeat. He found himself feeling sorry for her, something he hadn’t expected.
“I understand your people have no cause to think kindly of the wealthy,” she said softly. “I do not know how I came by my fine clothes. For all I know, I could be some man’s mistress.”
Duncan shook his head. “With your fine way with words? More likely some man’s wife.”
Her expression twisted. “If so, I am causing him and the rest of my family much pain.” She looked down at her plate, using the small knife to disturb the cabbage, but not eating.
“Ye wear no ring, mistress. Do not fret about what ye do not know. My patrols will be looking for anyone searching for ye. Be at peace.”
She took a deep breath and let it out, attempting a smile as she cut a piece of fish and ate it. She chewed for a moment, then ate another bite, more quickly.
