“You wouldn’t think the getting of my children so onerous,” Callum said, interrupting her wishful thoughts. “In fact, I could say without fear of contradiction that you’d be missing a great pleasure.”
Katrine raised her eyes to the ceiling, imploring the heavens for patience. The man’s persistence was incredible—as was his self-esteem. In exasperation, she glanced over her shoulder at Callum, seeing devils dancing in his dark eyes.
“I know I’m being immodest,” he said with an disarming grin. “It’s part of my boyish charm.”
Katrine gave him a quelling stare, which had no effect on Callum whatsoever. In spite of her present sour mood, though, she wasn’t immune to his roguish humor or his masculine appeal. Indeed, Katrine felt her ill-humor fading under the warmth of his rascally grin. She almost—almost—smiled back at him, before out of the corner of her eye she caught the flash of movement outside the laundry room window.
The window looked out on the stable yard, commanding a view of the mews. Glancing across the yard, Katrine glimpsed a small knot of men and recognized the bright red thatch of Lachlan’s hair. If not for the color, she would not have known him, for like Raith he was dressed in high fashion, wearing a frock coat and leather riding breeches. At the moment Lachlan was holding the reins of his own chestnut and the black horse that Raith had ridden the night of her abduction.
And then Katrine saw the laird himself. He had left the manor by way of the rear door, and was striding across the yard, looking tall and commandin
g, his hard handsome face set, an aura of impenetrability about him.
She wondered if he intended to lead his clan on another raid, but from the men’s elegant attire, it appeared they were engaged in nothing more nefarious than paying a morning call on a neighbor. Katrine was about to ask Callum where the MacLeans were going when he volunteered something of an explanation himself.
“Raith has to make a short journey,” he said mildly. “My estimable cousin has business to attend to.”
Hope abruptly soared within her. With her chief captor away, it might be her best chance of escape. Perhaps she should try....
Callum must have been reading her thoughts, however, for he eyed her with amusement and shook his head. “Put the notion right out of that bonny head of yours, Katie. Raith left orders for you to be carefully watched. You wouldn’t make a mile before you were found and brought back.”
Reluctantly Katrine reconsidered. It would be humiliating to attempt an escape and be dragged back by her hair. Just then she again glimpsed a flash of movement close to the window. Taking a step closer, she saw a small figure dart out from the shadow of the kitchen buildings and come to an abrupt halt a few paces from Raith. It was the young raven-haired girl she had seen earlier that day, Katrine realized.
When Raith saw the child, he, too, came to a halt, at the same time smiling down at her, a smile so sweet and pure that Katrine caught her breath. He said something that she couldn’t make out, but the child hesitated only an instant before launching herself into his arms. Raith caught up the young girl and held her close as he proceeded on his way, talking to her as she wrapped her small arms around his neck, seeming oblivious of what her grimy condition was doing to his fine coat and white neckcloth.
When he reached his group of men, he set her down and fondly squeezed her thin shoulder before she disappeared like a frightened rabbit into the stables. His gaze followed her thoughtfully, then he mounted his horse and rode out of the yard with the others.
Watching from the window, Katrine turned to Callum with a questioning look. “Who is that child?”
His mischievous grin had faded, and now he shrugged. “Her name is Margaret, but we call her Meggie.”
“Yes, but to whom does she belong? Who are her parents?”
“Her parents are dead.”
“Then who cares for her? From the state of her clothing, I’d say no one.”
Callum gave another shrug of his broad shoulders. “I suppose Flora keeps an eye out, but no one watches her every minute, not that I’m aware.”
“But surely someone is responsible for the child!”
He raised an eyebrow at Katrine’s obvious concern. “Well, of course. The laird is responsible for all the members of his clan, when you come down to it. But in this case, Raith is her legal guardian. Meggie is his ward.”
Katrine stared thoughtfully. She had wondered precisely what the relationship was, especially after seeing the tender smile Raith had given the child. “Well then,” Katrine advised, “he ought to see that she receives better care. She’s too young to be roaming around unattended.”
“Why don’t you take that up with Raith?”
“Perhaps I will.” Along with numerous other grievances, she added silently.
She turned back to her wash, her thoughts so occupied with the fate of little Meggie that she scarcely noticed Callum’s wry comment. “I think I’ve just been dismissed.” When she didn’t reply, he shook his head. “And in favor of a bairn. How defeating.”
But Katrine only nodded when Callum took his leave of her with an ironic bow, for she was indeed wondering how Raith MacLean could have so little compassion that he would allow his ward to grow up wild and unsupervised.
The next time she saw him, however, the circumstances were such that she forgot entirely to question him about the child. It was the following day, and Katrine was occupied in the highceilinged kitchen, shaping bannocks from the dough that Flora had mixed. Beside her, the scullery maid was chopping vegetables.
When Flora stepped out for a moment, Katrine tried unsuccessfully to engage the young servant in conversation. She had the intention of befriending the girl, for of all the MacLean kin, the little scullion seemed most susceptible to a bribe. If she could be persuaded to carry a message to Uncle Colin, or smuggle a note to the English soldiers at the nearest garrison…
All Katrine received for her efforts, however, was a blank look in reply. After ten minutes of such one-sided dialogue, Katrine finally asked in exasperation if the girl was rude by nature or if she was merely too timid to defy the laird’s orders not to speak to a Campbell.