“Nightmares,” Raith answered briefly. “She has them sometimes, though it’s been more than a month since her last.” Turning away as Flora bustled into the room with a mug of warm milk, he carried Meggie to the wing chair by the corner table. When he had settled himself with the young girl on his lap, he administered the sleeping draft Flora had brought.
The housekeeper hovered anxiously over the two of them, clucking her tongue and muttering about the “poor wee lassie,” until Raith called a halt to it. “Thank you, Flora. You can go now.”
“Aye, m’lord, if ye’ll no’ be needing me.”
When Flora had curtsied and retired from the room, he shot Katrine a pointed glance. “You, too, Miss Campbell. Meggie will be all right now. There’s no need for you to stay.”
Katrine knew she was being dismissed, but she didn’t want to go. Nor was she required to do so. Just then Meggie raised her tearstained face from Raith’s shoulder and stretched out her small hand. Katrine’s heart turned over when she realized the child wanted her to stay.
A muscle tightened in Raith’s jaw, but he apparently wasn’t willing to deny his ward the comfort of Katrine’s presence, for he gave a brief nod. Gratefully she moved across the room, closing her hand over the small fingers.
“Go to sleep now, my love,” she murmured. “Nothing will hurt you now.”
When Meggie obediently closed her eyes, Katrine settled herself on the floor beside Raith’s chair, still holding the child’s hand. The room grew still. Katrine worried about the cause of Meggie’s nightmares and what to do about them, but at length her thoughts began to wander. She couldn’t help thinking about the man so near to her, and what had happened between them that morning. She wondered if he was remembering, too.
Against her will, her gaze shifted to Raith, and she noticed for the first time that he looked more disheveled than usual. He wore no cravat or coat, and a faint shadow of bristle darkened his jaw.
He was looking at her, too, she saw. The dark glitter in his eyes made her suddenly quite sure that he’d been drinking. He hadn’t slurred his words, nor did he show any other signs of inebriation, only that glazed, fiercely intense stare that was as menacing as it was somehow exciting. Katrine was trying to break off contact with that fierce gaze when Raith spoke.
“Must you traipse about half-naked all the time?”
Startled by his savage tone, Katrine glanced down at her nightshift. The white batiste was filmy and delicate, but the high-necked, long-sleeved gown covered her completely—except for her bare feet, which were showing at the moment. But she hadn’t had time to put on slippers when she’d heard Meggie screaming.
Then she realized the incongruity of Raith’s question, and her head came up. Who was he to make such accusations? On more than one occasion she’d seen him wearing his kilt—and nothing else.
“I don’t own a dressing gown,” Katrine retorted in a whisper, mindful of the child. “You spirited me away from my uncle’s house before my trunks had arrived.”
“Well, get Flora to unearth one for you, so you can try disporting yourself with decorum for a change. I’m fast coming to the opinion that you enjoy flaunting yourself before my clan.”
His sarcasm was more reminiscent of his first encounters with her than his manner of late, and it made Katrine’s mouth drop open. Was he going to resume their usual battles, now, of all times?
But Meggie stirred restlessly in his arms just then, and Raith immediately let off baiting Katrine and brought his hand up to stroke the child’s dark hair. Katrine tucked her feet more firmly beneath her and wrapped one arm around her knees, wondering what had brought on his sudden attack. She finally decided that he didn’t like her interfering with Meggie.
The silence stretched out again as they listened for the telltale sound of Meggie’s even breathing. Shortly Katrine felt the small fingers go slack in hers and knew the child was asleep. When Raith didn’t stir, though, she realized he meant to wait awhile, till he could be certain his movements wouldn’t waken Meggie again
when he put her to bed.
He must have done this frequently, Katrine thought, feeling a painful surge of anguish for Meggie and a more nebulous stab of sympathy for Raith himself. As laird he was called upon to do so much. His responsibilities were vast, the burdens he carried heavy.
She gazed at him, trying to understand his complexities. He was a leader, a fighter, the guardian of a young child who was not even his own. He protected what was his own with iron resolve, Katrine could see that. And she had no doubt of the sacrifices he would make to keep his clan safe.
His gentleness with Meggie was not so much of a dichotomy, she thought, watching as he softly stroked the child’s dark hair.
“If I could get my hands on the jackals who hurt her…” she heard him murmur. His tone was quiet and deadly, and though he didn’t finish the threat, Katrine understood. He’d said the men who had perpetrated the heinous crimes against Meggie and her mother were dead. And seeing the look in Raith’s eyes now, Katrine suspected those men were fortunate.
Highly uncomfortable with the turn of subject, she changed it abruptly. “What do you intend to do about Meggie? About her nightmares, I mean.”
His hard gaze found hers. “What do you suggest I do, Miss Campbell? Play God? If I could banish her nightmares, I would, but the last time I checked, I wasn’t possessed of His powers.”
“No…I just meant…it seems to me that she must be lonely here, surrounded only by adults. It might help her adjust if she had the companionship of friends her age…other children.”
His mouth curled at the corner. “That isn’t likely to happen. There’ll be no more children at Cair House, not while I’m laird.”
Katrine regarded him with puzzlement, wondering at the conviction in his statement. Did he never intend to marry again? Had he been so in love with the beautiful Ellen that he couldn’t contemplate taking another woman to wife?
“Still,” she said after a pause, “Meggie needs something to love. Perhaps a pet of some kind…” Her voice trailed away as Raith’s eyes narrowed at her.
“You think that will make her forget?” he asked softly. “You believe the past can be disregarded so easily? Wiped from memory as if it never happened? You think we can cease to remember how the English violated our women and children and scorched our Highlands?”