Tears pricked at the back of Cait’s eyes at how eager he was to assure her that he didn’t mean to be bound for a second longer than custom required.
It was no insult to the reputation of a woman Cait’s age to enter into such an agreement-especially not with a man of Ewan’s standing in the clan. Besides, there was always a chance for the arrangement to be extended. Cait tugged her treacherous heart away from that line of reasoning before it had a chance to lead her astray. Yes, there was a chance that, at the end of the time allotted, Ewan would want to keep her as his wife, but it wasn’t likely-not when he’d already had a lifetime to decide whether he loved her or not. Obviously, his answer was “no”. Cait was only setting herself up for more heartache by hoping for more.
“A generous offer,” Cait finally sniffed, making sure that Ewan knew she was still piqued. He rolled his eyes and reached for her again.
“You don’t want to be a servant for the rest of your life?” he asked, so plainly once again that she felt wrong to be insulted. When she remained in silence, he continued, “Then it’s me you don’t fancy…”
“NO!” Cait blurted, so immediately and with such passion that her skin flared scarlet. “I mean…it isn’t that, precisely. It’s-”
Cait had never been so grateful to hear knocking at the door. She stood quickly from Ewan’s bed, and was busily folding bandages when the door creaked open. Ewan’s sister, Muira-Cait’s longtime friend-poked her auburn head through the door. She had travelled from Eilean Donan, seat of Clan MacRae, the day before and had already checked on her brother a half-dozen times. “How is he?” she asked in a weary tone, but her eyes lightened when she saw the bed. “Ewan!” she exclaimed, throwing the doorway completely open, “Ewan! You’re awake.”
“I tried to call to you,” Cait started to explain, but Muira more or less ignored her. Six months pregnant with her fourth child, the bubbly redhead waddled quickly to her brother’s bed.
“Oh, thank God!” Muira breathed, sinking down beside him. Her fingers fussed with his bandages and his dressings, double-checking Cait’s excellent work, “I thought that we’d lost you, Ewan!”
Feeling suddenly awkward, Cait slipped backwards to the door. “I’ll be outside if you need me,” she called, not expecting a reply. She received one, however.
“I’ll be waiting for your answer, Cait,” Ewan called out to her from the bed.
Cait bit her lip in the face of expectant silence and a curious stare. “I’ll…think about it,” she assured him, and then gratefully closed the door.
What was she thinking?
Cait moaned and threw herself backwards onto the tiny bed she called her own. Ewan Cameron had offered her a chance for nearly all of her dreams to come true: to escape her life as a servant, to be the mother of a child, to be his wife (albeit briefly). Why couldn’t she simply take it and enjoy it while she could?
Because it would never be enough, a voice answered for her, stating what she knew to be the truth. She’d wanted Ewan Cameron for so long-almost since the first day that they’d met-that she knew a single taste, a few days of bliss, would only make her long for more. It would be like the stories that she’d heard as a girl, of the foolish mortals who tasted fairy bread. Once they’d tasted the magic delight, they’d never be satisfied with mortal food again. She could see herself already, facing a lifetime of empty days, hollow with the knowledge that she could never have Ewan again.
But what if she didn’t take it? Cait worried. Wouldn’t she still be plagued with regret? Wouldn’t she always wonder if she’d missed her chance?
She was so lost in thought that she almost didn’t hear the knock at her door. It repeated a second time, more urgently, before she finally called, “Come in!”
Cait looked up, smiling weakly when Muira bustled in. Her friend looked calmer than she had before. No doubt seeing her brother awake had done her a world of good. At least it was a welcome relief after the turmoil and worry of the preceding days.
Muira waddled forward and plopped herself down on the end of Cait’s bed without waiting for an invitation. “So,” she began bluntly, not bothering with small talk, “What was that all about?”
“What was what all about?” Cait asked, knowing perfectly well what her friend was getting at. Muira was one of the few people that she’d confided in as a girl about her impossible crush. She was forever looking for “signs” that her brother reciprocated Cait’s feelings, and offering Cait encouragement where, in retrospect, perhaps she ought not to have been encouraged. Of course, it was easy for Muira to indulge in flights of fancy. She’d never known what it meant to be “not good enough”. Her own love life had turned out story-book perfect when she’d married Lachlan MacRae. After Ewan, he had to be one of the most dreamworthy males on Earth.
“What Ewan said in the bedroom,” Muira said suspiciously, her grey-blue eyes locked on her best friend’s face. “Before you left. He said something about ‘waiting for an answer.’ Waiting for an answer to what?”
Cait squirmed. It was years since she’d endured one of Muira’s interrogations, and yet she still knew that she wouldn’t last long. She would divulge her secret eventually, but not without putting up a token fight. “Why don’t you ask Ewan then, if you want to know?”
“He won’t breathe a word,” Muira snorted, her displeasure plainly written on her pretty face. She met Cait’s eyes in challenge. “Tell me what this is all about!”
“He asked me to have his baby,” Cait blurted, surprising even herself. This was clearly not the answer that Muira had expected, as it left the woman with a gaping mouth.
“His…er…baby?” Muira echoed, “Well…that’s…good? Is it already on its way?”
“Of course not!” Cait snapped, though she was almost expecting the question from her friend. “I think being injured frightened him. He doesn’t want to die without an heir He’s never even looked at me that way-as you well know!”
“I know nothing of the sort!” Muira retorted, “But what are you going to do? Your reputation would be ruined-but of course you’re going to say ‘yes’!”
“I wouldn’t precisely be ruined,” Cait replied, “At least, not under the terms that he is suggesting.”
Suddenly, any trace of sadness was erased from Muira’s face. For a moment, she was transformed by joy and threw her arms around her best friend’s neck. “Oh, Cait!” she gushed, “Why didn’t you say it that way? He’s gone and asked you to be his wife!”
Muira looked so happy that Cait hated to shatter her delusions, but it was as task which must be done. “Not his wife,” she corrected quickly, “It’s only a handfasting he wants.”
“A handfasting then!” Muira gushed, “It still gets you what you dreamed of!”
“Yes,” Cait answered, sighing, wishing that she could share Muira’s jubilation, “But only for a year and a day.” She didn’t know how to explain how it would feel when she lost him in the end.
“Only a year and a day for certain,” Lady Macrae corrected, waving off her friend’s concerns. “There’s nothing stopping him from keeping you after that.”
“Why would he want to?” Cait snorted.
“Well, you’ll have to give him a reason why!” Muira took her friends hand and rubbed it soothingly, “Don’t you see Cait-it’s your perfect chance!”
“My perfect chance for what?” Cait snapped bitterly. To have her heart broken? He’d already done that before.
“To show him that you’re meant to be together!” Muira insisted, and then bounced up off the bed, “Men aren’t so very hard to please, Cait. Once you have him settled he won’t want to budge.”
“Do you really think so?” Cait asked, and then mentally chided herself for starting to believe that the fantasy that her friend was spinning could come true. She shook her head to clear her thoughts, and then stood. “Well, it doesn’t matter. I’m sure he wasn’t serious anyway.”
“Ewan is always serious,” Muira said with a dismissive w
ave.
Cait rolled her eyes. “He was hit in the head with an axe!”
“Well, high-time someone knocked some sense into my brother,” Lady Macrae fired back. “It looks like someone needs to take an axe to you as well.” She seemed to take Cait’s silence as encouragement, because she pressed on, “You’re a fool if you don’t at least give him a chance.”
“Maybe,” was the only replied that was offered, and so the lady rose. “Where are you going?” Cait blurted when her friend had reached the door.
Muira only smiled, “Why, off to plan your wedding, of course.”
Cait didn’t return to Ewan’s room until the following morning. Even then, she hadn’t had time to fully settle her thoughts or to prepare to face him once again. Either he’d drop the entire subject from the day before, or he’d be expecting an answer at once. She didn’t know which prospect worried her more.
It had been a sleepless night, filled with doubts and remonstrations. She’d been a fool to continue nursing her crush when so many years had gone by. She didn’t need Ewan’s charity to drag her up from being a servant. There were plenty of men who would have offered for her if she had given them any encouragement. She had simply chosen not to pursue those options.
She tried to avoid him altogether, but Muira saw to it that she could not. “Ewan wants his breakfast,” she announced when they met in the dining hall that morning. In front of two dozen clansmen there was no way to pretend that she hadn’t heard, “I told him you’d be right up.” And so, Cait had no choice but to fill a tray and carry it to Ewan’s room.
Expecting him to be in bed, she didn’t bother to knock-but then she was struck silent and still by the sight which greeted her on the other side of the door. Still moving slowly, as though all of his mucles ached, Ewan was getting dressed. His torso was naked, and Cait stared, dumbstruck by the sight.
Cait had never seen a naked man up close, but she was not so innocent as to never have a glimpse of the woodsman chopping without his shirt or a pack of kitchen lads off in the Loch, enjoying a summer swim. She knew generally how things were meant to be, and knew intuitively that Ewan exceeded them all.
He had always been a tall, well proportioned man. Standing a head and a half above little Cait, the top of her forehead would fit just underneath his chin. His broad shoulders and muscled arms could easily wrap around her body, just as she had dreamed of being enfolded. His muscles were all well defined-not bulging, but sleek-attesting to the long hours he spent riding and shooting and practicing with swords. She couldn’t help but admire his beauty, or prevent a sigh of frustration when the shirt was finally pulled over his head.
With a warrior’s instincts, he heard the sound. His body tensed and swung toward the door. Then he saw Cait, and softened. “Good morning, Cait” he called cordially as he straightened his attire, “I didn’t see you’d come. Bring me breakfast, did you? Well, I hope there’s plenty-I’m starved.”
“There is,” Cait assured him. She’d made use of her years of observing him by selecting foods that she knew he liked. She carried his tray to the bedside table, set it down and turned to go. “Well, then. I’ll leave you to it.”
“No!” Ewan said before she could turn to go. “I think-I think you and I are due a talk.”
Cait bit her lip anxiously, but eventually bobbed her head, “Yes?”
“About yesterday…” he blurted awkwardly, “I’m terribly sorry for what I said.”
“Oh!” Cait exhaled in a rush. She tried to convince herself that the cold, sickly feeling running down her back was actually a sensation of relief. “Oh, well. It doesn’t matter…I knew that you were hurt,” she scurried backwards, desperate to leave before she embarrassed herself. Despite the “relief” hot tears were pricking the backs of her eyes. She froze completely, however, when Ewan caught her arm.
An electric current seemed to eminate from his fingers, clutching her in its thrall. She couldn’t move if she wanted-and a guilty part of her definitely did not. “It was wrong of me to let you wonder-to act like…like I didn’t mean to ask for things to be done proper-like.”
It took a moment for it to sink in that Ewan was not retracting his offer. When it did, she opened her mouth, “So you still want the handfasting then?” she queried breathlessly.
“Aye-I still want the child. Will you have me, Cait?” He was leaning very close. Cait thought it was an unfair tactic, as his proximity made it difficult to think. Her logical mind was screaming out all the ways that this was wrong, but the only thing that seemed to matter was the feel of his breath on her cheek, of his palm clasping hers, and of the delicious certainty that they’d need to be closer still if his plan would ever work.
“Yes,” she gasped without meaning to. She tried to close her mouth, but it was no use. The dam was already broken. “Yes, Ewan Cameron,” she said louder, “I do believe that I will.”
Ewan couldn’t account for the point of warmth that started in the center of his chest and then spread slowly into each of his limbs. It was only Cait, after all! Little, quiet, patched-dressed Cait who had forever trailed in his sister’s wake. It wasn’t as if she could possibly have told him “no”. She had a lot to gain from the arrangement that he’d proposed, but there was no denying the palpable sense of relief that he’d felt upon hearing her gentle “yes”.
It wasn’t relief, it was satisfaction, he mentally corrected: simple pride in a job well done. He was a leader. As such, he was accustomed to choosing the correct person for essential tasks. Upon careful reflection, Cait was the perfect mother for his unborn child.
It was true that she was lowly, and had spent much of her life abroad, but she was still a part of the clan. Her mother had been distantly connected to the Laird-which made her high enough to be respectable, while her station kept her low enough to remain malleable to his will. He didn’t view her lack of family as detraction. There wouldn’t be any money for a dowry, of course-but that wouldn’t matter much for a handfasting as it was. More importantly, the lack of a father and brothers also meant a lack of in-laws requesting favors-which would definitely be a relief, and no one to object to his plan.
She was not without physical attractions either. The broad hips that he had noticed were balanced by a tiny waist. Shapely breasts-pert, but not overlarge-would be perfect for suckling his sons-and for providing inspiration for their conception.
Ewan felt his cheeks grow hot, and other parts of his body react as well when, perhaps unsettled by the spreading silence, Cait started making the bed to give her something to do. Bending almost double to spread the quilts, so that her round little bottom was bobbing up and down, she presented a powerful temptation to topple over and go directly to work.
No, it wasn’t going to be hard to make a baby with Cait. Even as a girl he’d found her uncommonly pretty. As a woman, he felt the attraction even more.
Trying to clear his head so as to more easily resist temptation, Ewan focused on her more abstract qualities. She was a thoughtful sort of girl. She had learned to read during her travels with her mother and was more interested in books than in dancing. While some men were threatened by her intelligence and reserve, he found it a welcome relief. In Ewan’s experience, most men preferred empty-headed wives from a fear of being outsmarted by their mates. He found nothing threatening about Cait’s education, or the experiences that she’d had abroad. Her conversations were fascinating. The time they’d spent together chatting as she cleaned were some of the more enjoyable parts of his day-and they couldn’t be working on the baby all the time. Most important of all, level-headedness, discretion and wit were all qualities she’d pass on to their child, who would benefit from having a sensible mother as well.
Measure for measure, there wasn’t a woman in the castle who fit his qualifications half so well-and so he considered himself well-pleased.
“I suppose we’ll do it directly then?” Ewan said, following his custom of speaking bluntly. Neither party was entering into the marria
ge with any illusions, so there was no call for any delay.
Cait hesitated for only a second, but it was long enough for him to catch his breath. “Aye,” she finally whispered, “I suppose there’s no reason to wait, unless-” She didn’t finish the sentence, but the blush that suddenly flared on her cheeks captured Ewan’s interest.
“Unless?”
“Unless you…er…weren’t feeling up to…uhm…exertions.”
Ewan swallowed. His throat felt suddenly dry and constricted. “No…er…feeling quite fit, actually,” he responded. He’d taken quite a blow to the head and he was certain to have a scar, but there wasn’t any other lasting damage.
“Well then,” Cait was still blushing. She reminded him of the roses that grew in the garden: creamy apricot on the tips, but fuchsia in the center. “I suppose there’s no reason to wait.”
“None,” Ewan answered, stared at her, and then cleared his throat. “I should go and talk to the Laird.”
It all happened so dizzyingly fast. Cait had the sensation of riding in a wagon that was careening out of control. When she entered his room, she hadn’t even meant to tell Ewan “yes”. Two hours later, she was his wife-well, wife of sorts, at least. As she trailed in his footsteps headed back to his-their- room, she tried to remember how it had all occurred.
Ewan had left for Laird Cameron immediately, after assuring Cait that it would be better to speak with his uncle on his own. The old man was still in mourning for the loss of his sons-both boys had been murdered at the pass-and Ewan thought that he was better approached alone. She half-expected that the Laird would refuse his blessing-surely someone had to see that the plan was insane-but Ewan had arrived back a half-hour later with permission and in an hour more, the deed was done. They stood in front of the anvil-the same place that all ancient clan vows were made-with only the Laird and such witnesses as were already milling in the yard. Cait was still wearing her dress for cleaning-plain brown homespun-with simple clogs still on her feet. Their hands were plaited together, and they consented to marriage for a year and a day. Then she was Ewan’s wife.
A Year and a Day Page 2