A Year and a Day

by Stephanie Sterling

  “To…to work?” he asked, puzzled-and still smarting that she was so anxious to be rid of him.

  “Aye,” Cait said, struggling into her bodice so quickly that the laces were all askance, “Unless you’ll have me lazing about all day?”

  “But-!” he stammered several times, his tongue feeling strangely thick and dumb as he tried to communicate that his wife really had no business toiling, but the words refused to form. She was gone before he found his voice. “See you later then,” he called after the slamming door.

  Still feeling miserable and chastened, Ewan was in no fit state to react when the door was flung open again. “Cait?” he called hopefully, but that emotion changed to chagrin when he saw the woman standing in his open door.

  “Ewan Charles Cameron!” A voice shrieked from the doorway, and then the speaker barreled through the door heedless of Ewan’s disheveled appearance. “And so what do you have to say for yourself?” she raged.

  “Muira,” Ewan said, wincing in the face of his sister’s unchecked fury. Her cheeks were nearly the color of her hair as she stood before him, hands on her hips and gave him a heated glare. “Something I can do for you, Carrot?” he drawled, falling back on the hated childhood nickname as he tried to regain composure, “You seem lost.”

  “Hardly,” she snorted, waddling another step closer, “Would you like to explain yourself?”

  “Explain what?” Ewan countered, though, of course, he had a hint what she was on about. He wasn’t surprised at all by Muira’s sharp reply.

  “Explain why the Laird has just told me that he performed a wedding today!”

  “A Handfasting,” Ewan corrected quietly, at great risk of stoking his sister’s temper even more, “and it’s nothing to concern yourself about.”

  “Not concern myself about it?” Muira raged, “Not concern myself about my brother and my own best friend?”

  “It’s a business arrangement between Ca-between Mrs. Cameron and myself-” Ewan answered tersely, hoping against hope that this laid the matter to rest.

  It did not. If anything, Muira’s flush deepened. “A business arrangement?” Muira stormed, “A BUSINESS ARRANGEMENT? And you don’t find it a wee bit cruel?”

  “What’s cruel about it?” Ewan asked. He hadn’t expected Muira to be thrilled that she’d missed the ceremony, such as it was-but he was stunned to discover that she objected to the marriage. He’d expected her to be its most ardent supporter. She’d always been outraged by Cait’s lowly state.

  Muira opened her mouth to scream again, but paused before the words came out. She studied his face for a moment, searching for something, and then shook her head in disbelief. “Ewan Cameron,” she whispered, “Don’t tell me that you don’t know!”

  “Don’t know what?” he asked gruffly. His fingers finally closed around his shirt and he pulled it swiftly over his head.

  “Don’t know about Cait!” Muira answered her voice considerably softer now. “That she’s been in love with you these fifteen years!”

  “In love with me?” Ewan squeaked, feeling like all of the air had just left the room. “That isn’t possible!

  “It is!” Muira countered. She sighed at the continued blankness on his face, “Oh, Ewan-even you aren’t as thick as that!”

  He bristled, but then deflated sheepishly as he scrolled through memories in his mind: how Cait was always silent as a girl whenever he and his friends were in the room, how she always smiled and looked away when they spoke, how she took such extra care to tend his room and, perhaps most telling of all, how wanton she had been in his arms that afternoon.

  “Dear God,” he breathed when he finally realized that what his sister had said was true. He stared glass-eyed for a moment, and then turned on Muira, “What in the HELL am I meant to do now?”

  “You’ve made your bed,” Muira said, looking as though she was almost enjoying his discomfort, “and it looks like you unmade it at least once so far! I suggest you lie in it-properly!”

  “And make her more in love with me than she was before?”

  Muira frowned at his arrogance, “That would be terrible,” she said in a not-very-sympathetic voice.

  Ewan growled, losing patience with his sister’s sniping, “But Muira, we’re only married for a year!”

  “Only a year to start,” she corrected quickly, “There’s nothing stopping you from going on.”

  “Except for the fact that I don’t want a wife!”

  “But you’ve got one already!”

  “Only to be the mother of my child!”

  Muira’s eyes flashed dangerously again, and so Ewan thought it was better to bite his tongue. “And what do you think happens, Ewan, when the year of yours is at an end? Who’ll be taking care of your baby then?” she challenged, “Who will keep him fed and clothed and tend him when he’s sick?”

  Wetnurses, Ewan thought, but had the wisdom not to say, and nannies-and Cait can see him when she wants. He might live in his uncle’s household, but he had considerable property of his own. There was no reason to think that his child would ever go wanting.

  “Who’ll see to your supper?” Muira continued, “And darn your socks? And see that your plaid is pressed and ready? And tend your room? There are plenty of benefits to having a wife-things that you might not have considered before. What if-heaven forbid-something happens to the wee bairn? What will you do if you want another?”

  That point, at least, caught his attention. His nieces and nephews, thank God, were sound-but they were young yet. He’d watched the Laird bury his only two sons that morning, and watch the end of his line. Their deaths made Ewan the tanist-next in line to assume leadership of the clan-and he had a responsibility to bear an heir as well.

  “What are you suggesting I do then?” he asked after a long silence, “Pretend that I love her back?”

  Muira frowned sadly and shook her head, “I’m not asking you to lie, Ewan-just to give the woman a chance.”

  Ewan shrugged his shoulders-a gesture that could be interpreted as either “yes” or “no”. He was still trying to wrap his mind around what he’d learned. Cait loved him! At least, he supposed, there were marriages that had started off worse!

  “Are ye still here Cait?” Mrs Gibbons, the portly old housekeeper of castle Cameron walked into the kitchen and frowned. All of the other kitchen lasses had been gone for more than an hour. The supper dishes were washed and put away, but Cait was still standing over a copper cauldron, scrubbing with all her might at stains only she could see. “That’ll do, lassie!” The old woman said, plucking the rag out of Cait’s fingers, “It’s time for bed!”

  Cait would have argued with the housekeeper, but she knew that she was right. She wasn’t even meant to work in the kitchens, but she’d been desperate for something to do! Ever since leaving Ewan’s room early that afternoon she’d been a veritable dervish, volunteering for every task available-anything to keep her too busy to think. As long as she was working, this day felt like all the ones before it. She could keep on pretending that nothing had changed.

  As she finally climbed the winding staircase to her bedroom, however, the day’s events came flooding back, and by the time she reached her room, tears had blurred her vision.

  She pushed open the door to her room carefully; half-afraid that Muira would be waiting inside. She’d spent most of the day avoiding her friend, keeping in near-constant motion so that her friend couldn’t find her. She knew that Ewan’s sister would want to lend a sympathetic ear-but Cait simply wasn’t ready to talk.

  Luckily, the tiny chamber was empty when she finally arrived, and so Cait slipped gratefully inside. Now that she was finished working, exhaustion began to sink in. She barely had the energy to strip off her bodice and skirt and finally crawl into bed alone.

  Every part of her body hurt. Her arms, and legs, and back-but worst of all was the tender aching between her legs, the reminder of what Ewan had done, and that her innocence was spent.

  How c
ould having what she wanted make her so bitterly unhappy? A plump tear rolled down Cait’s cheek as she finally allowed the thought to form. Ewan hadn’t been cruel. He hadn’t meant to hurt her. In truth, she didn’t mind the physical pain. Discomfort had passed quickly enough. It was the hollowness that he had left in her heart that burned. She had been so terribly wrong to accept his offer. She wanted his body-but that wasn’t enough.

  Cait began to cry in earnest when she thought about the ramifications of what she’d done. She’d managed to pass the afternoon in obscurity, but what would tomorrow bring? Surely word would begin to spread. She could already imagine the jealous, disgusted and pitying glances she would receive. Added to that unpleasant expectation was the fact that she didn’t know how much her life was about to change. She gathered that Ewan only wanted sex-a “business arrangement” as he liked to say: but how often, and when? Was she meant to be at his beck and call? Did their “bargain” require anything more?

  What if she really did get pregnant? She didn’t know if the thought of the baby made her happy or sad. She would be proud to bring Ewan’s son or daughter into the world-but what if the child was taken away? After all, she was only wanted for a single year and day.

  Curled in her bed, sobbing and miserable, she almost didn’t hear the knocking on her chamber door. Sniffing loudly, she stopped and craned her ears just as it repeated, more loudly this time.

  She stiffened. An electric surge of equal parts fear and hope sizzled along her spine. The feeling was so strong that it paralyzed her for a moment while she stared, doe-eyed, at the door.

  It had to be Ewan. Cait’s body began to warm, against her will, at the anticipation of seeing him again. She had wondered if she was meant to go to his room or if he would join her upstairs. Was he angry? She felt another spike of anxiety. Large and powerful though he was, she had never seen Ewan lose his temper. She found the prospect both frightening and intriguing.

  A third time, a fist hammered on the door. Now it was almost a pounding, and she scurried off the bed. She knew that it didn’t matter, but she wished that she had the time to change her skirt, or to tuck up the loose ends of her hair. “Coming!” she called in a soft thin voice, relieved when the hammering stopped. She took a breath to compose herself, and then threw open the door, and found herself staring into the pale grey eyes of…

  “Matthew?” Cait said, wrinkling her nose at the gangly squire who helped in the stables. She couldn’t begin to guess why he had come. She wished he hadn’t. They weren’t friends. She still held herself slightly higher than the other servants-especially those who smelt of dung. Even if they had been well acquainted, she still resented the intrusion on her grief. “I was sleeping,” she snapped, indicating that he should say his piece and leave.

  The boy bobbed his head. She was gratified to see that she had succeeded in leaving him unnerved. He finally found his voice, however, and the announcement stunned her, “Master Cameron bid me come and get you.”

  Cait blinked, “Master Cameron?” If he’d meant the Laird, he would have said so.

  “Ewan Cameron, Miss. He bade me fetch you to his room.”

  “Fetch me?” Cait echoed, aghast. She hadn’t thought it was possible, but she felt lower than before. Her flesh crawled with the humiliation-Ewan had sent a servant to retrieve her, just like he was summoning breakfast, or water for his bath!

  “Yes, er…” the gangly boy shifted uncomfortably from side to side. “He said there’s something he…er…needs you to do fer him.”

  She’d just bet there was! Cait shivered at the memory, and then shuddered in revulsion at her own reaction. At least she had the answer she was searching for about the bounds of their relationship. Ewan wanted her as his whore.

  “Please tell Mr. Cameron that I’m already asleep,” she replied in a snit, “I’ll be happy to attend to his “something” in the morning.”

  Matthew’s eyes nearly popped out of his head, “I can’t do that miss!” he gaped, and then whimpered, “We’ll both be lashed!”

  Cait hoped that this was hyperbole. She didn’t think that the Camerons would whip a servant for such a minor act of rebellion-or that Ewan would want his wife, however temporarily and loosely that term applied-to be put on public display, but she could read the fear in Matthew’s eyes. It drove home the truth of her situation. It didn’t matter how she felt. She belonged to Ewan. She had no choice but to go.

  With a heavy sigh, she slipped on her shoes and cloak, and followed the boy into the hall. He was holding a sputtering candle, and led their way through the drafty, winding corridor of the castle toward the family rooms.

  It was eerily silent. No one was moving about. Cait didn’t know if it was just her imagination, but the darkness felt heavy and stifling, like a dark blanket weighing down her limbs and muffling the sound of their steps.

  They arrived at Ewan’s chamber all too quickly to prepare. She knocked on the door. When she looked over her shoulder, Matthew was already gone.

  There was no light spilling out from under the doorway. When there was no immediate answer to her hail she thought, with a big of relief that Matthew might have been wrong, or else Ewan had tired of waiting. She could pick her way back through the darkness to her room. Just as she was turning to go, however, Ewan’s soft brogue called out, “Enter.”

  Cait hesitated just a moment more, and then she pushed the door open a crack and slipped inside.

  The room was swathed in shadows. No candles were burning by the bed. Instead, the light in the room came from a cheerful fire in the hearth. Silhouetted against the bright flames she saw a bathtub-and Ewan sitting inside it!

  “Ah, Cait,” he said, his voice softer than it had been that afternoon. He gestured for her to step forward, but she was reluctant to obey.

  She couldn’t see anything because of the light, and Lord knew that Ewan didn’t appear embarrassed by his nakedness at all, but Cait was positively mortified. She averted her eyes and, only then, did she inch forward.

  She didn’t see it, but she assumed that Ewan smiled. He made a satisfied little sound, and then sank deeper into the tub, causing water to splash over the edges.

  “Bring me a rag, Cait?” he asked, his voice was still low and unthreatening, but firm enough to convey an order.

  “Yes, sir,” she said instantly and instinctively. A moment later, when she realized what she’d done, she was disheartened that Ewan hadn’t tried to correct her.

  Cait had always tidied Ewan’s room, and she knew precisely where the cloth would be. She took it out of the top of his dresser, spread it open, and then carried it to the bath, still careful to look away. “Here you are, sir,” she said as she presented it.

  Ewan’s fingers brushed her wrist as he accepted the flannel square. A few warm drops slid from his skin onto hers, wetting the cuff of her sleeve.

  “You should push them up,” he remarked. Surprised, Cait looked up and found him watching her face. “You’ll get soaked,” he told her, seeming not to notice her confusion. His eyes flicked away for a moment while he soaped and rinsed his chest.

  Cait wasn’t needed, but she hadn’t been dismissed, and so she hovered by the bathtub, still unsure of her role. She stared fixedly into the fire, ignoring him until she heard a splash and felt a nudge against her skirts. Flicking her eyes down, she saw that he was offering her the rag and soap.

  “Could you help me with my back?” he asked with a deceptively innocent smile on his face.

  Cait’s fingers were trembling when she accepted the dripping cloth, but she couldn’t very well deny the request-nor could she continue to avoid looking at him if she was to help him wash. Shyly, she flicked her eyes up to drink in his skin-the same glorious expanse that she had seen earlier, only now it was dripping wet.

  Cait couldn’t help the flush that came to her cheeks when she followed the progress of one drop of water from his hair, onto his shoulder, and then down the front of his chest. It glistened as it slid over the
swell of his pectorals, and then caught in the light furring of his chest. In the firelight, all of his body was gleaming, the moisture that clung to his skin reflecting back the flickering flames.

  Ewan coughed, reminding her that he was waiting, and she dunked the rag into the tub near his ankles. She wrung it out, and then laid it against his spine. She tried to concentrate on the movement of her hands, and not the flex and ripple of his muscles that she could feel through the dripping flannel. It was hard though!- hard not to remember the way that her finger nails had dug into the same muscles when Ewan had claimed her body only a few short hours before; hard not to wonder if it would be the same an hour later, stretched out on Ewan’s bed, the damp hair on his chest brushing against her breasts as he took her again.

  “Lower.”

  Cait looked up at the sound of Ewan’s voice. Lost in thought, she had begun massaging his shoulders, moving the washrag in tight, heavy circles over his skin. He was apparently enjoying the attention. His shoulders were scrunched in delight. “Just a little bit lower,” he instructed again, leaning forward in the bath to give her more room.

  Cait did as she was told, rubbing slowly down his spine. She didn’t know where he wanted her to stop, and finally settled at the small of his back, just above the cleft of his bum.

  It was so exquisitely intimate. The cloth clutched in her fingers was as good as worthless. It did nothing but enhance the sensation of touch, adding a nubby friction to the strokes.

  Ewan stretched his arms up over his head. Then, without warning, he leaned back, submerging up to his shoulders in water so that was his chest now offered for Cait’s attentions. “More,” he purred. His eyes were tightly shut. The expression on his lips made him seem exquisitely pleased with himself-or with Cait.

  Cait didn’t hesitate this time. She was feeling bold and a little bit reckless. Ewan had insulted her, but empowered her as well. The pretense of the washcloth gave her virtual free reign over her body-and, despite how he had made her feel, there was still so much that she wanted to explore. As long as he kept his eyes closed, as long as she kept him contented enough not to move, there was nothing to stop her explorations.