“It might be best,” he said, shooting his war chieftain a curious look. “I have a feeling we’re going to need you soon. If Laird MacRae doesn’t return…”
“Soon,” Muira said, looking faintly ill, “If he doesn’t return soon…”
“Of course,” the old man shot his niece a reassuring glance. “I meant, if we don’t hear from Lachlan soon, chances are that we’ll want to muster the clansmen. The eastern border is the most protected-so it would be better to start drafting there. If I need you, you’re only a day away and you can get started without delay.
Muira frowned. Part of it was, no doubt, attributable to concern for her spouse. The other part was frustration at having her plan so neatly thwarted. Cait had known her friend long enough to practically hear the gears whirring in her head. She’d meant for Ewan and Cait to have a romantic getaway-not race away on castle business.
Ewan looked between his Laird, his sister, and his wife. All three wanted the same thing-although for different reasons, and so there was really no decision to make. He would have preferred remaining at the castle and being the first to know when Lachlan and his men returned-or word came for certain that they wouldn’t-but there was wisdom in the Laird’s plan. The clansmen on the border shared with the Frasures were softer, peaceful men than those who’d been raised in the shadow of the MacRaes. It would require more effort to rouse them for battle, and they would be essential if it turned out that the clan was facing a formidable foe.
“It could be done,” he said slowly, and then watched the three very different looks unfold on the faces of his audience: Triumph on Muira, approval on the face of the Laird, and on Cait…Ewan squinted, not quite able to read the trembling little smile that flashed intermittently on her face along with an expression of worried indecision.
“You may leave tomorrow then,” the Laird said. “If we haven’t heard back from Laird MacRae and his party by then, I’ll send another scouting party out. The soonest they would be back is a week. If there’s trouble I’ll send word and you can raise the clan.”
The evening wore on slowly. Ewan was anxious to get away. For once, it was his mind and not his body that was restless. It was spinning with troubling thoughts about the clan, and his future and where his brother-in-law was. There was a ceilidh after the feasting, and rousing calls that Ewan and his temporary bride should join in the raucous dancing and storytelling, but he claimed a headache and slipped away to bed while Cait was talking with his sister. Back in their room, he stood by the window, staring out into the night, and didn’t hear when she returned.
“It’s freezing,” Cait’s voice caused Ewan to start, but not to turn. He listened to the light patter of her footsteps on the stone floor and acknowledged her only when he felt a blanket being pressed around his body. “The fire’s almost out. You’ll catch a cold.”
“I can take care of myself!” Ewan snarled in response, and he was surprised when Cait didn’t back down.
“Then do it!” she retorted, “You won’t be any use to the Laird with a cold!”
Ewan’s shoulders sagged in acknowledgment when he realized that she was correct. Turning away from the window he walked to the fire, put another log on, and then poked it thoughtfully until it was roaring again.
“I’m sorry!” Cait blurted, finally shocking him out of his reverie. He frowned and turned, “Whatever for?”
“For…for…the…trip,” she said, hesitating as if she had meant to call the journey something else.
“It was Muira who suggested it.”
“Yes, but…” Cait bit her lip nervously, and then continued, “You can leave me behind.”
“That would defeat the point, I think,” Ewan said, finally chuckling when he saw what a state she was in. The Laird was right-he could do more good on the Eastern border than staying at the castle…and there were other “duties” of being the future Laird that he needed to attend to.
“Not really,” Cait insisted, “If you’re out gathering up soldiers, then you-” She was silenced by Ewan’s lips descending over her own.
“That’s enough talk,” he purred into her ear…and they had other things to do than speak.
The next morning dawned bright and clear. The heavy rains had knocked most of the leaves off the trees, so that the approach of winter was truly clear. The roads were muddy, but frozen, so that the carriage that the Laird offered made snail-like progress down the road.
Cait felt a pang of guilt every time that one of the carriage’s massive wooden wheels lodged in a rut. If only she knew how to ride a horse! The journey would be half as long-but, of course, there had been no opportunity for her to learn. As a young girl, drifting from place to place with her mother there had been no money or space to board a horse. As an older girl there was never any time. While Muira was out having riding lessons, Cait was tidying up the room where they had lessons and played.
Ewan hadn’t complained-at least, not that she could hear. He was riding alone on his black charger and, for most of the journey, had been 20 minutes ahead, ostensibly to scout their lodgings for the night, but Cait suspected it was because the constant delays of the carriage were unbearable.
He hadn’t offered to ride with her-a fact that piqued her. He had pointed out that, should there be a call to raise the army, he would need to have his horse along, and since the beast was unsuitable to form part of the team, there was no real choice other than to ride along, or to bring an extra groom. Still feeling certain that he didn’t really want to go at all, Cait had held her tongue and simply gone along with the plan.
The journey was uncomfortable, but nothing more than she’d expected. Cait had made the journey to Glen Mohr a handful of times as a girl and knew what to expect. For the first half of the first day they picked their way carefully down the mountain that the castle was sat upon, and then spent the rest of the evening climbing back up the next peak.
They spent the night in a crofter’s cottage. There were no inns so far into the clan lands, and it wasn’t suitable to sleep on the ground. She felt awkward displacing the farmer and his wife at the cottage where they came to rest, but there was nothing else to do. Besides, the red-haired, bright eyed man and his portly, industrious wife seemed honored to have the chieftain “and his wee bonnie wife” to grace their humble abode.
The second day was grueling-more climbing, this time all day. The track that led to the mountain could only barely pass for a road. It was sunset before they reached the crest of Ben Murtaugh and saw the lovely valley stretching out below. They would have to press on for a while in darkness-there was no place to stop, but here in the very heart of Cameron country there was less fear of something untoward going on at night.
The stars were very bright in the sky when the carriage finally rumbled to a stop at a tiny, one-room cabin half-way down the mountain. The farmer within, having been alerted to the chieftain’s arrival, had decamped to the barn with his large family. This time Cait was too exhausted to mind. She took a few token bites of the stew she was offered, and then gratefully sank into bed.
There had been low clouds the night before, and Ewan was worried about rain, but the third day dawned as brightly beautiful as the other two. Cait paused on her way to the carriage, taking in the magnificent sweep of the highlands and of the river valley below.
“There it is!”
Cait turned toward her husband, greedily drinking in his appearance and savoring the few moments that she would be permitted to spend with him that day. “What?”
“Glen Mohr,” he said, pointing toward the valley. Cait followed the gesture, and she was pleased when she picked out the slate-roofed cottage on the riverbanks.
She watched his face as he spoke, smiling at the way that light seemed to sparkle in his eyes as he looked down at his boyhood home. Cait didn’t know too much about the history of the property, apart from the fact that it had belonged to his mother, Cora Frasure. The prime scrap of land hugged the very edge of Cameron holdings but,
owing to four decades of peace with their eastern neighbors, was one of the most secure in the clanlands as well as the most picturesque.
“I was hoping you’d see it like this,” Ewan said, his features animated as he gazed adoringly at his home.
Cait smiled softly, and didn’t bother pointing out that, of course, she had seen it like this. Ewan didn’t seem to connect the woman who was his wife with the young girl that she had been-and she wasn’t certain that she wanted to remind him. “It’s beautiful,” she said.
“Do you see that there?” Ewan’s strong arm swept in an arch, approximating the curve of the river, “That’s the valley field. It floods as often as not-but the years it doesn’t…” he made an appreciative sound, “the crops grow as high as my shoulder, from soil so black you look down and think it’s night!”
Cait’s smile broadened as he warmed to his topic, listing all the delicious-sounding grains and vegetables that they grew. She had never pictured Ewan as a farmer. It was a comical, yet endearing, idea. Without thinking about it she reached for his forearm and squeezed it lightly, then beamed when Ewan reciprocated the touch.
“Our lands go all the way to the foot of the mountain,” he told her, reaching up with one of his hands to stroke her hair, “James has a piece up the way-not that he minds at all,” Ewan chuckled, “He’s not interested in anything that doesn’t wear a dress…or at least come out of one easily,” he joked, and then seemed to remember himself. He apologized quickly. “Sorry, Cait. I-“
She shook her head dismissively. “It’s nothing,” she giggled. Having known James for most of his life, she found the description apt.
Ewan smiled, “Well, I don’t dare to guess how many times James’s plot is going to be divided, but I reckon ours has room for three-maybe four fair sized farms…”
He was still beaming, but Cait’s smile abruptly faltered. Three or four farms? Ewan’s statement implied his expectation of a house full of children-underscoring the fact that she had been contracted to provide only one.
“Is something wrong, Cait?” He said, studying her critically.
She shook her head and tried to force the smile back onto her face, “I’m just…cold,” she told him, “And tired of traveling.”
To her relief, he accepted the explanation. “Aye, I can’t blame you for that. Well, don’t worry, Beauty. I’ll have you at Glen Mohr by supper, I promise,” he said, and then he kissed her on the cheek.
For once, Ewan was able to keep his promise. The sun hadn’t quite touched the horizon when they pulled up in front of the small stone house.
Ewan had arrived a few minutes earlier, and he was waiting on the front porch step to hand Cait down from the cottage when she finally arrived. She fell gratefully into his arms, relieved to be stretching her limbs after such a long, cold, jostling ride.
“You’re like ice!” Ewan murmured, wrapping his arms tighter around her waist. Cait didn’t argue. Frankly, she was grateful for any excuse to linger in his strong embrace. He held her a moment more, but finally let her go and pushed her toward the door. “Supper’s waiting,” he explained, “I’ll have to show you around in the morning. For now it’s dinner and bed.”
The house looked more or less as Cait remembered from days gone by. It had never been grand, like the houses in England that she had known, but was spacious and cozy in a way that they had never quite been able to recapture. The ceilings were low and thick, keeping the rooms nicely snug. She shed her cloak and then walked by memory into the dining room while breathing in the delicious smell of a hearty country meal.
The broad oak dining table was empty, however. A much smaller table, probably brought in from the kitchen, had been sat by the fire laden with food for two.
Cait flushed happily when Ewan held out her chair. She waited until he was seated too before she sipped the glass of wine beside her plate and began to eat. The food was simple, but exquisite.
“Hannah’s a fine cook!” Ewan enthused. Cait nodded in agreement. Cheered by the delicious meal, warm fire and satisfaction of a journey’s end, they fell into easy conversation, continuing after dinner until Ewan announced that it was time for bed.
“I’ll show you to your room,” Ewan announced, causing Cait’s heart to plummet again.
“But-?” she started to ask why her room wasn’t his as well, but she swallowed the question when he stopped at a door that she knew to be Ewan’s own. He had simply misspoke.
“I hope you’ll be comfortable,” he said, his voice soft and husky against her ear as he crowded her into the room.
“And if I’m not?” she couldn’t resist teasing him.
Ewan chuckled, “We’ll think of something to make you more comfortable then,” he whispered back.
The next morning, Ewan was awoken by the sound of a rooster in the barnyard below the window at just past dawn. Cait remained asleep. Watching her peaceful features and even breathing he smiled to himself and wondered if there was anything that she couldn’t sleep through.
Ewan carefully rolled Cait onto her back, and traced her cheek with his finger, wondering at the way she didn’t even flinch. He flattered himself that he had worn her out, but then a frown marred his face when he considered that, perhaps, she was still weary from all the work she’d done before becoming his wife.
That was definitely over, Ewan decided. Regardless of how things worked out, and whether she ultimately remained his wife, he couldn’t stomach the idea of sending Cait back to the kitchens. His sister had pointed out that he would need someone to actually care for the baby after it was born, and he couldn’t think of any reason why it shouldn’t be Cait. He’d still be able to have a proper influence in his child’s-his son’s-life, and it would give him an excuse to make sure that she was well taken care of. He could install the pair of them in a cozy little cottage, somewhere away from the castle gossips…perhaps even at Glen Mohr?
“You look rather pensive.”
The soft, clipped English drawl of Cait’s voice caused Ewan to turn his head. He looked down at her. Instantly, his lips curved into a smile.
Cait was so heartbreakingly beautiful. How had he possibly failed to notice, over the long decades of their acquaintance, how exquisite she was? How was it even imaginable that no other man in the castle had snapped her up while he was drifting along, utterly oblivious?
He decided not to question his blessings. Instead, he gave her a broad smile and a kiss on the center of her mouth. “Are you surprised it’s possible?” he teased.
“A bit,” she answered back, and then yawned.
She was still recovering from the effects of sleep. Her lids were half closed, and her pupils were so wide that her eyes seemed almost black. There was a charming fuzziness to her smile, inspiring Ewan to give her another, much more thorough kiss.
“Mmmmmm…” Cait murmured drowsily, “What was that for?”
“Do I need a reason?” Ewan said, kissing her again, this time in the curve between her neck and shoulder.
He would have kissed her again, but there was a timid lock on the door. “Who is it?” Ewan grunted, annoyance painting his face.
“It’s Bessie,” the familiar voice of Glen Mohr’s old housekeeper called back, “Come to tell you that you’ve been married for more than a week and it isn’t Christian to lie abed all morning.”
Cait listened to the little speech, and began to giggle. Ewan squashed her against his chest to stifle them. He didn’t appreciate the old woman’s meddling, of course, but Mrs. Fitzpatrick had been a second mother to him since his own had passed away.
“Er…thank you,” he called back, “Mrs. Cameron and I will be down directly.” He held Cait in place until the old woman’s footsteps had died away. Only when it was silent did he release her.
Cait was still shaking with mirth. “Oh, Ewan, you have been a naughty boy,” she teased.
“Oh, and was I alone?” he shot back.
Cait stuck out her tongue.
“Don’t ma
ke promises you don’t intend to keep,” he warned her, causing Cait to open her eyes in mock-surprise.
“Oh, am I teasing?” she asked.
“Aren’t you?” Ewan retorted, clearly intrigued.
“Should I be?” she asked, and then tiptoed her fingers down his chest. She was just to his navel when she drew them away. “I suppose we aren’t allowed to stay here and be wicked.”
“Well, we’ll have to go somewhere else then,” Ewan said, his face suddenly bright again. Cait turned to him, clearly expecting an explanation, but all she got was an impish wink instead.
Ewan jumped out of bed, and then prodded Cait to follow him. “Come along then, Mrs. Cameron,” he said, “We haven’t got all day!”
Grumbling, but enjoying Ewan’s playful mood, Cait allowed herself to be prodded out of bed. By the time she managed it, Ewan was already donning a clean shirt. She wrapped the sheet around her body as she went to the dresser, where her fresh clothes had been put away and removed a new chemise.
After she had put on her undergarment and reached for her skirt and bodice she became less self-conscious. She let her eyes drift up at last and take in the sight of Ewan’s rippling muscles as he finished getting dressed and then started for the door.
She was disappointed that he didn’t wait, but followed after him only a few minutes later. She followed her nose (assuming, correctly, that was what Ewan would do) to the dining room and took a seat at her husband’s side.
There was a pot of tea on the table, and Cait helped herself. She frowned, however, when she saw the little tray of toast and fruit-and no sign of the hot bread and bacon that scented the air.
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