“Where’s breakfast?” she asked, just as Mrs. Fitzpatrick was bustling in with a pot of jam.
“You’ve missed breakfast!” she scolded, giving them both a very disapproving look, “And you were fit to miss lunch!”
Cait did her best to look contrite, but that aim was complicated by Ewan’s wink. She quickly covered her mouth with a napkin as the housekeeper plunked the jam jar in the center of the table and then wheeled on Ewan.
He shot her a beaming smile as he snatched a triangle of toast, “Awww now, Auntie Bess, don’t you want a wee Cameron knocking about for you to scold?” He took her hesitation as a “yes”. “Well, where do you expect the bairns to come from?”
Bessie put her hands over her ears and shook her head, “Aye, and you expect me to believe it’s the bairns you were thinking of, Ewan Cameron? Me what tanned your hide for kissing the little MacDonald girl and making her cry when you were but a lad of nine yerself?” she muttered something else under her breath and shook her head. “It’s wickedness, that’s what it is.”
Cait frowned and looked to Ewan for understanding, not quite understanding the pious old woman’s objection.
“Auntie Bess doesn’t hold with the old ways,” Ewan explained. “She doesn’t think that our handfasting counts.”
“There’s only one way to get married,” the housekeeper clucked, “and that’s in a church, in front of God. Regardless of what he thinks Laird Cameron is not the same thing.”
“Blasphemy!” Ewan said, clearly hoping to lighten the mood, but the old woman would have none of it. She plucked up Ewan’s plate and teacup even though he wasn’t finished. He merely grinned, “Would you be a love, Bessie and pack up the hamper for us? Mrs. Cameron and I were planning on a picnic lunch.”
Cait sat silently observing the conversation, her skin pinking with a warm glow when she realized that Mrs. Cameron referred to her.
“Today?” Bessie sniffed, suspiciously. “It looks like rain!”
“Oh, hardly,” Ewan insisted, “Besides-we aren’t going to go far. I want to show Cait the grounds.”
Cait had seen them before, of course, but didn’t chime in.
Bessie muttered something else, something that sounded strangely like “It’s about time she saw something other than the bedroom” but Ewan let it slip. “I SUPPOSE I could,” Bessie finally said, and then shuffled back to the kitchen.
“So,” Ewan said, “Are you feeling up to a walk?”
In truth, Cait felt tired and sore from the journey, but the smile on Ewan’s face was infectious, “Of course,” she replied.
In only a few minutes more they were stepping out into the bright, November sunshine. A definite winter chill was in the air, but it was getting warmer. After walking for a few moments, trying to keep pace with Ewan, Cait didn’t pay any heed to the cold and let her bright tartan shawl hang more loosely about her shoulders.
“I want to show you the caves!” Ewan exclaimed, following the path of the river.
Cait beamed, “Oh! I remember those! You and James would never let Muira and I inside.”
Ewan stopped abruptly, turned to her, and then frowned.
“What is it?” Cait asked nervously.
“It’s…” Ewan looked sheepish, “I just keep forgetting that it was you.” When Cait gave him a quizzical look, he continued. “It doesn’t seem possible…”
“…that I was someone you could possibly grow up and marry?” Cait finished for him with forced levity. She was surprised when Ewan shook his head. “No, it isn’t that at all,” he assured her, “It’s…it’s just…” he reached for her face, cupping her chin and then tenderly stroking her cheek with his thumb, “I just don’t know how I failed to see it?”
Cait held her breath as she considered the implication of his words. He hadn’t said that he cared about her, of course-but hadn’t he at least implied that there was something about her that he admired? Whether it was the truth, or merely a cherished possibility, she didn’t want the moment to end. She stared up at Ewan, not even blinking as he continued to stare thoughtfully into her face.
I love him, Cait had never doubted the sentiment, but likewise it had never struck her so powerfully before, almost like a physical blow. Ewan’s eyes were locked with her own. In that instant, it was as if none of the other women mattered. They didn’t even exist because he made her feel like she was the only other person in the world.
Cait could have gone on like that for hours, but they were thwarted when, seemingly out of nowhere, a giant red dog bounded up and nearly knocked them both over.
“Red!” Ewan gasped, shocked and then smiling at the dog.
Cait grinned, “Original.”
Ewan shrugged, “I’m not very imaginative, I’m afraid.”
“Well, we know that’s a lie,” Cait responded, surprising even herself with the sultry tone of her voice. Something dark and steamy flashed in Ewan’s eyes, but it vanished when “Red”, tired of being ignored, jumped up onto his shoulders again.
“Oh, fine, fine,” he said, cuffing the dog playfully and sending him a few steps away, “I suppose you’ll want to be meeting Cait then. Red, Cait. Cait, Red.”
Cait giggled at the formal introduction. “I take it he’s yours?” Cait asked. There hadn’t been a dog when she’d come to Glen Mohr before. It hurt her a little that anything had changed. “I take it he’s yours?”
“God, no!” Ewan countered. “It’s James’s mongrel. Found it out in the countryside somewhere.”
“Ah,” Cait said knowingly, “What was her name?”
“The dog’s male,” Ewan corrected.
“I wasn’t asking about the dog!” Cait parried back, causing himself to giggle.
“Fair enough,” Ewan said, smiling as he shrugged.
“Runs in the family,” Cait said wryly.
“Intelligence and good looks?” he asked, slinging his arm casually around her shoulder and urging her further up the trail, “Or-wait, you were talking about James just then.”
“I meant the wenching,” she giggled, and only laughed harder at Ewan’s shocked face. “Oh, Ewan-please. I cleaned your room! You can’t think I didn’t know.”
Ewan looked heartily embarrassed, and kept trudging forward and then spoke tightly, “It isn’t fit for a lady to talk about.”
“And I’m a lady?” Cait baited.
She expected Ewan to laugh, but his expression was thunderous. “You’re my wife!” he snapped, with a severity that made her blink.
Cait stared at him in astonishment for a moment, but finally found her voice again, “I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “I thought I was being funny.”
Ewan didn’t answer. Instead he turned back onto the path, no longer holding onto her arm. He bent to scoop up a stick, and then tossed it to Red, who went chasing after.
“Ewan!” Cait called, hurrying to keep up. Her heart was twisting in her chest. “Ewan, I’m sorry!” she said again, “Please don’t be angry!”
Finally he stopped walking and sighed. “I’m not angry, Cait,” he said in a weary tone. “I’m just…”
“Just?”
“Just…frustrated,” he groaned. “I wish that the past wasn’t keeping us apart.”
It isn’t!!! Cait wanted to scream, needing to reassure him that, despite all of his intrigues and affairs she was more in love with him than she had ever been. But she sensed that it would be wiser to temper her enthusiasm. “Let’s pretend that we don’t have a past,” she blurted.
“What?” Ewan turned and narrowed his eyes at her.
“Let’s pretend that we don’t have a past,” Cait said urgently, willing to do almost anything to wipe away the annoyance in his eyes. “I mean-once we go back to the castle things will be different, of course…but for now…let’s pretend that I’m a lady that you met on one of your wonderful journeys.”
“I don’t make wonderful journeys,” Ewan snorted.
Cait sighed. “You aren’t even trying, Ewan!”
>
Finally, a grin broke through his uncharacteristically grim façade, “Fair enough…sorry-I warned you about the lack of imagination…but let’s try…my fabulous journeys.”
Cait smiled, feeling somewhat appeased. She approached him again, and slipped her hand into his. He didn’t try to stop her. “So, what are you going to show me?” she said, beginning gently again.
This time Ewan played along, answering that they were the caves that he and his brother had played in as boys. He tugged her arm and led her further along the trail until they reached a broad, shallow ford of the river.
“Back there,” Ewan said, pointing through some reeds. He sat the picnic basket down, and then carefully hopped on a half-submerged series of stepping stones across the water. “Come on, Cait!” he called over his shoulder, “I want you to see them.”
Cait looked warily at the rocks, but didn’t argue. She tucked up her skirts, deciding that modesty around Ewan was pointless anyway, and then started across. She had made it half-way when an odd sound behind her made Cait turn around.
“Oh, no!” she shrieked, and nearly fell as surprise knocked her off balance.
“What is it?” Ewan said, also turning. Then he cursed under his breath. “RED!!!!!!!!!!”
Cait watched as Ewan jumped off the stone, sloshing through the icy water back toward the bank and then taking off in a run after the dog-whose nose had been buried in the picnic basket. A loaf of bread was clenched between the animal’s mouth as he sprinted back into the woods.
“RED!!!!!!!!!!!!” Ewan howled, chasing him into the trees. Cait listened to him crashing through the brush until the sounds had died away.
Very carefully, she picked her way back to the shore, and then settled down to wait. She tried not to let herself be nervous. Ewan would come back for her. She knew that he had to-but that didn’t mean that she was happy being left alone. For the first time that morning she noticed how spare and menacing the naked winter trees looked, and felt the icy bite of the wind.
At least I have lunch…She thought, making her way to the picnic basket, but even that bright spot was quickly dimmed. The dog had decimated the contents of the basket. Only one apple and a bottle of wine remained uneaten and unscathed.
Sighing heavily, Cait took a bite of the apple and then sat down on the bank. The soil was dry, but she could feel the frosty temperature seeping through the picnic blanket and her skirts. She shivered and wrapped her arms around her shoulders.
“Cold, Beauty?”
Cait gasped and looked up sharply as Ewan’s voice purred into her ear and his arms wrapped around her shoulders.
“Ewan?” she gasped, “I didn’t hear you!”
He shrugged and then chuckled, “I haven’t lost my touch then,” he said. Noting the blank look on her face, he explained: “Handy skill to have out on a raid.”
“Oh, of course,” Cait answered, blushing, feeling foolish for not having considered where Ewan might have learned to sneak up on people unexpectedly.
Ewan kissed the top of her head. “At any rate, I’m sorry that I frightened you.”
Cait waived the apology aside and then scooted over on the blanket to permit her husband to settle down beside her. He did so, reaching his arm around her waist to draw her closer. Then, just as he was tipping her chin to kiss her, Cait’s stomach growled.
Cait’s cheeks flushed in mortification and she jerked away, crossing her arms around her stomach.
Ewan laughed at her distress, “Aye, my poor wife-starving to death,” he looked in the direction that the dog had run, “And Jame’s cursed hound has made off with our lunch. I suppose your husband ought to set about providing for you.”
“Providing?” Cait said slowly, “Providing what?”
Ewan made a sweeping Gesture back toward the stream. “Why, a fish, of course!” he responded. Then, when Cait arched her eyebrow skeptically, he chuckled, “You don’t think I’m as worthless as all that, do you? Even I can catch a fish!”
Cait grinned, feeling a lot of her earlier tension melt away in the face of Ewan’s ready smile. “I don’t doubt it…” she began slowly, “in the proper circumstances-but you don’t even have a fishhook!”
“Aw,” Ewan said in a conspiratorial tone, “Fishing hooks aren’t my style.”
“You have a style?”
Ewan winked at her. “Observe!”
Cait watched with interest as he kicked off his boots and waded shin-deep into the stream. She didn’t want to think of how icy that the water must be on his toes. Ewan didn’t seem to mind. He stooped over and picked up a good-sized stone, which he jogged in his hands for a moment, testing the shape and weight.
“What are you-?” Cait started to ask, but the question was lost in a squeak when, without any warning, Ewan pitched forward. There was a loud smash, a grunt of triumph, and then Ewan, the front of his clothing soaked was hauling something grey and slimy out of the brook.
“Lunch!” he announced proudly, turning to display a small, bloody trout.
Cait scrunched her nose, “You bashed it on the head?” she said, gaping-although she was faintly impressed with the show of speed and strength he had employed to make the kill.
“Aye,” Ewan said, wading back to the shore and collecting his boots and socks. “Messing and around with poles and nets was never my forte.”
“Too subtle,” Cait remarked wryly.
Ewan grinned and nodded. He wiped his feet on the edge of the blanket and then plunked himself down again, letting the fish fall on the grass. “Well?” he said, leaning toward her.
“Well?” she responded, perplexed.
“Here’s your fearless husband, returning home with the kill-doesn’t that earn a kiss?”
Cait rolled her eyes. “Fair enough,” she responded, leaning forward to dab a little smack on his cheek. She shrieked when his arms went unexpectedly around her shoulders, tossing her onto her back.
The icy wet of Ewan’s shirt seeped through her bodice, causing her to gasp in shock. He heard her, but he didn’t pull away.
“You-you’re getting me wet!” Cait finally managed to stammer.
“Good,” Ewan drawled into her ear, “Sounds like an excellent start.”
“Ewan!” Cait gasped, but notably didn’t struggle as he continued to bear down on her body, pressing his lean, damp weight down and holding her in place. She arched her neck and sighed when his lips brushed the side of her neck. He skimmed the tendon there with his lips, before retracing the route with his teeth and tongue.
“I promised you lunch, didn’t I,” Ewan said, pretending to draw away-though it was patently obvious to both lovers the threat was made merely for the purpose of having Cait clutch at the neck of his shirt, dragging him back. She held his lips against her skin, moaning and sighing as he rained kisses over her face and shoulders.
“Oh, Cait,” his voice fluttered against her ear even as his hands sank lower down her body. His fingers stretched as far as they could go, and then began inching up her skirts. “You know what I want.”
Cait caught her breath. His simple declaration sizzled through her consciousness. She did know-and the knowledge was exhilarating.
“Ewan, I-!” she began, reaching for the hem of his skirt, but at that very moment, an unwelcome sound carried through the forest.
“Ewan??? Cait???”
Both bodies froze and tensed. Ewan let Cait’s skirts fall back again as he turned his head and strained to listen as their names were called again.
“James,” he growled darkly. The expression on his face was somewhere between puzzlement and annoyance.
Ewan pulled away, and Cait quickly tidied her appearance. There was nothing to be done for her flushed skin and swollen lips, but she managed to straighten her dress and hair before James Cameron, Ewan’s younger brother, appeared over the top of a ridge.
“Oh, there you are!” the young man said, grinning brightly, either oblivious to or unconcerned with what he had interrupted.
Ewan shot his brother a dark look. “Yes. Here I am. You found me-now go away.”
James chuckled and ignored him, continuing to walk toward the pair, “Ah now-don’t you want my news? I’ve ridden all night to deliver it.”
“You have?” Ewan’s expression changed. He glanced nervously at Cait, and then back to his brother. “It’s about Lachlan.” James nodded and so his brother continued. “He’s returned?” James shook his head in the negative, and Ewan’s stomach clenched with dread. “What is it?” he demanded.
James took a breath. “Lachlan isn’t coming back.”
“What???” Both Ewan and Cait gasped at the same time. Ewan’s fingers tightened into a fist. Automatically, his mind raced into action. He would need his horse. It was still early. He could ride along most of the eastern borders before nightfall and send someone to the Frasers for help. He was almost ready to sprint back through the woods to the house when James continued speaking.
“He’s not coming back for now,” the younger man corrected, “He’s headed down to Glasgow.”
“Glasgow?” Ewan echoed. His mind was slow to process the information. Lachlan wasn’t dead, thank God, but he’d gone far beyond their initial reconnaissance scheme.
“Aye,” James nodded. Without being asked he plopped himself onto the blanket and smiled back up at his brother, “He’s gone to chase some rumors. At least, that’s what the messenger said.”
“What are the lowlanders going to know about rumors?” Ewan snarled back, suspiciously. He’d never trusted the city dwellers, cut off from their clans, practically adopting English ways. “Unless…” he began unsteadily. “Unless he thinks that the English were involved?”
James watched the expression on his brother’s face, and then tipped his head. “The letter didn’t flat out say it-no doubt he was wary of it being intercepted-but that’s the consensus.”
“But would they really come up so far?” Ewan said, frowning darkly. He’d heard of the English threatening the far southern borders of some of the other clans, but rarely had they threatened and of the lands as insulated as the Camerons.
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