“I know!” the jolly old cook said kindly, cleaning Cait’s plate away. “There’s no call to apologize. I was the same way with my first.”
“Your first?” Cait asked, wrinkling her brow.
“My first baby, of course,” the cook said. “The master’s been gone…what? Two months? Don’t worry lass, it can’t be much longer until the worst is over. My guess is by the time the buds are bursting you’ll be the very image of health again, and have a wee bairn to coddle afore the frost.”
Cait stared at the old cook, absolutely gobsmacked by the news. She couldn’t be pregnant! Cait’s heart cycled through a strange range of emotions, beginning with shock, and ending with a sort of terrified euphoria-the same way that she had felt her first time on a horse, or setting off on a ship: her stomach soaring and churning at the same time.
Utterly oblivious to Cait’s blank expression, the old woman continued to prattle on cheerfully. “What do you fancy? A boy or a girl? I’m sure it’s a boy that the master’s wanting, but you never can tell. The old Laird was sorely disappointed to hear that his second was another boy…” her voice trailed off for a moment, and then she crossed herself, “and now both the poor things are cold in graves. I ache for their dear mother…”
She continued talking, but Cait had ceased listening and had become lost in her own thoughts. The more that she considered the possibility that she was pregnant, the more certain she was that it was true. She and Ewan had certainly done everything in their power to assure that it did happen-Cait’s body burned and ached as she thought of her absent husband-and she’d certainly shown all the signs.
Autumn, Cait thought, a smile flitting across her lips as her hand drifted wistfully onto her stomach. I’m having a baby she thought to herself, and then the grin finally burst out in full force. Suddenly, she didn’t feel tired anymore. There were a hundred things that she wanted to do! She would have to see about a midwife, and she needed a nursery. Most important of all she had to try to get a message to her husband! Pleasantly occupied, and feeling happy for the first time in months, Cait bustled off to begin preparations.
Ewan watched the familiar shape of Castle Cameron rise over the hillside with unmasked relief. He’d be home in a few more hours. There was only one last valley to cross before he could collapse inside the sturdy walls. Eilean Donan was liberated-at least for the time being, and they’d pushed the English back far enough to justify a brief retreat. He knew that the final battle was still weeks-possibly months-away, but he and his soldiers needed a break.
Ewan felt like he hadn’t stopped since he’d left Glen Mohr three and a half months before. He had been at Castle Cameron for only a few days before departing to the front. The weeks that followed had been brutal. He had lost countless friends and kinsmen in a bloody, seemingly never-ending battle, and still the English foes had drawn back only slightly to their lowland allies in the South.
In all his years, Ewan had never seen fighting so brutal and relentless. Rather than large engagements, the Scots and the English had played at ambushing each other and making raids-rendering the psychological toll of always being on guard almost as bad as the fighting. For now, however, he was allowed a temporary respite. Their spies disclosed that the English commander, Colonel Everleigh, had been briefly recalled to the south. Ewan left Eilean Donan in the hands of his brother-in-law and headed east.
He knew that his rest would be brief, but he tried not to think too far into the future. He only wanted to collapse into his bed and sleep, reveling in the small comforts of a fire, and a properly cooked meal before returning to the front. Those prospects were the only thing that kept him going for the last few plodding miles.
Arriving at the castle, Ewan’s hopes of rest were quickly dashed. A messenger from the Laird arrived almost immediately, and took him to meet with his uncle. After a grueling, three hour meeting he was sent away-only to be confronted by his sister in the hall.
“Lachlan isn’t with you?” she said, white faced. She was carrying the new baby-yet another boy-in her arms and had two others trailing at her skirts. Ewan patted the eldest’s head distractedly.
“No, Muira,” he answered. Then, reading her fear, he added, “He had to stay behind. The MacRae’s need someone to lead them.
“You’ll take us back!” Muira retorted, her voice more of a command than a question. Her brother shook his head as firmly as he could manage, given his exhaustion.
“No!” In fact, he’d been given strict instructions by his brother-in-law to see that his little brood was carted even further away-to Glen Mohr if possible, but he didn’t have the energy to raise that issue with his sister yet. “We’ll discuss it in the morning,” he said at last.
Muira made a harrumphing sound, but nodded. She turned to go, but then stopped, “What did the letter from Cait say?” she asked curiously.
“What?” Ewan frowned.
“The letter from Cait-a messenger came from Glen Mohr a month ago. I thought he was headed to the front.”
“There wasn’t any letter,” Ewan said, his skin prickling with fear. He couldn’t imagine why Cait would write a letter. What if she were injured or sick? “Are you certain that it was from my wife?” he snapped.
“Of course!” Muira assured him. “I saw the handwriting. The lad wouldn’t let me see it though. He said that he was under strict instructions that no one could see it but you.” she must have read his expression, because she added. “The farmers have been up from Glen Mohr since the letter came. They said Cait was the picture of health.”
“Thank you,” Ewan responded-and then reminded himself that he wasn’t supposed to care.
Thankfully, the constant stress of battle had kept his mind engaged in different, if equally unpleasant, musings. Now that he was home, he knew that he would be plagued once more with indecision.
Away from the castle, trapped in a life or death struggle for Cameron and MacRae survival, the reasons for pushing Cait out of his life-despite the fact that he loved her-had been a lot clearer and more persuasive. Now though, as he treaded back to his room-their room-and thought about the brief time they had shared there together, he was starting to weaken. Surely he had proven himself as a leader? Surely the Cameron’s could forgive him an English wife?
Ewan tried to push the thoughts away, but the memories were even stronger when he stepped inside his room. He and Cait had shared the place for only a few brief days. Still, everything seemed touched by her essence. He knew that it was impossible, but the room seemed to smell like her: a hint of lilac and honey.
He finally decided to quit resisting. As he lay in bed, he gave free reign to his imagination, and imagined seeing her again. Ewan’s eyelids dipped as the smell of lilacs faded from his mind, replaced with the memory of another, muskier scent that was still so essentially Cait.
Late the next morning, when he finally crawled out of bed, he was summoned before his uncle.
“Are you rested?” the old man asked, in a manner which implied that the answer was immaterial.
Ewan bobbed his head noncommittally.
“Good,” Laird Cameron said, “Because I need another favor.”
“Oh?”
His uncle sighed heavily, “It’s Muira,” he said. “Laird MacRae wants her to go to Glen Mohr.”
“And?” Ewan asked, confused, even as he envied his sister.
“And she won’t go! She’s got it into her head that she needs to head back to Eilean Donan-the threat of another siege apparently isn’t enough to drag her away.”
Ewan nodded and frowned. He knew too well how stubborn his sister could be once she put her mind toward being difficult. “What can I do?”
“Well,” the old Laird took a sip of wine, “I was thinking…perhaps you might have some business at Glen Mohr yourself,” Ewan’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. Had his uncle made yet another shift of opinion? If so, Ewan couldn’t think why-if anything, the long, bitter fight against Colonel Everleigh was making Cait les
s beneficial to have as a wife-even he could see that! “Business that your sister might be able to help with.”
“I don’t ken what you mean,” Ewan said, still frowning, his alarm growing when his uncle shot him a pitying look.
“Don’t you think that you owe the lass an explanation?” he asked his nephew.
Ewan’s brow furrowed. “Cait?”
“Aye…I had the impression…perhaps things weren’t quite so much a matter of convenience between you-I thought that you might want to break the news in person.”
“The news?”
“That you aren’t coming back,” the Laird said baldly, “That you’ve got to take another wife.”
Ewan’s horror at the statement must have shown, because the Laird looked apologetic again. “Ewan, I’m sorry. You know that I don’t want to meddle. God knows, you and James are the only thing close to a son that I’ve got left, and I’d like to see you have a little patch of happiness, but the Camerons won’t last without you. If you aren’t named Laird, the clan will fall apart. Half of ‘em will wind up Frasures and the others MacRaes, or going to the lowland cities…” he shook his head, and then offered, as if in consolation, “You can still keep the lass on the side. Nothing’s stopping you. You’ve just got to have another mother for your child.”
It was a long moment before Ewan trusted himself to speak, When he did, he concentrated on what the Laird had said earlier. “What has this got to do with Muira?” he asked quietly.
“Well, she’s Cait’s friend, isn’t she? And she’s your sister. Surely she’d want to smooth things over. Tell her that you need her for moral support, and to look after Cait when you come back.”
It would work.
Ewan nodded to the Laird, grudgingly admitting the brilliance of the plan. It would kill two birds with one stone: relocate sister and break his ties to Cait. There was just one problem: he didn’t want his ties to Cait to be severed.
“Well?”
Ewan blinked when he realized that the lair was staring at him, “Of course,” he finally muttered, “I’ll go and speak to Muira now.”
“Good…good,” the Laird said, turning back to the papers scattered on his desk. Ewan took this as a sign that he was free to go. However, a voice called after him as he reached the door. “I’m sorry, Ewan,” his uncle said, sounding older and sadder than he ever had before. “Please believe me that I am.”
Ewan only nodded in return.
He knew that he was meant to go directly to his sister, but he did not. He wandered the halls of the castle, running trivial errands and seizing any possible delay of his task. Ultimately, however, he could prevent his duty no longer. He walked to the suite of rooms that Muira was using and knocked on the door.
The sound of children’s laughter was bubbling out into the hall. He knew that he would find his sister inside. Muira had never been the type to leave her children with a nurse if she could help it. Now that the baby had been born, she had to stay even closer than usual to give the little boy his meals.
Ewan knocked on the door before stepping inside. He was immediately swarmed by tiny bodies. Maisie, the oldest, shimmied up his legs and inserted herself into his arms, while Thomas and Duncan clung to his ankles. Even the baby managed to wriggle his plump arms in Ewan’s direction.
“Uncle Ewan! Uncle Ewan!” a chorus of voices chimed, “Did you come to tell us a story? Did you bring us a present? Stay and play!”
Ewan patted their heads proudly, gave Maisie a kiss, and then tried to extricate himself from the clutch of little people. “I’ve come to speak with yer mum,” he announced, and cast his eyes toward Muira, who returned a suspicious glance.
“About what?” Duncan asked.
“Tell us! Tell us!” Maisie commanded.
“About taking you all on a trip,” Ewan said slowly, pointedly directing his comments to the children in the hopes that it would slip past Muira’s notice. Unfortunately, the tactic didn’t work. He could feel Muira angrily rising out of her chair before he ever looked up.
“If the Laird has sent you, Ewan Cameron,” she snarled, “then you can walk back out that door. The only trip that we’re taking is back to Eilean Donan!”
“Well, if that’s how you feel about doing your brother a favor…” he replied slowly, making a great show of being hurt.
Muira quirked a brow suspiciously, “It’s no great favor to you to head off to someplace utterly useless while my husband is-”
“But that’s the point, Muira!” Ewan interrupted, “I do need you to do something for me. Something very important.”
“What?” Muira said, challenging him. She stood almost toe to toe with her brother, daring to look him in the eye. She was not overly small for a woman, but looked miniscule in his shadow. Nevertheless, she didn’t balk.
Ewan took a deep breath. He was certain that none of the battles he’d fought in-even the siege of Eilean Donan-was as difficult as forcing himself to finally blurt, “I need you there for when I break things off with Cait.”
For a moment, there was perfect silence. Even the little MacRaes seemed to sense that something shocking had been said.
Muira’s mouth moved open and shut several times without making a sound, reminding Ewan of a gigantic fish. When she finally did manage a word, it was not what she expected. “Kendra!” she snapped. Almost instantly, one of the castle servants bustled inside. Muira handed over the baby, and then pointed to his brothers and sister, “The children would like to be taken for a walk.”
“What? No we don’t mummy!” Maisie wailed.
“We want to stay with uncle Ewan!” Thomas added.
Duncan bobbed his head, “I want to see the fighting!”
Happily, Kendra was too wise to expect that the children’s protests might be considered. “Come on with you now,” she said, herding them toward the doorway, pausing only long enough to pick up cloaks and wraps. “I think there was some sort of interesting fish cook had down in the kitchen-why don’t we go and take a look.?”
Despite protests, the kindly old woman managed to herd the gaggle of children out of the room and into the hall. Ewan listened to their voices fading, wishing that he could follow, until they finally disappeared. Almost at that instant, Muira lunged toward him. “Break things off with Cait?” she nearly shouted, “Are you insane???”
Ewan stiffened, unwilling to tolerate being spoken to like a child-even if he knew his sister was right. “I’d be insane to stay with her,” he retorted brashly, and tried not to wince as the look of outrage on Muira’s face turned to shock.
“But I don’t understand!” Muira protested, “The pair of you seemed so happy! Cait said…” she began, but then seemed to think better of telling her brother how many intimate details of his marriage her friend had spilled.
“That’s not the point!” Ewan snapped. He wouldn’t bother denying that he’d been happy.
“Then what is?” Muira fairly hissed.
Ewan sighed and sank down onto the edge of a chair, “I’m the Tanist now…”
“I believe I actually noticed,” Muira said sarcastically.
Ewan rolled his eyes and kept talking, “Someday I’m going to be Laird-and the clan will never accept Cait as my wife.”
Muira shook her head fiercely. “That’s ridiculous. Of course they will.”
“Muira, she’s English!” Ewan growled. “We’ve been fighting a war against them. I hope you noticed that too!”
“And I married a MacRae tanist!” Muira retorted, “We fought a lot of battles against them too!”
“It’s not the same,” Ewan muttered under his breath.
Muira crossed her arms, “Well, it doesn’t matter anyways. Cait’s already your wife.”
“But only until November.”
If possible, Muira’s cheeks grew redder, “So that’s that then?” she asked. “You’re just going to let her go at the end of the year? ‘Thanks for keeping my bed warm, but you aren’t needed anymore’? Is that
it?”
“Muira!” Ewan said, a tone of warning creeping into his voice. He rubbed his temples as he met his sister’s eyes again. “You can’t think I want this. I have to do it for the clan-Muira, uncle all but said he’d choose another tanist if I refused.”
“And being in power is more important than Cait?” Muira sniffed, but looked contrite as Ewan’s expression darkened. Still, she held her ground, “There isn’t anyone else that he could choose,” she said flatly.
Ewan shook his head. “There isn’t anyone else that he should choose. There’s still James,” he felt a pang for speaking ill against his brother, but knew that Muira understood he was speaking the truth. “He’s got a claim.”
“He wouldn’t last a month!” Muira said in the same, embarrassed tone. Her cheeks flushed when she saw her brother nod. “But-!” she started again, and then wrung her hands in despair when she came around to his point of view and recognized, at last, the bitter truth: there wasn’t any other way.
“But-what if there’s a baby?” Muira finally said, her voice strained.
Ewan shook his head, “There isn’t,” he could take comfort in that at least. A Laird with a Half-English son would be worse than one with a half-English wife. “I’d give anything for it to be different,” Ewan said, “But it’s not…and I need you. Muira-I need you, and the children, there to remind me why.”
Muira nodded her head glumly, “I’d rather go back to Eilean Donan,” she said, but her voice lacked the passion it had held before.
“I know, lass,” Ewan said. He could have added, “So would I,” but that wasn’t entirely true. There was a silver lining to every cloud. He was going to see Cait again. Even if it was only for a few hours, even if she hated him after her told her the truth-he had that much to be grateful for at least.
Cait bustled sat up from where she was weeding a patch of flowers and used the back of her hand to wipe away the beads of sweat forming on her brow. She knew that she ought to go inside. The sun was so high in the sky that it was sure to brown her skin and sprinkle her nose with freckles, but it felt so glorious out in the sunshine that she couldn’t bear to go inside.
A Year and a Day Page 15