A Year and a Day

by Stephanie Sterling

  “Oh, Ewan! Honestly!” Cait interrupted. “I’m feeling fine. It was nothing-and I’d love to keep them. I’ve barely met your little namesake at all!” she said, referring to the new baby whom Muira had named Ewan Graem.

  “Thank you!” Muira said, siezing instantly on Cait’s acceptance. “I was going to see about sending a letter to Eilean Donan as well,” she said, finally admitting her true purpose. “I’ll have them dressed and fed before I go.”

  “Oh, don’t bother!” Cait insisted, “I can manage.”

  Muira thanked her brother and sister-in-law and then retired to her own chambers.

  Ewan watched his sister leave, and then turned toward his wife.

  “I didn’t think that you cared too much for children,” he blurted.

  Cait’s eyes bulged. “What? Of course I like children!” she insisted, assuming that Ewan was teasing. She dotted a kiss on the tip of his nose. “I’ve had a bit of experience with children too,” she told him, “and if my experience tells me anything, it’s that we’re going to need our sleep.”

  “I don’t want jam! I want honey!” Thomas whined.

  “His toast is bigger than my toast!”

  “I don’t want my egg!”

  “Duncan shoved me!”

  “Did not!”

  “DID TOO!”

  Ewan typically loved the boisterous nature of his growing pack of nieces and nephews, but this particular morning, they were giving him a headache. Muira was gone before any of the children, save the baby ,were awake, so that the first sound to greet his ears in the morning was Duncan’s piercing wail for his mother.

  Ewan had remained in bed, automatically expecting the nanny to assume control-only, of course, she couldn’t. When that failed, he rolled over, held Cait closer and willed the sound to go away. That didn’t work either.

  “Poor little fellow,” Cait said blearily when she finally came awake. She reached for her dressing gown, but Ewan held her firmly in place against his chest. “We really ought to go to him.”

  “Give him a moment,” Ewan urged in a drowsy whisper. He felt a surge of relief when, a minute later, the crying ceased-but relief gave way to horror when he heard a knocking at the door-and then the handle turned.

  “I want my MAMA!!!!” Duncan wailed, barging into the room. Face streaked with tears, he made a bee-line for the bed. “MAMA!!!!” he sobbed.

  Ewan had faced terrifying warriors on the battlefield, and been pushed to his limits as chieftain and now tanist of the clan-but he had never faced anything that left him paralyzed like staring into the teary green eyes of his nephew. “Go back to bed, Duncan!” he barked, employing the tone that he often used with his men. Perhaps unsurprisingly, the little boy only cried harder.

  “Come along now, darling.”

  Ewan blinked when he realized that Cait had gotten out of bed. She wasn’t fully dressed yet, but had managed to wriggle into a nightgown and her robe. He opened his mouth to tell her to go back to sleep-that he would handle it (he didn’t want her even MORE annoyed), but was left speechless when she tenderly scooped the little boy into her arms and patted his head.

  “I know you want your mamma, darling,” she soothed quietly, rubbing a circle on his back, “But you remember that your mamma had to go to town. You get to spend your day with Uncle Ewan and Auntie Cait-won’t that be fun?”

  Ewan watched in quiet amazement as his wife comforted the child and led him back to the nursery.Unfortunately, as soon as Duncan was put down again, Thomas and Maisie were up. The baby awoke soon after, and from then out, it was pandamonium at the house.

  Maisie and Thomas were testing Ewan’s last nerve. They’d been fighting nearly since they awoke-the egg incident being the latest example.

  “He did NOT look at your eggs,” Ewan growled tensely. “And even if he did-it wouldn’t matter at all.”

  “It DOES matter!” Maisie sniffled, turning to Cait for support.

  “No, it doesn’t,” Ewan grumbled under his breath, even as he admitted defeat and traded eggs with his niece. “Why can’t he and his sister just get along?”

  “Oh, like you did with yours?” Cait asked sweetly-and then shot him a wicked grin.

  Cait watched Ewan’s reaction, silently begging him to smile. Instead, he merely muttered under his breath and turned away.

  “So, Maisie,” Cait said in a determined voice. “What do you and your brothers want to do today?”

  “I want to go to the lake!” the fair-haired girl answered. Cait held her breath, expecting Duncan or Thomas to call out a contrtadiction. To her relief, they did not.

  In fairness, the children weren’t actually misbehaving. One could hardly expect children of their ages-especially children as thoroughly indulged as the MacRae children had been, to sit quietly and get along better than they did. Still, it didn’t keep Cait from wishing that they would. She needed them to be perfect. If she was ever going to convince Ewan that he wanted a child, today would be her best shot. He already enjoyed his niece and nephews, if she could only make him appreciate how much better it would be with a child of their own, Cait thought that she might be able to change his mind about the topic.

  “Can we have a picnic by the lake?” Thomas asked.

  “I want Uncle Ewan to catch a fish!” Duncan added.

  Cait was about to nod her head, when a low roll of thunder met her ears. She rushed to the window, and her heart plummeted when she recognized the sound. “It’s going to storm,” she said anxiously. “We’ll have to stay in the house.”

  A trio of dissappointed voices filled the room, but it was only a few minutes more before another crack of thunder shook the room, and the protests turned to squeals of of terror as the children looked anxiously to the window.

  “It’s allright, children,” Cait said, concerned that they would start crying in earnest, “It’s only a little bit of rain.”

  “Davie MacEantach said that thunder comes from English cannons,” Thomas said, his voice so achingly sincere and terrified that Cait was glad to correct him.

  “No, it isn’t,” she said firmly, “They say that cannon fire does sound like thunder sometimes, but this is just from the storm,” she dropped a kiss onto the boy’s head, “Your daddy and Uncle Ewan would never let the English get so close.”

  This quieted the brood temporarily. Several seconds passed before Maisie chimed in with a tiny, shaking voice, “Is daddy going to die?”

  Cait didn’t mean to hesitate, but she couldn’t help it. She looked automatically to Ewan, unsure of how to answer the question. Of course, she hoped that Lachlan wouldn’t be hurt or killed, but there was no guarantee. If and when the English returned, the MacRae Laird would be in the thick of the fighting, and she felt that it would be somehow worse if she gave the children a false sense of security. “Your daddy isn’t fighting right now,” Cait finally muttered, hoping that this was answer enough.

  It wasn’t. “Davie MacEantach says…” Maisie started again. However, to Cait’s relief, her uncle interjected:

  “Davie MacEantach is a blind fool-like all of the MacEantachs!” he growled harshly. Ewan turned toward his niece and said very firmly. “Everyone has to die someday,” he admitted, “But your dad is one of the best fighters that I’ve ever seen. If anyone can lick the English, it’s him.”

  This answer seemed to go a lot further at quieting the children down. Maisie nodded her head and thoughtfully chewed her toast, while Thomas hefted his chin proudly. “Yeah! Daddy’s a great fighter!”

  Cait shot Ewan a secretive smile. He stomach fluttered when he caught it and sent it back. He was a natural with children. She wished that she could make him see that-that she could force him to understand what a waste it was for him to give up the idea of children all together. It was so easy to picture him with a baby of his own! Her hand subconsciously moved to her stomach as she imagined a dark haired, light eyed little boy perched on Ewan’s knee, listening with rapt attention to stories about battles and
travels and fairy tales, all dispensed with Ewan’s rich voice and twinkling eyes.

  “…for a while, don’t you think, Cait?…Cait?”

  “Wh-what?” Cait blinked and looked up sharply at Ewan.

  “I was saying that it would be okay for the children to go out to the barn for a while with the groom. They’ll stay dry enough,” And it would keep them from grating on Cait’s nerves, he thought to himself but didn’t say.

  “Of course,” Cait said, nodding quickly. She glanced at the children’s clothing, assuring herself that none of them were wearing anything delicate or likely to be ruined if it was soiled, and then sent them out, crowded under a cloak to keep the already steady rain from soaking them as they crossed the yard.

  “There now,” Ewan said, stepping behind Cait and starting to massage her shoulders, “Peace and Quiet. That’s better, isn’t it?”

  “I’m sorry that I volunteered to watch them, Ewan,” Cait blurted, anxious to apologize. She was confused by her husband’s answer:

  “I know,” he whispered regretfully into her ear, “But I suppose that it couldn’t be helped. Muira would have finagled it some how if you’d said no.”

  Cait nodded her head, relieved that he was being understanding.

  “They have been rather trying this morning, haven’t they?” she said, hoping to remind him that, typically, his niece and nephews were joys and, upon occasion, utter darlings.

  “Do you think so?” Ewan asked, still sounding odd. “Yes…I suppose they were…can’t blame them really though. I suppose it’s normal for them to be frightened.

  “Yes! Exactly!” Cait said, grateful that he understood.

  Cait nodded her head, and then silence fell between them. It took only a moment for the lull in conversation to become uncomfortable. Cait couldn’t think of what else to say, however, so she began bustling around the room, tidying up china and toys and the general detritus of breakfast.

  “Don’t we have a maid for that?” Ewan asked, scrunching his nose. He positively hated when Cait fell instantly into her old habits. It was a scathing reminder that he had let her down; that he hadn’t rescued her sooner from a life of poverty and toil to which she was so clearly unsuited.

  “I…I suppose so,” Cait stammered uncomfortably. She set down the stack of dishes that she’d gathered. “Should I ring for her?”

  “If you want.”

  Silence reigned again. Cait bit her tongue to hold in a bitter sigh. It was almost comical that she couldn’t find any words. There was so much that she wanted to say! When she finally did manage to speak, it was not what she’d intended at all: “I suppose you’ll be headed into the village soon?”

  Ewan looked up from where he had been toying with a teacup. “The village?”

  “Aye…” Cait blushed, wondering how it was possible that the slightest direct eye contact with Ewan could reduce her to such a quivering wreck. “I thought you might have business there.”

  “Trying to get rid of me?” Ewan asked, his voice just light enough to let her know that he was teasing.

  “You know I’m not,” Cait answered back, the colour in her cheeks deepening as his arms threaded around her shoulders, and a kiss was pressed against her neck. She exhaled sharply. “You know that I want you here with me.”

  This time, the silence was owing to the fact that Ewan’s lips were very pleasantly otherwise engaged. They trailed over the tendon in her neck, sampling the deliCaite skin where her throat met her collarbone. “The house is empty,” he whispered suggestively into her ear.

  “But-the children!” Cait blurted, and Ewan laughed.

  “They won’t be back until lunch,” he assured her. “I should have at least two and a half hours of my lovely wife all to myself…unless you have something else you need to do?” he frowned uncertainly.

  “Of course not!” Cait blurted, setting his fears to rest. She shifted in her chair, unwittingly opening the rest of her face to a full-on assault from his lips.

  It felt like years, rather than hours, since she had last been kissed. Cait opened like a flower to her husband’s touch, softening and leaning against him and inviting herself to be plundered. Ewan seemed only too willing to oblige. Keeping his mouth firmly pressed to hers, he guided her back toward the stairs.

  “The children will be in the barn for at least an hour,” he breathed against her cheek her, upon reaching the steps, he was forced to pull away.

  “You’re sure?” Cait asked breathlessly.

  Ewan nodded, “I’m sure. I told Liam that his job depended on it.”

  Cait smiled and leaned her head against his shoulder, debating whether or not she actually believed that Ewan had made arrangements with the horsemaster to assure a tryst. She couldn’t quite put it past him-and somehow that made him all the more endearing. “Well, we’d better hurry then,” Cait breathed back, “I’d hate to waste our precious time…not to mention the tragedy of putting a good man out of work.”

  “Tragic,” Ewan nodded, not indicating which comment he was referring to. Then, without warning, he scooped Cait up into his arms and carried her up the stairs.

  Cait was giggling and flushed by the time they reached their room-a room which, unfortunately, shared a wall with the nursery, and had limited their nocturnal activities since their guests arrived. Now, however, the house was empty, save the servants toiling in the kitchens below, and Ewan took advantage of that fact, dropping Cait onto the bed without caring that the headboard knocked against the wall, or that her squeal of laughter and anticipation could be heard above the steadily increasing wind.

  “I’ve wanted you so badly,” Ewan groaned, straightening Cait’s legs on the bed, and then reaching under her skirts to peel off her woollen stockings.

  “I always want you,” Cait answered back, she always had, and felt a delicious shiver at the flare of lust which rose instantly in Ewan’s eyes. She met them with a coquettish smile, “What do you propose to do about it?”

  Ewan cursed quietly under his breath, and then crawled over his wife, “Don’t tell me that you’ve already forgotten!” he said with mock sincerity. “The situation is far worse than I originally imagined.”

  “Desperate,” Cait agreed, reaching for him, but Ewan intercepted her wrist. He bent it back toward his lips and planted a heavy kiss in the center of her palm. “Ewan,” she purred quietly reaching back behind her body to clutch at his ribs. He squirmed out of her touch, but she could feel the heat on his skin growing, and hear the ragged catch of his breath, “I-,” she started, but didn’t finish, as she was interrupted by a tiny wail.

  It took a moment to place then sound. When she did, she jerked away from her lover and sat up, “Ewan!”

  Her husband cocked a brow, “Aye?” he said, feigning ignorance for as long as he could-which wouldn’t be much considering that the cries had already increased in pitch and volume.

  “The baby!” Cait said, flinging her legs over the side of the bed. She hurriedly arranged her dress and started to the door.

  “Foiled again,” Ewan said, sighing heavily. Cait shot him a regretful smile, but she didn’t stop as she rushed out the door of the bedroom and into the nursery.

  She should have let him cry for a moment, she thought anxiously. The baby couldn’t be in any real distress, Muira had fed him thoroughly in the morning before she left, and a damp nappy wouldn’t hurt him for an hour-but she had been physically unable to control her feet. Some new instinct, perhaps awakened by the prospect of a child of her own, had completely smothered her personal concerns and sent her straight to the baby, not allowing her to stop until she had plucked the tiny infant up out of his crib.

  Little Ewan Graem MacRae’s cries lessened, but persisted when Cait lifted him into her arms. She jostled his little body for a moment and, when that failed, checked his nappie.

  It was dry-which left him either hungry or bored. She hoped that it wasn’t the former. Muira had arranged for a wet nurse to come, but she might have be
en delayed by the rain and, in any event, wasn’t expected before noon. Feeling slightly panicked-she didn’t know how long big Ewan’s temper would withstand the crying-she cradled the baby against her own chest and began to hum a quiet lullabye.

  Finally, something worked. After only a moment of singing and rocking the child, he began to settle down. Soon his voice was reduced to a quiet whimper and then, finally, his bright blue eyes began to close.

  Sensing her chance to escape, Cait started to put him back into the cot-but the baby didn’t stand for it. His eyes popped open, and he opened his mouth to release an almighty yelp-which she quickly stifled against her breast.

  After a few more similar attempts at returning Ewan to bed it was clear that what he was craving was attention-and she really had no choice but to give it to him-unless she wanted to endure an entire morning of his cries. She knew that her husband wouldn’t be happy, but she really had no choice but to carry the baby back to their room.

  Ewan he arched a brow at the baby when she swept into the room.

  “He won’t settle down,” she said apologetically, and perched on the edge of the bed. Her husband slid behind her and looped his arm around them both.

  “I can call the cook to watch him if you’d like.”

  “No!” Cait blurted, and then remembered herself. “Unless-unless you want me to!” she said quickly.

  Ewan frowned, “Don’t you want to be rid of the baby?”

  This time it was Cait’s turn to be perplexed. “What? Whyever for?” she said, frowning. “I mean…I…”

  “I know,” Ewan laughed. He reached around her and brushed his fingertip against the baby’s cheek, “I just…” he hesitated, but finally spoke, “I know that children aren’t really your thing, and it really isn’t your job to take care of my sister’s kids.”

  Cait didn’t even hear the last bit of his sentence. Her mouth fell open in shock at the first thing he had said, “Children aren’t my thing?”

  Ewan looked away, although his finger kept stroking his tiny nephew’s skin. “I just meant…of course, you’re wonderful with children…but I know…you prefer if they are…uhm…seen and not heard.”