A Year and a Day

by Stephanie Sterling

  Cait’s mind whirled feverishly, in stark contrast to the stillness of her exhausted body. She didn’t have much money, apart from what Ewan had given her for the household accounts. Surely he couldn’t begrudge her a small portion of that money? After all, he owed her something.

  Finally, by the time that the sun began to set, she had seized upon a plan. She would take half of the silver Ewan had left her. She could send back what she didn’t need, or leave instructions for him to be repaid from her own small stash of savings back at the Castle. She knew there was a market town just inside the Frasure lands. From there, she could travel with the merchants, who would surely go south for summer trading, and finally she could sail back home.

  Home? Cait frowned at the thought. She sounded English, and her girlhood had been passed there, but she had never pictured anything other than the sunwarmed stones of castle Cameron as home-if only the other Camerons felt that way! Once again, her palm rested protectively on her child. She was suddenly, bitterly aware that she was repeating history. Just like her mother, she was running away. Just like herself, her child would never belong-but what other choice did she have?

  None, she answered firmly. There was nothing else to do. She had to leave. She had to go away forever.

  Ewan had never felt so weary in his life. Pure adrenaline had carried him the first 12 hours from Glen Mohr but, as he continued through the night, gradually joined by men he collected along the way, the buzz began to fade, replaced by bone-deep exhaustion.

  At midnight, they had finally decided to stop. They didn’t know what they would find at the castle, and it wasn’t wise to ride to the point of collapse, but the night was sleepless, and he was back in the saddle again at dawn. His mind was too full of nervous energy to stop and think-and so he was insulated for a while against the memory of Cait’s desolated face when he had said goodbye. However, as the miles plodded past, and the hours stretched on, he began to lose his focus. Beginning slowly, his mind returned down the winding road to the Frasure borders, back to the house at Glen Mohr, and the soft bed that he had shared with his wife.

  Cait would just be waking, Ewan thought, losing himself for a moment in the pleasant memory of how she looked, stretched out in the white sunshine that poured through the windows and onto her sleeping body. She slept like a little girl, knees tucked up against her body, arms curled together, face a perfect picture of peace. He almost always regretted that he had to wake her, and tried to do so in the most pleasant way possible: raining kisses against her silky skin.

  He could almost smell Cait-a far more appetizing smell than the reek of men and horseflesh that had accompanied him through the night. However, he wasn’t sure that he was grateful for the memories. They reminded him of how long it would be before he sampled any of her delights again.

  Ewan sighed and dragged himself from the memories-with impeccable timing, as it turned out. Almost as soon as they topped the next ridge, a cry came from one of his men. The war chieftain followed his gesture to a slender column of smoke on the next ridge, and Ewan’s heart plummeted when he recognized it as the smouldering remains of a crossroads market town.

  He nudged his horse faster. “Look for survivors!” he ordered. The words were hardly necessary. The men had already increased their pace. In no time, they had arrived at the charred wreck of the tiny town.

  At first, it appeared deserted. Gradually, however, Ewan was able to pick out the shapes of blackened bodies among the ruins. His stomach lurched when he saw how many were women and children. Some of them had their hands tied behind their backs. He hated to think of how they had died, but he didn’t have to guess-a parchment proclamation was nailed to the front door of the church: the only building in the town that had been allowed to stand.

  Ewan strode toward it angrily, already knowing what he would find: “…treason…sedition…harbouring and supporting enemies of the crown…” When would the English learn that they didn’t care who was king or queen-that they’d support whomever was the most likely to leave them alone!

  He could practically feel the anger boiling among his men as they picked through the ashes. Even though they were all from far away, they were outraged by what they saw. Some of the fire of their initial flight was rekindled as they meandered through the devastation.

  “Captain! Over here!” One of the men called for Ewan’s attention, and he hurried over to where the man was standing. They had just turned over a mostly-intact barrel and found a tiny, living baby underneath.

  Ewan felt a second surge of anger when he took the child into his arms. The moisture in the barrel had saved him from the flames. Some quick thinking, devoted mother had tried to save him-but he doubted that she would succeed. There was no real way of telling how long the baby had been without food. It was already too weak to manage even a tiny protest at being passed around by the men.

  That could be my baby…Ewan’s breath left in a rush when he remembered the day before. Sitting with Cait and his nephew, he had started to imagine what it would be like if he defied his uncle’s wishes, and shared a baby with Cait. He couldn’t imagine how it would feel to find his own little family in such peril, to imagine losing a baby that he had made with his wife.

  “Shall we leave it, sir?” the soldier asked uncertainly.

  Ewan hesitated. The baby was probably going to die. They didn’t have time to stop and seek out a wetnurse, and they didn’t know what they would find when they reached Castle Cameron. The child would probably be just as well left with the remains of his mother and kinfolk-but he couldn’t quite bring himself to set the child aside, not when someone had gone to such lengths to offer him a second chance. “He’ll ride with me,” Ewan finally said in a decisive voice. He turned back toward his horse. “Are there any other survivors?”

  “No,” the men answered.

  “Then we ride,” Ewan said. He handed the baby to one of the other men while he swung up onto his horse, and then took it back. He carefully arranged the precious cargo in the folds of his plaid, ignoring the questioning looks of the other Camerons as he readied to move out again.

  They kept riding until dusk again, their progress slowed when they neared the castle, and villagers who had been carefully keeping out of sight filtered forward to join their ranks. The closer they got, the more Ewan’s sense of premonition grew.

  The baby was nearly motionless. After a while, Ewan all but forgot its presence as he concentrated on planning-how could they break through a siege and enter the castle. Would the fortress still be standing? What would they do if it wasn’t?

  It was nearly dawn again when they crested the last hill before the castle road. Ewan’s fingers tightened on his reigns, and he checked for his sword and pistol. It was something of an anti-climax, therefore, when he found only the remnants of a battle. The English army had withdrawn-or they had taken the castle.

  He could scarcely bear to look at the top tower of the keep, already imagining the cursed British colour waving over the yard. To his immense relief, however, it was still the Cameron crest-albeit battered-fluttering in the damp spring wind.

  A murmur of relief went through the assembled men. Ewan knew that their respite could only be temporary. A battle of the pitch and fury required to deal their foes such losses must have been equally devastating to them. He didn’t trust for a second that the English were truly gone. No doubt they had fallen back to lick their wounds and plot a second assault-or were lying in wait for an ambush.

  The hair on the back of Ewan’s neck prickled as he surveyed the scene, wondering if he could trust the stillness. Wasn’t it even possible that the English had already taken over the castle and hadn’t struck the colours as a trap?

  “Wait here,” he said to the men, unsheathing his sword, “Keep your eyes open. I’ll ride to the castle and send back a signal if it’s okay. If you don’t hear from me, go back the way we came until the rest of the Frasures arrive.

  There were scattered mutters of protest, but for t
he most part, the men nodded in agreement and made a path between their ranks.

  Ewan had all but forgotten the baby. Hand tensed around his sword, senses strained almost to the point of breaking, it’s unexpected whine of protest, after being silent so long, caused Ewan’s body to jolt. He relaxed, but only slightly, when he managed to place the sound.

  “A bit farther than, lad,” Ewan muttered-although, in truth, he didn’t know if the child was a boy or a girl, “Only a few more minutes and you’ll have your supper,” he continued speaking quietly, taking a small degree of comfort in the fact that he wasn’t alone.

  Ewan slowed his horse at the gate. The way was barred, and the portcullis was down. He had to stop completely and call out for it to be open.

  “Hello, there!” he shouted, nervous again when it took a moment for someone to respond.

  “Who is it?”

  Ewan frowned sharply. He couldn’t place the voice, and he couldn’t think of anyone at castle Cameron who wouldn’t know his face. He started to back away and run, but he reminded himself that, if the English really were inside the castle, lying in wait, he would lead them directly back to his men.

  “Davie Frasure,” he called back the first neutral name that occurred to him, “Come to deliver a message to the Laird!” The prospect of a message should, at least, buy him a few more minutes.

  “You can tell it to me, and go on,” the man called back, but Ewan shook his head defiantly. “It’s for no man’s ears but Laird Cameron alone!” he insisted.

  There was a long, heavy silence. Finally, a voice that was familiar, answered: “Turn around then, Frasure-Laird Cameron is dead.”

  At first it was the speaker, and not the words which registered. “JAMIE!” Ewan called out, his voice raw with emotion when he recognized his little brother.

  There was another beat of silence, and then James answered, “Ewan!” and the portcullis was raised.

  Ewan rushed inside, sliding off of his horse with relief and heading straight for his brother. James looked even worse than he did. The younger man was sporting a terrible gash above his eye, a split lip, and had his arm bound into a cast. “What happened?” Ewan demanded, surveying inside the castle. It was a sight of utter devastation, and looked as though a portion of the wall had been breached. “Where have the English gone?”

  “East,” James said, looking grey and tired. Toward Eilean Donan again, Ewan thought without making his brother speak the words. He nodded gravely. “Uncle is…?”

  “Dead,” James said in a clipped voice no doubt meant to hide his emotion. James was twenty-three, fully a man, but his older brother could still make out the frightened boy beneath his brave façade. He hadn’t crumpled, however. Ewan couldn’t stifle a surge of pride at how, clearly, James had exceeded his expectations.

  “How did it happen?” He finally asked.

  “A gunshot,” James said bitterly. “The British colonel was here to negotiate with uncle about a truce.”

  “A truce?” Ewan said, astonished.

  “To buy time,” James explained, “We sent word to the MacRaes-and back to you…he thought that the negotiations might buy some time, but it didn’t work. It was a trap. Everleigh spent the evening making unreasonable demands and got up to leave. A few of his guards dawdled…just after Everleigh cleared the gate, one of them turned and fired. It must have been planned-the English swarmed after that. We almost couldn’t close the gate. We held them off in the end-though for how long, I don’t know. They’re just trying to wear us down and keep us guessing.”

  “But why?” Ewan pondered aloud.

  “To make an example of us, I’d say,” James said, clearly parroting back what his uncle had said, “The northern clans are already making concessions…and it’s nothing but MacLeods to the south, bowing down to English domination..” He looked as if he wanted to spit, but didn’t. Instead, he paused thoughtfully, and then looked at his brother. “What do we do now?”

  Ewan laughed bitterly, “You’re asking me?” He was surprised by the shocked expression on his brother’s face.

  “Of course!” James answered, “You’re the Laird!”

  The news, which Ewan himself should have worked out earlier, hit him with the force of a sudden blow. Laird. He had known that the day was coming, and he thought that he was prepared, but the sudden, crushing burden of responsibility stole his breath.

  Ewan couldn’t speak for a long moment, not until James nudged him anxiously, “Ewan? What do we do?”

  “I don’t know,” Ewan admitted unsteadily. Everyone was looking to him for answers-and he had not to give. “Let me give a signal for the men outside.”

  “You brought men with you?” James said, looking hopeful.

  “Aye,” Ewan responded. It was no more than a handful, but it was something.

  “They need to eat and rest,” Ewan announced, comforted just to have something concrete to say. He was gratified when his brother met the remark with unhesitating compliance, “Of course,” he said, and then motioned for the gate to open. Ewan signalled his men, and then turned back to James, “I’m going to get some sleep myself,” he announced, “Wake me if there’s any change.”

  “Of course.” James replied.

  Ewan headed wearily toward his room. Surely everything would look better in the morning? It certainly couldn’t get worse!

  When Cait awoke the next morning, a sliver of silvery moon was still drifting across the sky. The edge of the eastern horizon was not yet tinged with daylight and so she had to move by memory through the room, packing a small back with a change of clothes and the money she’d “borrowed”, twisting her hair into a simple knot, and then slipping out of the room where she had lived, ever so briefly, in heaven.

  The other occupants of the house were all still asleep. Stepping lightly through the hall, she could hear the soft, sleepy sounds of the MacRae children in their beds, and the low rumble of the nursemaid’s snores. She fought down a pang of guilt when she passed Muira’s door-her friend would be frantic when she learned that she had gone-but that wasn’t a reason to stay. Muira couldn’t change Ewan’s promise, and she couldn’t change the truth: he didn’t want her, not for real or, at least, not any more.

  Cait’s final stop was in the kitchen, where she tucked away some cold ham, fruits, cheese and bread to nibble on the road. She had no idea how long it would take her to get to a city with lodgings, no clear idea really of where she was even headed, and so she deemed it better to be prepared.

  She opened a pot of stew leftover from the night before and briefly considered warming a bit of breakfast. Who knew when she could expect her next hot meal? However, instead of tempting her, the first whiff of the formerly-delicious aroma made her stomach heave. She wasn’t able to stop herself from letting the lid clatter down when he hand immediately went to cover her mouth and she crumpled to her knees.

  After a moment, the nausea passed. She didn’t actually vomit, but it was small consolation. The reminder of her pregnancy-the news that had made her so deliriously happy only a few days before-was now so painfully bittersweet. What kind of life was she going to offer her baby? She had no friends and very little money. How would she even feed the bairn? Perhaps it would be better if she never made it to a new town…Cait pondered for a moment, but then refused to let herself slip into a state of despair.

  It would be alright.

  She felt as if she had been speaking those words to herself for all her life-and perhaps she had. It had been her only comfort through countless calamities as a girl. Being shuffled from place to place as her mother discarded-or was discarded by-lovers, evading creditors in the night, finally finding herself a penniless orphan with no place to turn, she had always clung to the notion that the next day would be better than the last. Somehow, it always had been. Her mother had found a new man to shelter them for a while. There had been a new house, and food enough. Finally, a kind sailor had brought her “home” to Castle Cameron. Still, it was hard to
believe that her luck would hold. Any “tomorrow” would be without Ewan. Happiness wasn’t possible.

  I won’t think that way now. Cait stubbornly forced the thought out of her mind and hurried to the door. She paused just long enough to don a cloak, and to strap her burden across her back. Then, she stepped out into the night.

  It was cool for summer. Dew was forming on the grass as she picked her way carefully to the road. She kept her eyes straight ahead, trying to ignore the spooky shadows and strange noises of the barnyard at night. She held to her original plan, taking the road east, intending to lose herself among the Frasures and then head south. At least a bit of the way was familiar-but she didn’t glean much comfort from that fact. Soon she was at the snug little cottage that Ewan had shown her.

  “Should I buy it?” he had asked, “for US…”

  There was no “us”, Cait thought bitterly, fighting the urge to break down into tears again as she trudged defiantly past the house. No doubt he had intended it for his new wife-his real wife: someone that the clan could love and Ewan could be proud of-not a horrid, English bastard!

  Defiant, Cait trudged forward. She followed the road, weaving through picturesque valleys and skirting the river and lochs until she finally began climbing again.

  Cait was only slightly pregnant, but it didn’t take long to lose her breath. After only a few hours of walking, before the sun was even at the center of the sky, she was forced to stop and rest. She hadn’t passed any houses other than the cottage since her journey began, but she could see a tiny village on the horizon. She picked her way toward it, hoping to arrive in time for lunch.

  The distance was deceptive. It was supper, rather than lunch, by the time that Cait reached the little town. She was almost too exhausted to eat. She had planned to save her money for as long as she could, and seek shelter in an obliging barn or copse of trees at the side of the road, but the temptation of a soft bed was too much to resist, and so she indulged, thinking it highly unlikely that Ewan would have sent someone after her already. If he ever did, came the traitorous thought. Cait winced at the almost physical pain it provoked. Still, it strengthened her resolve to keep running-even if she didn’t know quite where she would end up.