A Year and a Day

by Stephanie Sterling

  Cait felt an electric current skim across her skin when she locked gazes with the stranger. Unlike with the Laird, she instantly determined the reason for her surprise: their eyes were exactly the same. Cait didn’t know what to make of the coincidence. The appearance was eerily exact: the same size, the same almond shape, and the same foamy green color.

  “Who are you?” the old woman asked, voice shaking.

  Once again, Cait didn’t have time to reply.

  “This is an apple thief,” the Laird said, pointedly avoiding Cait’s face. “Jacob found her in the orchard.”

  Cait made an indignant sound, which caused the Laird’s expression to harden, “You don’t deny stealing the apples, do you?”

  “I can pay for them!” Cait said, fishing in her pocket for her silver.

  The Laird scowled, “And have you stolen some money too?”

  “Richard!” his wife said in a scolding tone, which only seemed to aggravate him further.

  “Three lashes!” he barked curtly. Both women gasped.

  Cait felt her blood run cold. It wasn’t just the anticipated pain and humiliation of being whipped-but what would it mean for the baby. “PLEASE!” she wailed, struggling against the guard, who was already leading her out. “PLEASE! I’m pregnant! Do anything else, but don’t hurt my baby.”

  “Richard!” the old lady said again, this time tugging urgently at his sleeve. “You can’t!”

  The guard hesitated, and the old man sighed, “She certainly doesn’t look pregnant…”

  “She wouldn’t lie!” the old woman insisted, surprising Cait with her instant trust.

  “She certainly didn’t have any sense of guilt about stealing!”

  The old woman walked toward Cait, her eyes still locked to the strangers, searching for something, “When is the baby due?” she asked.

  “October,” Cait answered without thinking, and this seemed enough to satisfy the old woman.

  “There,” she said smugly.

  The Laird exchanged a look with his guard. “I know that you think she looks like…” he began, but left the last word unspoken. It was a tantalizing mystery to Cait, heightened by the flash of almost physical pain that flashed across her would-be benefactor’s face. “…but crimes must be punished.”

  “And they will be!” the old woman said, “There are other punishments besides whipping!” she turned to Cait, “Do you have any domestic skills?”

  “Aye!” Cait answered with patent relief, “I was a Lady’s maid at Castle C…er….where I was before.”

  “See!” the Laird interjected, “She won’t even say where she’s from! For all we know, she’s a run-away…or some sort of spy.”

  “I left my husband!” Cait blurted, without really meaning to give that information away. It turned out to be the correct decision, however. The old lady looked upon her with even more compassion.

  “See!” she retorted, “She’s nothing more than a frightened girl fleeing some brute of a man!” She patted Cait’s arm in a comforting gesture. “She says that she knows how to wait on a lady…and as I am in need of a maid….”

  “Isobel!” the Laird said in a long-suffering tone. It made Cait suspect that ‘Isobel’- like the other Laird’s wives of her acquaintance-had her way more often than not.

  “Let her stay until October,” the lady suggested brightly, “If she was lying about the baby, you’ll know before then. You can whip her and send her on her way.”

  The Laird gave them both a sceptical look, but finally admitted defeat. “Very well,” he sighed , and then waved them both away. He looked at his wife, “We’ll discuss this matter later.”

  Lady Frasure smiled with satisfaction, and then extracted Cait from the guards grasp, “Come with me then, dear,” she said in a grandmotherly tone and ushered the “prisoner” out of the room.

  Cait followed in silence as she was led down out of the tower and into the castle proper. She was too shocked by how quickly everything had occurred to really process what had happened. Was she really going to stay at the castle until the baby was born? What would happen to her afterwards? Cait couldn’t begin to guess, but supposed that things were well enough for the time being. She would, presumably, have a place to stay and food to eat. That was an improvement from the day before. Most important of all, she wasn’t facing a lashing, or time in prison!

  “Here we are then,” Lady Frasure’s voice caused Cait to look up. They had stopped outside an oak door, which the woman opened to reveal a pretty, sunny bedroom. It was clearly a feminine abode. The carving on the bed was delicate, and the coverings were embroidered with hundreds of petit point flowers.

  A second door was along the left wall-no doubt leading to the Laird’s chamber-but Lady Frasure took Cait to a smaller door. This one, hidden behind a screen, led to a tiny maid’s quarters.

  The room was empty, but didn’t have an air of disuse. It seemed as though it had only recently been vacated-a suspicion confirmed by Lady Frasure’s announcement that she had recently lost her lady’s maid. “Gone to marry a farmer,” the old dame announced with a wistful sigh. “I dare say that the poor thing will find milking cows and sewing wheat a sight harder than listening to an old woman’s prattle but…love-what can one do?”

  Cait simply nodded her head, uncertain if the remarks required a response. She tentatively sat her little bundle of clothing onto the mattress and paced around the room, trying to familiarize herself with the tiny space. In many ways, it looked more comfortable than her room at Castle Cameron. For a start, there wasn’t nearly so far for her to go to wait on her mistress. Before, she had been crammed in an attic, with two flights of stairs to travel if the call bell rang. For another, the back of her lady’s fireplace jutted into the room, promising to keep the little abode toasty warm in the winter months.

  The furnishings were simple, but adequate: A single bed with a stuffed-rag mattress, a washstand, a chest for clothes and, in the corner, a chamber pot behind a wooden screen. She didn’t know what would become of the baby when it was born, but she didn’t need to think that far ahead.

  “Will it do?” her mistress asked, and Cait nodded politely.

  “Aye, thank you, Mistress Frasure.”

  The old woman responded with such a friendly smile that she half-expected an admonition to call her “Isobel”, but, of course, the proprieties were observed. Lady Frasure settled lightly on the edge of the bed. “Now, let’s hear a little bit about you then. I suppose you have a name?”

  “Cait,” Cait supplied easily, but hesitated over her last name. Hadn’t Ewan said that Lady Frasure’s youngest son was killed in the fight against the English? She wouldn’t take kindly to an English name! “Cait Greer,” she whispered, hoping that an allusion to the famous, dispossessed MacGregor clan would staunch any further questions.

  “Ah, I see,” Lady Frasure said, nodding and looking strangely disappointed.

  “How old are you?” she asked next. When Cait answered, her eyes lit up again.

  “And your father?”

  “I-” don’t know, Cait started to admit, but decided it was better not to give away too much personal information. “Dead,” she offered simply, “Along with my mother, a few years ago.”

  “How long ago?” the lady pressed, but was interrupted by the arrival of another servant.

  “Ah, Annie!” Lady Frasure said to the new arrival, a plump, sloe-eyed girl who was looking at Cait with suspicion. “Annie, this is Cait Greer, my new lady’s maid.”

  The larger woman made a sketchy sort of curtsey, which Cait returned.

  “Cait, Annie will show you the kitchen and tell you what your duties will be,” the old woman began drifting out of the room, “I’ll expect you this evening to help me before bed.”

  “Of course,” Cait responded instantly. She curtseyed again, and then watched as her benefactress drifted away.

  Cait expected at least a few moments to put her things away, but was denied. Annie hustled her away
, almost instantly, to show her the laundries, the food pantries, and the other service areas of the house. The hulking woman didn’t even feign an interest in Cait’s origins or question her sudden arrival at the castle, she was strictly business.

  “Lady Frasure takes breakfast with her husband in the sitting room first thing in the morning. You’ll need to be up half an hour early to have her things set out and pressed so that you can have her dressed before the Laird is ready to leave,” she said, describing a typical day at the castle.

  “If it’s fine weather, she’ll want to go out to the gardens for a while. You musn’t let mistress overexert herself. Her knees give her pains something awful it it’s damp, though she won’t let on. She usually spends the afternoons in the library, and then there’s her nap. You can use that time to take care of your business, but make sure that you’re back in time to dress her for supper…you do know how to style hair?” she asked, looking suspiciously at Cait’s own bedraggled locks.

  “Of course!” Cait insisted.

  “Good,” the other woman snorted, “And you’ll need something decent to be seen in yourself.” The remark made Cait painfully conscious of her ruined dress. “I’ll send Bessie around to the tanist’s wife and see if she’s discarding something that might be proper.”

  After the tour had been given and instructions offered, Cait was abandoned, and left to make her own way through the curious twisting passageways back to her lady’s room.

  Cait had been shown a network of servant’s corridors which kept her out of the public view. It was difficult, but not impossible to find her way back. She finally did so, and then spent an hour or so unpacking before she heard Lady Frasure return.

  Cait hadn’t had thought to select a gown for dinner. In truth, she wasn’t sure that she was allowed to rifle through her ladyships personal items (It seemed an incredible amount of trust for a stranger first encountered as a thief!) but the omission was forgiven. Together, she and the Laird’s wife pulled something together, and then Cait was dismissed to find dinner herself.

  Simply put, it was heaven to have a hot meal, and be allowed to eat as much as she wanted, rather than as much as she could afford. Cait felt famished after a week of walking and a day of hard work, but there was plenty to fill her belly.

  Unlike at Castle Cameron, the commoners did not join the nobility for dinner in an open hall. The only “family” at residence in the Castle was the Laird’s and his retainers, so the servants kept to the kitchen. The Frasures were exceptionally generous, however. There was meat as well as vegetables and hot, crusty bread. Cait ate until she couldn’t face another bite. Then she went upstairs to wait on Lady Frasure and, finally, to go to bed.

  Collapsing into her mattress later that night, Cait was completely exhausted. She had forgotten how much work it could be to care for a lady of fashion. It was worth it though, she decided. For the first time in days she was safe, comfortable, and fed. She really couldn’t hope for more. All of her dreams were trampled. Mere existence would be enough.

  It was around dawn, a week after Ewan had first received the news about Glen Mohr, that a miracle occurred. He was slumped over his desk, finally collapsed from exhaustion, Caitching his first sleep in days when he was awoken by a familiar voice.

  “Uncle Ewan!” a little girl called, and then prodded him sharply in the ribs. “Uncle Ewan! Wake up!”

  “I’m hungry!” a second voice whined.

  “I’m tired!”

  “Ewan!”

  The last voice caused him to jolt and sit suddenly upright: Muira!

  Ewan looked around the room, amazed to see his brother James, beaming so broadly that his face might split in two, surrounded by Muira (holding Ewan Graem), Maisie, Thomas, and Duncan. They were dirty and exhausted-looking, but otherwise remarkably sound. Ewan couldn’t believe his eyes. He rubbed them, and then pinched his thigh, hard-half-expecting that he was still dreaming.

  “Well, what kind of a welcome is this?” Muira said, gliding forward.

  Ewan opened his mouth, too overcome with emotion to speak for a moment. She was already in his arms before he managed, “You’re alive.”

  “Aye,” Muira answered, the warble in her voice disclosing what a struggle it was. “A rider came to the cottage to warn us a few minutes before they descended. We didn’t have time to take anything from the house, just to run. We hid in that cave by the river-do you remember?”

  Ewan nodded sadly, never imagining that his boyhood hideout would finally serve a purpose. “Aye, I remember,” he said, hugging her tightly.

  “I know that you always told me that no girls were allowed there,” Muira said, trying to lift the heavy mood, “But I decided to risk your wrath.”

  “Oh, Muira!” Ewan said, shaking his head, unable to laugh at the joke through the tears of frank relief.

  “We stayed there all afternoon. The children were getting restless, so I tried to go back to the house…Oh, Ewan! It’s gone. Completely! They burnt it to the ground.” She started crying as the memories took their toll. “The groom saved nanny and the stable boy, but cook…” she whispered, her voice cracking. “And…and….”

  “Cait?” Ewan asked, all of the blood draining from his face. He looked for his wife, “Where’s Cait?”

  “I…” Muira bit her lip, unable to look at her brother’s face, “I was hoping that she was here.”

  “She didn’t come with you?”

  “I was hoping she was here!” Muira wrung her hands. Even the children were quiet as they watched the grown ups react to the news. “It was so slow, travelling with the children. I thought…I hoped,” she corrected, “That she had come ahead, but…”

  Ewan looked at his sister, urging her to continue, although Muira appeared reluctant. “But?”

  “But…when I got to Brixby I heard from a man who’d been back to the farm. He…he saw her, Ewan.”

  “And she’s-?”

  “Dead.”

  Ewan felt the words like a knife to the heart. For a moment he merely gaped in horror, but them his mouth began to move soundlessly. As he tried to make sense of what he’d just heard. James and Muira rushed forward to catch him as if they expected him to stumble backwards, but he didn’t. He clutched desperately at the edge of the desk, willing his tears not to fall until he was finally alone.

  “Ewan?” James asked anxiously.

  “Tell the men to get ready to ride!” Ewan barked, hoping that a show of strength would clear the room, “It’s time we showed the English back to their own lands,” he growled. He wanted to hurt something-to kill something. Even then, he didn’t think that it would ever be enough to staunch the ache inside.

  Cait was surprised at how quickly she became accustomed to life at Castle Frasure. The staff, like the Laird and Lady, were easy-going and cheerful. Soon enough, Cait had made friends among the other servants and seemed to have gained the special favour of Lady Frasure. It wasn’t many weeks before her single, borrowed dress from Anni was supplemented by a pretty muslin, and then she was given a summer gown to accommodate her growing waistline.

  Lady Frasure was keenly interested in Cait’s past-so much so that she felt guilty denying her patroness knowledge, but Cait was still worried-or hopeful-that Ewan might be looking for her, and she couldn’t give away too many clues.

  Apart from her memories, Cait was insulated from the outside world. She overheard that the fight between the English and the Camerons was still going on, but the general consensus among the Frasures seemed to be that they would do well to stay out of the fight. Cait pretended that she didn’t care-although, whenever there was a visitor to the castle, she spent as much free time as possible in the kitchens, listening for gossip.

  Cait still thought about Ewan every day, especially in the evenings, when she was alone in her bed and their baby was restless.

  It wasn’t more than a month at Castle Frasure before Cait’s body began to show the truth of her claims that she was carrying a child. Her a
bdomen began to swell, and she began to feel the gentle kicking and turning of the baby inside her womb.

  It was all so bittersweet! She felt a wave of awe and love every time that the child made its presence known. Still, at the same time, it made her more keenly aware of Ewan’s absence. It made her think of how perfect it would all be if only Ewan was close by and could share in all the wondrous changes.

  Apart from morning sickness, Cait was spared of most of the pregnancy ills. Her feet would swell occasionally, but her mistress was almost achingly considerate of her condition, forever giving Cait the easiest tasks, and often asking her to sit with her at sewing, or to read a book aloud.

  For her part, Lady Frasure appeared over the moon with her acquisition of Cait. She clearly hadn’t expected that the girl’s claims of experience were true, and had been truly overwhelmed with delight to discover that, in addition to the traditional accomplishments at toilette and coiffure, she was fluent in French and well-versed in literature and feminine arts.

  Cait was happy that the lady didn’t ask where she had acquired these skills-the less that she said of her mother and her transient girlhood, the better-but they enjoyed one another’s company.

  Things were as close to perfect as Cait thought she could expect, and so the time fled quickly. Spring turned to autumn, autumn into summer finally, the morning after the first frost, her baby decided to enter the world.

  Ewan’s eyes snapped open. He peered around the room looking for the source of the disturbance, but found nothing. He tried to settle back down to sleep, but couldn’t get comfortable again. He didn’t know what had awoken him. There weren’t any intruders into his tent, and strange noises, or anything else unusual, merely a sense that something important was going on-though he couldn’t guess what that might be.

  Groaning, he turned over in the bed and pulled his blankets tighter. It was dreadfully cold, although he should have been used to discomfort. It was the middle of October now, and he’d been on the march for months, moving doggedly South despite discomfort.

  He finally had the English on the run. Ewan took as much satisfaction from that fact as he was able to muster these days, now that the light had gone out of his life. It was six months since he’d lost Cait and any chance of happiness that he might have had. The only thing left was war, but even his rage against the English was beginning to fade as he was beaten down by endless despair.