Muira told him that he ought to come back from the front; that the Camerons needed him and that he ought to rest, but he wasn’t inclined to listen to his sister any more. He hadn’t forgiven her yet for abandoning Cait.
Ewan sighed, surrendering any hope of sleep as his mind returned to the horrible row that he’d had with his sister just before leaving the castle.
The shock of losing Cait hadn’t even begun to sink in. After feeding and bathing the children, Muira had found him again, sitting in his study, staring out the window, trying to imagine how his life could possibly go on.
“I’m so sorry,” Muira had said, crossing the room toward him. “I’m so sorry. I know how you feel. She was my greatest friend.”
Ewan had recoiled at her words. She couldn’t possibly know how he felt! Cait hadn’t just been his friend-she had been his everything! “At least I didn’t tell her,” Ewan blurted unexpectedly.
Muira frowned. “Didn’t tell her what?”
“What I had promised uncle to say. I didn’t tell her that it was over.”
Muira nodded her head, “I know.”
Ewan was silent for a moment, and then frowned, “You know? How do you know?”
“It doesn’t matter!” Muira said quickly, and tried to back away, but Ewan had pressed her. Her revelations made him sick.
Muira had told Cait the truth. She refused to tell him Cait’s reaction, but didn’t have to-he could see it in his sister’s face. Cait had been devastated, betrayed, and that was how she had died: doubting his love for her, and probably hating him with all her soul.
He’d lashed out. He hadn’t been able to help it, and he hadn’t been able to quell the rage and frustration that welled up inside of him. He was so full of hurt and regret that it had been a relief to go to war. For six months he had fought like the devil himself, dealing the English losses they had never expected. Now, however, he was growing weary. Perhaps it was time to give up and go home like his sister had suggested? They had pushed the English back down into Glasgow and, from all reports, they were headed home. He didn’t expect them to trifle with the Camerons or MacRaes in the near future. But what was left if he wasn’t fighting?
Duty, returned the dreary answer: Duty to his clan as Laird. It was a duty that he dearly wanted to set aside. James was making spectacular progress, but he couldn’t bring himself to let it go. He had already sacrificed so much, what was a little more?
Thinking these thoughts, still not knowing what had awoken him, Ewan got up and started his day.
Cait had never felt such terrible pain. It felt like the cramps that came before her menses, only magnified a hundred times. That was what awoke her: a jagged, shearing pain. It held her breathless until it passed.
Disoriented from slumber, Cait didn’t realize, at first, what the pain had been, but it repeated fifteen minutes later. When she sat up in the bed, she felt a wet, sticky trickle running down her leg.
Cait’s chest clenched with fear and excitement when she realized that the baby was finally on its way. She had listened to the castle midwife and to enough of the other mothers in the castle to know that it would still be hours yet before the baby came. She ought to try and get some rest-only she was too excited to go back to sleep. She got out of bed and changed her clothes-careful to wear her loosest and least favorite frock. Then she changed the sheets on her bed.
No sooner had the bedding been changed, then she felt a second pain. It seemed to last longer than the first, causing Cait to sink to her knees before it was through. After that, she paced the hallways of the castle, marking the hours until her child arrived.
By midmorning, she had an audience: the midwife, Annie and Lady Frasure all arrived, each intent on keeping her company and offering advice until the delivery came.
By midafternoon, she had a baby.
Cait looked down at her son, weary but elated. The rest of the day had already gone hazy in her memory, making her feel as though she were still inhabiting a dream. Only the steady warmth and reassuring weight of the infant lying in her arms convinced her that the moment was real.
She had borne Ewan’s child-his son-the true heir to the Cameron Lairdship, she thought, almost overwhelmed by the very idea. He was so tiny and perfect! Cait lovingly ruffled the shock of dark brown hair that he already had on his head.
His eyes hadn’t remained open long enough for her to catch more than a glimpse, but they were a bright, vibrant blue. She didn’t doubt, given his parentage, that they would fade to green someday, but they were beautiful-the entire baby was beautiful, Cait thought, admitting that she had a bias. She was already desperately in love with her child-and not just because he looked like Ewan!
If she was honest, Cait would have to admit that the baby resembled herself more closely than her former husband. Lady Frasure commented on this when she came to view the castle’s latest addition. Tears sprang to her kindly old eyes as she took the boy out of his mother’s arms and inspected him.
“He looks just like…” she started, but let her voice trail off. “He’s your spitting image,” she finally said.
Cait could guess what Lady Frasure was thinking. Castle gossip had confirmed the story that Ewan had told her months before. Both of the Laird and Lady’s sons had been killed, leaving them childless in their old age. No doubt Isobel was remembering when she had become a mother for the first time herself.
Cait watched the scene with a bittersweet smile, and then accepted the return of her child with arms that were hungry to hold him again.
“What are you going to call him?” Lady Frasure asked, still unable to keep her hands entirely away. She stroked the baby’s forehead. “He does look so like my little Robert,” she whispered.
Cait looked up, surprised by the wistfulness in the old woman’s heart. It felt almost cruel to be parading her own healthy child in front of a woman who had lost so much, but no one was forcing Lady Frasure to stay.
“Robert,” Cait repeated quietly. “It’s a bonnie name.”
“It is,” Lady Frasure said, excitement flushing her cheeks. “I think it might suit the wee laddie.”
Robert, Cait repeated inside her head, deciding that she approved it. “Robert James,” she finally said, deciding that she couldn’t very well name the baby after Ewan himself, but that she wanted some connection to his father.
Apparently disapproving, the baby began to kick and fuss.
“He’s hungry!” the Lady announced, although this was obvious for Cait. She tugged open the front of her nightgown and steered him toward her breast, where he began to nurse. Cait smiled at him as she listened to the happy, greedy little sucks and sighs that he made as he had his meal.
“He’s going to be a strapping one, that lad,” the old lady said, sighing herself. “Was his father a very large man?”
Cait gasped and looked up. She hadn’t anticipated the question-but she quickly covered, “Aye. Tall and broad,” and perfect…She thought but didn’t speak aloud.
Isobel nodded. “Did he ken you were having the wee bairn?”
Cait shook her head, uncomfortable by the line of questioning, but fathoming no polite way to extract herself. “No,” she admitted slowly, “He didn’t know.”
“A pity,” Lady Frasure said, “Sometimes a baby can bring out the good in a man-if there’s any good to find.”
“Aye,” Cait answered quietly, but didn’t say more. Perhaps taking the hint, Lady Frasure didn’t press. She kissed the pair of them goodbye, and then slipped out of the room.
Left alone at last with her baby, Cait felt another surge of longing for her husband. He shouldn’t be missing this! No matter what Ewan felt about her, and even if he viewed the baby as a political inconvenience, she couldn’t imagine that he would hate the baby himself. How could anyone hate her son-her little Robert? Cait thought, her heart positively melting as the child looked up at her with his huge, unfocused blue eyes.
“We’re going to be just fine,” Cait spoke aloud,
though whether to herself or to the baby she wasn’t entirely sure. She herself had grown up without a father, so she felt confident in announcing, “We are going to make it. You’ll miss you papa, but everything will turn out okay. You’re going to be a Frasure…” she said, never having thought of that odd truth before. She and the baby would be folded into the neighboring clan. It was almost amusing to think that the Cameron’s Tanist’s son would be wearing another clan’s tartan.
As the days passed, Cait’s love for little Robert grew more and more. He couldn’t do anything for himself. Rather than being annoyed and harried by his demands, however, she revelled in the sense of being needed, especially by someone she held so dear.
He was so like Ewan, she thought, surprised that she could see her son’s personality so clearly so soon. At only three months old, he was already a consummate ladies’ man, saving his brightest smiles and happiest gurgles for Lady Frasure and the pretty kitchen maids.
Before becoming a mother, Cait had a sense that babies were simply “babies” for a time-but he was different every single day-and it broke her heart that Ewan was missing it.
Still, even though her baby reminded her of her husband-her ex-husband, by now, she supposed-Robert did have the happy effect of filling up a tiny bit of the hole that Ewan had left in her heart. She wasn’t alone any longer. There was someone to receive all of the love bubbling out of her heart and, although he couldn’t express it, she had an inkling that Robert loved her too.
Cait’s duties at the castle were amended from “Ladies Maid” to to “Assistant Housekeeper”- a position which seemed (intentionally) to have very few duties other than to bring Robert to sit with Lady Frasure in the long afternoons and, occasionally (so occasionally as to seem to exist only to justify her title) to assist with shopping and the preparation of large feasts. She attributed the promotion more to Lady Frasure’s friendship than to her own abilities. She couldn’t account for the favor, even though she was grateful for it.
Cait expected the happy arrangement to continue indefinitely-or at least for the duration of Lady Frasure’s life. In fairness, she was an old woman-old enough to be Cait’s grandmother!- but appeared in perfect health. Being at the castle was a little like being in a family, something Cait hadn’t known since her girlhood days at Glen Mohr with Muira. She was grateful for every moment, and actively courted the old woman’s company-which is why she didn’t know quite what to say when, one Sunday afternoon after Mass-her mistress announced, “We’re going on a journey!”
“Laird Cameron? Laird and Lady MacRae have arrived sir. Lady MacRae bid me tell you that she’ll be along as soon as she has the children settled.”
“Aye,” Ewan said, without looking up from the stack of papers he was reviewing. He hesitated for just a moment, “Have the MacLeods arrived yet?”
“No, sir,” the maid, a matronly woman with steel-grey hair replied, “I don’t believe the MacLeods are due for another two days, sir.”
“Aye, aye,” Ewan said, and then waved her away, feigning interest in the paperwork again. He listened until the maid’s footsteps had faded away, and then ran a hand wearily through his hair.
He was making a terrible mistake.
He was getting married-and to a woman he didn’t even know!
Ewan slumped down to the desk and tried to remember how things had happened so fast. It was a day after his anniversary with Cait-a day after he was meant to reaffirm or renounce his vows to her forever-when his sister had first, very carefully, raised the issue that he would have to marry again.
Of course, Ewan knew that what she said was true. As Laird Cameron, he had a duty to provide an heir. The tension within the clan between the septs - particularly the MacEantachs-was already thick enough to cut with a knife. He couldn’t risk an excuse for his people to fall apart. His first instinct had been to rage against the unfairness. However, after he had calmed, he was anxious to get it over with as soon as possible.
He was never going to fall in love again. After spending thirty years, bouncing from bed to bed, infatuated with every woman that he saw, Ewan admitted that this notion was comical-but it was also true. When he fell for Cait, he had fallen hard. He didn’t want to move on with his life-and so it made sense to marry a woman that he didn’t love at all-and who would understand this arrangement from the very start.
The MacMillans were lowlanders. Their political astuteness, particularly in dealings with the English, could buy badly-needed protection for his clan while the Camerons rebuilt. All things considered, Ewan deemed that it was worth the sacrifice.
Laird MacMillan’s niece was widowed. She had a pair of children of her own, and-in carefully polite letters that were exchanged between herself and Ewan-professed that she was looking for a father for her children, and a home of her own, more than everlasting love. She appeared to understand both the boundaries and the rationale of what Ewan was offering, and so the clans had struck a deal.
With Lady MacRae’s help, a wedding had been swiftly arranged. Unlike his first marriage, it was meant to be a society affair. The joining of a highland and a lowland clan was an event of great circumstance-and the guest list reflected it. He had invited the heads of all the neighbouring clans and their retainers for the event. The feasting and games to accompany the wedding were expected to go on for several days.
Ewan was enjoying the calm before the storm. Muira had arrived early to help prepare for the imminent arrival of their guests, and to make last minute arrangements as they arose. Soon, the castle would be thronging with people. There would be so many, in fact, that only baby Ewan Graem had been brought along for the week-and only because he needed to nurse. Even the nursery was being used to accommodate their many important guests.
Caught up in the whirlwind of events, Ewan knew that it was much to late to undo what he had began, but that didn’t staunch his regrets. Rather than being numbed by the busyness, he thought of Cait every moment now: remembering her smile, longing for her laugh, and knowing that Mary MacMillan-the new Lady Cameron-to-be, could never compare.
“A journey to where?” Cait asked, her heart skipping a beat, a strange sense of foreboding settling over her body as she waited for her mistress to reply. She felt almost as if she had anticipated the words when the lady replied:
“Why, Castle Cameron. Have you ever been there before?”
Cait must have muttered some reply, because the other woman smiled and continued to talk. Cait, however, was reeling. She didn’t want to leave the cozy comforts of her new home-but, if that was necessary, at least it didn’t have to be to the worst place that she could possibly go!
“Surely your other maids could better attend you?” Cait suggested hopefully. “After all-I would have to bring Robert along.”
“Well, of course you’ll bring him!” Lady Frasure said quickly. “That’s part of the point. I don’t think that I could bear to be away from the little darling so long! They change so quickly. If I didn’t see him for two weeks, I don’t know that I’d recognize him when I got home.”
“Two weeks?” Cait repeated, feeling a cold sweat breaking out all over her body. It wasn’t as long as some visits she had heard of, but it would be all but impossible to keep herself hidden for so long.
“Aye,” the lady replied. “It’s a three day journey, and then there’s a week of games before the wedding.”
“Wedding?” Cait said breathlessly. “Who is getting married?” James, she begged silently, even though she logically knew that couldn’t be the case-no one would hold a week of games to celebrate the marriage of the Laird’s little brother.
“Laird Cameron is finally going to take a wife,” Lady Frasure said, “a MacMillan girl. You can imagine-it’s quite a to-do,” she smiled sweetly at Cait, but frowned when she caught the other woman’s eyes. “Cait? What’s
wrong? You don’t look well!”
“I’m fine!” Cait said quickly. Then, without meaning to, she continued, “Just surprised.”<
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“Surprised?” Lady Frasure narrowed her eyes in confusion, “Did you know about the Camerons?”
Cait held her breath, aware that she was on dangerous ground. Anything she said might betray her past. She wished that she could say nothing. However, as her mistress was clearly expecting an answer, she replied, “I…thought that the Cameron Laird was already married.”
“Oh?” Isobel scrunched her nose, looking as if she were trying to recall something in her mind, “Well…you know, I think that I might have heard something about an attachment he had-some poor girl killed off in the border raids last year-but I don’t know that he actually married her. If he did, it wasn’t done properly. We were certainly never notified.”
“No,” Cait muttered. It wasn’t done properly, that much she could admit. Besides, her year with Ewan was over. At least she had little Robert to show for it. “If it’s the same to you…” Cait began slowly, “I’d really rather not go.” She was expecting her lady to politely agree and dismiss her. She was astonished, therefore, when Isobel’s eyes flashed hotly.
“It was not a request, Mrs. Greer!” she said hotly. “I’m too old to go gallivanting around the countryside on my own. I appreciate that we’ve developed a…friendship…but that doesn’t mean that you are free to take advantage of the relationship by shirking your duties when you are requested to perform them.”
Cait recoiled, feeling as if she’d just been slapped. She felt a surge of shame-and then of self-recrimination. She really did take advantage of Lady Frasure’s friendship. “Of course, milady,” she responded meekly, despite the fact that her heart was racing a hundred miles an hour. She couldn’t go to Castle Cameron! She simply couldn’t! There had to be a way out!
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