A Year and a Day

by Stephanie Sterling

  “I had…gone for a walk that morning,” she said, deciding upon the selective truth.

  “But you didn’t come back?”

  “I didn’t think it was safe,” Cait said slowly. “I started into Frasure lands and…Lady Frasure granted me a position at her Castle.”

  “But Ewan thought you were dead!” Muira said in an accusing tone. “Cait! Don’t you understand? He’s marrying someone else!”

  The reminder of the wedding doused the excitement growing in Cait’s breast. So what if Ewan did think that he’d lost her? If it had mattered at all, it certainly hadn’t affected him deeply or bothered him long!

  “Yes, I thought he might be-considering we were called here for a wedding,” Cait shot back, unable to suppress a sarcastic tone.

  Muira looked horrified by her blasé attitude, unable to see that was merely affected. “Cait! Surely you don’t think that he wants to marry someone else?” she said, shaking her head slowly from side to side, as if she still didn’t quite believe her ears and eyes.

  “Yes. I think he does want to marry someone else. Wasn’t that the point of our little conversation before I left?” she said, forgetting to cover up the nature of her departure from Glen Mohr.

  If Muira noticed, she didn’t say so. She was too horrified by what else Cait had said, “Oh, Cait! It was wrong of me to say that-so wrong!”

  “But Ewan promised the Laird that-“

  “The old Laird is dead!” Muira snapped, “Ewan can do what he wants!”

  “What he wants is the good of the clan,” Cait said, unwilling to give herself the faintest hope. “You admit that marrying a MacMillan is good for the Camerons as a whole?”

  “Yes, but-“ Muira said, frowning sharply.

  “But there isn’t any ‘but’,” Cait finished for her. “Ewan has gotten on with his life…and I’ve gotten on with mine!” If I live through the wedding, Cait thought to herself.

  Muira still didn’t look convinced, “Don’t you think that Ewan should be the one to decide that?”

  “If I recall correctly, he did!” He was the one who went away, after all. Cait tried to remember the pain she had felt in learning his entire visit at Glen Mohr had been part of a lie. “He left Glen Mohr without me.”

  “He left to fight a war!” Muira insisted.

  “That doesn’t change the reason that he came in the first place,” Cait insisted. “I was never anything more to him than…than a body to warm his bed.”

  “He loved you, Cait!” Muira cried.

  “He didn’t,” Cait said coldly, “Or if he did, it wasn’t enough,” she used a tone to imply that her opinion was final. “At any rate, there’s no reason to bring it up now. It’s in the past. Ewan is getting married on Friday and-“

  “He won’t marry Mary MacMillan after he knows you’re here!”

  Cait paled, “You aren’t going to tell him?”

  “What?” Muira looked at Cait as though she were crazy, “Of course I am!”

  “What? Muira! No!” Cait felt physically ill as she considered all the damage that her friend could do. Not only would Cait be exposed to her former husband-the Frasures would learn of her lies as well! She would lose everything!

  “Why shouldn’t I tell him?” Muira demanded, “You don’t know how he was when we lost you, Cait! You didn’t see him! Do you think it’s fair to let him keep suffering-to think that you’re dead?”

  Cait doubted very much that Ewan was suffering-or even that he had in the past. No doubt it would be far worse for him to know that she was still around-an inconvenience to throw his perfect political marriage in doubt! “No,” Cait agreed, willing to say almost anything to keep Muira’s mouth shut, “That isn’t it. I just…I just want to tell him myself.”

  “What?” Muira asked, frowning as though she didn’t understand.

  “I mean…I mean, of course I’m going to tell him,” Cait said, warming to the lie, “I just…I’m just waiting for the right time.”

  Muira was still frowning sceptically at her friend, so Cait hastily explained, “That’s why I didn’t tell anyone that I was here,” Cait embroidered, “Why it has to stay a secret. The MacMillans might not like it if they know I didn’t die…and Ewan might choose Mary MacMillan over me-”

  “He WON’T!” Muira interrupted, but Cait ignored her and continued.

  “I’m going to meet with Ewan and talk to him.”

  “When?”

  “Tomorrow,” Cait lied again, “I’m going to meet with him tomorrow and…and until and unless Ewan decides otherwise, we’re all just going to play along as if the wedding to Miss MacMillan is still going on.”

  “But-!” Muira protested weakly. Cait kept talking.

  “Muira, you have to promise-not just for me! For the clan!”

  “But-!” Muira said again.

  Cait sighed heavily, and then whispered a little prayer of thanks when she was interrupted by a masculine voice.

  “Muira?”

  It was Lachlan, Muira’s husband, no doubt calling her back to bed. Muira looked over her shoulder anxiously. “Cait! What time are you going to talk to him? When can I see you again?”

  “You can’t!” Cait hissed, whispering now that Lachlan’s voice was growing closer, “You can’t tell anyone that I’m here either. I’ll come to you when the coast is clear…I may not be able to get to Ewan straight away.”

  “But you have to! Cait! The wedding is-!”

  “Muira? Are you down there?” Lachlan’s voice grew closer, causing a stab of panic in Cait’s breath.

  “You can’t tell anyone!” Cait said, casting a significant look in the direction of Laird MacRae’s voice. “Swear to me! I’m asking you as my friend!”

  “I swear not to tell Lachlan!” Muira said, though she looked miserable.

  “Or Ewan!” Cait prodded, already slinking toward a side passage. “Muira?”

  “Or Ewan,” Muira agreed sullenly.

  “Good!” Cait said, her voice full of relief. “Thank you, Muira! I promise it will all work out…you just have to give me time!” she didn’t wait for her friend’s reply. Without waiting a second longer, she dashed away down the hall.

  “So?”

  Ewan walked out of his bedroom the next morning and very nearly walked directly back inside. His sister was standing outside the doorway, his little namesake slung over one arm, apparently waiting to ambush him.

  “So?” Ewan echoed wearily.

  “So? How did it go last night?” Muira asked.

  Ewan ran his hand through his hair and sighed. He’d frankly expected his sister’s curiosity, but he’d expected to have a little more time to prepare to deal with it. “It went fine,” he said tightly.

  “Only fine?” Muira pressed.

  Ewan’s expression darkened, “Only fine. She stayed a while and then James stopped by and offered to take her back to her room.”

  “Good,” Muira said, finally saying something that her brother didn’t expect.

  “Good?” he said, wondering if they would ever reach a point in the conversation when he wasn’t imitating his sister’s every word.

  “Yes…well, since you aren’t madly in love with her, it makes things a lot simpler, don’t you think?”

  “Er…yes?” Ewan said warily, not sure what his sister was getting at.

  “Well…” Muira frowned briefly, “She isn’t in love with you do you think?”

  “No,” Ewan admitted. The only thing that had made his fiancé smile all evening was when James offered to take her away. Although it bruised his ego, he couldn’t deny that the feeling was mutual.

  “Good!” Muira said, features bright again, “Then you can call everything off with no harm done.”

  “Call everything off?” Ewan went from surprised to positively astounded. “Call off the wedding?”

  “Yes,” Muira said, nodding as if she hadn’t spoken anything out of turn.

  “Are you completely mad?” Muira opened her mouth t
o answer, but he didn’t let her, “Why on Earth would I ever do that?”

  His sister opened and then closed her mouth. She frowned in his direction. “You haven’t had any other…er…’visitors’ today then?”

  Ewan groaned. It was much to early to be playing these games. “No, y Muira, I don’t usually receive visitors before the crack of dawn!” Even my blasted sister! He felt like adding, but didn’t. “Who, pray tell, was I meant to meet with to turn me off the course to marital bliss?”

  “Why-!” Muira started, opening her mouth to make some sort of indignant reply, but she caught herself mid-word, deflating like a punctured bubble. “Why…uhm…” she bit her lip, looked very guilty, and then tried to create a distraction by fidgeting with her son.

  “Who, Muira?” Ewan demanded.

  “No one,” the woman replied, looking rather…worried? “That is…I’m sure they’ll be around later. I just thought that she’d…uhm…they’d be around early, that’s all,” she very noticeably refused to meet her brother’s eyes. “And when she-THAT PERSON-does come by…well, I just want you to know that…I’m here for you and support you one hundred percent. Whatever Lachlan and I can do…”

  “Good, God, Muira! What on earth are you talking about?” Ewan said, losing patience with the stammering, but Muira wouldn’t say.

  “I think that Ewan Graem needs his swaddling changed,” she spoke quickly. Then, before Ewan could register what she had said-and demand that she return-she had darted down the corridor.

  Ewan stared after his sister in confusion, half-wondering if he was still asleep. Someone was coming to visit him? Apparently, they were going to try to convince him not to marry the MacMillan girl? Why? More Importantly, who?

  Ewan’s mind immediately jumped to a few of the castle lassies who had shared his attentions in the past, feeling a clutch of panic as he tried to work out whether any of them were currently with child. It was only a second before it passed, however. It had been far too long since his last indiscretion for an angry papa to be a threat. There had been no one since Cait.

  He almost laughed. If someone had told him two years ago that he would willingly go nine days without a warm body in his bed, much less nine long and lonely months then he would have called them liars. The truth was, however, that mere fornication no longer held any appeal. Mere physical pleasure was no match for what he’d shared with Cait.

  Ewan sighed. Cait’s memory had been with him every hour of every day since he’d lost her, but now the almost-constant pain was as bad as it had been just after her death. He couldn’t describe how he felt. Ewan tried to put the feeling into words as he walked slowly through the still-deserted halls. It was as if he could feel her nearby! As if he could reach out and touch her. As if-Ewan stopped dead in his tracks, jaw hanging open and eyes bulging nearly out of his head as he looked ahead.

  At the end of the hallway was a huge gilt mirror.

  Framed in its centre-was Cait.

  Ewan stared, not even breathing as he took in the ghostly shape: his former wife, clad all in white, carrying something in her arms.

  “Cait!” he couldn’t keep himself from crying out.

  It was as if she heard him. The figure turned, meeting his gaze for one, electric moment. Ewan reached to rub his eyes. When he looked up again, the ghost was gone.

  Please don’t cry. Please don’t cry. Please don’t cry! Cait thought with all her might, praying that the silent plea would be heeded by her son. She knew better than to leave her room, but the emotional tension of the day, combined with the confinement of her tiny bedchamber was sending her stir crazy. Robert felt it too. She thought that it would be good to take him out of doors for some fresh air before the house began to stir.

  She had been so careful! Cait hadn’t left the servant’s corridors for the whole of her journey down, using her knowledge of the castle routine to select the ones she knew to be empty. Once free, she wandered in the rose garden. It was still dewey and silent as the fine ladies who would grace it later in the day continued to sleep.

  By the time she decided to return, however, her son was growing restless. She could save nearly ten minutes of walking by cutting across one of the open halls. She decided to do it-which turned out to be a terrible mistake!

  Ewan had seen her!

  Cait tried not to even think about the terrible truth, concentrating simply on getting away as quickly as possible. Luckily, he had seen her from the far end of a long corridor. Before he could reach the corner, she had dashed back into one of the service halls. She raced up a flight of stairs, took another hidden passageway, and swept behind a tapestry before she dared to believe that she was safe.

  Finally convinced that she wasn’t being followed, Cait sank against the wall and began to shake. She hadn’t expected the sight of him to affect her so strongly, but it did. Just knowing that he was nearby had been hard-but seeing him was unbearable!

  Cait was ashamed to admit it, but she’d almost forgotten how handsome he was: the broad sweep of his shoulders, the powerful, the boyish, yet rugged handsomeness of his face. Even a glance was still enough to send her weak at the knees!

  He had changed a little. Thinking back, Cait noted that his hair had gone slightly grey around the temples. His face looked lined and sad-not like a man looking forward to his wedding. She didn’t know if that was comforting or not.

  Cait had lied when she told Muira that she intended to see Ewan. She had every hope of leaving the castle without ever letting him know that she was there. Now that she’d seen him, however, it felt like an almost physical force was tugging on her heart. All of the “What ifs’ that she’d managed to push away suddenly returned with full force.

  Three more days…She promised herself, Three more days and it will all be over.

  All except the crying, that was.

  Three more days. Ewan spent most of the morning repeating the fact over and over in his mind, hoping that repetition would help it sink in.

  Three more days…

  He passed most of the morning with his brother-in-law, and the afternoon entertaining his guests. He didn’t have more than a few minutes with his bride-to-be. He was grateful to learn that James had taken her riding in the early afternoon and that they hadn’t returned until late. When they did come back, Ewan was already heading down to the dining hall, grateful for yet another busy distraction.

  He’d almost convinced himself that he hadn’t seen Cait at all. He had run after her image, of course, but when he’d arrived, there was nothing there. The hallway was completely deserted, save for a wall-hanging fluttering in the breeze. There wasn’t any sound or any signal, nothing but the eerie memory and the lingering scent of her perfume.

  Ewan’s heart clenched when he remembered the smell. Like a key opening up a lock, the simple aroma of lemons and lavender had released his memories in a veritable flood.

  He didn’t mention what he’d seen to Lachlan or the others. He had almost forgotten when he went to bed, but then the memories returned. He remained awake long into the night, staring into the darkness, half-hoping and half-fearing to see her again.

  Two more days…

  That was the first thought on Ewan’s mind when he awoke the following morning. The second was, as ever, of Cait. He remembered how he always awoke before her, and roused her with kisses on the back of the neck.

  Without conscious design, he returned to the hallway from the morning before. He stood there for the better part of an hour-until he met James emerging from the guest wing (Ewan thought he’d do better not to answer which of their notable guests had entertained his brother for the night!) and only then did he allow himself to be led away, disappointed that the spectre had not shown herself again.

  But then, perhaps it wasn’t a ghost? Ewan didn’t know what to think. He was preoccupied by the question, mostly ignoring the people around him at breakfast until a quiet voice beside him remarked, “You look like you have a lot on your mind.”

  �
�I’m getting married tomorrow,” Ewan answered gruffly, and then sighed in relief when silence reigned again. His relief was shortlived, however.

  “You saw her, didn’t you?” Muira whispered, looking as if she didn’t want to be overheard.

  “Her?” Ewan glanced up, his soft green eyes locking with his sister’s matching pair-then he froze. He could almost hear the name on her lips, though he was certain that Muira hadn’t spoken aloud. “Cait?” he mouthed, and then paled when Muira nodded.

  So, he wasn’t going crazy.

  Ewan felt a chill course along his spine. He had never given much credence to tales about the spirits. There were legends, of course-every old castle had them-about pipers who played on in lonely towers, and spirits of the damned that stalked the hallways at night. As a boy, he had been suitably terrified and quivered in his bed (which was, of course, precisely where the tellers of the tales wanted him to stay). As he grew older, however, he put less and less faith in the stories. He had been to battle. He had seen gorier sights than the bards described, had seen more unjust fates, and had sent more friends than he cared to think about ahead to their graves. Still, there was only one other occasion when he could claim to have seen a ghost.

  It was the night that his mother died, before he had been told of her fate. Muira and James had been inconsolable that night, screaming and fighting sleep until after midnight. Ewan hadn’t had any rest since Robert died, unable to shake the fear that, like his brother, he would close his eyes and never wake up.

  His body ached with exhaustion, and with a adness too deep for his insubstantial years. Even then, a sense of duty had overwhelmed him. He felt he owed it to his sister and brother-the one he had left-to guard them through the night. He was lying in his bed, staring at the ceiling, when he felt a sudden, comforting surge of warmth, and then a soft hand brushed across his brow.

  “You have to sleep my darling,” a voice-his mother’s voice-spoke so clearly that he instantly obeyed. The presence remained beside him until he fell asleep. It wasn’t until morning that he was told his mother had passed away during the night.