Ewan had never told anyone about what he saw, in part because he jealously cherished the memory and, in part, because he didn’t want anyone to think he was going insane. He never asked his siblings if they had seen it too. Somehow, the fact that Muira shared his experience with Cait made the situation far more chilling!
His sister was still staring, and so Ewan quickly nodded his head. “In the hallway,” Ewan whispered, “by the gardens.”
Muira nodded, “That’s where I saw her too.”
“I think that she doesn’t want me to marry Mary,” Ewan blurted, not entirely understanding where the thought had come from. His guilty conscience, perhaps? If that wasn’t the case, why had Cait’s shade remained hidden until now?
“Well, you aren’t going to, are you?” Muira asked, wide-eyed.
Ewan cocked a brow, “Of course I am!” He certainly wasn’t happy about the arrangement, but that didn’t mean that he was going to change his mind. What was he meant to tell Laird MacMillan-that he’d been frightened away by a ghost? “I didn’t want it to be this way,” Ewan said in an appeasing tone, “But I can’t stop what I’ve already put into motion. I’m going to marry Mary MacMillan…and that’s final.”
Muira tried to say something else, but her husband had arrived.
“Perhaps your brother could use some peace, dear,” Laird MacRae said in an even tone that brooked no denial. Ewan had never been so grateful. He slipped away soon after dinner. Then, after begging James to watch after Mary for another day-for the last day he could justly claim for his own-he made his excuses to the castle guests and went for a long ride in the woods.
Things seemed much clearer when he returned. Replaying the vision of Cait over and over in his mind, he decided that he might have misinterpreted her presence. She hadn’t seemed disturbed or angry at all. If anything, her demeanour struck him as “peaceful”. He had the strangest notion that the bundle in her arms had actually been a child…their child? Could she have been pregnant when she passed away? Ewan had never considered the notion, but took a morsel of comfort from it now. He didn’t like the idea of Cait alone, even in the afterlife. As selfless and sweet as Cait was, he could half-imagine that she had come to show him that she was happy and tell him goodbye.
Deciding on this version of events, Ewan felt far more peaceful and ready to face what was to come. He knew, in his heart that he would never love his second wife-but he didn’t have to. Mary knew-at least, he hoped that she knew-about Cait. She had to accept that his heart would never be his. He would give her a fine home and a quiet life. Someday-when he was ready-she would give him a child. It was a bargain, really-nothing more than when he traded cattle at the market or swapped silver for ale at the crossroads inn. Of course, that was the same notion that had launched his relationship with Cait, but in a very different way.
Ewan was able to sleep easily that night, and felt ready to face the day. Just after dawn, his brother-in-law and James came to take him fishing while the castle prepared.
Lachlan was in unusually high spirits, while James seemed uncharacteristically grim. Ewan didn’t get a chance to remark on it because Lachlan spoke as soon as he stepped through the door. “Has my wife been here to see you yet?”
“What?” Ewan frowned, failing to anticipate the question, “No.”
“Good! I made it in time!”
“Why?” Laird Cameron asked, frowning.
“She has the crazy notion that you aren’t going to go through with things today.”
Ewan would have liked to have questioned the other man further, but was distracted by his brother’s arrival. Then, with a large group of other men, he was ushered out to the loch to pass the day while the ladies prepared the castle for the wedding. The event was far too public for him to have a chance to speak with Laird MacRae alone, and so Ewan was left to wonder alone why his sister thought he was going to lose his nerve.
Before he even knew it, he was back at home, changing into his finest clothes. Then, arrayed in his best ceremonial dress, he walked down into the chapel to await his bride.
The Cameron chapel was large enough to house the clan, but much too tiny to accommodate the clan and its guests. The Lairds and their wives were wedged shoulder to shoulder in the pews, while the lesser clansmen and other guests were forced to stand in the back of the church.
Ewan surveyed the chapel, somewhat surprised by the understated decorations. His sister had regaled him with grand schemes for flowers and adornments, but what he actually saw was very restrained. Muira was sitting with her husband in the first row. Ewan tried to catch her eye, expecting an encouraging smile or wink. However, she appeared distracted. She was looking over her shoulder, watching the doors of the church.
Ewan took his place near the altar, and the crowd began to quiet. In the rear of the church he saw the priest and altar boys assemble. Then the pipe organ began to play, signalling the commencement of the mass.
Ewan kept his eyes on the bible and that cross which the priest was carrying in. Then he lifted his eyes. Lady MacMillan made up the rear of the procession, her arm tucked around her brother’s. She looked very pretty and also very sad.
Ewan knew that women were known to cry at weddings, but he thought they were meant to be happy tears! Mary looked as though she were actually in pain! Just before they reached the front of the church, her brother leaned over and whispered something into her ear. She nodded and visibly attempted to compose herself before she was handed over to Ewan.
Laird Cameron had been to mass at least half the Sunday’s of his adult life, and he didn’t pay much attention as the words whizzed by: the invocation, the Kyrie, the Gloria, a rather pat homily about love and family duty-until Father Murtagh finally reached the wedding portion of the mass.
The words were different than they had been for his joining to Cait. He supposed it was fitting. This was a contractual and religious arrangement-while his joining to Cait had been more truly a union of souls-even if they didn’t know it at the time. He held Mary’s hands gingerly, and steeled himself to sound sincere as he waited to speak his vows. The priest seemed to take an especially long time to reach the point, but finally arrived at: “If there be any man here, who knows any reason why these two should not be joined in Holy Matrimony, let him speak now or forever hold his peace.”
Ewan took a breath, expecting the moment to pass-only it didn’t!
“I have a reason!” a voice called out. It was a feminine voice which Ewan instantly recognized as his sister. A murmur of consternation broke out among the crowd and, for a moment, the priest didn’t seem to know what to do.
Ewan wheeled around to face Muira, his face a cross between fury and relief. “And why is that?” he spat, before the priest had a chance to address her.
Lachlan was trying frantically to silence his wife, but he didn’t succeed. Muira wrenched free of his arms and strode into the aisle. She levelled her hand accusingly at Ewan. “My brother can’t marry Mary MacMillan,” she announced angrily, “Because he already has a wife!”
Cait spent Laird Cameron’s wedding evening occupied in the wholly unglamourous task of sewing swaddling for her son. He was growing bigger every day. Although she certainly didn’t enjoy the task, the mindlessness of the activity was a welcome distraction from her thoughts.
I seem to be looking for distractions a lot lately,Cait thought, unable to remember the last time that she had allowed herself to indulge in daydreams, but suspecting that it had been before the time that they appeared to come true, only to warp into a horrible nightmare.
She heard church bells ringing in the courtyard, and assumed that the ceremony had begun. She concentrated on weaving her needle and thread in and out of the soft woollen fabric, pausing occasionally to check that little Robert was still asleep. She had given him her necklace to play with, tying it to the top of the basket where he laid, and he stirred occasionally to give the bright metal a kick.
Cait folded a completed diaper and reached
for another piece of fabric. Against her will, she tried to guess what part of the ceremony had been reached. The gentle strains of the organ, which she felt, rather than heard humming through the stones, informed her that it was early yet.
She hadn’t been offered the opportunity to attend the wedding-a fact for which she was grateful, rather than annoyed. It saved her the trouble of finding a suitable pretense for skipping.
Cait couldn’t imagine that the torture of seeing Ewan actually marry another girl. She was perfectly content-at least, as content as it was possible to be-remaining in her room.
The minutes plodded by. Cait heard the organ again-the Gloria-and then there was nothing.
Cait had anticipated a stretch of silence. She had been to enough other weddings to have almost memorized the traditional words-so formal and staid compared to the vows that had once bound she and Ewan! Still, she hadn’t expected them to last so long. She expected a sudden swell of music, indicating that the deed had been done, but it never came.
Every second was torture. Cait felt as though she was awaiting execution, and the hangman kept tying and untying the noose! She continued sewing for as long as she could, but finally had to stand and pace the floor.
She went to her chamber’s tiny window and glanced out. If she strained her eyes and pressed her nose almost against the narrow slit, she could make out a corner of the yard. Throngs of people had filled it. The wedding must be over. She wondered why they hadn’t moved on to the main dining hall. Confused and heartbroken, Cait lay down on her bed to weep. It was over. Ewan was no longer hers.
Disturbed by his mother’s crying, little Robert awoke and his cries mingled with Caits. They were both wailing when the door was flung open. When it slammed against the wall-an excited, rather than angry gesture-Cait gasped and lifted her eyes. Lady Frasure was framed in the doorway, appearing too excited to even note her maid’s distress.
“Well, now! We’ve had a to-do!” Lady Frasure announced, eyes sparkling as though she had received the juiciest bit of gossip in her entire life.
“The wedding?” Cait asked weakly, wiping her eyes and trying to compose herself.
“The almost wedding,” Lady Frasure said, tantalizingly. “There wasn’t one after all.”
“What?” Cait said, holding her breath and still not daring to believe. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that Lady MacRae interrupted the wedding-she claims that Laird Cameron already has a wife!”
Cait knew that Lady Frasure expected her to respond. No doubt she was meant to laugh, but Cait couldn’t do ANYTHING but stare, jaw ajar, her mind reeling from what she’d just been told.
Ewan hadn’t married Lady MacMillan. Her brain kept getting caught up on the fact, unable to process anymore. It took a few more harried cries of “Cait? Cait?” before her thoughts moved on-lurching immediately to horror that Muira had broken her word.
Cait was quite certain that her friend had sworn not to reveal that Cait was at the castle. No, that wasn’t exactly true…Cait reminded herself. She had exacted a promise that Muira wouldn’t make the revelation to Ewan or Lachlan individually. No doubt Muira felt that an announcement to the entire castle didn’t precisely break her word.
Of course, it didn’t matter anymore what had been agreed. Clearly, Ewan must know now that Cait was home-and the only question remaining was: what should she do about it?
Cait’s heart seized as she looked up into her mistress’s face. The old woman was staring at her in confusion and concern. No doubt the sweet lady couldn’t imagine why a serving girl-a MacGregor serving girl at that!- should be so overwrought by news concerning the Cameron Laird that she, ostensibly, had never met. She was going to lose everything, Cait realized, even her memories.
“How horrible!” Cait said, finally finding her voice and forcing a detached smile onto her face. “It isn’t true, of course?”
“Well…” Lady Frasure looked heartily relieved that her maid was acting normally again. She spread her skirts and settled daintily on the edge of Cait’s bed, bending over to scoop up the baby and cradle him against her chest. “It seems there is a smidge of truth to it. Apparently, the Laird was handfasted a few years ago to some Cameron girl. The poor lass was killed in the raids. Apparently he was heartbroken.”
“Heartbroken?” Cait asked breathlessly.
“Aye! They said he fought like the Devil himself against the English army and pushed them back all the way down to York. At any rate, the girl was dead and he had to move on-for the good of the clan-only his sister claims she’s alive, and in this castle!”
“No one believes her, surely!” Cait said, but then she remembered the connection she had felt with Ewan when she had seen him in the hall. She could sense his presence, even now. She wondered if he could feel it too.
“Well…” Lady Frasure laughed uncomfortably, “Of course, no one wants to doubt the word of a lady.”
“Of course!” Cait said with relief.
“But…Laird MacMillan doesn’t want there to be any mistake.”
“Well, what are they going to do?”
“They’re-” Isobel started to explain, but was interrupted by a knock at the door. “Enter!” she called before Cait could stop her.
The door swung open, revealing one of the castle guards. A few more, indistinguishable figures were arrayed behind him. “Pardon me, Lady Frasure, but-”
“It’s her!”
Cait cringed as the voice of Alice MacEantach, one of the scullery maids, called out from the hall. She hunkered down over the baby, hoping against hope that the cry had been directed at someone else. Of course, it was not meant to be.
“What?” Lady Frasure said, brow furrowed.
The portly little housemaid squeezed past the guard and levelled her pudgy finger at Cait. “There she is! It’s Lady Cameron!”
“Lady Cameron?” Isobel said, laughing lightly. “Please tell me that you’re joking! It’s only Cait Greer, my maid. Cait-tell them who you are! Cait?” Lady Frasure’s complexion paled when she saw the look on Cait’s face. The younger woman rose unsteadily from the bed and started walking toward the door. She couldn’t bear to meet her mistress’s eyes when she finally confessed.
“I’m not Cait Greer,” she said quietly. “I’m Cait Everleigh-and I’m the girl they’re looking for.”
The silence that filled the room was deafening. Cait struggled not to crumple under the frank, disbelieving stares of all assembled as she walked toward the door. “What are you going to do with me?” Cait asked the guard who sputtered for a moment. Apparently, the idea of actually finding Cait had been so unlikely that no one had bothered to think beyond the search.
“I’ll take you to the Laird,” the man finally said gruffly and jerked his chin toward the door.
Cait didn’t bother to ask if Lady Frasure would mind keeping Robert. She took the lady’s failure to object as a sign of assent, and went into the hallway without a fuss.
Cait had never felt more on display! Rather than the former lady of the house, she felt like a prisoner. She was surrounded on all sides by guards-both her original escort, and a pair who joined them in the hall. Alice was taking up the rear, smugly triumphant as she trailed in the wake of her “find”. Everywhere they went, castle occupants stopped and stared. The guests could, of course, only guess her identity, but a fair number of Cameron’s recognized her. All of them stopped to stare in shock.
The pathway to Ewan’s chambers took longer than Cait remembered-attributable, of course, to the fact that he had moved since she was last in the castle. He was Laird now, and so they had to wind very slowly up the center staircase until they reached the top of the tower where the clan leader’s quarters were located. They hesitated outside the door, stalled by angry voices inside, snippets of which drifted into the hall: “No, Laird MacMillan, of course we had no idea…” “My wife can be…impulsive..” “I asked my brother to sit with her until things quieted down…”
Finally,
one of the guards gathered the courage to knock. The petition for entry was met with a barked, “ENTER!”
Then, none-too-happily, the man swung the door open and led his “captive” inside.
Cait had never been in the room before, and she had always been curious about what it was like inside, but she didn’t have time to look. As soon as she crossed the threshold, her senses were captured and focused on one thing alone: Ewan.
The voices that had been bickering back and forth died immediately when Cait was brought into the room. The man she assumed was Laird MacMillan glared, the Cameron tanist gasped, Lachlan MacRae sat down hard, and Ewan was… Cait felt her stomach flip-flop as she tried to place his expression. It was wavering somewhere between mystified, ecstatic, and furious.
“We…er…found her with Lady Frasure, sir,” the hapless guard who had discovered Cait admitted to his Lord. “I thought you’d want her brought here immediately. It seems that…er…Lady MacRae was right.”
“This is Cait Cameron?” Laird MacMillan said, sneering haughtily at her simple, faded gown and unadorned hair. For a moment, no one answered.
“Dear, God!” Someone-either Lachlan or James-whispered. Then, Ewan’s voice overwhelmed the rest.
“Leave us!” he said, his voice so firm and commanding that no one, even Laird MacMillan, thought to disobey.
Cait stared at the floor, once again reminding herself of a woman condemned as the room slowly emptied and the heavy oak door was shut and locked behind her. Her knees began to shake as silence took the place of the shouting from a few minutes before. At any moment, she expected Ewan to descend upon her. When it didn’t happen, however, she finally gained the courage to look up.
Ewan wasn’t staring back. In fact, he gave the impression that he didn’t even know that she was there. He had settled behind his desk and poured an enormous tumbler of whiskey. He seemed prepared to down in one swallow.
A Year and a Day Page 26