A Year and a Day

by Stephanie Sterling

  “They can wait!” Ewan insisted, but then reconsidered. Someone would have to explain to Mary what was going on. As dearly as he wanted to delegate the duty, he feared that it had to be him. “Or…I could find you after I speak with Lady MacMillan.”

  Cait sighed sadly, “What do you think she’ll do?”

  “What can she do?” Ewan posed the rhetorical question. He walked with Cait to the Frasure’s chambers, protecting her from the curious onlookers, and then he traced his steps back to the room where Mary had been housed-only, it was empty.

  Ewan supposed it wasn’t so surprising for her to be gone. No doubt she had chosen to be with friends, or possibly she had gone to the nursery to see her children? Something felt wrong though-so wrong that he collared her maid when he slipped back into the hall. “Where is Lady Cambpell?” he demanded of the small, black-haired creature.

  The maid looked distinctly nervous. “She…er…went for a walk with Master Cameron, sir,” she spoke, clearly speaking of James. “Er…isn’t she back yet?”

  Ewan frowned and shook his head, thinking that the whole thing was odd, but frankly relieved. He left the guest quarters, intending to go and look for Cait, but Laird MacMillan was stalking up the hall. Ewan took a sharp left and scurried up the back staircase, deciding to hunker down in his room and wait for her instead.

  Cait was grateful that Ewan had walked with her back to “her” room. She could feel the curious stares following her down the hall. She could only imagine how much worse they would become in the following days. She dreaded the trial. Still, at the same time, she was sure that it was worth it. She had Ewan again. It didn’t even seem possible. She-a mere servant at breakfast-was Lady Cameron now!

  She hadn’t been kidding when she said she thought their vows were broken upon the passing of a year. She assumed that Ewan would be the one who chose whether they remained husband and wife-in a way, she supposed that he had. It seemed too perfect to be true-but it was!- Cait was practically floating on air when she walked through Lady Frasure’s door. Of course, she quickly returned to earth when she saw Lady Frasure’s place.

  “Oh, you poor girl!” the kindly old lady blurted as soon as she’d stepped across the threshold. “Oh, you poor dear girl! You don’t know how sorry I am! I never imagined…!” she fluttered around the room, reminding Cait of an agitated bird, “If I’d known…and we brought you straight back! Oh, you poor girl! I’ve talked to Laird Frasure. He says that you can’t come back-it’s too dangerous-but we’ll give you money to get to London. Anything that I can do-anything- all you have to do is say the word!”

  Cait blinked, still not understanding her friend’s strange behavior. “What are you talking about?” she blurted.

  Lady Frasure blinked, “Why, about your husband, of course! I didn’t understand why you didn’t want to come back here! If only I had known-surely you know that I wouldn’t have made you come. Oh, Cait-I’m so, SO sorry!”

  Cait’s mouth dropped into a small, embarrassed “O” when she realized, at last, what Isobel was going on about. She had almost forgotten the lie she had allowed her friend to believe: that she had fled a monster! She felt terrible guilty that she had besmirched Ewan’s name. “There’s really nothing to be sorry about,” she said, sinking into a seat and getting comfortable. “I think that I owe you an explanation.”

  Slowly, stiltedly at first, the story fell out of Cait’s mouth. She began at the very beginning: how she’d loved Ewan Cameron as a young girl, and ended when she ran away. “I didn’t think he was looking for me!” she explained, “I didn’t think that he cared!” Finally, she described their recent reunion. “Say something,” she begged when she was through. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I never meant to betray your trust, but-!”

  “Shhhh,” Isobel said, her age showing more prominently in her tired face as she looked sadly upon her friend. “I think that I understand.”

  “You-you do?” Cait asked, astonished.

  Isobel smiled, her eyes and lips crinkling on the edges from the look. “Aye. Believe it or not, I was a girl once-a girl in love, no less. I know what strange notions that desperation can give you.”

  Cait arched a brow, tantalized by this near revelation, but Isobel did not divulge any more. “It’s late,” she said, rising from her seat, “And I suppose you’ll be wanting your husband,” she added in a teasing tone that brought a flush to Cait’s cheeks.

  Isobel turned to gather Robert’s things, but stopped quickly and turned back to Cait. “You wouldn’t be interested in a nanny for the night?” she asked, sounding hopeful. “I don’t reckon I’ll be seeing much of the little fellow when we head back home.”

  Cait nodded sadly, silently answering “yes” to both queries. She knew that Ewan would be disappointed not to see the baby again straight away, but they needed some time on their own. Besides, she felt awful ripping the baby away from Isobel. The lady loved him dearly.

  Almost as if she were able to read Cait’s thoughts, Lady Frasure spoke, “He really does look like my Robert,” she whispered, tears glazing her cheeks, “If I’d ever had a grandchild of my own, then I think…” she took a deep breath, “Well…it doesn’t matter. He’s a bonnie lad.”

  “Aye,” Cait said. On impulse, she bent forward and kissed the old woman’s cheek. “You won’t see him as often, but we will come to visit. I couldn’t imagine leaving Castle Frasure for good!”

  Saying goodbye took longer than Cait intended. She wanted to be sure to give little Robert a nice, full belly to ensure that he slept the night. Besides that, she wasn’t looking forward to heading back to the Laird’s tower.

  It certainly wasn’t arriving back in Ewan’s chamber that Cait dreaded. Her nerves were practically humming with excitement at the prospect of returning to Ewan’s arms. The few kisses they had managed had only served to whet her appetite, and she couldn’t wait for more. There was, however, the problem of actually getting there-a worry that was vividly realized as soon as Cait stepped out into the hall.

  She had, of course, expected a degree of curiosity-and possibly even hostility-from the Camerons that she had left behind. Stepping through the Frasure’s threshold, she was unsurprised to see a veritable gaggle of maids, all of whom had contrived business in the East wing which detained them until Cait arrived.

  She was shocked that Muira wasn’t there-she could only imagine how Lachlan had managed to detain her-but there were others to contend with. No one was brave enough to out and out confront her yet, but Cait had to pick her way carefully from place to place, smiling and nodding greetings, answering the politely curious questions about her health and happiness that were tossed her way as she continued down the hall.

  Finally tired of all the attention, she slipped into one of the servant’s corridors again. She’d rarely, if ever, been in the Laird’s tower before, but she thought that she could navigate her way. It took longer than expected, and resulted in several wrong turns, but Cait finally arrived back at Ewan’s study. She was just about to step out from behind the curtain when a burst of angry voices made her stop.

  “It’s outrageous!” A voice bellowed, “Disgusting! The MacMillans have been made to look like fools! I tell you, we won’t stand for it!”

  A second, calmer voice that Cait recognized as one of Ewan’s former lieutenants chimed in, “You can’t suggest that Laird Cameron did this intentionally?”

  “Oh! He accidentally forgot that he had another wife?”

  Laird MacMillan, Cait thought, finally placing the voice. She shivered and took a step back into the shadows.

  “It’s an ancient custom and, when Lady Cameron didn’t-”

  “Ancient Custom!” Laird MacMillan snorted, “The next thing we know you’ll all be painting yourselves blue. I knew it was a mistake to get involved with a bunch of highlander nonsense. I thought you were half-civilized at least, but I see that I’m mistaken.”

  “Now, wait just a minute!” Ewan’s voice snapped hotly, “I-!”r />
  The other clan leader hadn’t stopped talking, “…barbaric, hedonistic, pagan rituals that have no place in-!”

  “Cait is MY WIFE!” Ewan growled.

  Despite her worry, Cait felt her heart warm a little at the declaration. That feeling quickly evaporated, however, by what happened next.

  “Aye, an English whore for a Highland Laird. Tell me Cameron, if you’re so willing to go to bed with the English, why should we help you fight them?”

  A sound of scuffling followed, accompanied by breaking glass and indiscriminate shouts. Cait bit her lip, struggling not to cry in horror at what she thought she’d overheard. She assumed that the respective tanists of the clans had brought their clans to order, because the next words were still angry, but more restrained.

  “We’re leaving in the morning, Cameron. You and the rest of your lot can burn for all we care. If the English want to go through MacMillan lands, then let them!”

  There was a beat of awful silence. Cait wondered if Ewan was alone-and if she dared go to him. However, just as she was trying to decide, the soft burr of the former lieutenant chimed in. “You can’t let him go!”

  “What choice do I have?” Ewan said in a voice tinged with despair. “Cait is my wife! I can’t marry mary too.”

  “Not you real wife,” the man said, in a voice that wasn’t meant to be hurtful, but still struck Cait to her very core, “Laird MacMillan has a point. It’s not a proper Christian ceremony. He’s only saying what the rest of the clan is thinking,” Ewan must have reared up again, because the other man spoke quickly, “That doesn’t mean that I agree! It’s just that you ought to think about it Ewan-you so-called ‘wife’ is the daughter of the man whose killed or maimed nearly half the clansmen! How can you expect to keep their loyalty if that’s the case? How can you expect the other clans to help us defend our borders? Half of them are only here now because of their alliances with the MacRaes. Your brother and law can’t hold them forever. If the MacMillans-,”

  “If the MacMillans desert us, then we still have the Frasures,” Ewan said. Cait could hear the weariness in his voice. She longed to go to him-to rub his shoulders and try to ease away some of his stress.

  The other man snorted, “The Frasures? The Frasures have gotten fat on other men’s blood. Laird Frasure isn’t going to go against the MacMillans-much less the English-just because it makes him a friendly neighbour.”

  “My mother was-,”

  “Yes, Ewan! I know very well that your mother was the old Laird’s niece-only we aren’t talking about fifty years ago, and we aren’t even talking about that laird. The Frasures care about trading and about protecting their own skin. If you can’t appease Laird MacMillan then we’re on our own-or we will be soon.”

  Cait heard the wooden chair behind the desk groan, probably as Ewan sank onto its cushion. “What are you suggesting I do then?” her husband asked.

  There was a sigh, “I don’t know…I wish I did…It would have been so much easier if she’d never come back.”

  Cait’s heart twisted guiltily in her chest-but it shattered completely at what her husband said next: “I wish that the wedding had never happened. I wish that I could take it back.”

  Cait bit her lip until it bled, trying to contain the giant sob that welled up in her chest. She started to scramble backwards. In her haste, her feet tangled in the folds of the curtains. Before she knew what was happening, she was falling backwards-pulling the curtain with her.

  Sitting in his chair, head in his hands, Ewan sprang up at the sound of the sudden commotion. His heart was hammering in his chest as he jumped up to determine what had happened. Had someone been spying? Had one of the MacMillans overheard him lamenting that his union to Mary had ever been planned at all? He raced to the tangle of velvet on the floor, watching as his Lieutenant helped the other party out of the voluminous folds. He didn’t know if the pang he felt was horror or relief when the identity was known.

  “Lady Cameron!” the other man breathed, eyes widening as he looked from the woman to his laird.

  Ewan and Cait stared at each other in silence for a moment before Cait blurted, “I have to go,” and tried to jump up to her feet again.

  Ewan held her in place. He turned to the other man and said curtly. “Leave us!”

  “Of course,” he was answered eagerly. In only a matter of seconds, the door to the chamber slammed.

  Once they were alone, Cait struggled harder. She tried to kick her way out of Ewan’s grasp. Tears were streaking down her cheeks, “Let me go! Let me go!” she repeated with steadily building desperation. Across the room, or across the country? She asked herself for the meaning of her words, not really knowing the answer.

  “Cait, what’s wrong?” Ewan asked, his voice so warm and full of worry that she was almost soothed-almost.

  “Just let me leave!” she cried, hiding her face in her hands since it was clear that Ewan wouldn’t let her get away. “It would have been better if I’d never come back at all.”

  “Better if…? You’re crazy!” Ewan gasped. Against her will, he tipped her chin toward him.

  “But you said…” Cait protested weakly, unable to put up much resistance when she was caught in Ewan’s gaze.

  “Good, God, woman!” Ewan gasped, “You don’t think I was talking about you earlier?” he exclaimed. “How much did you overhear?” He didn’t give her time to answer. Instead, he bent over her to bestow a worshipful kiss. “I was talking about Lady MacMillan,” he explained, “I was saying that I wished that Muira had never talked me into denying my heart. I…I love you Cait. I think that I always have. There could never be anyone else.”

  Cait’s face was wet with tears, but her eyes were suddenly shining. Wonder mingled with disbelief in her eyes. “You…you don’t mean that!” she finally sniffled.

  “Don’t I?” Ewan growled, scooping her into his arms in a single, powerful motion. Cait squealed as he hefted her into the air. “Shall I prove to you that I mean it?”

  Yes!

  Cait felt like yelling her reply as every neglected nerve ending in her body shivered with anticipation. She felt like a flower, warmed by the sun, slowly unfurling its petals in the warmth of Ewan’s smile.

  “Silent?” Ewan asked, his confidence wavering slightly.

  He started to set her down. Then, seized with panic at the notion that he might release her, she blurted: “Please!”

  toward the double oak doors that led into his room. A small, mischievous part of him wanted to make her beg, but the rest of him, the better part, couldn’t bear to waste the time. Smiling to himself, feeling as though he was walking on air, Ewan kicked the doors closed behind them, and then tossed Cait into the centre of the bed.

  The chamber was so beautifully candlelit and stuffed with roses that it looked like a bridal chamber-which, of course, it was-Ewan mused. He quickly shuffled Mary out of his mind and concentrated on Cait. Looking down on her, sprawled in the centre of the mattress, he couldn’t begin to imagine anyone else.

  She was so tiny! The large bed fairly swallowed her little body. Ewan was struck by how insubstantial she looked. He couldn’t imagine her able to fed for herself outside the castle walls. Perhaps that was what made him accept that he had lost her? She had survived, however. There was steel beneath the softness. It hurt him that she had gone away, but the fact that she had been so strong-strong enough not just survive, but to thrive-left him fairly bursting with pride.

  Moving slowly, Ewan crawled onto the bed beside her, desperate to touch her, but wanting to take things slowly. “My pretty Cait,” he whispered, reaching out to stroke her cheek, “My beauty.”

  “Ewan,” she whispered back, and treated him to another shy smile.

  He wanted to see her-all of her, all of the beauty that he’d been denied. Now, however, wound together in the darkness, he started to lose his nerve. A bit of self-consciousness settled in, reminding him of the gap of months since he had held her last.

  W
here was he meant to begin? Ewan felt like a young, fumbling virgin as he willed his fingers to work and claim their prize. Cait didn’t resist when he finally found the nerve to stroke his hands down her side. He traced his fingers over her hips and belly, then reached up again to cup her breasts.

  Her body had altered slightly. It was softer than it had been before, and slightly more voluptuous. He supposed that the change had been wrought by their child, and while he appreciated the results, he hated the reminder of everything that he had missed.

  Despite his good fortune in finding Cait again, Ewan couldn’t help feeling faintly cheated too. He had been robbed of her comfort for more than a year.

  He hated that he hadn’t seen her pregnant. Ewan groaned with arousal and regret as the images sprang to his mind. He splayed his fingers on Cait’s flat belly, brushing tenderly over the fabric of her skirt as he imagined how it had been a few months before: swollen and bulging around the little life she had carried in her womb.

  Ewan fairly ached to go back in time and recapture the moments. He wanted to lie behind her, arms curled around her waist, feeling their baby moving beneath her skin, knowing that a part of them both was joined forever. His body tightened at the notion. He would have to get her pregnant again as soon as possible, he thought, and a wicked smile curved onto his lips.

  “What are you thinking?” Cait asked shyly.

  Ewan smiled in response, and bent forward to dap a string of kisses beneath her ear. He didn’t quite trust himself to answer the question, and so he settled for a demonstration instead. He moved the hand that had settled on her stomach until it was cradling one of her breasts. He groped it through the thick wool of her dress, already yearning to touch her bare skin, and listened for the Caitch of her breath. “Do you like that?” he queried.

  “You have to ask?”

  “I’m out of practice,” Ewan answered.

  Cait moaned quietly and lifted her own hands to Ewan’s face. “Well, we’ll have to see what we can do about that.”

  “Aye,” Ewan whispered, closing his eyes as the sheer relief of having her began to sink in. He pulled her tight against his chest, content with merely stroking her for a while, palming heavily over her skin as he relearnt the hollows and swells of her beautiful form. “I missed you so much he groaned.”