A Year and a Day

by Stephanie Sterling

  “Have they been treating you well?” Ewan asked, dragging his mind down a different, but equally unpleasant direction.

  Cait squirmed in a manner that made him instantly suspicious. “Well enough,” she answered, “Lady Frasure and Muira are there,” she added, causing Ewan to suspect that she’d was intentionally blunting her answer.

  Ewan was correct. The reception that Cait had received in the chapel was frosty, at its best. Apparently, the suspicions about the MacMillans hadn’t been spread. Instead, quite a nasty rumor had taken hold to the effect that Cait- “Colonel Everleigh’s daughter, don’t you know?”- had called the English somehow to stop the wedding with Mary. It was so preposterous that Cait would have laughed-if the furious, frightened glares that she’d received from the other women hadn’t been so terrifying. She did have some friends in the castle. They did their best to make it known that any sort of verbal or physical attacks against Cait or her baby would meet with swift retribution, but she couldn’t help but wonder how long that protection could hold-especially when the battle started in earnest. It was a relief to be taken away. She’d rather take her chances in the tower.

  “They’d dare to snub the Laird’s wife in his own castle?” Ewan hissed, apparently reading Cait’s fears in her eyes. His body was practically shaking with barely contained fury.

  “Ewan…” Cait began in appeasing tone. She looked down at the baby, unable to meet his eyes, “You can’t blame then!”

  “I absolutely can!” Ewan growled fiercely, “Give me one good reason why I should not!”

  “A lot of them…” Cait started, and then bit her tongue, second-guessing the wisdom of proceeding. However, it was too late.

  “Go on,” Ewan insisted.

  “Well…a lot…that is, some of them don’t even have the old way,” she explained, “They don’t even see that we’re married at all and…well…you can’t blame them for thinking that this is all because of your…your…” she couldn’t bring herself to speak the word that she’d been called by Lady MacKenna. Once again, however, she didn’t have to. Ewan could read it in her eyes.

  The fury that flared there was terrifying. For a second, Cait expected him to snap and head down to the chapel, exacting a bit of vengance himself.

  She was closer to the truth than she knew. Ewan’s instant, primal reaction was to go and silence permanently any voice that had dared to speak against his wife. Instead, with great and obvious effort, he managed to restrain himself. God damn the MacMillans and their ability to hold the other clans in thrall to their opinions! He hated to kowtow to another’s expectations, but there wasn’t a choice! He took several deep breaths, and then he turned to Cait and blurted the last words she had expected him to say:

  “Will you marry me?”

  “Will I-?” Cait asked, uncomprehending. She shook her head, “But I thought…we’re alreaday…”

  “In a proper church,” Ewan whispered back, caressing her cheek and warming to the idea that he had so recklessly blurted, “With a proper priest and witnesses, and so there’s never any doubt again that you’re mine and you belong with me.”

  “But…” Cait whispered, her jaw moving without leaking any words. She couldn’t account for how touched she was by the offer. Ewan wanted her-again.

  “Forever, this time,” he breathed quietly into her hair, thinking that this was how it ought to have been from the beginning, “A year was never enough.”

  Cait knew that she ought to work up some sort of protest. After all, it was only a few hours before that she’d been telling him all the reasons that she ought to go away-why it was better for them both if she and Robert drifted quietly out of his life-only, she couldn’t.

  For his part, Ewan was still working to foreclose any argument, “I think I loved you years before I had the courage to take you,” he breathed into her hair, hoping that she would feel the truth of it. “When you were still a girl…when you would come to the cottage with Muira. Even then, I thought you were the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.”

  “But-!” Cait stammered another half-hearted protest, but clearly wanted him to keep going.

  “I think that I timed going to my room at night on purpose,” he confessed, flushing faintly. “I always hoped that I’d Caitch you there. Just having you nearby, being in the same room, sometimes talking, gave me such a sense of peace.”

  Cait didn’t want to believe the declarations. After all, if they were true, why had it taken Ewan so long to act? Like the rest of his family, he had never seemed particularly restrained. Still, she could see the earnestness shimmering in his eyes. Maybe he was right. Maybe the spark between them had always been there, but both of them had been too blind to see?

  “When?” Cait breathed. “When do you want to marry me?”

  “Now!” Ewan answered immediately. Then, glancing toward the window, he amended, “Tomorrow night…soon,” he couldn’t give her any promises-none except his love. “This time it’s forever, Cait?”

  “How long will that be?” Cait knew instinctively that Ewan would defend their little family with every bit of strength in his body, with every drop of his blood-but she worried that it wouldn’t be enough. The English army was so vast and frightening!

  “I can’t tell you,” Ewan admitted, with a groan in his voice that reminded her of a falling tree. His arms slipped around her waist. “So, we’d better not waste any time.”

  Robert was already asleep. Cait dabbed a kiss on his head and deposited him in a drawer lined with quilts that had been set up as a makeshift cot. Then, her attention returned to Ewan.

  They only had one night, Cait thought, unable to find her courage or optimism with the English ringed around. How was she going to fit a lost lifetime of loving him into a few stolen hours? She didn’t know where to begin.

  Her husband seemed to be confronting the same problem. “There are so many things I want to show you,” he breathed, fingers curling into the soft folds of her dress, “So much I want to say…” but he didn’t resort to words. Instead, his mouth descended onto hers.

  So, this is how it feels to be burned alive, Cait thought, as the heat and power of Ewan’s body engulfed her in a rush. His rough, insistent fingers licked across her body like tiny flames, causing her own skin to Caitch and burn as well. It wasn’t long before a furious blaze had built inside her womb. The passion didn’t make her feel warmed so much as consumed.

  There was never going to be a tomorrow, Cait thought distantly as Ewan tugged and ripped at her dress. There wasn’t even a pretense of holding back as his mouth and hands moved voraciously over his body, taking everything they wanted-and giving everything in return.

  Cait was all too painfully aware of the competing interests for Ewan’s time. No doubt he was needed elsewhere in the castle. However, she couldn’t fight a desire to be selfish for a little while more. She held him like she was never letting go-and she certainly didn’t want to!

  What ultimately drew them apart, however, was not battle, or Ewan’s duties as laird, or even his desire to sleep-it was the soft, plaintive wail of the son.

  “Sorry!” Cait murmured quickly, and scurried out of bed to soothe the baby before he could disturb his father. She glanced worriedly at Ewan’s face-and was relieved to find not even a trace of annoyance.

  “Bring him here!” he begged.

  Surprised but pleased, Cait nodded. She carried their baby back to bed and handed him to his father while she climbed in beside them.

  Robert was still fussing. “What does he want?” Ewan asked, prodding tentatively at the child’s nappy whilst simultaneously jostling him up and down in one of his arms, slowly working through the Caitalogue of what he knew about infants to try and work out what was amiss.

  “Probably hungry,” Cait said apologetically as she took the baby back. “I was just getting around to giving him has last feed when you came to collect us.”

  Ewan watched as she arranged the baby next to her breast. He smiled wh
en Ewan rooted blindly, finally latching onto his mother and beginning to nurse. Ewan was absolutely fascinated by the process. He’d been around his nieces and nephews often enough but, obviously, had never witnessed such an intimate scene as this. His eyes went misty as he watched the perfect little maternal moment, and he wrapped his arms around Cait’s shoulders, drawing her into his lap so that he was curled around them both.

  The soft, gentle suck of the baby, combined with the heavy, pleasant weight of Cait’s body and the shared warmth of their skin quickly overwhelmed Ewan’s ability to remain away. He finally succumbed to exhaustion. All three of them were still twined together hours later when someone finally rapped on the door.

  Ewan was instantly awake. He shifted carefully out from under Cait, whipped on his kilt, and then rushed toward the door. His lieutenant was waiting outside.

  “Still no sign of James?” Ewan asked, finally beginning to worry about his brother.

  “No sir,” the other man answered apologetically. “Laird MacRae sent for you sir,” he explained, “The English are moving.”

  After that announcement, the day moved in a blur.

  They weren’t going to be able to hold out as long as he thought, Ewan thought, bone weary and heartsick when the canons finally fell silent at night. He couldn’t bring himself to count the number of men that they’d lost on the walls, especially with the battle so new! The courtyard was filled with the sound of wailing women and the uneasy silence of settling down for the night.

  Ewan went up to the walls to check the lines. A small crack was forming in the eastern wall, and he wanted to make sure that the men had followed his instructions, shoring up behind it with extra stones to prevent the crack from becoming a breech.

  Some of the men were leaving the wall, replaced by a smaller force to hold sentry through the night. Ewan doubted that the English would continue their attack in the darkness. There wasn’t any need. They had more than accomplished their goals in the daylight, and they couldn’t hope for the element of surprise. Therefore, he was concerned when he clearly made out a column of horses moving in the moonlight, headed for the gates.

  Ewan squinted into the dimness, trying to make out the figures. One of the archers was drawing back his bow, but Ewan lifted his hands. The English riders were carrying a truce flag. They stopped at the gates. A moment later, one of the guards came running back to Ewan.

  “A message!” he announced, and Ewan felt his heart skip a beat. What could the English have to say? Surely they knew that he wouldn’t surrender so soon.

  He broke open the seal, only to find himself surrounded by a crowd of the other Lairds before he even had time to glance at the page.

  “What does it say?” MacKenna asked.

  Laird Frasure nodded, “What are his demands?”

  Ewan held up a hand, requesting silence as he read. “Colonel Everleigh is requesting a meeting,” Ewan announced when he finally looked back up.

  “To request a surrender?” Brodie asked, scowling.

  Ewan shook his head, “It doesn’t say,” he looked in the direction of the pile of bodies that had been removed from the wall, “I don’t suppose it could hurt to listen to what he has to say. At least it might buy us some time.”

  “Who does he want to go?” Lachlan MacRae asked.

  “All of us,” Ewan responded, finally offering the message for inspection.

  “It’s too dangerous!” Laird Frasure said firmly. Laird MacCloud nodded his agreement.

  “No more than two should go.”

  The identity of the two was discussed, but it was ultimately decided that Ewan and Laird Brodie would go.

  Ewan pulled his brother-in-law aside while Laird Brodie said farewell to his wife. He wanted to go to Cait-but didn’t trust himself to come back if he did. “If I don’t come back…” he started to ask Lachlan to look after Cait, but could see that the other man had already anticipated his request.

  “They’ll be safe,” he said firmly-even though he’d never really met Ewan’s wife and son, Ewan had confidence that Lachlan would keep his word.

  Ewan and Brodie rejected the offer of an escort. Ewan knew, too well, that if guards were needed, they wouldn’t stand a chance. Frankly, he didn’t have the men to spare. So, after checking that his own weapons were ready, he swung onto his horse and started out of the gates.

  There was a moment of heavy tension when the gates swung open. If Ewan was walking into a trap, that was the moment it would best be sprung. To his relief, however, the gate clanged shut again. He heard the heavy timber bar fall into place, and the portcullis drop behind him before he nudged his horse forward into the night.

  The English soldiers were waiting. Without speaking, they led him down the hill and toward the English camp. Tents were ranged behind the circle of cannons, but they kept going toward the village.

  Ewan’s heart twisted uncertainly when he saw the town. It was, more or less, intact-but he guessed this was because the English officers were using it for occupation, rather than their decision to leave it be. His suspicion was partially confirmed when he was taken to a house in the centre of town and instructed to dismount.

  “The Colonel asked that you be taken to him straight away,” one of the soldiers said, his voice a shock after such a long, tense stretch of silence.

  Ewan nodded. He and his fellow Laird followed the soldier into the house.

  Ewan wasn’t certain what he expected. He was facing a great enemy, it was true-but he was also facing Cait’s father. That last fact left him unsettled. Surely there had to be some good in a man who had sired a woman like Cait? Would they look the same? Act the same? Would he be met with any pity or mercy at all?

  He didn’t have time to wonder. They stopped before a wooden door and were instructed to step inside. Colonel Everleigh was sitting behind a desk, sipping a glass of wine. He gave the Lairds a predatory smile when they entered the room.

  The only feature that the man seemed to share with Cait was his dark hair. It was tied in a queue behind his neck, held with a black silk ribbon. His features were very pronounced: small, ice-blue eyes, thin lips, a square jaw and a very prominent nose. He was handsome in an unconventional way-but nothing like Cait-to Ewan’s endless relief.

  “Ah, ‘Laird’ Cameron, I presume,” The English officer drawled, his eyes gleaming with amusement when he spoke the title as though he doubted its authenticity. “And Laird…?” he waited for the other man to identify himself, apparently unable to place the tartan.

  “Brodie,” came the muttered reply. The officer nodded.

  “How kind of you to join me.” He nodded toward a decanter and a pair of glasses, “Wine?”

  “No,” Ewan grunted, wanting to waste no time on pleasantries. Beside him Brodie echoed his gesture.

  Everleigh sighed heavily, “To business, then.”

  “Aye!” Ewan shot the other man a haughty look, “Why don’t you tell us when you’re going to go away,” he demanded, “And while you’re at it why the hell you’re here to begin with.”

  Everleigh responded with a patronizing laugh, “Why do you think we’re here, Laird Cameron?” he queried, lips quirking at Ewan’s annoyed resistance to offering a response. “Please-indulge me.”

  “I won’t!” Ewan spat back, but that didn’t stop him from adding: “If this is about Cait…”

  “Cait?” Everleigh said in confusion. It seemed to take him several moments to place the name. When he finally did, it was his turn to look offended. “Ah, yes,” he purred dangerously, “You’re the man who thinks he’s married my…chambermaid? Mistress?”

  “Daughter,” Ewan growled, although the word gave him no pleasure.

  He wanted to punch the leering grin off of Everleigh’s face. Even more so when the man replied coolly, “I don’t have a daughter.”

  “You took Cait’s mother away from the clan!” Ewan countered, hating his wife’s parentage, but unwilling to abide implications that she was a liar.


  “Her mother?” Everleigh sneered. He seemed to search his memory for a moment, finally chuckling cruelly, “Grainne, possibly? Grainne Cameron?” He didn’t wait for Ewan’s confirming nod before he hissed, “That little slut of a Scotswoman was pregnant before I ever killed her miserable fool of a husband and took her into my bed-for all that was worth. The little whore wasn’t fit for my dog.”

  Ewan didn’t even hear most of what Everleigh had to say, and didn’t have time to question that the story didn’t match precisely with what he’d been told. White hot rage welled up in his chest, churning so furiously that he wasn’t able to hold it in. He went sailing across the table, landing one solid blow to the colonel’s jaw before he was dragged away.

  “Laird Cameron!” Brodie hissed anxiously.

  Ewan looked up, staring into the barrels of three muskets, and then he heard Everleigh’s hated voice, “That will be enough, Laird Cameron!” He bellowed, wiping away a trickle of blood from his lip. “I’m getting very tired of Scotland.”

  “Then go home!” Ewan suggested hotly.

  “Not yet,” Everleigh countered back.

  “You have a demand?” this time Brodie spoke.

  Everleigh turned to him, apparently deciding that he was the more rational of the pair. “Aye, I do,” he said calmly. Putting the handkerchief away, he sat up straighter behind his desk. “A whole list, in fact.” He met Ewan’s eyes in challenge, “First, you will surrender the castle immediately.”

  “NO!” Ewan growled, but Everleigh ignored him and continued in an even voice.

  “Clans Cameron, MacRae and a MacKenna will pay tribute to the crown in the sum of six years taxes,” he said, naming the astronomical sum without batting an eye. “Clans Cameron and MacRae will be merged. Ewan Cameron and Lachlan MacRae will resign as Lairds in favour of an appointment of my choice.”

  “Oh, will we?” Ewan sneered, knowing that the clans would never swear fealty to an outsider. “And who might that be?”