“He’d strengthened it other ways?”
“Not it,” Collin said, “but those who would defend the clan. A castle is only as good as the people inside. Right now both appear lacking, but Campbells have a history of strength and resilience. God willing, we’ll help them return to that. We promised your grandfather we would try.”
The towers loomed ominously as Collin and I rode through the gate, flanked by Alistair, Donaid, Ruirdairh, and a half dozen other clansmen I’d just met this morning.
I hadn’t wanted to ride, not while wearing my mother’s gown. The fabric and stitching were delicate now from the years spent aging. As I noted the state of affairs within the keep walls, I realized Collin’s suggestion that we ride had been a good one. Unlike the grassland outside, thick mud made up the ground here, much of it wet and oozing as tradesmen and launderers alike discarded their excess liquid with little thought or care.
We only narrowly avoided getting wet ourselves when a boy, no older than six or seven, flung a bucket of slop across our path, intended for a litter of piglets on the other side.
“Take care,” Collin called. “You’ve almost soiled the lady.”
Instead of offering an apology the child pulled a face at us and ran off.
“Hmm,” Collin said. “Reminds me of a lass I once knew. Must be her relative.”
I thrust my elbow back toward his ribs— not hard but enough that his chuckle turned to an umph.
“Not much has changed,” he grumbled good-naturedly.
I happily accepted his teasing, felt grateful for it, even. It was a welcome, if momentary, respite from the tension building between us since we had entered Campbell lands. I cherished these exchanges that felt almost normal. Seconds in time afforded us to act and speak, to jest, as any married couple might.
“Actually, it was different here when your grandfather was alive.” Collin directed the horse around a pile of manure. “He’d no tolerance for idleness; his keep was a place of order.”
“Be glad you’ve not been here to see all that has befallen this place and people,” Alistair said.
I found the order Collin described difficult to imagine. How could so much have deteriorated into chaos and filth in such a short time? Aside from the castle itself, seemingly on the verge of collapse, tall weeds grew up around it, giving the appearance that it had not been cared for or inhabited for some time.
“Perhaps I should not have signed those papers so quickly this morning. I don’t think I want this place after all.” Nothing about the scene before us bespoke of home— the home I had dreamed of the past weeks, since learning of it.
“Leadership is never about what you want,” Collin said. “And if it turns to that, often the one in charge is no longer fit for leading.”
“Like Brann,” I mused.
“Aye,” Collin said solemnly.
As we drew closer, people stopped their work to stare. One woman gasped and brought a hand to her mouth. Another fell to her knees as we passed. One very old man doffed his hat. Children scampered off, rushing around carts and dodging barrels as they hurried, I supposed, to tell others who had not seen us. Apparently a man and woman, freshly bathed, dressed in clean clothes, and riding a horse was a rare sight.
If nothing else, it smelled as if we were a rarity.
I sat sidesaddle in front of Collin, feeling much like the prodigal who had returned home, though I’d done no wrong. The one left behind was the one who had wronged these people. The evidence was everywhere. We’d heard the tales from Liusaidh and Alistair and had seen it yesterday and again this morning.
Many of the homes Collin remembered from my grandfather’s time were gone now, reduced to piles of ash, covered over with grass and the tracks of the sheep Brann had purchased to graze on land previously farmed by tenants.
“Where have all the families gone?” I’d asked on our way here this morning. “Have they new homes built elsewhere? Were they taken in to live at the keep?”
“Nay, lass.” Alistair had scrubbed a hand over his face as his mouth turned down. “Burned out, many of them. Often while they slept in their beds. Others managed to gather a few of their belongings and leave. Where they’ve gone I cannot say.”
Liusaidh, too, had shared tales of sorrow last night. “When Brann told the widow Ravigill that she must leave, she tried to pull down her house, so she might have something to rebuild with. Her husband died at the mill six months past, and other than her ten-year-old son, she hadn’t a man to help her. While trying to salvage the roof, she fell and lost the babe she carried, then died herself shortly after.”
“What of her son?” I’d asked, dismayed for the boy who’d lost both parents.
“Children,” Liusaidh corrected. “Four— little more’n bairns, two of them. Taken in by her sister, until she was forced from the land as well. I’ve no idea where they are now. No one does.”
“Whole families just disappear.” Her expression had been grim.
The expressions of the people watching us ride up to the castle were grim as well. Hopelessness seemed prevalent, the mood of the people as dreary as the fortress I had inherited.
Collin guided us to the stable. He helped me down, his hands lingering a moment at my waist. “Courage,” he whispered before stepping back and handing Ian’s horse off to a man he seemed to know.
“Can you stable him for me, Willie?”
”Aye.” Willie nodded at Collin, though I noted his eyes kept straying to me. “Good to see you again, MacDonald. You as well, mistress. You’ve the look of your mother and grandfather both.”
“Thank you.” His welcome seemed genuine, and I offered him a smile as I curtsied, my hands lifting the hem of my mother’s gown to keep it from the mud at our feet. In spite of the disheartening sights, it seemed I could almost feel my mother’s presence and my grandfather’s too, leading and guiding me to do things I couldn’t have done on my own.
Help me. I was starting to understand what Collin had meant about heavenly assistance— from both God and those who had gone before us. I certainly needed it today.
Willie led Ian’s horse away. Donaid and Ruaridh collected the other horses and followed.
“Here we go.” Alistair pressed his lips together, gave a quick glance to our fellow clansmen, and started forward.
Collin reached for my hand, squeezing my fingers reassuringly. He started to take a step, but I held him back. “Wait.”
He did not ask why, but his free hand slid to the pistol at his waist, hidden poorly beneath the loose folds of his shirt. He’d insisted upon keeping it with him, though in truth I think it brought little comfort to either of us. Home or not, we were in enemy territory. Declaring ourselves and our intention so openly, while perhaps the only possible way to avoid bloodshed, also seemed it might be the exact way to invite it. We were—
Outnumbered. I turned around, staring at the ivy growing along the corner of the stone, seeing clearly who was on the other side, as if the stone was not there at all. Brann appeared a few seconds later, flanked by four other men. Collin and Alistair had followed my lead, and we stood our ground, facing Brann as he approached.
He was exactly as I remembered, though taller and broader now. Sandy hair hung shaggily over his ears, not quite long but neither short, and his face looked as if he’d attempted a beard unsuccessfully, with odd patches of hair growing at different lengths along his jawline. His shirt was filthy, and his smile revealed a set of teeth that looked as if they belonged to a much older man. I suppressed a shudder.
“Dear Katherine.” He held his arms out as if to greet me with a hug. I made no move toward him.
An awkward few seconds passed before he lowered his arms and turned his attention to Collin and his pistol— in his hand, I was alarmed to see.
“MacDonald, is that any way to greet the laird of the land you’re trespassing on? Hostility is apt to get you into trouble.”
“Not hostility,” Collin said. “Precaution. And trespassing seems a strange
choice of words, given what you’ve unlawfully claimed.”
Brann’s smile stiffened. “I’ve done nothing but comply with every requirement of English law. Unlike yourself.” His gaze slid to Collin’s pistol once more. “You would do well to be careful who sees your weapon and whom you point it at.”
“There aren’t many I’ll feel the need to,” Collin said. “I know my friends here.”
“You might have at one time,” Brann returned. “But the old man is gone. Things are different. You’ve been gone a long time.”
“Your services as laird are no longer needed.” I’d remained silent long enough, and their circular conversation could only lead one direction that I could see.
“How so?” Brann asked. His eyes were a brilliant blue and might have been pretty had they a particle of kindness in them.
“I’ve signed the document accepting ownership of this castle, deeded to me by my grandfather, and it is, at this moment, being registered in Edinburg.” It was, in fact, only just on its way to the clerk, Finlay and Edan having left no more than a few hours earlier. “I appreciate you filling in during my absence,” I continued in an even tone.
A flicker of surprise registered in Brann’s eyes but was quickly gone. “I’ve seen no such deed.”
“Perhaps not, but it exists. I’ve no doubt my grandfather made you well aware of his wishes.” Alistair and the others had been wise, hiding Edan and his records the past years. No doubt Brann would have destroyed both at his first opportunity.
“You’ll understand that I’ll be staying until I see proof of such legalities.” He cocked his head to the side slightly, and two of the men with him stepped backward and moved swiftly away, no doubt to stop the transfer of the estate before it happened.
I swallowed my concern and attempted a look of calm acceptance. “Of course. But you understand that we will also be staying here. You are welcome to remain as well— for now.” He wasn’t really, but there was only so much I could do with just my word— and Collin and a handful of clansmen— to back me.
Brann nodded, a false smile upon his face. “My home is yours.” He stepped aside and swept his hand out, indicating that we were to precede him inside. I started to take a step, but this time it was Collin who held me back.
“After you, Laird.” His tone was needlessly mocking, causing me no little alarm. We didn’t need a fight right off. Or at all, if it could be helped.
“As soon as you put your pistol away,” Brann said, looking pointedly at Collin’s hand.
“I prefer to keep it where it is,” Collin said.
Brann scoffed. “There’s no love between us, MacDonald, but do you really think I’d murder you in the middle of the day, in front of your wife?”
“Probably not,” Collin said. “Seeing as you’re more the type to set fire to people in the dark of night.” He tucked the gun away. “Still, I’ll be keeping this ready.”
“Have it your way,” Brann said, turning from us. “For now.”
I heard his muttered words, certain he’d intended just that.
We followed him to the main entrance and up wide steps to the great hall. I felt a vague stir of familiarity, either from my dream or recently recalled memory.
“Best watch yourself,” an old man warned as we walked past. From his tone I couldn’t tell if he was friendly or not. And therein lay the problem.
If it was just Brann who was our enemy, it would be possible to be rid of him. But we’d no idea how many of the Campbells were on his side, or how many might be on ours.
Chapter Four
The immense fire in the wall-sized fireplace was doing its best to lull me to sleep. For the third time I straightened in my chair at the banquet table and tried to focus on the conversation. Collin sat beside, instead of across from me, with two of the clansmen who’d accompanied us from Liusaidh’s hut this morning sitting on either side of us. Hugh was a giant of a man, and Lachlan, his opposite, had a tall, wiry body. Alistair and the others had gone home to their families, but it had been agreed that Collin and I should have at least two trustworthy clansmen with us throughout each day and stationed outside our door each night.
It wasn’t much compared to the supposed army of men loyal to Brann, but it brought a little comfort.
Donaid, one who had journeyed with us from England, but from whom we had been separated the last week, sat directly across from us now, in the midst of Brann’s council.
The tension in the air was a palpable thing. Collin and I asked questions and were given mostly unsatisfactory answers regarding the current state of affairs with the Campbells. Little of the council, if any, would side with us, we determined, from the answers they gave.
This made sense, of course, as those eating with the laird and enjoying the benefits of castle living were no doubt in league with him. I suspected these were the men who did his dirty work. No doubt taking care of Collin and me was on their list. I had never enjoyed a tasty meal less.
Collin and I had decided— prior to our arrival this morning— to drink only water at the keep. Three members of my grandfather’s council had become ill and then died in rapid succession shortly after his death. According to Ruaridh, many of the clan suspected Brann had poisoned them, though no one had been able to prove it. But as it was more difficult to conceal poison in water than wine, Collin and I had deemed having water as our only beverage the wiser course.
I found it wiser for other reasons at the moment, as no doubt my heavy eyelids would not have been able to resist the relaxing effects of the dinner wine.
Given the threat of poison, we’d also had to eat with utmost care, following Brann’s lead— serving ourselves only from platters he’d taken from, then taking a bite, only following one of his own.
Collin leaned forward in his seat now, his gaze intent as he came as close to pleading with Brann as I guessed he would. “Katie’s dowry must be delivered to the MacDonalds within a fortnight, or I predict significant trouble from my brother.”
Brann appeared unfazed as he leaned back in his seat, one leg propped casually across the other, a glass of amber liquid in his hand. “So the MacDonalds are still scraping by— if that— when you, at least, could be much better off. I cannot understand why you’re so keen to preserve the poverty of the Highlands. It’s a fool’s errand— as is your request for this supposed dowry. I know as little of that as I do of the deed you claim entitles Katherine to this castle.”
“That you don’t know of the deed is your own fault,” I said, irritated by his denial and more so by my inability to provide the one material thing Collin needed from our marriage. I believed him when he said he hadn’t married me for my dowry, but I also believed he’d expected to receive it— not for any personal gain, but to keep the MacDonalds from starving another winter. “Obviously Grandfather felt he couldn’t trust you with either the important documents or the clan’s funds,” I said to Brann.
“Liam didn’t trust anyone in his last years,” Brann said, not denying my accusations. “He didn’t do much to lead this clan either— cooped up in his room most days. They were all but begging for leadership when he finally died.” Brann paused long enough to take a drink. “You’ll see the wisdom of my decision yourself in the coming months— if you’re here that long.” He stole a glance at the right side of the table, where his council was still seated. “When once again the harvest is worth less than what it cost to plant.”
“Of course it’s worth less.” Collin’s tone had turned angry, whether at Brann’s unspoken threat or his cold-hearted assessment. “When you hardly plant enough to feed the inhabitants of this castle, let alone extra to help the other tenants or any to take to market. Income depends upon volume.”
“My income depends upon sheep.” Brann said. “Though you are correct. Volume is important, which is why I continue to grow the herds.” He was still defending his position, as he had been all day, for clearing away so many of the crofts and the farming families who had lived in t
hem. “The moors that make up the land are more fertile in weeds than grain. Only a fool would try to farm them.”
“Several centuries of Campbells would disagree with that opinion,” Collin countered.
“Certainly the ancestors of the families who lost their homes would,” I added. “To say nothing of the families themselves.” It made me angry, too, thinking of the Campbell men, women, and children who had already been driven from the land. These were relatives I would never know, people whose lives had been stolen from them, people my grandfather had expected me to return to and care for.
Collin glanced at me— one of the few times he’d taken his eyes off Brann all evening. “Katie is tired. We can talk more of this— and her missing dowry— tomorrow.”
“Tires easily, does she?” Brann’s eyes narrowed as he looked at me.
“Not at all,” I said, rising before Collin could offer me assistance. “It is the company I find wearying.” It had been a long, anxious afternoon in close proximity to Brann. I swept past them both, across the hall to the foot of the stairs where Bridget, a fixture in the castle since before my birth, led us to our room.
Candle in hand, she began a brisk march that left no question as to her abilities in spite of her age. I followed at a slower pace, with Collin a step behind. His pistol was concealed once more, but still within easy reach. Hugh and Lachlan followed.
Collin’s senses had been on alert throughout the entire day, taking in everything around us, even as he listened to every word uttered by Brann and the others near to him. Now as we walked he kept his hand close to his pistol, and his eyes darted this way and that, trying to scope out the dark corners.
“Here you be.” Bridget forced the key in the lock and pushed the door open. “Your old room, the one you shared with your mother.” Lowering her voice she added, “I’d have cleaned it for you earlier today, but I didn’t want Brann knowing I’d found the key until the last minute, when it’d be too late for him to get in here— not that he was likely to ask. I’ve had it for years, but he never cared to go in here, never even asked about this room. It was your grandfather’s chamber he wanted, your mother being dead long before Brann became laird.”
A Promise for Tomorrow Page 3