I’ll love you until my dying day. “That is terribly romantic.” I sighed dreamily, lulled to a state of utter contentment and bliss in Collin’s arms.
“It’s tragic,” he returned sharply, startling me fully awake. “For a woman to die young, without even knowing her children, for a man to spend his life alone. There is nothing of romance or fantasy in that.”
“No. You are right.” I sat up straight and leaned away from him. “I’m sorry. I only meant that your father’s enduring love was—”
“I know what you meant.” Collin wrapped an arm around my middle once more and pulled me back against him. “Sleep, if you can,” he said gruffly. “It will be another long day tomorrow, and I need you to have your wits about you if we’re to enjoy a longer life together than did my parents— or yours.”
Chapter Eight
Memory is a peculiar thing, given to appearing suddenly, randomly, when stimulated by the other senses. Mine had seemed wont to do that at the oddest times since my marriage to Collin and my return to Scotland. Our fifth day at the castle it arrived in full force, wreaking havoc on my taut nerves while at the same time fine-tuning my developing feelings for my husband.
Our morning began as usual, or what had become so the past three days, with breakfast alone in our room. Collin and I sat opposite at the small table, devouring a plate of bannocks prior to discussion of the day’s strategy.
We’d decided to trust Bridget with our meals— it was either that or starve while Brann wasn’t in residence for us to mark carefully what he ate before partaking of it ourselves.
In our wanderings about the keep we had discovered a poison garden, made entirely of plants with the ability to seriously harm or kill. Wolfsbane, baneberry, white willow and many others flourished under the care of a most attentive gardener— Brann.
Bridget had told us the garden was his passion, and he was not beyond experimenting on others to see what effects each plant, its bark or berries, leaves or even its scent, might induce. Collin had declared that would be the first thing to go, once Brann himself was gone.
His absence had done little to ease our strain, as members of his council still watched us closely. After our day spent with Eithne and Gavin, we had continued our excursions, though none had been as pleasant as the first. Instead we had seen just how much damage had been done— how many lives ruined— by Brann’s expunction of the tenants. Two families Collin had wished me to meet were no more. Their homes, their livestock, they themselves were simply gone, vanished from the land as if they had never been there.
Collin guessed that roughly half of the Campbell families had suffered a similar fate.
“Poor odds,” he’d said, “should Ian decide to show up and start a row over your missing dowry.”
Poor odds if we needed support to unseat Brann from the Campbell keep. Some remembered Collin, though with much skepticism and suspicion. I, notwithstanding my Campbell heritage, was still a stranger here. Having been raised in England, the daughter of an English soldier, I wasn’t likely to gain anyone’s trust right away.
“All the more reason to find the money before Ian decides to come for it himself,” Collin said. “Better to keep the devil at the door than have to turn him out of the house.”
It wasn’t the first time Collin had referred to his brother as the devil. The description didn’t seem far off.
Yet if Heaven was represented by the clan’s priest, it didn’t promise to be much better. We’d met Father Rey the previous day, in the kirkyard while visiting my mother’s and grandfather’s graves. He’d come out from the kirk to see us, or more precisely, to persuade us that we should not interfere with God’s will, insomuch as it included clearing the sinful Highlanders from the land. Our encounter had left me feeling little better than I did after a confrontation with Ian.
All these thoughts and concerns swirled about my mind as we ate in silence. Instead of looking forward to another day with my new husband, in our new home, I felt only mounting pressures.
Collin lifted his mug and drank deeply.
I waited until he’d finished before speaking. “We’ve questioned everyone we know and many we don’t, searched the castle as much as we are able, and explored a good portion of the Campbell lands for that place Finlay alluded to where what is planted is not apt to grow. What else do you suggest?”
“A peek at the clan records. A visit to the treasury wouldn’t hurt, either.” Collin picked up another bannock and began buttering it. “If we are to run this place we need to know what we have to work with.”
“And you believe the council will allow us access?” I didn’t. Not for a second.
Collin took a large bite and held his up his hand, indicating he would answer in a minute.
Even if the dowry did still exist and Collin was somehow able to claim it, I felt strongly in favor of not turning it over to Ian, given his penchant for thinking of none but himself. It was one thing for Collin to see the money justly dispersed among his people but quite another for Ian to have it to use as he pleased.
“Who says we need permission?” Collin’s sly smile didn’t quite cover his underlying anger, which led me to believe he still itched for a fight.
“I do.” I folded my arms across my chest as we faced off, staring at one another across the table. “We have to play by at least some of Brann’s rules until he is gone. Then you are welcome to explore whatever you want.”
“He’s gone this morning.” Collin finished off the bannock and licked his fingers. “I realize you’re frightened of Brann, and wise to be, but it’s Ian I’m most concerned with at present. If not appeased— and soon, especially given his unfortunate accident...” Collin’s brows rose as he looked at me pointedly.
As if I needed reminding that I had shot and wounded his brother.
Collin continued. “I fear it will mean contention between the MacDonalds and Campbells, which would devastate both our clans. We may not have many weapons between us, but there’s plenty of harm that can be done with a hayfork or bare hands.”
The morning of our wedding it had certainly seemed like both the MacDonalds and Campbells had plenty of weapons, but I had since learned that so many had been present only because of the circumstances. Because of me. Collin and the Campbells had wanted to see me safely home. The MacDonalds had wanted to see that, too, so they might collect the dowry. And of course, with both clans highly mistrustful of the other and traveling together, they’d armed themselves well.
I was not likely to ever see so many pistols and swords again in the Highlands, as the 1746 Act of Proscription and its thorough enforcement by English patrols had effectively stripped the clans of their weapons and any right to bear arms. Collin had told me it had taken years to acquire those present at our wedding, and that each represented nearly the sum total of weapons for both clans.
The thought of any pistols or swords being used against each other was terrifying. I’d never intended to stir up the old contentions or start fighting between our clans. But what else was I to have done the night Ian threatened my husband? Collin might not be here, had I not acted.
“Would you prefer I hadn’t shot Ian?” I asked, very aware of just how here my husband was, how fine he looked this morning, clean-shaven and wearing a new suit of clothes, a gift from one of the clansmen still loyal to my grandfather, and now to me. Our hands touched over the plate of bannocks, and equal hints of yearning and accusation flashed briefly in Collin’s eyes.
I snatched my hand away quickly, to show him I hadn’t touched him on purpose. Not that I didn’t want to. Our agreement to avoid intimacy had only seemed to deepen our desire, or mine at least. I could not speak for Collin, and he had refused to speak of it again. But I, at least, thought of it. Of him. The nights in the forest we’d spent curled up together, the passionate kisses we’d shared.
At the moment it was all I could do not to reach out and brush a lock of his dark hair aside. It had untidied itself already and swept low
across his forehead, giving him a very devil-may-care appearance.
If only. There was nothing light or amusing about our circumstances— any of them.
“I am grateful for your intervention that night,” Collin said around another bite of jam-laden bannock. “Though your aim could have been better.”
“It was dark, and the trigger didn’t want to budge.” I didn’t care to consider or discuss the particulars of Ian’s injuries, which had rendered him unable to ride a horse for some time. “You had a pistol aimed at your chest. I thought only to remove it.” Collin would have to see Ian again if my dowry was to be delivered, and it was that I felt most strongly against.
“I thank you for that— truly,” Collin added, as if he felt I might not believe him. “But we must still attempt amends of some sort. I know my brother, and if not appeased, he’ll stir up trouble, which we’ve plenty of already at present.” Collin dabbed at the crumbs on his lips with a cloth napkin and tossed it on the table as he stood. “Let’s see what we can find today. If not the money, maybe some record that will lead us to it or give us a clue as to where it’s gone.”
I stood and followed him to the door. “I’d say it’s out grazing the fields.”
“I don’t think so.” Collin shook his head. “Your grandfather was too clever to leave the dowry anywhere Brann might easily access. Brann may have depleted the clan’s other funds, but I actually think he’s telling the truth when he says he doesn’t know anything about the dowry. Alistair, on the other hand, might know something, or did at one time.” Collin lifted the newly-installed, heavy crossbar from its place and pushed the door open.
I paused in the doorway, glancing back at the cheery fire and comfortable bed, wishing we could simply spend the day ensconced in the quiet peace the room afforded. It had become our sanctuary in this unwelcoming place.
By contrast the chilly draft that hit us as we stepped into the hall seemed to warn of the day to come. There would be more frost from the council, more treading lightly and peering around every corner with care, lest an unknown and unseen enemy surprise us.
I rubbed my arms briskly, thinking that for July, the castle was terribly drafty and chill. Winter here promised to be miserable. What had I inherited— besides trouble?
Collin pulled the door shut and inserted the key. “Let us not speak our speculations here in the open,” he whispered.
I nodded agreement. Our guards had gone down to breakfast a few moments earlier, but that was no guarantee we were alone. The dark corridors of the castle could easily hide eyes and ears spying for Brann.
“I’m sleeping better at least, now that we’ve a crossbar.” Collin pulled at the key, but, as on previous days, it didn’t want to budge. “Next to fix the rusted lock.”
“Grandfather never wanted a bar on my door.” A long-ago conversation stirred in memory. “He felt you were a better guard than any piece of wood.”
“I should hope so.” Collin gave the key a final tug, and it slipped from his fingers, spinning toward the floor and landing with a ping of metal.
I crouched to retrieve it, and as I touched the stone felt myself wrenched back in time, to cold winter nights when a gangling youth curled up here— to protect me.
Collin. I saw him as he had been. I felt his absolute misery, from the desolation in his heart to the chill in his bones. My eyes filled with unexpected tears.
“Katie?”
I looked up at him, grown now. Here, in the present, with me. Still sleeping on the floor because he believes it’s the best way to keep me safe. “Grandfather wanted you to be able to get inside my room quickly if needed. So he made you sleep here.” Like a dog, Collin had said.
He nodded. “Aye. Though in all the months I did, I never once had to enter your room.” His gaze strayed to the floor, and I wondered what he was thinking— wondered anew that he didn’t hate me and every single Campbell. Few treated him well, I realized, as voices and conversations from the past unleashed and rampaged through my mind.
...look, it’s the MacDonald nursemaid...
...this apple is for the lass, and this one is for you... I saw a cherry red apple beside a rotten one.
...should’ve shot you full of holes like your da. Maybe we will...
...we’ll slit his throat one night when he’s sleeping in his dog bed... The last voice I recalled was from Brann. He and his band of followers were near Collin’s age and might have been his friends, but hatred runs deep. Jealousy did not make it any better. I saw clearly in Brann’s mind how envious he had been of the attention my grandfather gave Collin. I saw now that his jealousy had only multiplied.
My fingers had grown cold where they touched the stone. Over a year, spent here night after night— for me. I grasped the key, accepted Collin’s outstretched hand, and stood facing him, nearer than we had been to one another since our ride home after the soap-making.
“Thank you,” I whispered as the tears that had hovered wet my cheeks. “Thank you for everything.” Until a moment ago I had not remembered this particular sacrifice. What else had I not yet recalled? How great was my debt to my husband? What could I do to pay it back, to give as much as he had given— and was still giving— to me?
With reluctance, it seemed, Collin turned me from him, his hand light against my back.
“You are welcome.” His voice was gruff.
Dashing my tears away, I forced a smile to my face and started toward the stairs. “Let’s see about finding that dowry.”
* * *
Our arrival downstairs was met with the news that Brann had returned. We waited for him to appear, Collin anxious to discover what he had been up to and equally keen, it seemed, to take advantage of a few more baked goods from the tray Bridget had just deposited on the sideboard.
I’d little appetite. My stomach was tense with worry over so many things, not the least of which was Brann’s return. Donaid and Hugh— our guards this morning— joined Collin, and a few members of Brann’s council lingered near the fire, waiting for him as well, I supposed.
I walked the length of the now-vacant tables slowly, running my fingers along the smooth grain. I remembered doing this as a child, walking circles around my grandfather and his council as they met.
I came to the head table and paused, my fingers resting lightly on the back of the chair that had been Grandfather’s. The room shifted, and he materialized before me, seated proud and tall— though a glob of spittle slid down his cheek. I gripped the chair harder as the younger Collin appeared once more. His ribs shown through his worn, filthy shirt, and his arms were pulled back at what had to be an uncomfortable angle, as he was led outside by two strapping men.
They were intending to hurt him badly, perhaps even kill him. My stomach lurched, and then my younger self was rushing forward, demanding that Collin apologize even as I wiped Grandfather’s face. My words came off as angry toward Collin when really all I could think of was that I must not allow him to be hurt anymore.
The memory passed, leaving me limp and dizzy. I pried my fingers from Grandfather’s chair and forced my footsteps away, down the other side of the long table. A quick glance at Collin showed him hale and hearty and still eating. I smiled to myself, grateful for his appetite that could finally— hopefully— be appeased. He must have been continually starving, the past weeks, subsisting on little more than oatmeal and fish during our journey here.
I passed twelve chairs down this side of the table, with another two at the far end. Where Collin and I used to sit. I made the mistake of touching one, and memory assailed me once more. Only this was a vision of a time I’d been unable to spare Collin a beating— one I had caused. I saw Grandfather’s face, stoic with resolve, and then watched with horror as he brought the strap down. I saw Collin’s flinch and felt the sting as the belt struck.
Gasping, I fell forward over the chair in front of me.
“What is it?” Collin was at my side in a second, his hand on my elbow, concern etched in the l
ines of his forehead. “Do you see something?”
“The past,” I choked out miserably. “Us— you— here. Beaten because of me.” I couldn’t look at him, I felt so ashamed. I let go of the chair, and the vision ceased, scarcely a second before Grandfather’s belt struck a second time. I jumped a little anyway, expecting to feel it again.
Don’t touch anything. The floor, the chairs... it was as if the castle had been waiting to share its secrets. It had seen all and remembered. And now it wanted me to as well.
“That was not our best night.” Collin’s tone held no reprimand. “But as the past cannot be undone, there is no point dwelling there. It’s the future we must concern ourselves with.”
“I can’t seem to help myself remembering.” Neither could I help myself from leaning toward him, wishing he would put his arm around me, though I deserved no comfort. “I was a wretched child.”
Collin chuckled. “You were a gifted child.” His tone sobered. “One who suffered much, I think, under the weight of guilt you felt from the things you saw and from witnessing your mother’s murder.”
Brann’s untimely arrival collided with the memory. I felt his presence before I saw him. Collin stiffened and stepped away from me, though not too far.
“Unwell again, Katherine? Do mornings not agree with you?” Brann’s gaze roamed over me as he strode toward us.
“If I am ill it is because of past recollections. The Highlands, and particularly this castle, have brought to mind many less-than-pleasant memories.”
“Oh?” His tone was casual, but I thought I detected a flicker of concern in his cold blue eyes.
My next words were reckless. “Watching a twelve-year-old boy strangle my mother the first time was horrifying enough. Seeing it again as an adult is even more troubling.”
Brann stopped mid-step. Our eyes met as we each acknowledged what this meant. He had killed my mother, and I not only recalled that day from childhood memory but had seen it again in vivid detail as an adult. I knew what he was capable of and the evil that ruled him.
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