Yesterday's Promise

by Michele Paige Holmes

  “Are you alone?” he asked, glancing about the room.

  “Yes.”

  His eyes narrowed with suspicion. “I thought I heard you talking to someone.”

  “Only myself.” I glanced behind to make sure that I had closed the trunk. What would he think if he saw the picture I drew? “Who else would I be talking to? No one speaks to me.” Since my brief, midday chat with Alistair, not a dozen words had been spoken to me by anyone, least of all my husband.

  Collin handed me a plate of food and turned to go without so much as a goodnight.

  My annoyance surged to anger, along with an anxious desperation. “You’re leaving? Just like that?”

  He stopped but did not face me again. “Was there something else you needed?”

  “Not at all.” I set the plate on the night table. “I am in the middle of nowhere, traveling with two dozen men I don’t know, most of whom only glare at me when they want to communicate. I’ve left behind my family and home— and soon, my country. I have no idea where we are going or what my life is to be like— what is expected of me.” I walked away from Collin to stand at a window so filthy I could not have seen out of it in better light. “The man I married cannot stand to be in my presence. His brother loathes me.” My voice cracked. “I am exhausted and sore and dirty, and the bed probably has fleas. My sister is on her wedding trip in Paris, visiting art museums with a husband who adores her, and I’ve never felt so wretched or alone in my entire life. But no, there is nothing else that I require.”

  I closed my eyes against the tears slipping down my cheeks. Just go, I silently ordered Collin, wishing I’d kept my mouth shut.

  I heard the quiet chink of a plate being placed on the table, then felt him come up behind me— close enough that he might have touched me, had he wished.

  “Do you want me to take you back?”

  “To what?” My throat was swollen with the sob I held in. “My mother has left by now, and I am not welcome where she is going.” I’d not before voiced that realization out loud, and declaring it stung anew. My mother had never felt like a step-mother. Anna had never felt like a step-sister— until recently. But she knew, somehow, that I was not her equal, and were we together again, she would not let me forget.

  Silence filled the little room. I fought to restrain my tears and sensed that behind me Collin fought his own demons.

  “Life in Scotland will be hard,” he said. “I wish it was otherwise.”

  “I don’t mind working,” I said, wiping my cheek. “I’m not some spoiled English girl.” No doubt my petulant outburst had sounded just that.

  “I could see that when I met you yesterday,” he said.

  How? I wondered. Was it my simple clothing and our bare foyer, or did he sense that I was more than a girl who did embroidery and played the pianoforte nicely? Did he know I was the one who had cared for Father during his last year? Did he realize that it was I who took control of the household the first two months after Father’s death, when Mother was incapable of managing herself, let alone the accounts and the selling of our property and dismissing of our staff? It had been my jewelry that had paid for Father’s burial and prolonged our stay.

  It was I who’d written letters of recommendation and found new positions for many of our servants. I had done the bulk of the work while Mother and Anna had dress fittings and attended tea parties and planned and purchased and played, all in preparation for her glorious wedding.

  “I am accustomed to hard,” I said, wondering if that was really true, wishing I did not feel as if my life had changed for the worse.

  “I hope so,” Collin whispered. He stepped nearer, not touching me but close enough that I could hear his breathing above me.

  I sighed, feeling even more drained from my brief outburst. “I am weary.”

  His fingertips brushed my shoulders. I stood immobile, hardly daring to breathe. Slowly his palms came to rest, his touch light but warm. I closed my eyes, savoring the simple contact of another human. It was not much, but I sensed it was costing him, that he was giving all he was capable of.

  Patience. Alistair had said. Collin had waited for me to be old enough to marry; surely I could wait for him to trust me— with whatever darkness haunted his soul.

  We stood at the window, neither moving. His hands curved over my shoulders with gentle pressure, their weight comforting.

  “Don’t worry so, Katie.”

  “Because you do enough of that for both of us?”

  “Aye.” There was no humor in his tone. He did not promise me that all would be well, but he offered what he could.

  For now, it was enough.

  “I’ve seen the future, and it’s bleak.” The old laird bent low in his chair, as if weighed down. “Scotland’s only hope is if her people unite.” He grabbed my hand, still throbbing from when he’d pounded it earlier. “If we’re to do that, if we’re to work together, we’ve got to have peace between us.”

  Between the MacDonalds and Campbells? “Impossible. It will never happen.”

  Laird Campbell shook his head. “Perhaps not in the measure the clans need, but enough so that my posterity— and yours— will continue.”

  Chapter Nine

  The next morning began better than the previous two. When Collin knocked, I was mostly ready, trunk packed, and my clothing in place, save for the cursed stays I could not lace on my own.

  As before, I held my cloak up to shield my state of half dress as I opened the door.

  Upon seeing me, Collin’s mouth pressed together in a look of grim determination. “There is no woman here this morning— or none coherent enough to assist with your needs.” He ducked, then stepped forward, voluntarily entering the room.

  I moved back, out of his way, suddenly uncertain what he had in mind. Yesterday I had been prepared to allow him to help me; this morning I felt inexplicably shy in his presence. Last night I had let down my guard, sharing with him both my fear and despair. In return he had offered comfort— a simple act that had kept me awake a good hour after Collin left my room, pondering the tumult of emotion my new husband evoked within me.

  He turned now and pushed the door shut behind him, so it was just the two of us alone in the tiny room. Sunlight struggled to stream through the filthy window, casting only broken bands of light across the stained floorboards.

  In the near darkness, I raised my head and met Collin’s stoic gaze, not distant as I’d seen in the past, but focused intently on me and on the task at hand. Slowly I turned away from him. I allowed the cloak to slide a little, then lifted my hair so he might have access to the corset.

  “What do I do?” His breathing was labored, as if he’d just run up the stairs. Perhaps he had. I wished I had the same excuse as I looked down and noted the rapid rise and fall of my chest.

  “Start with the laces at the middle,” I instructed. “Pull them taut, then work down from the top, tightening those as well, moving down to the middle again and then the bottom.”

  “All right.”

  I felt a tug at my back and stood up straight, bracing myself for the process.

  “Middle, top to bottom,” Collin mumbled as his fingers worked, overly gentle and slow, being careful not to pull too hard.

  “I won’t break,” I said. “And neither will the laces.”

  “I don’t want to catch your hair.” His fingers skimmed across the base of my neck as he brushed a few straying strands aside.

  “I’m sorry. I meant to put it up but ran out of time.” My skin tingled where he had touched me.

  “You don’t need to wear it up,” Collin said, sounding as surprised as I was at this suggestion. “If you don’t want to, that is. It looks fine when it is down, the way you wore it the day we wed.” Again I felt his hand on my skin as he carefully moved another unruly curl out of the way, over my shoulder. “Soft.” The word was so quiet I wasn’t sure I was meant to hear. Yet I had, and I felt something within it.

  I closed my eyes and worke
d to stay upright, when really I felt like sagging against the bed. So this is what swooning feels like. I’d always silently mocked young ladies given to such antics, but I could not deny that the sensation, these sensations, caused by his gentle touch and attentive words, were pleasant.

  Collin had both mentioned our wedding day and acknowledged that he noticed and approved of something about me. Perhaps I was somewhat desperate for his praise after three days of near silence, but the words— along with his tender comfort the previous night— filled me with hope for our marriage.

  “One of the Campbells—” I paused, regretting that I had just reminded him of my heritage, when it seemed he might be given to overlooking it after all.

  “Yes?”

  “One of them said my hair was like a field of dry heather. I wasn’t sure what that meant— if it was a compliment or not.”

  He made a noise in the back of his throat, one I was becoming accustomed to, as it seemed all Scotsman used it. “Have you never been to a moor?”

  “No. Fields near our home, but not a true moor. I’ve traveled very little, carriage rides being difficult for me.”

  “Ach.” I felt him nod. “Heather is a flower that grows on the moorland. It’s purple at bloom, then later turns more of a burnished gold. Not a bad likeness of your hair, though I always thought it more comparable to an amber stream of honey.”

  Always? He had thought of my hair before?

  “There,” Collin announced. “Does that feel like it will work?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “I’ll tie it then, here at the bottom?”

  I nodded, unable to trust my voice as I felt his hands at my waist. What is wrong with me? What is happening? I felt both frightened and exhilarated by our nearness and conversation the last few minutes. A few kind words from my husband, and I was coming undone.

  Collin finished with the laces as footsteps sounded in the hall outside. I turned to thank him just as the door burst open, and Ian’s tall frame filled the doorway. Collin stepped between me and his brother, but not before Ian’s gaze swept the room, took in my state of undress, and made several assumptions, I was certain, given the narrowing of his eyes and sneer on his lip.

  “Didn’t take you long to lose that battle.” He glared at Collin. “Perhaps I should have wagered against you after all.”

  “Get out.” Collin lurched forward, as if to enforce his command. “You knock at ladies’ doors. And this isn’t what you think.”

  Ian had already stepped into the hall. Collin followed, pulling the door closed behind him. I wasted no time, but hurriedly dropped my cloak on the bed and donned my gown, grateful that poverty had allowed for our mourning frocks to be only the simplest design.

  From the hall Ian’s angry voice and Collin’s terse, hushed one carried through the flimsy door.

  “You know what this means.” Ian’s voice.

  “It means nothing,” Collin insisted. “And if you think to harm so much as a hair on her head, you’re mistaken. The Campbells are watching closer than you realize. Don’t be a fool.”

  Ian snorted. Or at least, I assumed it was Ian.

  “You’re the fool, marrying a woman who is both English and Campbell. But perhaps not as foolish as I thought. Obviously you’ve no thought for her, if you’ve risked—”

  “I’ve risked nothing,” Collin said. “And you won’t either if you’ve half a brain. We need her dowry, and it’ll not be delivered until Katie is. To the Campbell keep, safe and sound.”

  He meant to take me to my former home and not his?

  This realization, along with the reminder of the true reason Collin had married me, doused the warmth he’d kindled between us just moments ago.

  “She’ll be delivered all right.” Ian’s low chuckle sent a shiver down my spine. I stuffed my cloak into my trunk and secured the lid, then marched toward the door, intending to open it and discover just what this conversation was about. I was not some piece of baggage to be hauled about and deposited somewhere, left alone to—

  “Mhairi will be none too pleased when she hears of this,” Ian said.

  I paused, my hand on the knob. Mhairi?

  “She’s no claim on me,” Collin said. “She knew I was to be married.”

  “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned,” Ian said as I yanked open the door.

  Our eyes met, and his lip curled in a mocking sneer.

  Collin doesn’t want you. I fought to hide my insecurities as I stepped into the hall, chin raised, eyes never leaving Ian’s.

  “I am impressed,” I said in a voice as mockingly sweet as his expression was intentionally vile. “Quoting Congreve when I didn’t take you for a man who read much— or one who could read at all. You do continue to surprise. Though the wording was not entirely accurate. Perhaps you should check your references.” I sashayed quickly past, joining Collin at the top of the stairs.

  Instead of offering his arm, he took mine in an unnecessarily firm grip, guiding me swiftly down the steps, pulling me almost. Without so much as a word of explanation he hurried us through the main floor room and out to the waiting carriage. Still holding my arm, Collin used his free hand to pull open what was left of the carriage door and hand me inside. But instead of joining me, he shut the door and leaned over it briefly, a warning in his eyes and on his lips.

  “Ian doesn’t need baiting. I’ve my hands full managing him already. I’ll thank you not to make it worse.” With that Collin turned away, then stalked back inside the inn, leaving me wondering how a morning that had started so hopeful had gone so terribly wrong.

  * * *

  For some minutes I sat stiffly on the seat, arms folded and held close to my middle, lips pressed into a thin line, doing my best to contain the ache coursing through me. My arm hurt where Collin had grasped it, but that was nothing compared to the injury he’d caused to my soul. Ian had spoken cruelly concerning me, and Collin had taken his side.

  Blood is thicker than water. A phrase I’d heard my mother use, often when referring to some doings with this or that family of society. The irony of this phrase coming from her lips struck me anew, adding to my distress. I was not of her blood— only Anna and Timothy were— and so I had been sold away for a pittance. So they might all be together.

  The only true kin I had in this world were the Campbells. And while those I’d met seemed congenial enough— particularly when compared to the MacDonalds in our company— I did not feel a particular affinity toward any of them. Rather, the need to gain my husband’s approval and affection grew with each passing hour. If I was being honest with myself, I had felt drawn to him from that first moment he made himself known to me.

  But I did not feel particularly drawn to him now and scooted to the far side of the carriage, where I angled my body to face out the window so I would not have to look at Collin when he returned. He did so, shortly thereafter, rocking the carriage with more force than usual. I supposed he was still angry with me, and that incensed me even more. It was I who had been wronged, I who deserved an apology.

  “Who is Mhairi?” I demanded in a bitter voice, warning him that he’d best answer my question and not even think of scolding me again.

  “I’ve no idea, but jealousy doesn’t become you, lass. Didn’t then, and it doesn’t now.”

  I turned toward the voice— not Collin’s— and found Alistair seated across from me. His lips were turned down, and disapproval etched deeper the wrinkles beside his eyes.

  “What do you mean then?” I asked, choosing, for the time being, to leave off the questions of who Mhairi was and why Alistair, and not Collin, was riding with me. My need to know of my forgotten past was nearly as great as the need I felt for my husband’s approval.

  “You wanted him all to yourself, even way back then,” Alistair said. “And most of the time you had him. But once Collin had regular meals again, he grew into a handsome lad, and MacDonald or no, there were other Campbell lassies who took a fancy to him. You weren’t
too keen when that happened, would work yourself up into a tantrum the likes of which most people ain’t never seen. Only Collin or your grandfather could calm you— and it weren’t no easy task.”

  Ignoring Alistair’s unpleasant recollection of my younger self, I pressed on with my present concerns. “Do you think Mhairi might be one of those other women who took an interest in Collin?” If she had been near Collin’s age when I was just a small girl, she would be a woman now, too, and one far past what was considered marriageable age.

  Alistair shook his head. “No Campbell lass by that name that I know of. Could be a MacDonald, though. Collin’s been with his own clan a good six years now. It’s not unheard of for a man his age to have had— uh—” Alistair’s face brightened suddenly, coloring to a shade near the red of his beard. “I could be wrong of course. Usually am about female doings.” He cleared his throat, as if uncomfortable, and looked out his window. “Right pleasant in here without the glass.”

  I recognized the poorly veiled attempt to change the subject. But I did not ask him to speak of it more. He had confirmed my suspicions. There was likely another woman in Collin’s life. Ian had said as much already. And Collin’s reticence toward me all but proved he was right.

  This was a setback I’d not before considered, and the implications were sobering. Collin’s avoidance of everything from conversation to the barest touch were because of his previous— continuous?— attachment to someone else. Someone he likely cared about. More than me. If I’d felt alone before now, that feeling multiplied, even as the hope I’d felt for my marriage shrank.

  I stewed for probably another hour, feeling sorry for myself until the warming sun and the beauty of the passing scenery pulled me from complete despair. The world outside our carriage appeared utterly glorious, and again I found myself wishing for brush, canvas, and paints to capture all I was seeing. I took comfort that when we reached our destination I should have those again at least, and hoped they would provide me with some solace as they had the previous months since Father’s death.

  Recalling those months and that self pity would gain me nothing; I buried my hurt and shook myself from melancholy. According to Collin and Ian I was shortly to be deposited— and presumably left— at the Campbell holding. I supposed then, if the Campbells were to be my only family, I had best learn all that I could about them.