A Year and a Day (25 page)

Ewan stiffened, unwilling to tolerate being spoken to like a child- even if he knew his sister was right. “I’d be insane to
stay
with her,” he retorted brashly, and tried not to wince as the look of outrage on Muira’s face turned to shock.

“But I don’t understand!” Muira protested, “The pair of you seemed so happy! Cait said…” she began, but then seemed to think better of telling her brother how many intimate details of his marriage her friend had spilled.

“That’s not the point!” Ewan snapped. He wouldn’t bother denying that he’d been happy.

“Then what is?” Muira fairly hissed.

Ewan sighed and sank down onto
the edge of a chair, “I’m the T
anist now…”

“I believe I actually noticed,” Muira said sarcastically.

Ewan rolled his eyes and kept talking, “Someday I’m going to be
Laird
- and the clan will
never
accept Cait as my wife.”

Muira shook her head fiercely. “That’s ridiculous. Of course they will.”
 

“Muira, she’s
English
!” Ewan growled. “We’ve been fighting a
war
against them. I hope you noticed
that
too!”

“And I married a MacRae tanist!” Muira retorted, “We fought a lot of battles against
them
too!”

“It’s not the same,” Ewan muttered under his breath.

Muira crossed her arms, “Well, it doesn’t matter anyways. Cait’s already your wife.”

“But only until November.”

If possible, Muira’s cheeks grew redder, “So that’s that then?” she asked. “You’re just going to let her go at the end of the year? ‘Thanks for keeping my bed warm, but you aren’t needed anymore’? Is that it?”

“Muira!” Ewan said, a tone of warning creeping into his voice. He rubbed his temples as he met his sister’s eyes again. “You can’t think I
want
this. I have to do it for the clan- Muira, uncle all but said he’d choose another tanist if I refused.”

“And being in power is more important than Cait?” Muira sniffed, but looked contrite as Ewan’s expression darkened. Still, she held her ground, “There isn’t anyone else that he could choose,” she said flatly.

Ewan shook his head. “There isn’t anyone else that he
should
choose. There’s still James,” he felt a pang for speaking ill against his brother, but knew that Muira understood he was speaking the truth. “He’s got a claim.”

“He wouldn’t last a month!” Muira said in the same, embarrassed tone. Her cheeks flushed when she saw her brother nod. “But-!” she started again, and then wrung her hands in despair when she came around to his point of view and recognized, at last, the bitter truth: there wasn’t any other way.

“But- what if there’s a baby?” Muira finally said, her voice strained.

Ewan shook his head, “There
isn’t
,” he could take comfort in that at least. A
Laird
with a Half-English son would be worse than one with a half-English wife. “I’d give anything for it to be different,” Ewan said, “But it’s not…and I need you. Muira- I need you, and the children, there to remind me
why
.”

Muira nodded her head glumly, “I’d rather go back to Eilean Donan,” she said, but her voice lacked the passion it had held before.

“I know, lass,” Ewan said. He could have added, “So would I,” but that wasn’t entirely true. There was a silver lining to every cloud. He was going to see Cait again. Even if it was only for a few hours, even if she hated him after her told her the truth- he had that much to be grateful for at least.

Cait bustled sat up from where she was weeding a patch of flowers and used the back of her hand to wipe away the beads of sweat forming on her brow. She knew that she ought to go inside. The sun was so high in the sky that it was sure to brown her skin and sprinkle her nose with freckles, but it felt so glorious out in the sunshine that she couldn’t bear to go inside.

Everything
felt glorious. Cait grinned to herself, still half-afraid to believe the shift in fortunes from a month before. The sickness and tiredness that had plagued her was all but gone. She looked and felt the very picture of health. Although she hadn’t started showing yet, she was still quite certain that she was with child. In addition to missing her courses, she had a
glow
that could not be otherwise explained. The weather had been perfect, with a slow, soft spring settling over the
Highlands
and turning everything rosy. Most important of all, she’d just received glorious news: Ewan was coming home!

Of course,
he couldn’t stay long
, and he wasn’t going to be alone (wouldn’t his pesky siblings
ever
learn when they weren’t wanted?), but she still felt over the moon. It seemed like forever since he’d gone away. Still, perhaps paradoxically, he was in her thoughts as though he’d never left. Every time that she saw something new: tulips poking through the sun-warmed soil, a rainbow on the horizon, a pair of goslings- she imagined sharing it with him.

“Are you coming in for luncheon, Mistress?” Polly, the cook called out into the garden. Cait looked up and nodded her head, “Just a minute,” she replied, and then stood to wipe her hands on her apron and collect her tools. She was almost to the door when a sound caught her attention: hoofbeats.

Cait turned around, her breath
catc
hing in her throat when she made out a carriage on the road.
It couldn’t be
…She thought, trying to temper her
hopes about who might be inside.
She froze for a moment, her heart beating wildly in her breast, and then she sprinted forward.

Cait didn’t get any farther than the edge of the road when she had to stop to
cat
ch her breath. Despite feeling fit, her body was still under strain. It didn’t matter, however, because the carriage had almost arrived. She waited anxiously beside the fencepost while it covered the last hundred yards. Little Maisie and Thomas were already hanging out the window, and she thought she caught a glimpse of Muira’s hair as well, but she couldn’t yet see Ewan.

The horses continued up to the front of the house, causing Cait to retrace a few of her steps. She had just reached it when the door was flung open, and then
the
little MacRaes spilled out into the yard.

“Auntie Cait!” Maisie said, sprinting forward. Thomas, who didn’t know her as well, and Duncan, who didn’t know her at all, hung back. Cait gave the little girl a hug, and then looked up to watch as Muira, the nursemaid, and the new baby were handed down.

Cait kept her eyes on the doorway, her eyes widening in confusion when, contrary to her expectations, the door slammed shut. Muira must have been watching her, because she hurried forward, “Ewan was detained in Beauly,” she said, naming the next village over. “He’ll ride over tonight.”

Cait nodded her head, struggling to keep her expression from falling into a frown. “Lovely,” she said as enthusiastically as she could, and then gestured toward the house, “Shall we go inside?”
 

“I’ll leave the children in the garden for a bit,” Muira said, gesturing to their nurse, “They need to stretch their legs.”

Cait nodded, but then led Muira into the house, leaving cook to settle the nurse, “Did you have a pleasant journey?”
 

Muira nodded and rattled off a polite reply. Then she gave her friend a critical look. “You’re looking well,” she remarked in a tone that was almost questioning.

Cait flushed, well-aware of what her friend was asking, but not yet ready to spill her news. She wanted Ewan to be the first to know. It didn’t seem right to tell his sister that she was going to be an Aunt, before Ewan knew that he would be a father. “The country air,” Cait replied firmly, “It’s done me a world of good.”

Muira nodded pensively, “Nothing else?” she pressed.

“Nothing else,” Cait lied, and then herded her friend into the parlor.

“Good,” Muira said in a voice that sounded almost relieved.

“Good?” Cait asked, but her friend’s expression changed to a bright smile. 

“I’m glad that you’re feeling well,” Muira said forcefully, “I’m tired of everyone being sick and injured and worried about the fighting,” she squeezed Cait’s hand, “Now, tell me everything I’ve missed.”

Muira and Cait sat in the parlor until supper time. Cait enjoyed her friend’s conversation, but
she was still
distracted. Every sound from the courtyard caused her eyes to flicker toward the door. Finally, Muira gave up.

“I’d better get the children washed for the meal,” she announced, and then shot her sister-in-law a knowing smile, “I imagine Ewan will be along before long.” And then she left.

Cait hoped that her friend was correct, but it was another four hours, long after the children were tucked in bed, and
after

Muira had withdrawn to her own room, when  she finally heard the sound she had been straining for all evening: a knock at the door. Cait could barely restrain herself from running down the stairs and opening it herself. However, she managed. She sat in her chamber and listened as Cook climbed out of her little bed and lifted the bar on the door.

“Master Cameron,” she said quietly, expecting that the rest of the household would be asleep. “We didn’t expect you until the morning.”

“I didn’t want to wait,” he answered back. “Where is my wife?”
 

“In her room sir.”

Every footfall on the stairs was matched by a heavy thud of Cait’s heart. She sat up in the bed, barely breathing as she listened to footsteps traverse the hall, and finally open the door.

Ewan stepped quietly inside and removed his plaid and boots, not seeing her at first. She restrained herself until he stepped into a patch of moonlight. Finally, confronted by the glory she’d been denied for three long months, she leapt out of bed. Her arms were around him before he knew what had happened.

“Oh, Ewan! You’re home!” she gushed, “Oh, I was so worried! I missed you so much!”

He stiffened in her embrace. Cait frowned at his strange reticence to embrace her back, but she was too ecstatic at seeing him again to give it too much thought. He was weary and probably stiff from riding so far, and she wrote it off as nothing more.

“Darling,” she whispered. Then, using the weight of her arms around his neck,
she
dragged him toward a kiss, “I’ve got the most wonderful news to tell you!”
 

“In the morning,” Ewan growled, the curtness of his tone shocking Cait into silence, and into releasing his neck.

“Ewan?”

“I don’t want to talk about it now,” he snapped back.

Cait frowned worriedly, causing Ewan to sigh. He reached up to stroke her cheek, “Poor Beauty,” he whispered.

Still stung by his rejection, Cait leaned into his touch. He didn’t draw his hand away. Instead, he bent forward to kiss her forehead- but they both knew that it wouldn’t be enough. It was followed by a dab of his mouth against her nose, her chin, and finally their lips connected.

He was never going to be able to give this up.

Ewan felt as if he had just plunged into the sea with no land in sight. He
knew
that he was going to drown, and he was overcome with a mixture of panic and resignation. He
had
to break things off, he reminded himself forcefully. He’d given the
Laird
his word. Even Muira agreed, grudgingly, that it had to be….
but not yet
, he told himself, ignoring how selfish his behavior was. Surely he’d earned one last night of heaven, after all? He wasn’t called upon to be the
Laird
yet.