A Year and a Day (33 page)

After a moment, the nausea passed. She didn’t actually vomit, but it was small consolation. The reminder of her pregnancy- the news that had made her so deliriously happy only a few days before- was now so painfully bittersweet. What kind of life was she going to offer her baby? She had no friends and very little money. How would she even feed the bairn? Perhaps it would be better if she never made it to a new town…Cait pondered for a moment, but then refused to let herself slip into a state of despair.

It would be alright
.

She felt as if she had been speaking those words to herself for all her life- and perhaps she had. It had been her only comfort through countless calamities as a girl. Being shuffled from place to place as her mother discarded- or
was
discarded by- lovers, evading creditors in the night, finally finding herself a penniless orphan with no place to turn, she had always clung to the notion that the next day would be better than the last. Somehow, it always had been. Her mother had found a new man to shelter them for a while. There had been a new house, and food enough. Finally, a kind sailor had brought her “home” to Castle Cameron. Still, it was hard to believe that her luck would hold. Any “tomorrow” would be without Ewan. Happiness wasn’t possible.

I won’t think that way now
. Cait stubbornly forced the thought out of her mind and hurried to the door. She paused just long enough to don a cloak, and to strap her burden across her back. Then, she stepped out into the night.

It was cool for summer. Dew was forming on the grass as she picked her way carefully to the road. She kept her eyes straight ahead, trying to ignore the spooky shadows and strange noises of the barnyard at night. She held to her original plan, taking the road east, intending to lose herself among the Frasures and then head south. At least a bit of the way was familiar- but she didn’t glean much comfort from that fact. Soon she was at the snug little cottage that Ewan had shown her.

“Should I buy it
?” he had asked, “
for US…”

There was no “us”, Cait thought bitterly, fighting the urge to break down into tears again as she trudged defiantly past the house. No doubt he had intended it for his
new
wife- his
real
wife: someone that the clan could love and Ewan could be proud of- not a horrid, English bastard!

Defiant, Cait trudged forward. She followed the road, weaving through picturesque valleys and skirting the river and lochs until she finally began climbing again.

Cait was only slightly pregnant, but it didn’t take long to lose her breath. After only a few hours of walking, before the sun was even at the cent
er
of the sky, she was forced to stop and rest. She hadn’t passed any houses other than the cottage since her jour
ney
began, but she could see a tiny village on the horizon. She picked her way toward it, hoping to arrive in time for lunch.

The distance was deceptive. It was supper, rather than lunch, by the time that Cait reached the little town. She was almost too exhausted to eat. She had planned to save her money for as long as she could, and seek shelter in an obliging barn or copse of trees at the side of the road, but the temptation of a soft bed was too much to resist, and so she indulged, thinking it highly unlikely that Ewan would have sent someone after her already.
If he ever did
, came the traitorous thought. Cait winced at the almost physical pain it provoked. Still, it strengthened her resolve to keep running- even if she didn’t know quite where she would end up.

Two days later, Cait was caught in a storm. She didn’t have any choice but to trudge through the mud to the nearest inn. Once there, with the rains prevailing, she spent far more money than she intended on a room to keep her dry until they passed. Taking stock of her account, Cait realized that she would have to find more soon, or else conserve very strictly.

She couldn’t do without food. Perhaps it was her pregnancy, but going even more than a few hours without a bite left her lightheaded and dizzy. That meant that she had to sleep out of doors. She spent the first night in a soggy pile of hay, and the second in a barely more comfortable barn.

By the time that she had been gone a week, Cait was beginning to despair. She thought that she ought to have been out of the Frasure lands by now, but none of the roads followed a straight enough path to determine where she was going. She wasn’t used to the mountains. The bare rock and dry brush all blended together and looked the same.

Then, she realized that some of it
was
the same.

Cait was absolutely
positive
that she’d spent the night in the town of Kilgannon during the rain- a suspicion that was confirmed when the innkeeper greeted her by name. “Come to call again, Mrs. Fitzpatrick?” She asked, using the name that Cait had perversely chosen as her alias. “Need another room?”

Cait shook her head “no”. “Only a meal, if you’d please,” she said, counting the money that she’d allotted for nourishment that day and discovering, to her despair, that it wouldn’t cover a private table. She was forced to sit down in the tavern.

“Oh! Come to eat with the common men!” one of the occupants immediately bellowed, giving Cait’s figure a frankly appraising glance.

“Looking for company?” another called.

“Leave the poor luv alone!” the
innkeeper’s
wife hollered back, “Can’t you see the little lamb’s frightened enough. Probably run off from her husband…” Cait was certain that she hadn’t been meant to hear this last. Her lips twisted into a bitter smile when she considered that the older lady’s guess was correct- albeit probably for reasons other than those which were suspected.

“Awww, need to earn a bit of silver, luv?” one man, a fat, booming redhead, called merrily.

“Always ready to do your part
for the less fortunate, eh
Colin
?”

Cait felt a wave of humiliation when she realized what the men were implying. Surely she’d never be reduced to whoring? Unbidden, came the memory that her mother had certainly stooped that low: in practice if not in name. Cait’s stomach lurched at this realization. She couldn’t imagine letting a stranger touch her! She couldn’t imagine sharing anything so intimate with any man but Ewan!

“Looking rather peaky, luv!” the proprietress of the tavern clucked.

Cait nodded miserably. Then, when a second wave of sick burned the back of her throat, she popped out of her chair. “I won’t be needing the meal after all,” she managed- before sprinting out the door. She made it as far as the road again before she was violently ill.

The few townspeople milling past pretended not to see. Cait rushed past them, heading for the well to rinse her mouth, and then heading back out of town, stomach empty but too sick and discouraged to return to the inn. She kept walking until she reached the crossroads at the edge of the village.

She remembered clearly taking the left fork before. This time she went right, thinking that she couldn’t end up any place
worse
. She was surprised when, near nightfall, she found herself not at another town, but in the presence of a sprawling castle instead.

Castle Frasure- or so Cait assumed from the pennants flying overhead- was nothing like Castle Cameron or Eilean Donan. Unlike the squat, impenetrable structures of the castles she had seen before, there was an airy, graceful character to the building that had more to do with art than with strong defenses.

She supposed that this made sense. Someone (Ewan?) had told her once that the Frasures had been blessed with peace. The Camerons had been too distracted warring with the MacRae’s to court another enemy, and the Frasures’ eastern neighbor was the sea. To the South were a string of small clans, none powerful enough to pose a threat. The Frasures’ isolation, neutrality, and the fact that they’d never really declared themselves for a candidate for the crown meant that they did not attract English notice.

There was a wall, of course, but it appeared more decorative than functional. The castle “house” was filled with wide, glass-paned windows, and there wasn’t even a proper gate! Cait was so fascinated by the structure that she couldn’t help but creep closer. She found herself delighted with each new detail that emerged.

Perpendicular to the main structure there was a handsome stable. There were kitchen gardens, formal gardens and, finally, a pretty orchard. Some of the early fruits were already ripe. Looking at them made Cait’s stomach rumble.

Surely the Frasures could spare just one or two?
Cait thought, feeling the worryingly dwindled pile of silver in her pocket. Quickly making her decision, she laid down her bundle of luggage and started for one of the trees.

She reached for one of the smaller fruits first, intending just to have a bite, but it was
so
delicious that she couldn’t stop herself from taking a second…and then a third, letting the delicious juice run down her cheeks as she ate herself full for the first time in days. It felt
so good
not to be hungry! Cait yawned drowsily and looked for a soft bit of earth to take a nap. She turned to get her pack, but hadn’t gone more than a few steps before she froze.

A
man
was standing at the edge of the orchard. She looked at him and gasped. Then, almost instinctively, she started to run.

“Stop, thief!” he yelled, and started after her.

Ewan sat at his uncle’s desk- at
his
desk, Ewan reminded himself, still mostly disbelieving the notion-  and looked anxiously out the narrow window. For what must have been the hundredth time that day, he scanned the horizon, expecting to see the English at any moment.

He had been at the castle for a week. Six days had passed since he buried his uncle, and took his place behind the swearing stone. The men of the clan had pledged their allegiance and declared him
Laird
- an event which ought to have been deeply satisfying- but it had all been performed in a shadow. There hadn’t been any word whatsoever on the English position. His scouts had reported
nothing
unusual- a fact which
should
have been comforting, but had the opposite effect. He knew that the enemy was out there- but where?

They weren’t at Eilean Donan, at least.
Lachlan
had sent a message the day after Ewan’s arrival, offering his condolences for the old
Laird
and advising his new counterpart that the MacRae fortress was still secure. He was using the time to rebuild his defenses and to stockpile supplies- and suggested that Ewan do the same. Of course, both these thoughts had already occurred to his brother-in-law. Ewan had put into action every plan that he could think of: preparing rations, filling cisterns, making arrows- but it was so frustrating
to lie
in wait, waiting for a trap to spring.

Someone was aiding them.

Ewan couldn’t shake a feeling that the English weren’t working alone. They were finding it far too easy to sneak onto his lands, and then to steal away again. He suspected that someone was harbouring and advising them- but who? It could only be a Cameron. No one else would know the land, or the castle to well.

Trying to shrug off his malaise, Ewan turned his attention to a letter of his own that he was trying to write to his wife. He smoothed the brittle parchment against the blotter and reread the single line that he had penned. He had spent more than half the morning on the endeavour, and all he had to show for it was:

My Dearest Cait,

What was she doing, he wondered. Was she still safe? Even thou
gh he knew that it was unlikely, h
e’d harboured a hope that Cait would try to send him word. He’d sent more scouts east than in any other direction and, perhaps unwisely, ordered twice the usual amount of men to stay behind and defend the Frasure border towns. He couldn’t bear the thought of anything bad happening to her- especially not when all their dreams were so close to coming true.

Ewan felt terribly guilty for the way he felt, but he couldn’t completely squelch a tiny bit of glee that his promise to his uncle had been squelched by the old man’s death. He hadn’t felt that he could name Ewan as his successor if he possessed an English wife- now, however, that theory had been proven untrue. Ewan
was
the
Laird
. There was no dissention. The clansmen were too focused on the war to worry about their leader’s domestic affairs. If-
w
hen,
Ewan corrected- he led them out of this shadow, he was certain that no one would have any cause to complain.