A Year and a Day (52 page)

The other man turned. “For what?”

“Being here,” he said, although he knew that the other man must bitterly regret the fate. “There’s no man I’d rather fight beside,” he continued, surprising even himself when he realized it was true.

Lachlan
nodded seriously and turned back to the wall. He was silent for a moment, before his face broke into a grin.

“What?” Ewan asked.

Lachlan
shook his head, waving away the question, but finally admitted, “I was thinking of Graem.”

“Graem?”

“Our old Laird,”
Lachlan
explained, “He wanted peace between the Camerons and MacRaes so badly…”
Lachlan
looked over the small number of his clan who were with him- only the handful that had come for the wedding. “You know we’d be here if we knew,” he said, speaking of his entire clan. “In spite of everything.”

“I know,” Ewan said. Then, he clapped
Lachlan
on the shoulder. “I was glad to know you, MacRae.”

“And I you,”
Lachlan
admitted, and then they turned back to the wall.

This was the part Ewan hated- the waiting. In the grey, dim light just before the dawn he could see English soldiers moving through the ranks. They had moved their artillery up during the night- almost to the walls. The castle wouldn’t withstand more than a few direct hits.

He hated the helplessness he felt watching the gunner’s load their weapons and prepare the fuses. Any minute, any second the first would be lit, shattering the tense silent with the thunderous fury of death. His muscles tensed. He barely breathed as the seconds ticked slowly by. The sun crept slowly over the horizon.

Then, he heard it.

A single shot was fired. In tandem, all the men on the wall hunkered down and prepared to fire- only, the shot hadn’t come from the British. The cannons didn’t fire. A cry went up in the centre of the camp- and then Ewan saw it: an army on the horizon streaming toward them at impossible speed.

“What the-?” Ewan started to curse, but fell silent as he looked over the ranks of the approaching army. It stretched as wide as the hillside: men on horses with infantry men hustling in between. Laird Cameron’s heart clenched in his chest as he wondered, just for a moment, if this truly were the end. If the men were English reinforcements, there would be no hope at all. He tried to estimate the number of soldiers- and that is when he saw the tartan.  “The…Frasures?” he said, dumbfounded as he turned back to his brother in law again.

Lachlan
was fairly beaming, “MacRaes!” he shouted, gesturing broadly toward the left flank of the riders.

“And Brodies!” another called.

Ewan scanned the ranks again, euphoria setting in as he counted a half-dozen clans lined up for battle.

“How is this possible?” Old Laird Frasure asked, walking
toward the
wall, heedless now of the English soldiers milling nervously below. “Who could have gathered them? No one was left outside?”

Ewan started to shrug- but then he picked out a Cameron tartan in the centre of the line. “JAMIE!” he cried, blurting his wee brother’s baby name in excitement. His heart fairly swelled with pride and relief. He’d given the other man up for dead. His joy was redoubled that, not only was his brother well, he’d been heartily useful as well.

“We thought he’d been taken in the first attack!” Brodie said, following Ewan’s gesture.

“Aye,” Ewan answered, “A miracle.” He privately wondered what- or more likely who his brother had been doing outside the castle on the night of his wedding, particularly after all the excitement of Cait’s reappearance, but Ewan made up his mind not to ask too many questions. It didn’t matter. Nothing seemed to matter except for the fact that they were saved.  This wasn’t the end after all.

The Scottish army stopped a hundred yards from the English lines and sent a rider forward. Ewan and the other Lairds watched without being able to hear what was said as words were shared. Then, just when they thought that the battle would end without a fight, the English cannons boomed.

Ewan stumbled when a tremor rocked the castle. The guns were still pointed their way. The impact snapped the man back into attention.

The prospects for victory might be vastly improved, but it wasn’t yet in hand. Hunkering behind the wall, Ewan took aim at the attackers, and prayed that fate would smile just a little more.

The battle was fierce, but brief. Quickly unable to fight on two fronts, even if the castle was less sparsely defended, the English soldiers broke their ranks. They tried to escape into the woods, but had to go through the Scottish lines. He doubted that many made it. It wasn’t more than half an hour after the first shot had been fired that the fray began to settle. Finally, the only English left on the field in front of the castle were wounded or dead. They had made it. The Camerons would survive.

“
Ewan, be a love,” Cait said, standing on her tiptoes but still failing to place a little china jar on top of a shelf. “I can’t quite reach it.”

Her husband moved, but not quickly enough. She was already dragging a stool to climb up on when Ewan made it over and curtly demanded that she remain on the ground.

“That isn’t safe for a woman in your condition!” he chided gently, and then reached over his head, easily placing the item in the place where Cait had directed.

Cait stood back and admired his work, and then turned to pick up a broom. They had properly “moved in” to the Frasure Cottage only the week before. Ewan had to be gone again on Monday, and so Cait was anxious to settle in. They hadn’t brought a great deal of possessions from the castle, but she was intent on making the space looked live-in before he left. Partly, that involved arranging their belongings. Secondly, it meant trying to get the cottage clean!

Wondering how there had ever managed to be so many cobwebs, Cait
started to sweep the corners. Ewan
plucked the birch
broom
handle out of her hands and laid it against the wall. “Rest, Beauty!” he begged. “That’s what the maids are for.”

Cait scrunched up her nose at the word “maids”- still barely able to believe that the word didn’t apply to her.

“You forget, Ewan,” she said, trying to sound light-hearted, “
I’m used to a life of hard-labo
r.”

“Aye,” Ewan unexpectedly acknowledged, but then Cait had to giggle when he twined his arms significantly around her enormously pregnant mi
ddle, “I know what kind of labo
r you’re good for.”

Cait’s cheeks pinked, “It takes two, you know,” she retorted mildly- and then cast around for some chore that he wouldn’t mind letting her attempt. She was interrupted, however, by a soft wail.

“Callum,” Cait sighed, guessing that it was one of their twins-
last year’s addition to the Cameron clan
- making all
of
the racket.

Ewan shook his head, a faintly superior smile on his lips, “Keith,” he corrected
, naming the second of the pair,
as he followed his wife into the other room.

“Robert!” They said in unison. By the time they reached them, both twins were wailing
. The
source of their complaints
was revealed as
their three year old brother, out of bed and poking them with his chubby fingers.

Cait shook her head at the boy to scold him, but couldn’t resist cracking a smile as she looked over her pretty brood. Little Robert  favored her greatly, but the twins, still fussing quietly, were the very image of their father.

Cait scooped her oldest son up, struggling to counter-balance him against her pregnant tummy while she used her foot to rock the cradle where the other boys lay. Their provocation removed and still half-asleep, the tiny paid quickly fell silent ag
ain. Ewan moved to assist her b
y taking Robert, whom he scolded and tucked back between his sheets. “They’re a handful,” he remarked, though his voice was
filled with an unmistakable prid
e.

“Aye, don’t I know it!” Cait said, collapsing in a chair as the simple exertion of dealing with the children left her winded. “I don’t know how I’m going to manage with four!”

“I’m sorry,” Ewan said automatically.

Cait rolled her eyes. “You are not.”

Ewan answered with a guilty grin. “Fair enough,” he admitted, “But I reckon it’s good training for when we have eight.”

“Eight?” Cait gasped, eyes bulging as she wondered whether her husband was teasing or not.

“
Well, we started a bi
t late for more, don’t you think?” he said pensively, without a hint of
a grin
on his face. Ewan’s eyes flicked toward Cait, but he let her sweat for a few minutes before finally
cracking a smile. “Don’t tell me that you’re tired of having my babies?” he whispered, his voice as thick and rich as whiskey as he spoke the words against her ear. Despite knowing that she was too far along with the new baby to do anything about it, Cait’s body shivered in delicious anticipation.

“No,” she confessed, absolutely hating that her body wasn’t up to collecting on the promises that her husband’s hands were making. Ewan had twined his arms around her chest, drawing her against him and letting his fingers explore the exceedingly pleasing changes of his wife’s pregnant curves.

“What is it then?” he pressed in a teasing whisper.

“I…” Cait struggled a moment to find her voice. “I
want to keep some time to take
care of you!”

Ewan hugged her tightly as the words sank in. “You’ve
always
taken good care of me, Cait!”

Cait twisted around far enough to give him a smile and a tender kiss. “I hope so,” she said, laying her head against his shoulder as their boys drifted back to sleep, “And I intend to for the rest of my life.”

THE END

A Beautiful Lie (The Camaraes, Book 1)
 

A Year and A Day (The Camaraes, Book 2)

The Perfect Candidate (Modern Romance)

Another Lifetime (The Camaraes, Book 3)

Just One Kiss (Regency Romance)

Written as Chelsea Scott:

Hungry For More (Modern Romance)

And Coming Soon:

His Greatest Treasure (The Camaraes, Book 4)