A Promise for Tomorrow

by Michele Paige Holmes

  Dead by his hand. I wondered if Brann was afraid he might find her ghost in here. “Thank you, Bridget.” I had vague memories of the older woman from when I was a child and felt at once that I might trust her. Though Collin knew her as well, he was more cautious.

  He held his hand out. “May we have the key?”

  “Of course.” She surrendered it without hesitation. A maid carrying a stack of clean linen came up behind her.

  Bridget stepped aside. “Strip the bed, then make it up,” she ordered.

  The woman hesitated, as if loath to cross the threshold.

  “Don’t be all night about it.” Bridget took hold of the woman’s arm and pulled her into the room. Collin and I followed while two other maids trooped in behind, one with an armload of firewood, the other struggling beneath the weight of two full buckets of water.

  Collin hurried to relieve her of them. She gave a squeak of thanks, then hurried off.

  Odd. I wondered if the maids were wary of Bridget or us, or something else entirely.

  Collin watched all carefully as the women bustled about doing their work. I had eyes only for the bed. It had been so very long since I’d slept in one. And there was only one. Collin and I would be sharing this chamber. I could only assume we would be sharing the bed as well. After the trying day it had been, I needed the comfort of his arms around me tonight.

  Bridget hurried about the room, removing sheets draped over the furniture and the paintings on the walls. “We’ll come back and do a thorough cleaning tomorrow,” she promised. “But we can at least make it appear normal tonight.”

  It looked better than normal to me, more so as the furniture and rugs made their appearance. Who knew that such an eyesore from outside could harbor a quaint room such as this?

  “How long since this room was last used?” Collin asked.

  “Since Katie left,” Bridget said. “Laird Campbell said it was to be kept for her, and there would be a curse upon any who attempted to stay here in her absence.”

  “Brann really is superstitious,” I mused as I stopped before the fireplace and gazed up at a painting two of the maids had just uncovered. “Collin—”

  “What is it?” He came to stand behind me, one hand resting lightly on my shoulder as he looked up. “Bealach Druim Uachdair. It’s almost the same as your painting.”

  “Your mother was quite the artist.” Bridget arranged two chairs in front of the fireplace. “That painting was one of your grandfather’s favorites. How he loved his mountains.”

  “I never knew,” I murmured, feeling the connecting threads of my past weaving through me. I didn’t remember my mother working before a canvas, though it seemed as if I ought to, ought to have questioned, somewhere along the line, where my own abilities came from. “Do you suppose my painting was created from a memory of this?” I asked Collin.

  “Maybe. The likeness between the two is astonishing.” He reached past me to retrieve a small wooden horse from the mantel. He smiled wistfully as he held it out to me. “Happy sixth birthday, lass.”

  I took the horse and ran my fingers over its smooth planes and curves. Like my wedding ring, the details were incredible. The mane could have been real, and the eyes made the toy seem almost alive. “It’s beautiful.”

  “One of my first attempts,” Collin said, returning it to its place.

  I moved slowly about the room, studying the other artwork. The last to be uncovered, also the smallest, was a portrait.

  “I remember when your mother painted that one.” Bridget clucked her tongue. “Had to hold you on my lap so you’d be still enough. Took us weeks upon weeks, as you’d no patience for it.”

  I stared at the portrait, studying my younger self, and felt my heart might burst. I’d never thought to question where my talent came from, but knowing it had been my mother’s first, and that I had that of her within me, filled me with bittersweet joy.

  At last the maids finished and Bridget ushered them all out, with a promise that she would return with our breakfast tomorrow morning. “No point in eating at table with that horrid man any more than you have to,” she whispered loud enough that I worried Brann— or someone allied with him— would hear.

  As if she’d read the concern in my face, Bridget patted my hand with affection. “No need to fret over me,” she assured. “He knows I loathe him, but he likes his comforts, and this house doesn’t run itself. If he wants good food and clean sheets, he’ll keep me around.”

  “Nice to know he has some sense.” I shared a conspiratorial smile with her, hoping Brann would have sense enough to leave once it was proved ownership had transferred to me and Collin.

  Bridget left. Collin consulted in the hall a moment with Hugh and Lachlan, then returned to the room and closed and locked the door.

  “I’ll install a bar tomorrow. Until then—” He dragged the bureau closest to the door in front of it.

  “Are you certain that’s a good idea? Brann is known for setting fires while people sleep. We might need to get out quickly.”

  “I doubt he’d try that in his own castle.”

  “It isn’t his anymore.” I moved to a chair and sat, more than ready to be done with my shoes.

  “True,” Collin agreed. “But he’ll act as if it’s his. Besides, you’ll know beforehand if something’s going to happen.”

  “I’m not certain I share your confidence.” I finished removing the first shoe and started on the second. “It would seem that a seer should know more of the future. But I cannot see if Edan and Finlay are safe. I didn’t see you coming to England. I hadn’t any idea that Malcom would try to hurt me.”

  “I don’t have an answer as to why you’re able to know some things and not others,” Collin said. “For your grandfather it was the same. He believed he would be shown what he needed to, as will you.” Collin dropped into the chair opposite me.

  “He described his sight as a game of chess. He might be shown some of the moves but not all. He might know which pieces would eventually be eliminated and the outcome of the game, but it was up to him what to do with and about that knowledge. He warned me once that the things you are able to see may not seem helpful at first. Sometimes you may see a clear path, as you did on our journey here. Other times, you may feel helpless to do anything about what you are shown.”

  I dropped the second shoe to the floor with a frustrated sigh. “If I’m unable to do anything with what I know, what good is this ability at all?” I recalled Finlay’s cryptic revelation this morning. “How many other Campbells have a similar gift?”

  “I don’t have all the answers. I’m sorry your grandfather isn’t here to speak with you. He’d know better than I.” Collin slumped in his chair, his eyes closing.

  My frustration with my unanswered questions and lacking abilities, Brann, our situation— everything— came to a grinding halt as I looked at my husband’s weary face. Collin had done so much for me. He needed me. He believed in me. That would have to be enough. We would figure this out. All of it.

  “Sometimes your gift may not seem useful,” Collin continued. “At other times, it might save your life. And it is those times I most care about and am grateful for.” He opened his eyes, to look at me tenderly.

  I couldn’t disagree with him about the usefulness of my sixth sense and hadn’t forgotten the danger I’d felt on our way here when faced with the decision of which route to take. I’d known exactly what both Brann and Ian had been thinking, and I still knew what the consequences could have been had I not known and acted accordingly.

  Collin must have mistaken my silence for continued argument. “Why didn’t the Campbells side with the Jacobites in the rebellion?”

  “Because Grandfather knew they would lose.” I remembered Alistair’s explanation and how I’d thought his statement rather pretentious.

  “He did,” Collin said, “but he desisted for more reasons than you might suppose. It was not simply to be on the winning side or to gain favor with the crown. Your
grandfather saw what was coming for Scotland— he saw this— people starving and homeless, families being thrust from the land they’d farmed for generations, lairds turning against their own. He told me he saw the end of the clans— unless the war could be prevented. And so the Campbells refused to aid in the prince’s cause and did all they could to be prepared, hoping, against hope, that they could be strong enough after the war to preserve not only their families but the Highland way of life as well.”

  “But here we are seeing all that Grandfather feared come to pass. What good came of his knowing? You said yourself that he— we— are powerless to change the future.”

  “Life was better for your family— for a while anyway,” Collin said. “There’s that, and Liam was also in a position to save me from the same fate as my father. And in turn for me to then save you, when Brann would have done you harm.”

  “Something very good came of it,” I said quietly, repenting of my earlier arguments. The thought of Collin being taken and killed made my stomach churn, as did the memory of Brann strangling my mother. If Grandfather hadn’t known the future and acted as he had... neither of us might be here.

  Even the tiniest decision I made might have significant consequences. A shiver passed through me with the weight of such responsibility.

  Respect your gift, I could almost hear my grandfather saying. From now on I must do more to both heed and understand it. We were going to need all the help we could get.

  Chapter Five

  “Katie, you’ve fallen asleep.”

  A hand brushed the top of my head, and I looked up to see Collin standing in front of me, nearly swaying on his feet himself. I uncurled my legs from the chair and held my hands up to him, hoping he would take them.

  Instead Collin reached down and lifted me into his arms.

  Not so tired, then? I wrapped my arms around his neck and felt my own weariness fade as he carried me over to the bed.

  “I ought to have carried you into the castle today, as this is to be our home, but I couldn’t exactly do that with Brann walking beside.” Collin frowned as he set me gently on the bed. “Concerning ourselves with evil spirits seems foolish, though, when we’ve the evil bodies themselves in residence.”

  “Carrying a bride over the threshold keeps evil spirits at bay?” I knew the Scots were superstitious, but this seemed a bit of a stretch. “Just how is that supposed to work?”

  Collin shrugged. “The spirits cannot follow where you haven’t stepped.”

  “So... you’d need to carry me in and out of the castle every time?”

  “No.” Collin rubbed his forehead, as if puzzled, then shrugged once more. “I never said it made sense, but it’s tradition.”

  “And Highlanders are all about tradition.” Our wedding ceremony had been steeped in it. I patted the bed beside me. “Tell me more. What other marriage customs are there?”

  Collin hesitated, then sat, but not close enough that we were touching. “We ought to sleep,” he said. “Tomorrow is likely to feel longer than today.”

  “Sleep might restore my body, but you restore my spirit.” I sucked in a breath for courage, then placed my hand over his on his leg. Likely no wife had ever been so bold and assuming. My stepmother would have been appalled at such behavior. I glanced at the painting over the fireplace and wondered what my real mother would have thought or done. What had she done to not only capture, but keep, the interest of an English soldier, my father?

  “There are some things about our marriage you ought to know,” Collin said. “Not customs or traditions, but things pertaining only to us.”

  “All right.” My gaze flickered to his serious one. Then I pulled my hand away and turned on the bed, so that I was facing him in close proximity. “What is it?”

  Collin swallowed slowly, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He wore a look of discomfort, from the lines creasing his forehead to his pursed lips, yet when he looked at me his eyes sought mine.

  “On our wedding night, you were surprised at the room arrangements.”

  “I was,” I said, equally surprised that he would bring that up. “I was also relieved.” The rejection I’d felt was still fresh in memory, but also was gratitude at his consideration. Over two weeks later, I was beginning to wonder if not having consummated our marriage meant something else, something more. Something bad. “It was considerate of you to get me my own room, given the trying day it had been and that we were literal strangers to one another.”

  Collin nodded. “I’d hoped you’d see it that way, though I could tell I’d hurt your feelings.”

  “I was far more relieved than offended.” I couldn’t exactly say the same now. While I might not feel ready for all the particulars of the marriage bed Anna had described, neither did I wish to have a marriage without affection. Alone, in the wilds of the Highlands, Collin and I had gradually discovered that affection. But since our arrival on Campbell land, he’d been pulling away, distancing himself from our trek toward intimacy. I both wanted and dreaded to know why.

  “Last night, at Liusaidh’s, you asked if I would sleep near you.”

  “And you said it was not wise.” Now we were getting somewhere.

  “Aye.” Collin tugged at his collar as if it bothered him or the room had become too warm. “It is not a good idea for us to be too close— for me to sleep beside you, or to—” He paused, his mouth moving oddly, as if it did not wish to form the words.

  “Yes?” I prodded, wanting to hear the why of his explanation more than what else it was that we should not be doing.

  “Katie.” He angled his body toward me, then took both of my hands in his and held them firmly as he looked me squarely in the eye. “It is imperative that we don’t—” His chin dipped as he cleared his throat.

  Is he blushing?

  “I will not get you with child,” Collin blurted, then released my hands and scooted away.

  “What— why?” It was not what I had expected him to say, and I felt my face redden at the boldness of his statement and my uncensored response. “Is it that you cannot?” I asked in a hushed tone. Was that even possible? I’d heard of couples being barren, but somehow I’d always thought that had more to do with the woman than the man.

  “I dare not,” Collin clarified. “It is too dangerous.”

  “Oh,” I said stupidly as my mind scrambled for comprehension. What is dangerous about making a baby? In spite of the things Anna had told me I couldn’t believe there was any real danger in that. Childbirth, on the other hand...

  His mother. Of course. Collin had told me she’d died birthing him and Ian. I should have realized what that might mean for him, how he might feel.

  Hope that Collin really did care for me, that he didn’t want to risk losing me, competed with the idea that he took his duty to protect me and my gift this seriously.

  “I understand the dangers of childbirth.” Perhaps the risk was greater in the Highlands than in England. Nevertheless, I found the idea didn’t frighten me. Neither did the thought of having a baby— of being a mother— seem unappealing. Before I met Collin I had been convinced that a life dedicated to my art was far better than one as a wife and a mother. Now that argument didn’t hold. I had survived without paint and canvas, but I did not think my heart could survive without Collin.

  How would it be to have a child created of our union? A son with his eyes, or a daughter with his dark hair. Something new and foreign took hold inside of me at these ideas. How precious such a child would be; how much I could love him or her. I had never before considered such possibilities, and no doubt my face betrayed the emotion skipping joyfully across my soul. A yearning I’d not even realized I had sprang to life— one of those moments in time where you are forever changed and cannot return back to the person you were before.

  I chose my words carefully, knowing I was about to argue for something I still wasn’t entirely ready for. “It would seem that the decision whether I wish to risk carrying a child ought to be at least p
artially mine.”

  “It is not the dangers of childbirth of which I spoke.” Collin still wouldn’t look at me. “Though certainly the risk is real, and indeed you ought to have a say.”

  “Then I suggest that we pretend we did not marry for the sake of our clans, or prophecy, or any other such thing. Let us pretend that we began as my sister and her husband did, that our marriage came of our feelings for one another. And let us see what happens.”

  “I do not have to pretend to care for you, Katie.” Collin turned to me at last and brought his hand up to touch my flaming cheek.

  I tilted my face, leaning into his touch. “Nor I you.”

  He bent his head close to mine, so our foreheads were together. “It is enough to hear that from you. To know.”

  It wasn’t enough. Not nearly so. I craved Collin in a way I’d never dreamed of. I wanted to be with him always, every second of every day. I wanted him close, to be in his arms, free to love him as I pleased.

  I remembered our near kiss at the river and the foolish decision I had made to push him away instead. I would make up for it now. I would show Collin that loving each other was worth the risk.

  I pulled back a little, and Collin lifted his face so that our eyes met. I hoped he saw determination and desire and love reflected in mine. “I do want you to know,” I whispered as I leaned in. Our mouths brushed against each other lightly, and I found that wasn’t enough either. I raised my hands to hold his face and pulled him closer, this time allowing my lips to linger on his.

  “Katie.” Collin’s eyes closed on a groan. “We mustn’t.”

  I pretended not to have heard, keeping my mouth just barely against his. I sensed the inner war within him and saw that the part of him who wanted to kiss me was going to win. I was about to smile with certain victory when he deepened our kiss.

  My lips parted, and my arms slid around the back of his neck, holding on tight, as if I’d climbed to the top of a mountain and would surely fall if I let go.