A Promise for Tomorrow

by Michele Paige Holmes

  Wiping blackened hands on an apron then smoothing the kerchief tied in her hair, she stepped from the cottage and made her way toward us.

  “Her husband’s appearance is somewhat different,” Collin whispered to me. “Try not to stare if you can help it.”

  “Of course.”

  “He can’t farm the land as other men, so instead they make the soap for most of the clan, in trade for their sustenance.”

  Halfway across the yard Eithne paused, her eyes lifting to Collin’s.

  “Mercy. Is that you, lad? Have you grown even taller now?”

  “I don’t think so. Perhaps you are shrinking.” Collin’s voice was lighter than at the castle, lighter than I’d heard in days.

  “That may be.” She took a step closer, and Collin beckoned me to come with him to meet her.

  I smiled, liking her more already as I caught the tears glistening in her eyes.

  “Here you are, looking as fine as can be.” She waved a hand in front of Collin. “And I’m a pure nick.”

  A what? I looked to Collin for an explanation.

  “Eithne is concerned about her appearance,” Collin said to me while smiling at her. “But she’s as bonny as ever. Still making soap?” he asked.

  “Aye. And what a mess it is.” She inclined her head toward a great black kettle hanging over a fire in the yard. “The lye is boilin’, and Gavin fetched another load of ash and lard this morning. I was just filling the barrels.” She held her blackened hands out as evidence.

  “Eithne makes the finest soap you’ll ever use— has for years.” A teasing glint came to Collin’s eyes. “Her soap’s nearly as famous as MacDonald whisky.”

  Eithne pulled a rag from the waistband of her apron and swatted at him. “One’ll clean your outside and one your insides, right? Same troublesome lad, I see.” Affection shone through her words, and my gratitude for her deepened. At least a few Campbells had cared for Collin.

  “Eithne, I’d like you to meet my bride, Katie.” Collin introduced me proudly, as he had to Liusaidh, and I felt grateful to be looking a bit more worthy of his boasting today. Living in the gloomy castle had some benefit, including the regular use of water for bathing as well as my mother’s trunk with its supply of pretty, if older, gowns.

  “Spitting image of your mother, you are.” Eithne reached out, as if to clasp my hands in greeting, then apparently thought the better of it and began to withdraw her blackened palms.

  Already tired of Collin’s avoidance, I decided to have none of this and surprised us both when I snatched her hands quickly in mine. I raised them to my lips and kissed the back of both, over her bony, weathered knuckles. “Thank you.” I lifted my face to hers. “Thank you for caring for my Collin while I was away.”

  I’d never before called him my Collin that I could remember, but it described perfectly the way I felt. He was mine, and nothing was going to take him from me. Not Brann or Ian or anyone else.

  Eithne squeezed my hands as a smile blossomed on her wrinkled face. “Bonny in soul as well as body. You’re blessed, Collin.” She released me and planted her hands on her hips. “So, have ye ousted the imposter from the castle then?”

  “Not exactly.” Imposter seemed an interesting choice of words and too lenient a description of Brann. Charles Stuart was known to most English as the imposter, having sailed from France to Scotland, intending to take over the English throne. Certainly the fighting he’d caused had resulted in bloodshed, but from all I had learned of him, he had not been an outright murderer— as was Brann.

  “We’ve filed Katie’s claim to the keep and await news of its acceptance,” Collin said.

  But it’s not likely Brann will leave without a fight. I read the unspoken words in his stiff posture and defensive stance.

  “We are here, and that is a start.” I sent a look of displeasure Collin’s way. Could we not have one afternoon free from the tension of the castle?

  “Aye. It is.” Collin’s smile was apologetic, and he wrapped an arm around my shoulder in a brief squeeze. “Katie’s sight saw us safely delivered. No doubt it will see us through what is to come.”

  “I expect no less,” Eithne declared. “Now, I suppose you’ll be wanting to see Gavin.”

  “Aye,” Collin said, eagerness expressed in that one syllable. “Is he about?”

  “Oh, yes.” Eithne rolled her eyes. “Drove to fetch the ash, and now he’s good for nothing the rest of the day.”

  “I’m pure done in, woman.” A man who appeared much older than Eithne emerged from the doorway of the little house. Leaning heavily on a cane, and moving at an odd angle on twisted legs, he shuffled toward us with a slow, painful walk. “Kicked me out of bed in the middle of the night, she did. Telling me I must be off to collect the ash. As if it couldna wait until morning. I’m fair puckled now.”

  “You ken well enough yourself it couldn’t wait,” Eithne returned with a shake of her head. To me she explained, “The lye has to cook slow all the morning. Until it’s very strong. If I start too late in the day, I’ll be working alongside the moon.” She waved me to come with her, and I followed, leaving Collin to his reunion with the fair-puckled Gavin.

  We crossed the yard to the enormous kettle, even larger close up, and she leaned forward, face scrunched, sniffing at the rising steam. “Not strong enough yet.”

  Truly? I held a hand to my face, in an attempt to cease the pungent aroma’s assault. It seemed impossible the smell could be any stronger.

  “We’re behind, see!” she shouted across the yard to her husband. “Should have pushed your sorry hide out of bed sooner.”

  Gavin raised his cane in the air and shook it at her in response. It was only when I caught Eithne’s quick smile, followed by a loud snort, that I realized they were teasing one another. Relief swept over me, and my feelings of concern for her obviously ailing husband dissipated.

  “He’s been that way for years,” she said, catching my curious look between them. “Hands started to twist soon after we married. Knees don’t like to work. Everything that’s supposed to bend doesn’t want to. Pains him terrible, but he doesn’t complain. And he loathes sympathy.”

  “So you don’t give him any.”

  “None at all.” She winked. “A man’s pride is sometimes all he’s left. I give that to Gavin each time I expect more of him and harp like any other woman would on her man.”

  I wasn’t entirely certain I agreed. Do I harp on Collin? My stepmother had done so only in my father’s last years, and it had not been pleasant for any of us. So while that methodology might work well for Gavin and Eithne, I had no desire to put it into practice myself.

  “Once the lye is strong enough, what must you do then?” From a distance I had watched, a time or two, as our household servants made soap. I’d never had much interest in the process, and neither had my stepmother. She’d taken to ordering it most of the time, instead of having it made at the manor. But now I supposed this might be one of dozens of skills I ought to have at least a cursory knowledge of— on the off chance that Collin and I were ever to live our lives alone, somewhere peaceful and beautiful like this, somewhere no one would threaten or bother us, and where we could work together creating everything, from our home to the children who would fill it.

  This thought stimulated the new feelings that had been inspired by our talk last night. My stomach tingled pleasantly at the idea of carrying a child there. Collin’s baby. Our eyes met across the yard, and a flush warmed my cheeks as I imagined the kisses and what else would have to precipitate such an event.

  “You have it bad for him, don’t you?” Eithne said with a knowing smile. “How long have you been married?”

  “Two and a half weeks.” I felt my blush deepen.

  “Ach.” She clucked her tongue. “And out of bed already. Surprising, knowing that lad. When he puts his mind to something, he sticks to it until it’s done right.” She nodded at the delicately engraved wedding band on my left hand. “Cannot te
ll you the hours and days and months he worked at that. And now I’d guess he wants a bairn to carry on his name. I’m surprised he’s allowed you out of bed at all until that’s well and accomplished.”

  I was certain my face was positively flaming now, in spite of the fact that Collin and I had not actually been in a bed together yet. As that was not a discussion I wished to have with such a new acquaintance, I returned to my earlier question. “Will you teach me how to make soap?” The idea did interest me, in spite of the smell.

  Collin had already proven he was good at providing for and protecting me. I wanted to be able to perform my part of the marriage tasks as well. Learning to make soap seemed as good a place to start as any.

  “Roll up your sleeves, lass,” Eithne instructed. “You’ll be an expert in no time. We’ll make a mild batch, one good for cleaning that bairn you’ll soon be carrying.”

  Chapter Seven

  “Haste ye back!” Gavin called, lifting a gnarled hand in farewell as Collin, Quinn, Moireach, and I turned our horses away and left the yard.

  I fell into line between Quinn, out front, and Moireach, lagging behind, with Collin riding beside. Because of the late hour, Collin had asked them to stick closer to us on the ride home. The sun was no longer visible, but neither had dark come upon us yet. As I’d learned during our travels from England to the Highlands, summer here was different, the daylight some two hours longer, due to our northern location. It wasn’t just my imagination that made each day feel like it lasted forever.

  But today had gone too fast, and I felt reluctant to take leave of our delightful and amusing hosts to return to the confining walls of the castle, and possibly Brann. Earlier I had suggested to Collin, in private, that we might stay the night.

  Collin had not deemed it wise to linger. Our escorts for the day were long overdue to return to their families and other responsibilities. And now that we had confronted Brann, he felt we needed to pursue that course of action— before Brann formulated some other plan to be rid of us. I think we both had no doubt he had been away doing just that. But while I would have been content, for the night at least, to ignore and avoid that threat, Collin wanted to meet it head on.

  Taking the lead now, he increased our speed from a canter to a gallop, glancing back at me as he began. “Can you ride faster? Dark will eventually come, and I’d just as soon be in our room when it does.”

  “I can,” I assured him, kicking my heels into the side of the mare. This morning I had relished our brisk ride, but now I felt exhausted. Soap-making required significant labor.

  Eithne had assigned me the task of taking a paddle to the large kettle, stirring and scraping continually so that the fat would not boil over. Initially I’d believed this the more agreeable of the duties, as I’d watched her unload the meat scraps and lard Gavin had collected and cut and mash them before adding them to the pot.

  If I’d believed the smell bad before, it was nothing to what she had to face, working with animal fat that was who knows how old. The steam rising from the kettle into my face wasn’t exactly pleasant either, and I began to understand my stepmother’s reasoning for putting soap on the “to be purchased” list of household goods.

  Around four o’clock Eithne had finally declared the concoction done, at which point I’d felt done in as well. My arms— both of them, for I had traded off stirring with each— had never felt so sore. I would be fortunate to be able to lift them enough to put on a clean shift tonight.

  But I had treasure in my basket to show for my efforts. The batch I had stirred still had to sit overnight, but Eithne had let me help her finish what she had begun the day before. I’d used the last of my arm strength to grind dried lavender with mortar and pestle, and this we had mixed in before pouring the soap into molds. The two bars she’d given me to take had still to cool completely. I’d never felt so proud of anything I had made.

  A sense of accomplishment and even exhilaration always accompanied a completed painting, but there was something different and satisfying about having created something useful. I only hoped I’d have the energy to draw a bath and make use of the soap tonight.

  “You look a mite more puckled than poor Gavin.” Collin slowed Ian’s horse to keep pace with mine. Apparently I wasn’t moving as fast as I’d believed. I felt a bit guilty at this. Collin, Quinn, and Moireach had to be tired too, having labored in Eithne’s garden all day, catching up on all that she and Gavin could not possibly manage themselves.

  “Don’t you mean plucked?” I asked. When Gavin had used the term this morning, I thought I’d either heard him wrong or perhaps it was a joke between he and Eithne.

  Collin shook his head. “That would be a chicken. Do you feel like one who’s been caught and had your feathers pulled?”

  “Caught and plucked clean.” I giggled, for some reason finding this amusing. I squawked like a chicken and urged the mare to go faster.

  “Maybe I shouldn’t let you ride on your own.” Collin steered Ian’s horse closer as sporadic bursts of laughter continued to spurt from my mouth.

  “Maybe tomorrow I shall learn to make quills with all those feathers.” I laughed harder.

  Collin cocked his head to the side and narrowed his eyes. “How much did you drink today?”

  “A lot. Of water. It was terribly hot out there at the fire.”

  “You’re certain that was all?” Collin didn’t sound convinced.

  “Of course.” I sat up straighter and twisted in my seat to better look at him. “We agreed to only water while we are here. I keep my promises.”

  “I know that. I’m sorry, Katie.” He sounded sincere.

  “It’s all right.” The giggles had fled as quickly as they had come. “No wine, no touching.” No joy. Today had been a brief and welcome interlude from the heaviness of our lives. “I’m tired is all, and I’ve the tendency to become giddy when that happens. Anna and I used to see how late we could stay up. We believed we needed to practice, so that when we were old enough to have a season and attend balls, we would be used to staying up all night.”

  “Did that work? Were you used to it?” Collin’s tone was mildly curious, and I wondered if he had somehow forgotten that there had been no season for me. No balls or late-night parties of any sort. I’d attended a few events with Anna prior to her wedding, but by then my role was that of the older sister, and it was not required that I flit about and socialize at all hours of the night.

  “It worked for Anna, perhaps, but not for me. I never made it much past midnight without getting a fit of giggles. We would both be laughing so hard, we’d be crying, all tangled up in the curtains of the bed, bouncing around like a couple of children.” I could almost feel the bed beneath me now, instead of the plodding horse.

  “I can see that in my mind,” Collin said. “Can imagine that along with laughter, you are given to bouncing and other boisterous activities when in a bed.”

  I snapped my head around in time to catch his grin.

  He is teasing again. Teasing Collin was the Collin I adored most. If only he would appear more frequently. Being privy to the sparring match between Gavin and Eithne today might have inspired him.

  I continued my story. “I would laugh until I simply couldn’t anymore, and then the next thing I knew it would be morning.” I smiled to myself, lost for a moment in the pleasant memory. “It’s probably a very good thing I never had a season. I can just imagine it now— I’d start giggling during a dance and would either offend my partner or have him thinking that I was raving mad.” I closed my eyes, imagining for just a moment, and a second later felt the jerk of my head as it bobbed in sleep.

  “That’s it. You’ll ride with me.” Collin leaned closer, pulling back on the mare’s reins as he ordered Ian’s horse to a stop. “Quinn,” he called. “Will you come take this beast and lead it with you back to the paddock? Katherine isn’t fit for riding at present.”

  “I am too,” I argued only half-heartedly as Collin transferred me in fr
ont of him and wrapped his arms securely around me.

  Quinn circled back to us, then led the mare away.

  “There now,” Collin said when Quinn had moved away from us once more. “You can lay your head back against me and sleep if you’d like. I’ll not let any harm come to your basket of soap cakes.”

  “Thank you,” I murmured, grateful for this new arrangement. “Isn’t this considered touching? I don’t want to break my promise and make it difficult for you.”

  Collin snorted. “I think I can keep my desires in control while seated upon a horse.”

  “You desire me?” I’d never heard him put what was between us in those terms before.

  “You know I do,” Collin said, a bit of a growl in his response.

  I accepted his invitation to rest and leaned back against him, snuggling into the warmth of his chest. “I desire you too,” I said sleepily.

  “It would be easier if you didn’t.” A definite growl this time.

  “Why?” I turned to look at him.

  “I would never force my intentions upon a woman,” Collin said. “But you’re so... willing.”

  Yes, I was. And becoming more so by the minute, as it seemed, was Collin, given the way his hand lingered over my stomach, his fingers splayed, caressing in a manner that threatened to make me go mad.

  “Shouldn’t a wife feel that way about her husband?” I asked. “It would seem most unfortunate if desire did not run both ways.”

  “I have no idea how it should be between a husband and wife,” Collin said. “My mother lived perhaps minutes after our birth— not long enough for me to ever know her or to observe her relationship with my father.”

  “Did he ever speak of her?” I asked.

  “Aye.” Collin’s chin rubbed against the back of my head as he nodded. “Only in terms of the greatest reverence. He never remarried, never considered it, that I was aware of. It was plain he loved her very much, even to his dying day.”