A Promise for Tomorrow

by Michele Paige Holmes

  Ian backed up and turned away. Sheathing his knife, he resumed his circular march around the room, clutching his middle as if hurt. He dropped into the remaining chair and hunched forward, head in his hands, his shoulders trembling.

  “Shouldn’t have let him.” His words were little more than mumbling. “I knew. I knew.” Ian shook his head as if arguing with himself.

  I shrank into the covers, lying perfectly still and wishing I could disappear. Ian’s fury I anticipated, but viewing him in this broken, seemingly confused state felt even more frightening. I’d no idea what he might do next. The bloody bandage still covered his head, and I wondered if his injury might be contributing to this apparent madness.

  There was no one to stop him from completing what he’d attempted at the river, and I had given him reason to, yet he hadn’t acted. Why?

  Minutes passed. I lay tense and grieving, silent tears sliding down my face. I was afraid to die but didn’t want to live.

  At last Ian rose, then stood facing away from me several minutes more, one hand braced against the mantel, while his other swiped conspicuously beneath his nose.

  Ian crying? I didn’t believe it for a minute. This had to be some scheme of his, some ploy. But why should he want my sympathy?

  Without warning he turned and stalked toward the bed, his eyes red-rimmed and wild and the bright stain of fresh blood seeping through his shirt front.

  He is seriously injured.

  “What are you going to do to me?” The foolish question fled my lips before I could call it back. My earlier bravery faltered with the reality of the bloody knife at his belt or the possibility of his hands on my throat. “What do you think another murder will gain you?”

  Ian’s sinister grin flashed briefly. “A great deal of satisfaction if it’s Brann’s.” He strode past me to the window and flung the shutters open. “Miserable pile of stone,” he muttered. “But it’s yours. You’ve land the MacDonalds can only dream of anymore.”

  I tried but wasn’t able to follow the conversation. How had we jumped to speaking of clan boundaries and all that had been taken from the MacDonalds?

  He wants land. I could not give it to him, even had I wanted to. He had to realize that, as a female, I did not own it. If not land, what else was he after? Likely whatever he could get. He was here to collect on the debt of my undelivered dowry.

  And when he finds nothing of value to substitute?

  A new fear took hold of me. I had one thing of value, and moments ago Ian had been furious thinking that Brann had stolen it. I would not barter with my virtue. Though it would not take much, weak as I was, for him to take it from me.

  He was as far from the door as he could be and distracted by something outside. I would not get a better chance. With my good hand I flung the covers away and launched myself from the bed. An explosion of pain ricocheted through my chest, but I stumbled on, toward the door. If I could get to the hall and throw myself over the banister—

  “What are you doing?” Ian grasped me beneath my arms, and I screamed.

  He held me upright. “Are you trying to injure yourself?”

  My vision blurred, and I feared I’d pass out again. “Everyone will know what you’ve done. Please just kill me.”

  He held my arms firmly and stared at me from the bruised slit that was his visible eye.

  “First Collin’s death.” My voice broke on a sob. “Then mine. It was what you wanted.”

  Ian lessened his grip as if just now realizing what he was doing. I staggered backward and sagged against the bed, leaning onto the frame for support. Ian brought his hands in front of him, studying them as if seeing them for the first time.

  “Katie.” His voice, nearly pleading and so like Collin’s, tore at my heart.

  “I’m not going to—” Ian stopped abruptly at the sound of people outside my door. We both turned to look. When I glanced again to Ian it was to see that yet another instantaneous change had come over him, his scowl as fierce as ever. His eye narrowed on me, and he took a step closer, forcing me back so that I pressed into the side of bed.

  “You think too little on your own life. You are far more valuable to me alive.”

  My pulse pounded in my ears as it had when he’d stood over me at the river’s edge. He’d not seen any value in sparing me then. What had changed?

  “You’ve one week to rest.” Ian ran a finger along the side of my face. “You’ll be well enough to be of some use to me by then. I should know. I bandaged your ribs myself. They’re only bruised, not broken.”

  My mouth opened and closed, too horrified to speak. My hand went to my chest. The sleeping gown I had worn outside to meet him had been removed, replaced by a clean shift, and beneath stiff bandages wrapped around me, holding me together. Ian’s doing. Shame and humiliation washed over me.

  There were worse things than death, Collin had once said.

  Eye on the door, Ian spoke loudly. “Your dowry is gone, so payment must be made in other ways. Those with me will require shelter and food, clothing and heat throughout the coming winter.”

  “MacDonalds and Campbells at the same hearth?” I couldn’t be hearing correctly. I remembered the tale of Glencoe when the guest Campbells had turned on their host MacDonalds and slaughtered all. Was that what Ian had planned?

  “At the same hearth and with joint leaders,” Ian said. “A Campbell and a MacDonald. Just as old Liam Campbell saw it would be.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  As with my nightmare several weeks ago, I awoke alone in the middle of the night and felt myself drawn to the great hall. I rolled from the bed, landing with a jolt on the cold, hard floor. I lay there a few minutes, panted, absorbed the pain as best I could, then crawled to the end of the bed and pulled myself up. Once standing, I waited, to see if I could remain upright.

  When a minute passed without my collapsing, I began a series of jerky steps toward the door and out to the hall.

  The journey from my bedroom to the room below was fraught with at least as many obstacles and as much difficulty as I’d experienced the night of my dream. My bare feet padded along the freezing floor, toes stubbing frequently when I stumbled. The bandages bound around my middle didn’t allow for natural movement, but I dared not try to remove them.

  I feared making Ian angrier than he’d been when he left my room earlier and discovered a handful of Campbells huddled outside of it, ready to burst in and attempt to save me. He’d knocked one of them down, nearly to the stairs, before an entourage of MacDonalds arrived to quiet the fray. Alistair had been among those roughly escorted away.

  I had determined then that for as long as I remained, I must bear as silently and stoically as possible, whatever fate was to be mine. It might be the only thing I could do for Alistair and the others trapped here with me. But first...

  I must see Collin. Just once more.

  After a painstaking descent, I reached the main floor. The vast room was eerily silent and near dark, save for the embers glowing from the fireplace and a few, sputtering candles on the dais. These had burned low and barely illuminated the casket, casting its distorted shadow against the stone wall.

  My chest and throat burned. Not a nightmare. I’d known it wasn’t, but seeing the box that held Collin’s body still sent a painful jolt through my already throbbing heart. My hand flew to my mouth, only partially covering my sobs.

  “Collin.” I cried his name aloud as I hobbled up the stairs to the platform.

  The air was chill, and I shivered in my thin gown, gooseflesh springing up along my arms. I’d no fear of the dead, only the overwhelming sorrow that had wrenched me from sleep and propelled me this far. I’d wanted to be as near to my husband as possible, but the wood box brought no comfort. I touched its rough-hewn lid, then slid my fingers beneath and tried to lift it. Just let me see his face once more.

  With both hands I pushed upward, but the lid didn’t budge. I glanced down its length and saw that nails forbade it from opening. Whate
ver remained of Collin was to be kept from me. I would not even be allowed to look at him as I said goodbye. With an anguished cry, I bent my head to the casket.

  A stream of tears matched my wailing as I relived every brief memory with Collin, from the past weeks to those that had come years before, right to this very place when my grandfather had joined our hands together. I had failed them both so utterly. I’d destroyed the future Grandfather had so clearly seen. And now the Campbells would fall because of it.

  Collin is dead because of me.

  “Enough, Katie. You’ll wake the entire house.”

  I jumped, lifting my head and looking around warily, certain I’d just heard his voice.

  “He doesn’t deserve that kind of mourning.” Ian leaned around from the head of the casket, the chair he’d been lounging in thudding loudly as its front feet made contact with the floor. He stood and started toward me.

  I tightened my grip on the biting wood, as if it somehow offered protection. “What are you doing here?”

  “Guarding.” Ian inclined his head toward the box that held his brother. “Castle full of Campbells. It’s likely at least a few of them wouldn’t mind desecrating the body of a MacDonald.”

  “Oh.” The reason for the nails? I hadn’t thought of that but felt strangely grateful he had. There must have been at least some brotherly respect between them. I wiped the tears from my face and worried more were soon to follow and that it would anger Ian. Collin was certainly deserving of my mourning, but arguing with Ian would help no one.

  I would find no comfort here. I turned away, hoping he might allow me to return to my room unhindered. I felt vulnerable, alone in the hall with him so late at night. As if he’d read my mind, Ian spoke a warning.

  “It isn’t safe for you to be here by yourself. Brann, or one of his men, might still be lurking nearby.”

  I nodded, thinking to myself that Brann was the least of my worries. It was Ian who threatened most now. He looked even more the part of a murderer with his bruised face and the bloodied bandages on his head and hands, and this only encouraged my panicked thoughts. Fear staved off my sorrow as Ian strode purposely toward me.

  My faltering steps were not quick enough, and he met me as I reached the stairs. When he held a bandaged hand out, I felt I had little choice but to take it. His grip was light, just enough to see me safely down. But he did not release me when I reached the main floor. I glanced up, fearful of what his expression might reveal.

  The dim light sheltered me from the worst of his horrors, but I longed to look away, just the same. His face appeared contorted, frozen in place with a permanent sneer. His piercing eye narrowed, as if considering his next course of action. I knew what I wanted mine to be. I wanted to flee.

  I turned to do just that, but his other hand— bandage and all— was upon me before I’d taken so much as a step. “Not so fast, Mrs. MacDonald. Stay, though you cannot stand the sight of me.”

  First Katie, now Mrs. MacDonald. I didn’t like all this name calling, not from Ian.

  “We must speak of matters most important.”

  “Whatever you wish to say can wait until morning.” I pried his fingers from me, noting his wince as he let go.

  “Since you are awake— well enough to leave your bed— it cannot.” His tongue darted out to lick dry, cracked lips. “We must speak of Collin.”

  The dagger in my heart wrenched again. For a few, strange seconds I had forgotten my sorrow. It returned forcefully now, in a rush that sent me stumbling backward to the steps. I sat down hard as tears surfaced and spilled over, falling unchecked down my cheeks. I held my broken arm beneath my bruised ribs and shook my head, my resolve not to anger Ian washed away in a wave of grief. “Don’t say his name. Don’t pretend to have cared. You wanted us both dead.” For all I knew, the blood on Ian’s knife was Collin’s.

  In the waning candlelight I saw that Ian’s bruised face was smooth, a mask of calm. “You are correct. I didn’t care for my brother as I should have. I have betrayed him in the worst way.” Ian held out his bandaged hands as if pleading for my understanding or forgiveness. “But I also gave my word to protect you. I swore an oath.”

  I sobbed harder. Collin wouldn’t ask that of him. He wouldn’t. But I was no longer certain. The last time I had seen Collin, Brann held me at his mercy. Was that enough that Collin would have extracted such a promise from his brother? I prayed not. But what would I have promised in those moments, to know that Collin would be safe? Anything. Including my own life.

  “Did you kill him?” I demanded, looking up at Ian.

  There was no short, harsh laugh as I’d expected. No boasting of the deed. “I did not,” Ian said evenly, his gaze locked on mine. “Yet, I am responsible.” Instead of pride or boasting, I read anguish, from the dark circles beneath his eye to the thin line of his mouth.

  I believed him, though I wasn’t certain how one could be responsible yet not have committed the act itself. I felt no better for his confession, if that even qualified as such. Collin was still dead, no matter who had ended his life.

  “I release you from anything Collin asked,” I said, still not believing Ian would have honored such a request from his brother to begin with. “You may leave this place and take the other MacDonalds with you.”

  This time he did laugh. “I can’t do that.” His tone was calm and even, frightening me far worse than when he was angry. I didn’t know this Ian, didn’t know how to react or what to expect of him. I shifted a hand to my pounding head that felt too heavy for my body. I need you, Collin. At the least I needed time— even a little of it— to grieve him alone.

  “Go away, please.” I was the one begging now.

  Instead of heeding my request Ian came closer and sat beside me on the wide step. I drew my knees up and scooted as far away from him as possible.

  “You’re not the only one grieving,” he said quietly.

  I had no response. In the absence of imminent danger, sorrow washed over me again, seeping into every pore. My throat felt swollen, and a fresh batch of tears surfaced. I sniffled loudly in a vain attempt to hold them back.

  “We can help each other,” Ian continued. His voice dropped to a whisper. “If you’ll but listen. Give me a chance to relieve your grief.”

  “Stay away from me.” I stood as quickly as my sore body would allow.

  He grasped the hem of my nightgown. “A bargain then, if you will hear me out.” He was practically begging.

  “What?” I asked coldly.

  “Ten minutes in your room right now. I speak. You listen. Then I will open the casket if you still wish it.”

  To see Collin’s face one last time. How could I refuse? But I would be wise about it. “Tell me what you wish right here. Now.” I tried to pull my gown from Ian’s grasp, but my limited movement would not allow it.

  “It isn’t safe to speak here. I am not well enough acquainted with this castle to know all of its hiding places and who might be listening. The watch will also be coming in soon.”

  What watch? “Then open the casket first. Grant me five minutes alone. I promise to go upstairs and listen to whatever you must say after.” He had been in my room before and not done me harm. I would simply have to trust that this would be the same. He needn’t have asked, for that matter, but could enter whenever he wished, given his command here.

  He shook his head. “I must speak first— to prepare you.”

  “What is the difference? Then or now?” This was naught but a cruel trick. “There isn’t any. You never intended to keep your word.”

  “I do intend to. You’ll understand once—” He released my gown suddenly and stood, drawing himself up tall. “Go,” he hissed, giving me a little shove. “Before you cannot.”

  I didn’t need to be told twice but left him, moving stiffly across the hall. Behind me I heard the front doors open and close, followed by feet stomping and men’s voices. I did not look back until I’d reached the stairs.

  Ian
stood surrounded by a cluster of MacDonalds.

  “How was it, lads?” he asked.

  “Nary a soul about,” one answered. “We’ll have no resistance from this lot.”

  “To conquest,” another said, raising a flask.

  “Aye, conquest,” the others, excepting Ian, echoed. He was too busy watching me, staring as I groped my way up the dark staircase.

  “To uniting our clans,” Ian said, still not taking his eyes off me. He took the flask from the man and lifted it high. His toast was met by silence.

  The men had to be thinking what I was, that he’d lost his senses. The Campbells and the MacDonalds would never unite. He’s gone mad.

  “Have ye lost your mind, man?” someone asked, echoing my thoughts.

  “Entirely possible,” Ian said, his voice turned suddenly cold and calculating.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  “Beneath the tree there. It will keep her dry.” Hugging a quilt to her chest with one hand, Mary directed the men carrying me with her other.

  The chair bumped to the ground, and she hurried to tuck in the quilts around me. I leaned my head back against the trunk of an old rowan, looking up through the leafy canopy to the grey sky above. A raindrop landed on my chin. Heaven wept for Collin.

  Mary pulled up the hood of my borrowed cloak. “There now. You’ll not catch a chill, at least.” She pulled a clump of red berries from the tree and placed it in my hand. “To protect you from evil spirits.”

  Ian appeared behind her, first on the right, bearing the casket. He’d found a clean shirt for the occasion, and fresh bandages bound his head and hands, but his hair still hung limp and greasy down his back, and the patch covered his eye.

  It would take more than berries to protect me.

  Mary smiled kindly and patted my hand. “Take courage. Many a woman has been where you are today. And those less strong have survived.”

  I stared past her, not wanting to think about surviving or anything else.

  The priest emerged from the kirk, and a humming began, made by the line of MacDonald men standing on either side of the casket.