A Promise for Tomorrow

by Michele Paige Holmes

  It was also a good place to hear the latest gossip and discover what both Campbells and MacDonalds alike thought of our new, shared, arrangements.

  “Clayton and Maggie are moving into their new house today,” Mhairi announced on Friday morning.

  “It’s finished already?” another asked. “Cannot be much good if it was built in less than a week.”

  “It’s a fine, simple house,” Mhairi declared. “At least as good as what they had before. No less than ten men spent the better part of three days on it, and now they’re onto building the next— that one is to be for a Campbell, of course.” Her gaze strayed to the three Campbell women seated across the room. I was not next to them this morning, having purposely seated myself in a different chair, every day this week, in an effort to get to know all of the women, Campbells and MacDonalds.

  “Campbells helped build the last house, did they not?” one of the three asked.

  “Aye,” Mhairi said.

  “Then it is only fair that they should get the next house,” I said, striving to keep the conversation civil. “We are working together to help both clans.”

  “Who would have ever thought such a thing?” A Campbell named Ellen clucked her tongue. “MacDonalds among us.”

  “My grandfather, Laird Campbell, thought of such a thing,” I said firmly. All eyes were on me now. I set the spindle down and looked at each of the women in turn. “He saw this day. It was why I was betrothed to Collin MacDonald when I was only four years old.”

  “That was done in secret,” Ellen said. “Had many of us known, there would have been objections.”

  “And have you objections now?” I asked. “To what is being done here?”

  “I don’t like it,” Ellen said boldly. “And I suppose you can tell your husband that if you’d like and have me beaten for it.”

  “My husband is dead.” I tamped down the stab of pain that accompanied this statement. “Anything told to me in this room will not be repeated to Ian MacDonald.” I hoped that wasn’t a foolish promise. “Women need a safe place to speak their minds and share what they feel.”

  “Aye,” several chorused as their heads bobbed.

  “Ian MacDonald and I are handfast, working together for this year, doing our best to save our families. Neither clan was likely to survive the winter without each other— or his leadership,” I added. “Had we continued under Brann’s rule, Campbells were likely to be extinct before another five years had passed.”

  “Because of your laird,” Mhairi said. “Your land is not to fault. You’ve so much of it can be tilled. And you’ve forests and rivers, lochs, mountains, and moors. MacDonalds have scarcely any. You have it all.” It was the first bitterness I’d heard from her.

  Had it all? I wondered if she was referring to more than land and crops. To Collin.

  “For now, at least, you have as much as we do.” I lost him too.

  I directed my next words to the Campbell side of the room. “The MacDonalds have been here only a short time, and already look what has been accomplished.” Collin had been right. “Ian is a good leader.” His tactics were at times harsh, but I could also see that some of that was needed here.

  I looked at Ellen again. “What don’t you like? What would you see changed?”

  “Aside from the MacDonalds leaving?” she asked.

  “New homes would not be being built, but burned, if not for the MacDonalds,” I reminded her.

  “True. But it’s not natural them being here. Can’t trust ‘em.”

  “It is the Campbells who cannot be trusted,” another of the MacDonald women spoke up. “How are we to be certain you won’t murder us in our beds as was done at Glencoe?”

  Always their arguments return to the past. Feeling a headache coming on, I rubbed my temples. “You cannot let the past govern your thoughts and actions today,” I argued. “None of us were there. We are not those Campbells or MacDonalds. We are better than that, and we are here— together— fighting to keep our country and the Highlands alive.”

  “Little you know,” Ellen said with a harrumph. “You’ve not even passed a season with us yet.”

  “She knows plenty,” Mhairi said, surprising me with her defense. “Anyone who can tame Ian MacDonald deserves our respect.” She glanced at me. “He is not the same as when he left with Collin to fetch you from England. Ian’s changed into the man his brother believed he could be. I only wish Collin was here to see it.”

  “Thank you.” I smiled my appreciation, grateful to feel I had perhaps one friend here, and a MacDonald at that.

  * * *

  As had become custom, I retired to our chamber as soon as we had taken our evening meal. Ian followed a short time later, and I could not entirely fault him, the tension in the great hall being what it was these days. Collin had years of earned trust and had become a respected friend to at least some Campbells; but Ian was seen more as an unwelcome interloper and I his accomplice now that we had handfast. Though I could see his efforts and others surely could too, it was going to take a great deal more time and no few miracles if the winter of Campbells and MacDonalds together was to be a success.

  Life had become complicated and wearying, and the line I balanced upon that much more tenuous than before. Only now I was more invested in it. I was developing a genuine concern and love for my mother’s people— my people— and I would not be driven from them. Perhaps not surprising, given the feelings I’d had for Collin, I felt the same about the MacDonalds. Ian’s chant of together did not bother me as it had two months ago. I was starting to think he might not be as mad as I’d believed him to be.

  And that was terrifying for its own reasons.

  I glanced up from my mending to see him openly staring at me from his chair on the other side of the room. He’d brought several pairs of boots up with him tonight and sat working over them by the lamp, leaving me the better light and warmth near the fire.

  And the better light for him to watch me in. I had caught Ian’s eye on me too many times to count the past weeks. It never ceased to unnerve me, and on those few occasions I had allowed our gazes to meet... Those feelings did not bear thinking about. In spite of being surrounded by numerous people daily, I was lonely, still very much a stranger in a foreign land, and still mourning Collin. All circumstances to recall in moments I felt weak. Ian undoubtedly sensed this weakness and would pounce given the first opportunity.

  That he had not done so yet no longer surprised me. I’d come to understand that he intended to keep his promise to Alistair. I sensed I’d become a challenge to Ian. His quest to win me over became as personal as his dealings with the clans during the day tended toward impersonal and methodical. His judgments were swift, commanding, and largely impartial. I’d seen him grant and withhold from Campbells and MacDonalds alike.

  But with me it was different. He’d not had another outburst since the incident of the tea. Ian’s voice, while loud and unrelenting by day as he oversaw all manner of work— pushing all to do the most, the best, and what at times seemed impossible— turned quiet and reflective during the evening hours we spent together. His questions were meant to draw me out, his many kindnesses meant to woo.

  I fought off his advances as I would have had they been of a physical nature. For were I to forget and give in even once, a child might result and I would be his, to order about, to MacDonald lands or beyond, as he saw fit. It was a danger I could not risk.

  Outwardly, he might appear to have softened, but I could not allow myself to be deceived. His eye, so like Collin’s, was merely calculating when it looked upon me. And his actions, no matter how considerate, might still be a ruse, a means of gaining trust before the axe that was the MacDonald clan fell upon us.

  “What is wrong?” Ian asked, setting a boot aside. “You’re brooding tonight.”

  “You’re a fine one to speak of brooding,” I muttered, stabbing the needle into the cloth viciously.

  “True enough,” Ian admitted. “But it does n
ot become you. Tell me what is troubling you. I’ve a hunch it is I, so best be out with it and let our quarrel be done with sooner rather than later.”

  “I’ve no wish to argue.” It’s not like that, anyway. There was nothing palpable that we could argue over. Ian made me feel uneasy— unsettled in his presence— and I was not about to admit that.

  “I’ll guess, then. You’re upset because I’ve cut meals to two per day, except for children under twelve.”

  I understood exactly why he’d done that. I’d been present for the final tally of the harvest and knew how the larder would have to stretch to feed all in the coming months. Still, he had not made the decision I would have. “What of nursing mothers, or those expecting a child? They ought to be favored with the children.”

  Ian’s gaze slid to my belly. “Might you wish that included you after all?”

  “Only if it was Collin’s.”

  “So you would have extra meals? I ought to give them to you anyway. You’ve yet to recover fully from Brann’s mistreatment.”

  “No.” I frowned, realizing Ian was baiting me once more, yet unable to hold back my retort. “So I might have something of Collin to remember.”

  “You have me.” Ian tilted his chin toward the ceiling and struck an exaggerated pose, his lopsided grin somehow more amusing than sinister tonight.

  He appeared so ridiculous that I bit my lip to keep from laughing, even as I realized what he was doing and felt a flare of anger. Would that Collin and I had enjoyed nights like this to jest with one another.

  “Not that, then.” Ian abandoned his effort, unaware of how close he’d come to breaking my stony exterior. “You’re angry I ordered the Campbell men out to hunt and kept the MacDonalds here.”

  “Shouldn’t I be?” That had made me, and the rest of the Campbells, more than a bit wary. What more perfect opportunity might there be for MacDonald men to take advantage of or outright murder the women and children left behind?

  “You do realize that I armed those Campbell men with nearly everything we have,” Ian said in his defense. “The Campbells know this land far better than the MacDonalds. It made sense that your clan should hunt. And had they wished, it would have been far easier for them to turn on us, slitting throats or filling us with lead. At the least they could have easily shot me or slit my throat.” Ian brought a hand to his neck, and I knew a moment of panic, imagining him killed. This was followed immediately by alarm that I actually wanted him to stay alive and safe. How could I possibly feel this way?

  Ian leaned forward, staring at me intently. “What is it, Katherine?”

  “Nothing. You should stop looking at me like that.”

  “Like what?” He continued to stare and sounded far more innocent than I believed him to be.

  “As if I’m a tasty dish you cannot wait to devour. It’s unholy.”

  “Is that why you’re angry with me? Because I enjoy feasting my eyes upon you? But you do look tasty.” Ian’s mouth crooked in a smile that I would have found endearing from Collin.

  “I’ve no intention of devouring you,” Ian continued. “I should miss your company too much. You must forgive me the indulgence of taking in a lovely sight. It is about the only pleasure left to me.” He flexed his hands, free at night of bandages, but scarred enough that movement was still restricted. His black eye had long since healed, and so largely had the other cuts and bruises on his face and arms. Yet I knew he suffered.

  Often in the evenings I would notice that his mind seemed to be in another place, one that caused a grimace of pain or his lips to be pressed together as if holding in deep sorrow. I wondered if he was thinking of Collin, or if some other, bitter memory haunted him. Either way, I did not feel sympathy. His behavior, prior to coming here, had been deserving of misery.

  “I am not your pleasure,” I said, bristling at such a term. “And even were I— Collin never looked at me that way.”

  “Then he is an even bigger fool than I believed.” Ian wiped his hands on a rag and tossed it aside.

  “Don’t,” I ordered, a fragile quiver to my voice. “Don’t you dare criticize him. You’ve no right.”

  “I’ve more right than you’d believe.” Ian stood and ran a hand through his regrowing hair, making it stand on end. “He brought you here and endangered your life.”

  “He brought me home,” I corrected.

  “He spent much-needed MacDonald money on travel when it wasn’t going to be replaced.”

  I stiffened in my chair, the subject of my spent dowry still a sore one. “Neither of us knew the money was gone.”

  “He left the MacDonalds floundering and stirred up the pot with the Campbells— not exactly doing his part to save Scotland.”

  “That is quite a lot of responsibility and blame to put upon one man.” I looked down at the shirt spread across my lap. It had belonged to Collin. And I was mending it for Ian, who—like the rest of the MacDonalds— had arrived with very little. “Collin was a good man, but I doubt even he had it in him to save Scotland.”

  “Aye, well the old Campbell laird believed he did.” Ian’s words were so soft I almost missed them.

  “My grandfather believed in me too. If you think he’d be disappointed in Collin, I imagine it is nothing compared to what he would feel about me.”

  “Collin said your grandfather had this astounding faith in both of you.” Ian brought a hand to his forehead in a gesture that was familiar. During the short time I’d been married to Collin, I had seen him take this same stance many times, and on each occasion I’d thought he looked as if he carried the weight of the world. It seemed that weight had been transferred to Ian’s shoulders now. I wouldn’t have thought it possible.

  The Ian I had known on our journey to Scotland had been cold and calculating, with vision only for himself and perhaps his own clan. The Ian I’d witnessed since then seemed to waver between ruthless and compassionate, depending upon whose company he was in. An improvement, to be sure, but still...

  The irritation I’d felt just a few moments before melted away as I looked at him—physically altered, yet I dared not hope internally changed as well. If only I might trust that was so, I would take his scarred appearance and changed heart any day over the striking figure he used to pose.

  “I’ve almost finished with this shirt,” I said, holding it up to show him. Our conversation had grown too serious for my liking, and I feared allowing my own heart to soften anymore toward my self-proclaimed protector. He can protect me from Brann, but that is all. I would not be safe in any way if I allowed myself to get close to Ian or to trust him.

  “Thank you.” His brief smile appeared again, and he returned to the pile of boots. He’d ceased wearing his old ones, complaining that they were no longer comfortable, since his foot had been recently stepped on by a horse.

  “How many pairs do you need?” I asked, only half-teasing.

  “These aren’t for me.” Ian held up a shoe, dangling it from his fingertips. “What do you think?”

  I blinked, making sure I was seeing correctly. The shoe was small, much too small for a grown man, and appeared to be cut from the leather of Ian’s old boots.

  “Is it for a child?”

  “Aye.” He turned the shoe over, holding it between his knees, and resumed his work. “Winter is coming, and too many weeuns in bare feet.” He inclined his head toward the pile of shoes and boots on the floor beside his chair. “These weren’t being used by anyone. The Campbells are a lazy, wasteful lot.”

  I took umbrage at this, mending a shirt for him, as I was. “So who are those to be for?”

  Ian looked up at me, a sly grin on his face. “MacDonald bairns, of course.”

  Weary of our conversation, I said nothing but put the shirt down and retreated to the safety of the screen, to change from my gown. My composure was slipping, and sooner or later I would laugh— or possibly lunge at him— because of something he said. Better to hide in the refuge of sleep.

  With the
longer strings Bridget had found for tying my corset, I had the process of undressing down to a few minutes. Ian knew his assistance was not needed and thankfully stayed away.

  But this night when I went to get into bed I found him already there, shirt off, sitting on the edge, as if waiting for me. My breath caught as my eyes riveted to a recently-healed cut zigzagging across his midsection. It marred an otherwise perfect torso, one that brought to mind Collin when he had removed his shirt the evening I pushed him in the water.

  A corner of Ian’s mouth lifted. “Not entirely indifferent then, are we?”

  “I’m looking at your scar,” I said a little too quickly. “You’re one big mess of them. I’m amazed you survived whatever happened before you came here.”

  “Perhaps it is time I tell you what happened.”

  “Maybe some other evening.” I didn’t trust myself to more conversation with him tonight.

  “How long are we to continue this way?” he asked.

  “Another nine months and twenty-three days,” I retorted. I kept careful track, lest he attempt some trickery at the end of our term.

  “And then— after that— will you acknowledge me as a person?”

  I dropped into a chair. “I acknowledge that now. You are the person who pointed a pistol at his own brother and who tried to drown me. You are the man who raged at me in this very room and destroyed many of its belongings like some savage animal. You are the person who had a man beaten almost to death, because he was Brann’s follower. You are the man who would have banished an innocent woman for her part in trying to help me. You are someone to be wary of.”

  “I see we have slightly different points of view,” Ian grumbled. “And I must say yours is skewed rather dangerously. The man was beaten because he threatened you. He was found on the stairs in possession of a knife. That he confessed to working for Brann only confirmed what I had guessed. And he is fortunate to have escaped with his life, considering his intent was to end yours.”