A Promise for Tomorrow

by Michele Paige Holmes

  Their steps and conversation drifted closer.

  “...insisted Collin is not dead,” Donaid said. “Or not of three weeks ago, at least, when they put him on the Ulysses, bound for the Colonies.”

  I gasped. Both men turned their heads my direction.

  Collin— alive? Was that what Ian had been about to tell me? And I kissed him! If Ian knew his brother was alive, what kind of new beginning had he believed this might be for us? There would be no us if Collin still lived and breathed. Anywhere. Even an ocean away.

  My impulse was to make myself known and demand that Donaid tell me what he knew. Common sense kept me in place, tense and waiting until their conversation had resumed. Why is Donaid telling this to Father Rey instead of to me?

  “You’re certain that is what the Redcoat captain said?” Father Rey asked.

  “Aye,” Donaid insisted. “They put Collin aboard with other fugitives near three weeks ago. The MacDonald had escaped earlier and was quite severely wounded when recaptured. But he was successfully retrieved and had been convalescing in prison until deemed healthy enough to sail. He was quite a bit of trouble, apparently, but still worth the price he fetched. The captain was not pleased to learn the usual lot of prisoners from us was to be indefinitely delayed.”

  “Nothing we can do about that at present,” Father Rey said. “The captain is positive the man was Collin? Those soldiers aren’t always the smartest,” Father Rey intoned.

  “I inquired to that,” Donaid said. “They assured me it was the same man. Collin had a scar earned from the captain’s claymore the day after they took him from here. Ran across the top of his head. Had to have nearly killed him.”

  Ian’s scar? What were the odds both brothers had the same injury? My mind spun. What could this possibly mean? Ian was here, and Collin was— Alive? Alive. My heart gave a jolt as if it had just restarted after a very long time. Tears mingled with the rain on my cheeks. Besieged with emotion, I slumped against my grandfather’s stone. Collin. Alive.

  “Who have we here, then?” Father Rey nudged Collin’s gravestone with his toe. “It was blasphemous enough to bury a MacDonald here. But now who knows what we’ve put in our hallowed ground. We’ll have to dig it up.”

  “That’s not the body I’m concerned with,” Donaid said. “But the MacDonald at the castle. What are we to do with him?”

  I was going to wretch. Donaid. This whole time. Covering my mouth with my hand, I bent over, parallel to the ground, praying they would go away. Collin. Alive. On a ship to the Colonies, but alive. Ian— in danger. And Donaid, the traitor who’d schemed with Brann and Malcom to take me from Collin on our journey from England.

  The answer to my prayer came as the clouds broke loose, increasing the drizzle to a steady downpour in a matter of minutes. Donaid and Father Rey returned to the kirk. I dug my fingers into the wet grass, hanging on, waiting for the world to right itself. When they had been gone several minutes I staggered to my feet, hurrying the opposite direction. Earnan met me at the gate, white-faced and tight-lipped. “You weren’t supposed to leave the yard.”

  “I didn’t. I promise.” I looked at him so he could see the truth in my eyes. If Ian was right, and I could not lie, Earnan should see as much as well. “I was kneeling at my grandfather’s grave when Father Rey came. I hid because I didn’t want him to see me. He lectures so.”

  “Aye, that he does.” The tension eased from Earnan’s face. “Just the same, next time I’ll accompany you.”

  “Of course.” I didn’t think there would be a next time. I didn’t want to come here again, but I did need to warn Ian that I had ferreted out at least one of our enemies. Or was Donaid only my enemy? Ian had known Collin was not in that grave. He knew he wasn’t dead and lied to me. Was it possible Donaid and Ian were somehow connected, though the conversation I’d just overheard made it appear the opposite? My head ached with the effort of trying to figure it out, and I shivered beneath my wet cloak.

  “We had best get you inside before you catch your death of cold.” Earnan offered his arm. “What was the laird thinking, to have you out in this weather? In the kirkyard, no less?”

  “I’m sure I don’t know.” What was Ian thinking? What are his plans?

  I felt the oddest mix of confusion, disappointment, hope, and anger. If what Donaid had said was true, Collin was alive, while the man I had begun to trust, and even care for, had lied to me in the most grievous manner. My heart felt broken all over again, as hope for the life I had planned with Ian seemed all but lost.

  But Collin, the husband I had worked to forget, might yet be mine.

  Chapter Forty

  “There, now.” Bridget finished tucking a sprig of winter berries through the curls perched on top of my head. “Right festive you look. No doubt the laird will take notice, and you won’t have to suffer as the barren bride much longer.”

  “Is that what I am called?” I looked in the mirror at her reflection behind me. “Are people saying I’m barren?”

  Bridget clucked her tongue and had the decency to look abashed. “I thought for certain you’d heard, given the company you keep each day with those gossipy women. It’s them who’re saying it.”

  “Ian and I have only been handfast five months,” I said, to myself as much as to Bridget.

  “Aye,” she said. “And you married near a month before that— half a year with a man to warm your bed. Plenty of time to get a bairn of your own growing in your belly.”

  Plenty of time if one was intimate with the man she was pledged to. A status I had reached with neither Collin nor Ian— would never reach with Ian if what I had learned this afternoon was true.

  And if it isn’t? Would I be devastated all over again? I had thought of little else but Collin the past two hours, through the hot bath that had taken away my chill, while caring for Lydia, and while waiting for Ian. He’d never come to finish our conversation but had sent Gordon to tell me there had been an accident at the well and he was needed there.

  Instead, I’d spent the time remembering the exhilaration of riding with Collin, our long conversations, the many attempts he had made to teach me how to catch a fish. Sleeping beside him, confiding in him, our declarations of love. How had I thought my relationship with Ian to be more? Yet this afternoon, before, it had seemed so. There had not been much joy between us, only work and strife, with the common thread of our love for our people— and now Lydia— binding us together. What I felt for him was different than what I had felt for Collin. Less romantic, more intense. A friendship borne of necessity rather than want.

  If I was being honest, and someone here needed to be, a part of me would feel relieved to find out nothing from this afternoon was real. I would not have to give up the connection I’d formed with Ian or revisit the devastation of losing Collin.

  I love Collin, I reminded myself again, as I had over and over this afternoon. Going in search of him would mean leaving Ian. I couldn’t love them both.

  “Are you well, lass? Shall we add a spot of color to your cheeks?” Bridget’s hands appeared in my peripheral vision, her large thumbs flexing, ready to pinch in the name of beauty. I ducked just in time.

  “No. Thank you. I’m tired is all. Lydia hasn’t been sleeping well.”

  “Well, smile then at least tonight, so as folks will think you’re as pleased with your man as they are. I’m not saying the gossip is true,” Bridget prattled on. “But if you were to show the MacDonald a bit of affection this eve, it could go a long way in dispelling the rumors.”

  “Rumors that I cannot have a child?” I didn’t see the connection.

  Bridget shook her head. “Those that say you’re frigid.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Some say you don’t allow the laird to touch you.” Her lips turned down disapprovingly. “Terrible fate to make a man suffer. They say he lets you alone so you can have the visions, but still...”

  I opened my mouth in surprise— as much at her knowledge of our situation as at her rea
soning. A few months ago she’d scurried away like a frightened mouse anytime Ian was near. The night I was handfast she’d pitied me, though she’d urged me to do what I must to appease the MacDonald’s temper. But now, he was her laird? And she was siding with him on this, of all issues?

  “I am not frigid,” I returned in a glacial whisper. “My husband died. Was I supposed to forget— and allow his brother to take his place in our marriage bed, just like that?”

  “Aye,” Bridget said, matter-of-factly. “That was exactly what you were to do.”

  “I don’t love Ian,” I said, defending myself while wondering if I perhaps did, just a little.

  “But he loves you, lass. There’s not a woman in this castle who does not see it— except perhaps you.” Bridget began gathering the leftover berries and ribbon.

  He doesn’t. Love me. “Take care to throw those away,” I said, thinking of Lydia’s siblings who liked to frequent the room to visit their little sister. “They may look pretty, but they’re poisonous.”

  Bridget scooped the berries into her hand and poured the lot into her apron pocket. “Well, that’s something,” she said. “You may not love your man, but at least you’ve no plans to poison him.”

  * * *

  He loves you. The three simple words were wreaking havoc within me, every bit as much as Ian’s declaration that Collin didn’t want me had in the early days of my marriage. Every bit as much as Donaid’s revelation that Collin might still be alive. Alive. An ocean away. But alive. And mine.

  Had Collin, knowing he was to be gone fourteen years in the Colonies, sworn Ian to an oath to come here and protect me? If so, had he also encouraged the faking of his death? Or, had Ian come up with that on his own? If any of my conclusions were true, I didn’t know what to do. I also didn’t see how Bridget could be right, how Ian could feel more than the mutual attraction I’d grudgingly acknowledged the night he kissed me. Desire was one thing. But love...

  I hadn’t given him any reason to love me, nothing in return for the many things he had done for me, the kindnesses he had shown. Nothing, save harsh and unkind words.

  Lydia squirmed in her blanket and started to cry, as was her pattern most evenings. I began swaying, hoping to keep her satisfied in Ian’s absence.

  “There, little lass. It’s all right. Mama’s here. I love you.”

  I did love her, though she had never given me reason to either, unless you counted crying and wet nappies. From the first moment Ian placed her in my arms, I’d felt the tug of motherhood, that magic of coming to know and falling in love with a child entrusted to you. I hadn’t expected anything in return for her care, but I’d received it anyway— an increase of love greater than I had ever imagined. It seemed the more I did for her, the deeper my affection ran.

  The list of things Ian had done for me since Collin’s death was long. If the same principle of care and service equaling love worked between a couple, then perhaps he really did— love me. Which left my own, confused feelings for him an even more jumbled mess.

  I didn’t want to think about it but couldn’t seem to help myself as I subtly attempted to both avoid Ian and follow his progress around the hall at the clan’s Hogmanay celebration. He’d arrived late— all the talk of the evening was of the child he’d rescued from the well— and was currently lingering with a group of MacDonald and Campbell men near the table filled with clootie dumplings. Dinner had been mutton stew, served in trenchers of fresh baked bread, along with ale and kegs of the MacDonald whisky, brought up from the cellar. Now the sweet smell of the dumplings filled the hall.

  I watched as Mhairi offered Ian a particularly large serving along with an overly warm and inviting smile.

  Or was that just my imagination? Instead of moving closer, I drifted away, speaking with a few of the women from our spinning group— the best I could do, at present, to mingle. I felt adrift, an observer more than a participant in the night’s festivities. My mind was elsewhere, circling endlessly around my heart’s dilemma. I lingered in the background, using Lydia’s fussing as an excuse to avoid conversation.

  Ian did not appear to be suffering under the same inner turmoil as me and seemed more than comfortable and on good terms with everyone in attendance, moving with ease among the various groups of both Campbells and MacDonalds, men and women. What a difference from last August, when the MacDonalds had been uncertain of his ability to lead and the Campbells had mistrusted him outright.

  Lydia fussed in my arms, and I realized she needed to be changed again. The dancing was to begin soon, and it was expected I would dance the first with Ian.

  Let them say I am frigid, I thought angrily and marched from the hall to my room, grateful for the excuse to avoid being close to him. I would stay up here until the dancing was well under way.

  “There now, sweet lass,” I cooed as I unswaddled Lydia. Legs that had grown chubby churned in happy response, and her smile melted my heart. “There’s my pretty girl.” I could tell already from her delicate features that she was going to be beautiful. Her older sister shared the same face, along with a head full of curls. I waited eagerly for Lydia’s hair to grow, hoping she would be similarly blessed.

  When she was dry and bundled again I settled in the rocker and sang to her, the steady rhythm and lullabies doing as much to soothe me as her. Music and the sounds of making merry drifted from the hall below. I contemplated not returning to the festivities at all but worried Ian might come up to fetch me himself. I’d no desire for an emotional scene in front of everyone else. What must happen between us could come later, when we were alone.

  Taking Lydia, I returned to the hall to find the tables had been pushed aside and the musicians for the ceilidh up on the dais. Sets for the next dance had formed in the middle of the floor, including one with Ian facing Mhairi. I wended my way through the throng gathered around the dancers.

  I watched as he whirled about with a smile on his face, seemingly ignorant of the fact or having forgotten that he had altered my world this afternoon. My anger burned brighter, that he should be so carefree after perpetrating such deception.

  Lifting Lydia to my shoulder, I faded farther into the crowd, patting her back and bouncing in time with the lively music. The steps and style were vastly different from any I’d seen in English ballrooms, and it seemed the participants— particularly the men— enjoyed the dance a great deal more.

  Someone nudged my shoulder. “You ought to be out there, lass.”

  “Gavin,” I exclaimed, overjoyed to see both him and Eithne standing beside me and looking well. The day Collin and I had spent with them remained one of my sweetest memories.

  Ian had gathered them, and what others would come, close to the castle as promised, providing them living quarters to see them safely through winter.

  “I’m afraid my years away from the Highlands have left my dancing skills lacking. I don’t know this one.” I repeated my rehearsed excuse.

  “Not much to the Reel of Tulloch,” Eithne said. “Excepting the bounce in your step and knee, and the turnabout. They say it was invented by a group of parishioners trying to stay warm while waiting in the cold for their tardy priest to unlock the kirk.”

  “Those dancing certainly look warm,” I remarked. In particular, Ian’s partner appeared rosy cheeked.

  “Aye, well it isn’t as good a dance as it used to be,” Gavin complained. “Breeches don’t make the flap a kilt does.”

  “Not nearly as exciting for the womenfolk,” Eithne added with a playful wink.

  I wondered how much of their banter was meant to soothe over the fact that Gavin could dance no more. Walking itself appeared difficult for him. Even if he’d remained stationary and let Eithne dance around him, his gnarled hands would not have been able to grasp hers as she turned a reel.

  “Life is certainly different than it used to be,” Gavin agreed. “No plaid, no pipes.”

  Much pain and little movement. I felt for him and Eithne and so many others with their d
aily struggles.

  Yet looking around, it was undeniable that those in attendance seemed happy. The Campbells, in general, appeared happier than when I had first arrived. Were we not, with this dance and meal, celebrating our hard work and continued improvements, the preserving both the people and the way of life as Grandfather had wished?

  In the briefest of speeches given when he arrived, Ian had reminded both clans of all we had accomplished— together. And that our new year would only be prosperous and happy if it began with joy and the continued break from the tradition of past animosity between our clans.

  Looking around the hall, I noted that most were well on their way to starting the year full of joy— and spirits. After weeks of careful rationing, this was one night when resources were flowing literally and liberally, for all to enjoy.

  Mhairi was still Ian’s partner, and when his hand wrapped around her waist lightly in the turn, I felt a flare of something discomfiting take hold in me. I should be dancing with him.

  I wondered how many people were looking at me, standing here by myself, and were pitying either me— the barren wife— or Ian— handfast to a woman who showed him no affection. I fidgeted with the blanket covering Lydia, self conscious in the midst of so many, not wanting their sympathy or judgment, but wishing suddenly that Ian would notice me— as he hadn’t seemed to all evening. I moved in more closely, until I had worked my way to the front.

  Knees bouncing, Ian turned toward me, one hand raised in the air, palm forward, his scarred hand held high for all to see. His other hand pushed the hair from his eyes, and I caught the sparkle of sweat across his brow.

  Alistair joined me at the edge of the crowd. “You haven’t danced once tonight, lass.”

  “Ian seems rather in demand, and Lydia has been demanding.”

  “Mary and I will take the bairn,” Alistair offered.

  “For the night, if you’d like,” Mary said, joining us. “We’ll be staying here until morning.”