A Promise for Tomorrow

by Michele Paige Holmes

  “Truly?” The thought of getting actual sleep was tempting. Not to mention Ian and I had many things to discuss, later, after all had quieted here.

  Mary nodded. “It would be our pleasure.”

  I hesitated a few seconds more. “She’s sleeping now, but I’m not sure how long that will last.” I passed her into Mary’s outstretched arms, then reached to rub my aching shoulders.

  “You’re still rocking, lass,” Alistair chided teasingly.

  I realized he was right and with some effort stopped the continuous motion. In some ways it felt like I had been dancing all night.

  “She’ll need the wet nurse in about two hours,” I said.

  “I’ll see to it she gets fed. You enjoy the rest of the night. I know what it is to have a bairn— or eight.” Mary laughed.

  “Eight,” I said faintly. “You have my undying admiration, Mary.”

  She laughed again and moved off, taking Lydia to the quiet of their quarters for the night. I watched her go, feeling the angst I did each time Lydia was out of my sight. I felt so grateful for the respite, yet I missed her already. Did all mothers feel this, or was it just me, because of the circumstances by which Lydia had become mine? Given the way the evening had gone thus far, it didn’t seem likely I was ever to know what it felt like to have a child of my own flesh and blood.

  Collin— possibly alive, and an ocean and fourteen years of indenture separating us. Ian— unforgivably deceitful.

  He made another turn around the floor with Mhairi on his arm. I wavered between attempting to get his attention before the next dance or simply going up to bed. I could at least get sleep tonight, if not the answers I sought. Maybe our conversation would be best tomorrow, when I might more rationally process all that had come, and was yet to come, to light.

  “Is that the lass you were worried about on our travels here?” Alistair inclined his head toward Mhairi, her head thrown back, her beautiful dark hair swinging about as she laughed at something Ian had said.

  “Yes.” I bristled. Was Alistair trying to make me feel worse than I already did? “She cared for Collin a great deal, I think.”

  “Appears not much has changed.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “All is not always as it seems.” Alistair gave the same cryptic warning he had before, on the occasion I had been overwrought with jealousy, believing that Collin loved someone else.

  That someone else was now dancing with the man I was handfast to. And though my feelings for Ian were rather jumbled and precarious at the moment, that still did not take away the fact that he had given his pledge to me.

  If Alistair is suggesting that Mhairi has developed feelings for him or he for her—

  Ian rotated another quarter turn toward me, arm raised once more, his face flush beneath the lanterns swinging overhead. For a fraction of a second the light shone on his raised hand, illuminating its imperfections, including a thin sliver of white barely visible as it trailed from his palm to his wrist. An older scar— a perfect line.

  I blinked, and he turned again, and I couldn’t be certain of what I’d seen.

  Collin? My own wrist throbbed as a whisper of the past cut through me.

  Don’t leave me. Don’t let me go. I was five and begging him not to let the English soldiers take me.

  I won’t. Collin’s hold was fierce, even in the face of the weapons pointed at him.

  Keep her hand, then, if you’re so fond of her. We’ll take the rest.

  Searing pain. Collin’s release. Blood spilling on my gown.

  “Are you well, Katherine?”

  My head snapped around to see two of the women from the spinning room watching me closely, as I backed into the crowd and fumbled toward the wall.

  “Was it a vision?” Ellen asked.

  I nodded, still too stunned by that glimpse into the past and even more by what I thought I’d seen just before, right here in the hall. A minute ago? It felt like much more time had passed, but Mhairi and Ian still circled the floor.

  “Would you like us to fetch the laird for you? Or perhaps Mary?”

  “No. I’m well enough,” I lied, though time seemed to have suspended and then reversed. As when it had happened previously, I was left weak and reeling.

  “Excuse me,” I said, and began making my way toward the stairs. I needed fresh air but dared not go outside alone. My room would have to suffice. At least I could be alone to think. There were too many people here, and it was stifling.

  It was only my imagination. The hour was late, and I had been tired even before the evening began. It is only because I heard news of Collin today, only because I am hopeful he is yet alive.

  I turned my hand over, staring at the faded scar running down my palm.

  Chapter Forty-one

  By the time Ian staggered into our bedchamber, some time after one in the morning, I’d both gathered my wits, having formed a semblance of a plan, and worked myself into an emotional frenzy. He closed the door, leaving the room in complete darkness, as I stepped from behind the screen, pistol leveled at his chest.

  “Don’t move.”

  He startled and swore an oath but did as I said. “What are you about, Katie? It’s black as the Earl of Hell’s waistcoat in here.”

  Katie again. “Light the lamp.” I spoke through clenched teeth.

  He took a step, then hesitated. “Are you alone?” He sounded wary, fearful.

  Not for himself, but for me. His concern didn’t sway my determination. In other circumstances I might have felt guilt at having worried him. But the emotions raging through me now were about as far from guilt as one might be. “No one else is here. Do as I say.”

  His tension expelled in a long breath. “You might have lit a candle yourself instead of scaring a man half to death.”

  You think that was frightening? Perhaps when he saw the expression on my face and that I’d a pistol pointed at him, he might begin to appreciate the gravity of the situation.

  My ears followed him as he stumbled about the room, muttering in Gaelic.

  “You weren’t there for the first footing,” he said, sounding hurt, of all things.

  “I was tending Lydia. You brought me a bairn to care for, remember?”

  “Aye. And has it softened your heart toward me? Not a whit.”

  If he only knew. Until this afternoon my heart had been steadily progressing toward forfeit to him. After five months of struggle against that very thing, I’d been perilously close to giving in.

  Light flared, followed by a soft glow emanating from the corner of the room. Ian put the cover on the lamp, then turned to face me. His lips parted as his gaze came to rest on the barrel of the gun.

  “Where did you get that?” He eyed the pistol with a wariness that bordered on respect. “Whatever this is about, seems you’ve thought it through.” He took a step toward me.

  “Stay back,” I warned, even as I moved to accommodate his nearness.

  “I wasn’t planning to attempt a New Year’s kiss, if that’s what has you riled.” He gave a derisive laugh. “You didn’t even allow me one dance tonight.”

  “You weren’t lacking partners.”

  “No,” he agreed. “Only the right one.” His eye hadn’t left the pistol. “Somehow I doubt jealousy is the reason for your sudden desire to shoot me. You’re angry about this afternoon. I wanted to explain, but I’d no sooner found Bridget than there was an accident at the well. I had to—”

  “Remove your breeks.” What he’d told me this afternoon was only the beginning of all that had me distressed.

  Instead of hurrying to comply, the tension slid from Ian’s face. A lazy grin replaced it as he took a confident step toward me. “There’s no need for weapons. If you’re wanting more from our marriage, you need only ask.”

  “We are not married.” Are we? I didn’t know what— or even who— we were anymore. Who the man I’d spent the last five months with really was.

  “A conve
rsation like this does give a man hope,” Ian drawled.

  “Take. Them. Off.” I moved my finger over the trigger, careful not to touch it. I’d no idea if the pistol actually worked or was even loaded. But he didn’t know that. I angled the gun lower, toward his leg. “Show me the scar on your thigh where I shot you.”

  This stopped him for a second. Fleeting surprise and then concern flashed in his eye and sobered his expression. “Wanting to check your aim before you give it another try?”

  “That depends.”

  “On what?” he asked, advancing another step. I held my ground, though just barely.

  “On what I see.” I sucked in a breath. “On who you really are.”

  “Who I—” The lines of worry returned to his face, lingered briefly, then transformed into a look and sigh that sounded part weary resignation, part relief. “Ah.” He removed his belt and tossed it aside on the bed. Next he untucked his shirt. I noted gratefully that it fell to mid thigh. I would be spared seeing more than necessary.

  He leaned forward as if to remove a boot, then lunged at me instead, knocking the pistol from my hand. Before my scream had fully formed, Ian had my arms pinned behind me.

  “If it were Brann here instead of me, he’d have taken your weapon and used it on you by now. In the future if you plan to shoot someone, best go through with it right off.” He released me as suddenly as he’d grabbed me, and I stumbled forward, only just catching the edge of the bed with my hands and avoiding a fall. Hot tears of humiliation and anger flooded my eyes.

  I’d lost my weapon, but I was still ready to fight. Face burning, fists clenched at my sides, I whirled to face Ian. “I hate you.”

  “So you’ve said before. No doubt you’ll mean it before the night is through.” He retrieved the pistol and examined it.

  “I mean it now. You lied to me.”

  “Next time you hold a man at gunpoint make certain the gun is loaded as well.” He tossed it on the bed, then moved to stand before me, close enough that I could strike him if I wished. “That was the last lesson you’ll ever receive from me as Ian MacDonald.” His lip wobbled slightly, and his voice dropped to a whisper. “There is no scar on my leg.” He pushed his sleeve up and turned his arm over, palm up. “Only this.”

  My focus riveted to the thin white line descending below his newer scars. Even in the room’s low light, it was plainly visible. I hadn’t really believed it before, certain my tired eyes had been playing tricks on me. I couldn’t quite trust it now. I felt as I had in the kirkyard, only worse, and sank against the bed, clutching the post for support. Collin? “Why?” Why would you be so cruel?

  Instead of answering right away he removed the patch from his face, revealing an eye that seemed whole and functioning, with only a slightly puckered, pink scar along the top lid.

  “Regardless of what happens in the next hours, I shall not miss this.” He tossed the patch on the bedside table behind him. “Once my eyelid healed, I kept the patch off a great deal of the day when I was outside, but it seemed you found my other scars revolting enough, so I kept this one covered when I was around you.”

  “I didn’t ask you to do that.”

  Was this one of his actions that had led to others believing me an unkind wife? Frigid, Bridget had said I was called. Just wait. I was feeling positively glacial right now, and the evening had just begun.

  With the patch removed, gone was the pirate I had been starting to love. Yet it didn’t feel as if the man I had loved was returned. I had neither. I searched this stranger’s eyes, Collin’s eyes, for some explanation, some reason I could not possibly fathom, for his elaborate and prolonged deception. Why had he hurt me so? Why lead me to believe he had died? Why masquerade as his brother?

  “God knows you’ve every reason to hate me,” he said. “And I’m about to give you more. But one thing I tell you first, and swear under heaven it is truth. I acted as I did for your safety. I meant to save your life, and I did. And I would do it again thrice. I’ve made a muck of things since, but in the end, if it allowed you to live, I stand by my decision.”

  My chest still heaved with anger, while grief— equal to that I had felt when I’d believed him dead— poured over me, a deluge of lost trust, tainted memories, and a betrayal so deep I’d no hope of ever recovering from it. I struggled just to breathe but wanted to scream. My pulse pounded in my ears, wild and erratic, and my head spun so that I could barely remain upright, reminding me of when the pain of my injuries had been so great I had lost consciousness. Would that I might do so now and then wake to find this had all been some sort of terrible, lingering nightmare.

  “You don’t look well. Come sit.” He offered his hand.

  I leaned away. “Don’t touch me.” Ever again.

  “Come seat yourself then,” he said, unfazed, as if he had expected my rejection. “It is apt to be a long night.”

  It had already been a long day and night, but I followed him to the set of chairs at the foot of the bed and waited as he laid the fire. I tried but could not put a name to the emotions crashing over me, submerging me repeatedly with their relentless pounding, much like the painting I had started, of a tempest at sea. If I did not make some sense of my erratic feelings soon and find my footing, I’d no doubt I would drown.

  He finished at the fire and took the chair opposite mine. “At least there was an easier way to answer your question— one that didn’t require removal of my clothing.”

  We agreed on that. I could be grateful we were not having this discussion with him sitting here, half-naked.

  “What if we had—” Been intimate before. I couldn’t say it. “I would have seen your leg.”

  He held his hands up as he shrugged. “You would have known the truth that much sooner.”

  “So this is my fault?”

  “No. Of course not, Katie. The blame is mine.” He turned his hands over in front of him, studying their many scars. “It was fortunate a little of the old skin was left as proof of my identity. I was starting to forget, myself. Also fortunate my hands mended so well. Mary is a fine healer.”

  “Does she know?”

  “Who I am?” Collin shook his head. “Only Alistair does, and I imagine Mary will tell him he’s off his head, when he tries to explain the truth. Mhairi is aware of my identity as well,” he added quickly. “Since the night of Lydia’s birth.”

  “You trusted Alistair and Mhairi, but not me?” I was jumping ahead with my accusations, still not knowing why Ian— Collin— had even constructed this lie to begin with.

  “It was not a matter of trust.” Collin leaned forward, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. “Telling Alistair became necessary. Mhairi found out quite by accident. She, too, noticed my scar. ”

  That explained the hostility I’d felt from her the past several weeks. I hated that she’d recognized Collin before I had, and that she knew him well enough that his scar was familiar. The scar he gained protecting me.

  “My deception began as a means to rescue you from Brann, and then to keep you safe a while longer,” Collin said.

  “And then?” Was longer the rest of my life?

  “I did mean to tell you today, in case that matters,” Collin said. “I started to. I tried.”

  “Why should I believe you? I found out.” I pointed to my chest. “First in the kirkyard, and then when I noticed your scar as you danced.”

  “In the kirkyard?” His brow wrinkled. “I’m the one who told you it wasn’t Collin in that grave. ” He gave a shake of exasperation. “I was careless in leaving my bandages off tonight, but I think a part of me hoped you might notice when we were dancing, or later when I raised my glass for the first toast of the year.”

  “You believed this conversation would go better if I’d a bit of ale in me and was surrounded by a hundred people?” It was going worse by the minute, Collin digging himself deeper in the proverbial grave. Which wasn’t a good analogy at all but brought forth the memory of when I had believed him in a g
rave— forever. Tears rolled down my cheeks as I fought to maintain some semblance of control. I hate him. I love him. I can’t. Ever again.

  “Just get on with it,” I demanded. “Before it is morning and Lydia is returned.”

  “I did not think it would go better downstairs,” Collin said. “I believed only that if you noticed my scar it might be a way to begin to tell you the truth. I’ve tried a dozen times before, and always my efforts were thwarted, or my courage failed. The night of Lydia’s birth I decided to give it up altogether. To remain Ian, your pirate.” Collin rubbed the scar over his eye. “I thought having you tolerate me as Ian was better than not having you at all. I feared this very thing— that telling you the truth would ruin any chance we had to return to who we once were.”

  He was right, on both counts. I had begun to care for him as Ian. I had come to the place where I felt that was better than loneliness. Better than this. For a few brief seconds I wondered what would have happened if I didn’t know the truth but had continued on in contented— if not blissful— ignorance. That was no longer possible and hadn’t been, since the crippling moment in the kirkyard when I had heard Collin’s name.

  There was still that matter to discuss as well— why that other man was in that grave, and who was on that ship. Those questions had set this entire chain of events in motion and had far greater implications yet. But even those would have to wait until later.

  “Supposing you were going to tell me, what changed your mind to that course— after all this time?”

  “You.” Collin turned his head to me. “I couldn’t be in a room with you without wanting to call you Katie, to claim you as mine and take you in my arms. Neither could I be near you and not feel stricken with guilt for my dishonesty and the torment I had caused. It was destroying me a day, an hour, a minute at a time. I decided that at the New Year I would make a new start— or try to anyway.”

  “Try, then,” I said. “I agree to listen at least.” Understanding and forgiveness remained to be seen.

  “I thank you for that.” Collin straightened in his chair. “I will tell you everything from the beginning, from the moment I left you the night of Liusaidh’s fire.” He took a drink from the glass on the table, braced his hands on his knees, and began.