A Promise for Tomorrow

by Michele Paige Holmes

  “I thought him so serious because he wished to ease my mind about you. And it was eased, somewhat— more than it had been since I left you. I had seen that Ian possessed leadership and strength, and a cunning mind, the likes of which he would need to save you from Brann.”

  Collin pressed his lips together. His eyes shone with a flood of grief that hovered, and the dam holding it back seemed soon to burst.

  “Ian bade me a tearful farewell. I had the thought to detain him, to call him back and insist that I leave first. But I ignored it, not knowing my brother was about to use that cunning mind—” Collin turned away so that I could not see his face.

  I waited, letting him struggle on a tide of angst. But I held on to his hand. I would not let it sweep him away from me. A minute or more passed.

  It ebbed, and he could speak again.

  “I watched Ian walk toward the MacDonald camp— the opposite direction of the patrol— until I could see him no more. Then, only minutes later, a shot rang through the grove, and I heard shouting below. I scrambled from my hiding place to see what had happened. Ian had doubled back and lay sprawled on the ground, unmoving, with a soldier holding a pistol above him. Another hauled Ian to his feet, but he could not stand on his own. I was close enough to see the blood running down his head.”

  I sucked in a breath and clapped a hand over my mouth. What had Donaid said yesterday? Collin had a scar earned from the captain’s claymore. Ran across the top of his head. Had to have nearly killed him. The hair hadn’t been enough. Ian had cut himself so there could be no mistake that he was the man they sought, that he was Collin.

  Collin’s hand was gripping mine so tight it was painful. A tear rolled down his cheek.

  “It wasn’t an accident. He meant to do it.”

  “So you could return to me.”

  “Aye.” Collin drew in a shaky breath.

  “He had all but told me what he planned. Had Paul not once been Saul? It was one of the stories our father shared when we were growing up, always telling us that a man could change and become better than he was. With the cutting of his hair and that most solemn vow, Ian intended the same— to become better than he thought he was. To become me. I should have realized. I even had the thought to call him back, and I didn’t!”

  Collin released my hand suddenly, stood, and began pacing again, his steps faster, agitation apparent in every part of his body. The muscles in his neck showed taut in the firelight, and his scarred hands clenched and unclenched at his sides.

  “They dragged him to a horse and threw him over the back. Blood seeped from his shirt, in a bright red circle. I felt paralyzed, as utterly helpless as when I’d heard your screams the night the English marched me away. My brother had just given his life for mine— for yours.”

  Collin turned sharply toward me, his eyes widened with rage, nostrils flaring. “I didn’t ask him to do that! I didn’t need him to be my father all over again. But he had done it anyway, all so I might come to you as I had the first time, all those years ago.” He flung his hands wide. “Always the Campbells. Always you. First, your grandfather had told me. How right he was.” Collin laughed bitterly, then spun away from me and gripped the mantel as if he wished to tear it from the wall.

  The man whose wrath had destroyed this room and frightened me months ago had returned. This time I did not fear him but understood the reason for his anguish. His anger directed at me wasn’t entirely unjust. Unaware of the sacrifice that had been made for my safety, I had acted only with the goal of self-preservation, which included avoidance of and disdain for him these many months.

  “You were angry with me when you came,” I said.

  “Furious,” Collin conceded. “It wasn’t fair, and I ask your forgiveness for it now. But yes, I blamed you in part for my brother’s death.”

  I thought of all I had done in the time he had been here— the rejection and rebukes, the dismissal of his feelings, the angry words spoken between us... Attempting to end my life. I was filled with deep shame and remorse. It was I who needed to beg forgiveness, as much or more than Collin.

  Minutes passed, and neither of us spoke. Again I wanted to go to him, to wrap my arms around him and soothe his suffering. I refrained now not because I was angry, but because I did not feel worthy to offer comfort.

  Gradually his breathing eased. I glanced at the window, trying to judge how much longer we had before Lydia was returned. I needed to hear the rest of the story, and Collin needed to tell it. Only then could we begin the work of bridging the gap between us.

  “When did you decide to pretend to be Ian?” I asked, breaking the silence that had become oppressive.

  “Not then. I railed against my promise to your grandfather— to you. Instead of coming straight here I tracked the English patrol, following them from a safe distance for an entire day and night. Ian was still with them, still unmoving. I’d overheard one of the soldiers shouting to the others that Ian was not long for this earth. The woman who had helped me escape was tending him.”

  “You might have been recaptured yourself,” I said, feeling anxious at the thought of him being so close to the patrol.

  Collin nodded. “I was careful, as much or more than they were careless. Now that they weren’t looking for anyone, they stayed to their camp, never bothering to see if an area was secure. The second afternoon they arrived at a farm— and shortly after set the barn on fire.”

  “Oh no.” I knew this part of the story.

  “Aye,” Collin said. “The man I went in after was my brother. But I did not come out with him. When I left that farm five days later, hardly able to seat a horse, I carried Ian’s remains with me— charred bone and ash, wrapped in a cloth.

  “I had a long journey back to the MacDonalds. A long time to think and plan. My brother was lost to me. Perhaps you were too. I could no longer be Collin MacDonald. He had died at the hands of the English. But I could become Ian. If I didn’t, if the soldiers somehow discovered that they’d been duped, then Ian’s sacrifice would have been in vain.”

  Collin’s expression was slack, his eyes dull. We were practically to the end. I recognized sharp pain blunted to the constant ache of loss. I’d been living with it myself for months.

  “Being Ian had other advantages,” Collin said. “I had been taken forcibly from here and was no warrior or threat to Brann. No hero. But Ian MacDonald had a reputation that preceded him, that of an unpredictable, unmanageable, and ruthless foe who was not to be denied what was his. Pretending to be Ian allowed me to find out quickly whether you lived or had died. When the gate opened and I saw you seated upon that horse—” Collin broke off, trying to look away again, but I caught his face in my hands and held it between them.

  “You were so battered,” he said. “Had been so close to death. I’d left, and you suffered.”

  “We both did.”

  “And then I had to hurt you more. When you saw the casket and fainted, I thought I had killed you.”

  “Alistair did too,” I said drily. “Your coming then was enough to make Brann abandon ship. Pirate,” I added softly. I released Collin’s face and brushed my finger across the scar on his eyelid. “This must have hurt very much.”

  “Nothing compared to believing I had lost you.”

  “Or losing Ian?”

  “Aye.” Collin leaned back in his chair, his expression far away. I needed to tell him what I’d overheard at the kirkyard, but I feared raising his hope. If Ian had been thrown in that burning building, how was it possible that he might be alive?

  “I have many things to apologize for,” Collin said. “The first being that I broke my vow to protect you. I should never have put you in jeopardy as I did, coming here.”

  “Collin—” How good it felt to say his name. “We had little choice but to come if we intended to keep our promises to my grandfather.”

  “Second,” he continued as if he had not heard me. “I ask your forgiveness for not returning to you straightaway when I had
made my escape. I allowed myself to think of others first.”

  “Thinking of your brother and the many families dependent upon you was not wrong. I would never fault you for that decision. Especially when it was my failing that led us to being separated to begin with.”

  “What do you mean?” He raised his head to look at me, though his shoulders remained hunched, such was his burden of guilt.

  I told him of my incomplete dream, how I had left the vision early when I had sensed there was more I needed to see. “Had I the courage to remain, I would have seen it was a trap, meant to take you from me.”

  “That would have only postponed the inevitable.” Collin sighed. “Brann had summoned the English, and he knew I had a pistol. I would have been arrested either way. Naught but my own foolishness to be blamed.”

  “Arguing about who is at fault will do us no good,” I said.

  “Aye,” Collin agreed. “I only meant to begin to apologize for the many ways I have hurt you.”

  “There is but one that matters— that I don’t understand. Why did you not tell me, once you had come? Why not trust me with your secret?”

  “I planned to,” Collin said. “I had to arrive as Ian, and remain so to others. But I planned to tell you as soon as your health could endure the shock. I tried— the night you came to the hall to see the casket. We were interrupted, and I decided that was best, that it would be better if you believed me Ian the night of our handfast.”

  “You tried to tell me then as well.” I recalled the way he had knelt before me, repeating the same vows of our wedding, asking me to remember.

  “I did,” Collin said. “You were so obviously repulsed and frightened by my appearance, and by the time we went up to bed, I had convinced myself it might be better if Collin had died. I did not think you would believe me if I attempted the truth. You wouldn’t want to believe that the monster before you could be your husband.”

  “You ought to have given me the chance.” I wanted to believe better of myself, to know for a fact that he was wrong. But I had been appalled and frightened by his appearance. At first. “There were other times?” I asked.

  “Many. It was a constant thought and guilt that would not be appeased. After a while it seemed you might be growing used to my appearance, that you might be able to overlook it, and that brought worries all its own. Ian was dead. Brann was gone, though still very much a threat. I was weak— in my desire for you. Having you believe I was Ian, having you mistrust and outright dislike me, made it easier for me to stay away from you. I ask forgiveness for that as well.”

  “For keeping your word?”

  “For using my deception as a means to keep it. I ought to have been strong enough to be honest with you and to stay away from your bed.”

  “All this wasted time,” I said sadly, remembering the way we had been before all this had happened, when I had wanted him in my bed. “Nearly half a year of our marriage.”

  “I know,” he said. “And I’m sorry.”

  We sat in silence as I absorbed all he had told me thus far, the reasons he’d had, the forgiveness he had asked for. Some things were easier to forgive than others. I knew it would have to all be forgotten, his wrongs absolved, if we were to have any hope from here.

  “The night Niall surprised us I came close to telling you,” Collin said. “But then the way you looked at me after I killed him— more terrified of who I was than my scarred appearance— I knew it would never be the same between us. You would never believe I wasn’t Ian.”

  “I really am an open book.” That was exactly how I had felt that night. I looked down at the floor where Niall had died. It had been scrubbed clean, but the memory still disturbed me.

  “Even now you are doubting,” Collin said.

  “No.” I looked at him, denying the accusation. “It is only—”

  “I do not seem the same man you married.”

  “In some ways you are not.” How could he be, given the experiences he had lived through and the loss he had sustained? As surely as his outward appearance was changed, scars remained inside as well, marking him in ways he had not been previously.

  I hugged my arms to myself, feeling chilled again, and unsteady. I had answers now but didn’t know what to do with or about them.

  Collin built up the fire again, and I returned to my chair after taking a blanket from the bed and wrapping myself in it. I’d not realized how cold the room had become. We had been so intent in our discussion that the hearth had grown cold, even as daylight had stolen into the room.

  “Mary will be bringing Lydia any minute,” I said.

  “She won’t.” Collin turned from his work to look at me. “After I left you at the kirkyard I found Alistair and asked if he and Mary could keep Lydia until this evening, so you and I would have the time we needed. To talk,” he added. “I really did mean to tell you.”

  “I believe you,” I said. “I believe everything you’ve told me.”

  “Well, there’s something,” Collin said.

  It was a start. That first solid plank on a bridge requiring many.

  “You’re tired,” he said, observing the way I was curled up in the blanket. “I’ll hurry with the rest. There is not much more to tell.”

  “I’m listening.” I’d laid my head against the back of the chair and closed my eyes but a few seconds and would have been asleep in a few more. We had waded too deep into the waters of the past to stop now. Sink or swim, we had to continue to the other side.

  “Everyone thought you were Ian, and you could not tell them otherwise.” Could not be yourself. And I thought I had been lonely.

  “Everyone except Alistair. I needed his help to make this work, so I’d no choice but to take him into my confidence. You’ll recall that before I did, he and the other Campbells were ready to break down your door and fight me to the death for you. Had I not told him, there would have been bloodshed.”

  “I remember. Every hour of those very dark days.”

  “They were dark for me too, Katie. I needed you as I never had before, and I could not have you and had caused you even more pain instead.” Collin turned from the fireplace, his shoulders hunched once more.

  I stood, hesitant to come any closer, not because I hated him or was afraid, but merely because I didn’t know how to bridge our gap. I didn’t know if he wanted me beside him, or wanted me to stay here— only a few paces away but with an ocean of suffering between us.

  “I don’t hate you,” I said finally, quietly. Please let him believe me. “I didn’t hate you before when I thought you were Ian. I just didn’t understand you.”

  “You may not even now. Sometimes I feel I don’t know myself...” His voice trailed off, leaving a suggestion of hopelessness in the air.

  Tell him. “Collin.” I touched his sleeve. “There is something I must tell you.”

  “Aye.” He turned to face me. I took a step closer.

  “Yesterday after you left the kirkyard, I heard Donaid and Father Rey speak your name. Donaid had seen the English captain of the patrol that took you. He’d been surprised to hear that you were dead and buried in the kirkyard. The captain said that you were yet alive and had been put on a ship bound for the Colonies just three weeks ago.”

  “He was mistaken.” Collin shook his head.

  “I don’t think so.” I took Collin’s hand and led him back to his chair. We sat, and he leaned forward, head cocked attentively.

  “The captain said that you had escaped but were then recaptured a few days later. They knew it was the same man, as you’d had a particular head wound and you still had it when they seized you again.”

  Collin’s shocked expression reflected what my own must have been when I’d overheard their conversation.

  “Ian alive? Impossible.”

  “Did you see Ian’s face when they put him in that barn? Are you positive it was him?”

  “No. I heard the woman screaming that he wasn’t yet dead. I thought it must be Ian, but I
never actually saw his face. Inside the barn smoke made it difficult to see, and the beam covered him.”

  I leaned forward excitedly. “It could be true, then. Ian might really be alive.”

  “Aye,” Collin said, wonder in his voice. His gaze flickered to the painting on the wall behind me, the unfinished seascape.

  I turned to look at it with him. “I don’t know what it means. I rarely do.” I still hadn’t deciphered what had prompted me to paint the tree in the kirkyard in such vivid detail.

  “No matter,” Collin said. “If Ian is on a ship bound for the Colonies there is little I can do about it.”

  I faced him again. “You can hope.”

  “I am already,” he admitted. “You have not shoved me out the window or told me to leave your room and never return.”

  “I did plan to shoot you,” I reminded him with a smile.

  “With an unloaded gun,” he replied, offering his own, tentative grin.

  We sat staring at one another, inane smiles upon our faces. It felt like we were seeing each other for the first time, after a long time apart. Though really, there had been very little. I reminded myself of all we had shared together, from meals and work, to arguments and that one, passionate kiss. And lately, quiet nights with Lydia in the bed between us.

  I didn’t know what to feel and even less what to say or do when, a second later, Collin slid from his chair and knelt before me.

  “I have made peace with the loss of my brother, though it pains me still. Will you tell me now, if I must do the same of my wife? Or might it be that you may someday forgive me?”

  I closed my eyes, shutting out his face, still beautiful to me, and tried to summon my anger of last night. It was a heavy emotion, requiring much effort to maintain and eclipsing all others. I couldn’t find mine. It was gone, burned out in the hours between, as light as the ashes that lay piled below the grate. Later today those would be swept up and tossed away, or possibly given to Eithne to be made into soap.

  Something old turned to something new. Collin didn’t need to beg my forgiveness. He had it already and would a hundred times more if it came to that. We had been bound once by promises neither of us had been old enough to understand. What connected us now had become much more powerful. An old promise to be faithful had given way to a new promise of love today, tomorrow, and every day forward— even though we were both imperfect, though we had both made grave mistakes.