“Not someday,” I said, taking his face in my hands as I looked at him. “Today. Now. You are forgiven.”
Collin buried his face in my lap as a sob tore from him. His shoulders shook, and he wrapped a length of my gown in his fist, as if hanging on for dear life.
I placed a hesitant hand on his head, stroking his soft hair, offering what comfort I could, though I felt in great need of it myself.
Perhaps sensing this, he raised his head, then scrubbed at his eyes with his shirt sleeve. He stood and pulled me up with him and wrapped his arms around me. My own twined around his waist, holding tight. I never wanted to let him go. We stood thus, gently swaying in a tender embrace, until my head nodded suddenly in sleep.
Collin pressed a kiss to my forehead, swept me up, and carried me to the bed. He slipped the shoes from my feet, covered me with the blanket, and sat beside me. “A song for sweet dreams?”
“Yes, please.” I snuggled deeper into the quilt.
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
Tho' they return with scars?
These are the noblest hero's lot,
Obtain'd in glorious wars.
Welcome, my Varo, to my breast,
Thy arms about me twine,
And make me once again as blest
As I was lang syne.
He kissed me gently. “Happy new year, Katie.”
Chapter Forty-three
I woke sometime late in the afternoon to the sound of the rocker, its steady rhythm familiar and comforting to my otherwise confused mind. I watched the man seated there, the tender expression on his scarred face and the gurgling laughter of the child who so readily accepted him.
My grandfather’s face had been scarred as well. But as a child, I’d hardly noticed his appearance. His kindness and love made him the great man he was. Much like—
“Collin?”
“Aye?” He raised his head and looked at me, a tentative smile curving his lips.
Relief and a kind of giddy joy swept through me, chasing away the lingering cobwebs of uncertainty. It wasn’t a dream. He is alive. He’s here.
I sat up and pushed the quilt from me, feeling shy when I realized my gown was bunched about my legs. Collin politely averted his gaze as I struggled to fix it.
“I’m sorry if I woke you,” he said. “I missed the lass, so I asked that she be brought to our room.”
“I don’t mind.”
“I also thought there less chance you would try again to shoot me, if I’d the bairn in my lap.”
I laughed, my heart lighter than it had been in months.
“That is a sound I’ve not heard in a long while. I have missed it.” Collin pulled his attention from Lydia to me, perched on the edge of the bed.
As tired as I had been last night, there had been no late-night laughter. That I had found it so quickly this morning and felt a happiness I’d never thought to know again seemed the greatest of blessings.
“For all your generous words last night, I was not sure how you would awake,” he admitted.
As erratic as I’d found his behavior as Ian, mine had been just as bad, if not worse. We had each forgiven, but the bridge back to one another also required steps of trust. I gave him one now. “You are still and forever forgiven. Furthermore, I promise never to point a gun at you or your brother ever again.”
“Ian would be relieved to know that.”
“I have missed you,” I said, still confused and with many questions about the past months and all that had been and not been between us. It was going to take some time to recover from and to figure out how to move forward from here. I doubted we’d had our last discussion or argument about it. Regardless, one thing I knew.
From the very depths of my soul, to every corner of my heart and mind, with every fiber of my being, I was grateful Collin had returned to me.
Though spring was months away, this morning the world seemed fresh and new, life alight with possibility.
I moved nearer to the rocker, my heart swelling as I looked down on the two people I loved most in this world.
Collin held his hand out, and I placed mine in it. Such a simple thing, and the greatest of luxuries at the same time. I wanted to hold onto him and never let go.
He began singing again, the same melody from last night, or rather this morning, when he had tucked me into bed.
Methinks around us on each bough
A thousand Cupids play,
Whilst thro' the groves I walk with you,
Each object makes me gay.
Since your return, the sun and moon
With brighter beams do shine,
Streams murmur soft notes while they run,
As they did auld lang syne.
“You fell asleep before I even made it to the second verse.”
“We were up all night. Go on,” I urged. “I’m listening now.” The words were certainly an apt description of my feelings this afternoon, and it seemed, perhaps, Collin’s too. “Lydia likes it as well.”
Her eyelids were fluttering in almost sleep, the way babies do, fighting it as long as they can.
“Aye, well, perhaps the rest should wait until later.” Collin’s gaze shifted from mine, but not before I caught the slightly abashed look in his eyes.
“Mmhm. Just what sort of words are you singing to our child? Ought I be concerned?”
“Possibly,” he admitted with a grin and squeeze of my fingers. He stood, then crossed to Lydia’s cradle and laid her in it, rocking it gently and humming until her breathing deepened and she succumbed to dreams.
I went to the basin to wash my face and attempt to rid my hair of tangles. My reflection in the glass confirmed that Bridget’s creation of berries and curls had most certainly not been intended to last through the night.
Collin backed away from the cradle with silent steps. “We’ve more to discuss, but I don’t want to wake her. Would you mind very much if we slept a bit ourselves?”
“I just woke,” I reminded him. “How long have you been up?”
“I haven’t slept.”
Our eyes locked in the mirror. “Not at all?” I’d been so exhausted this morning that even having my husband miraculously returned to me had not been enough to keep me awake.
“I wanted to look at you awhile,” Collin said. “In case you’d had a chance to think about things and...” His voice trailed off, and he shrugged.
And I wanted you to leave. I set my brush down, turned, and closed the space between us, stopping directly in front of him. “If I was starting to love the man I believed to be Ian, it was because I saw you in him.” I stepped forward, wrapping my arms around Collin’s waist and laying my head against his chest. He pulled me close and nuzzled his face close to mine.
“Katie.”
My name sounded like a prayer on his lips. I’d missed that and everything else about him, about us.
“I wanted to dance with you last at Hogmanay last night,” I confessed. “But I was so confused. I couldn’t think why Ian had lied to me about his brother’s death when really he was alive and—” Ian is alive. The proof was hanging on our wall.
“Look.” I pointed to my partially completed painting. “Ian is why I painted the ocean. What if that’s the ship he’s on? Or... if I paint our future, then maybe that is the ship we are to sail on— to find your brother.”
Stunned silence from both of us followed this possibility. Collin’s eyes traveled from the painting to mine, no doubt reading what I felt, what I somehow knew. The tempest-tossed ship I’d painted was not Ian’s, but ours.
“How can we leave?” Collin whispered. “What will become of everyone here?”
I hadn’t an answer for him and was still lost in my own shock. Marry in June when the roses grow, and o’er land and sea you’ll go. Finlay had known long before me.
The sounds of excited shouting and some sort of commotion reached us from the hall below. Whatever or whoever it was ascended the stairs rapidly, based on the sou
nds outside our door.
“I’ll head them off before they wake Lydia.” Collin hurried to the door, opened it, and stepped into the hall. I continued staring at the painting of the ship tossed upon the water. When were we to go? And how? We were managing all right here, but we’d no funds to speak of for travel or anything else.
The bedroom door opened again, and Collin reentered and stepped aside, making way for the man behind him, nearly unrecognizable beneath a scraggly beard and filthy clothes.
He nodded to me and spoke in a familiar voice. “Good to see you, lass.”
Finlay had returned.
* * *
“Brann has been granted both the keep and the Campbell lands.” Finlay paused to rub his hands before the fire as Collin, Alistair, Mary, and I exchanged looks of dismay.
All we have worked for here.
“There’s more.” Finlay’s mouth pressed into a grim line, and he leaned forward, hands braced on his knees, as if standing upright was painful. He appeared far older than when he’d left, and I wondered what he’d gone through the past months, in both delivering the documents and staying to fight for their acknowledgement. That he had made it safely to Edinburg and back again was no small matter.
“The adjoining MacDonald lands are forfeit to Brann as well, for grievances put upon him by Collin.” Finlay paused, straightened, and spoke as if quoting someone. “The MacDonald traitor having been shipped off to the Colonies for indenture is no longer entitled to said lands. A reward of twelve pound sterling is offered for the capture of his twin brother, Ian.”
I slumped in my chair, grateful I was already sitting. Collin appeared too agitated to even pace. He stood, unmoving, his mouth set and gaze distant.
“What are we to do?” I asked.
“Leave,” Collin said. “And quickly. We’ve no choice. It was one thing to oppose Brann, but you’ve seen firsthand we cannot withstand the English.”
“You’ve a little time,” Finlay offered. “At present Brann is a guest at court in Edinburg. The New Year festivities there are to continue another three days. Supposing he left then, or even before, you should have another week to prepare.”
“Unless he is already on his way here.”
Everyone turned to look at me.
“Katie, do you know something?” Collin asked.
“Only a vague unease that I feel we should trust.” The last time I had such a feeling we had discovered Edan’s corpse.
“I’ll need your help, Alistair,” Collin said. “We must gather everyone that we can. We’ll meet in the hall at seven tonight to discuss what is to be done.”
Chapter Forty-four
“A moment, if you please, Katherine.”
I turned from changing Lydia to see Finlay lingering in the doorway after the others had gone, Collin included, to alert as many as possible.
“Of course. Come in.” I lifted Lydia to my shoulder.
Finlay stopped a few paces into the room. “I’ve something for you,” he said in that same endearing way he had months ago.
“More paint?” Once I would have welcomed such a treasure, but the time for painting anything was far gone. I knew without asking that we would be able to bring only the necessities.
“Something better.” Beneath his shaggy overgrowth of beard, Finlay’s smile was barely visible. As he had before, he reached in his sporran. I leaned forward, eager for whatever gift he bore.
“A letter!” I exclaimed as he withdrew the parchment. Anna’s familiar script spanned the front, and I felt a sudden longing for home and the sister I had loved. “Thank you, Finlay.” I didn’t kiss him this time, being uncertain whether or not I could find anything to kiss beneath all that hair. But I squeezed his hand appreciatively after I had taken the letter from it.
“Glad to bring a bit of happiness,” he said. I stepped back, expecting him to go, now that he had delivered his gift. Instead, he took another step into the room. “May I?” He nodded to the paintings.
“Yes, of course.” I lingered where I was, bouncing Lydia, as he crossed the room.
“Fascinating,” he said when a minute or more had passed in which he had studied both paintings intently. “Where all planted therein doth not grow. Of course,” he murmured, trailing a finger below the bottom of the picture with the rowan. “I’d no idea what that meant when I said it, only that it was a key to the future.”
His hand moved to hover over the seascape. “Per mare per terras. Not an easy journey, I think. But survivable.” He turned abruptly.
“Your gift and talent are remarkable, both in vision and execution. Good day, Katherine. I shall see you in a few hours at hall.”
He left me speechless— at my own stupidity. What we sought had been right in front of me this whole time. I had painted it, had pounded my fist upon it. The letter slipped from my fingers, forgotten, in light of what I finally understood.
* * *
The ground was frozen. Had I put my mind to this more earnestly when Finlay had first given me the clue, I might have been digging in soft soil beneath the summer sun. Instead I huddled beneath my cloak, the hood pulled up to keep out the falling snow. My hands were numb already, and only one narrow end of the stone had budged at all.
“Look high and low where all planted therein doth not grow.” Finlay’s words to us last July. They’d made no sense then, but now seemed a most logical clue. A kirkyard, of course. How had I been so blind? Bodies planted in graves definitely did not grow.
Per mare per terras. By sea or by land. We had crossed the land. Now it was time to sail the ocean. The dowry Grandfather had left was going to make that possible. If only I could reach it.
I wrenched the knife beneath the loose side once more, pressing on the handle with all my weight. With a sudden pop, it released from the earth, revealing the hole I had been expecting beneath. Pushing the stone aside on the snow-covered grass, I reached inside. My hand closed over a bag— one of many. I withdrew it, feeling the heavy weight and hearing the jingle of coin. Kneeling beside the tree, my cold fingers fumbled with the string until I’d opened the sack, revealing the sparkle of gold. Sovereigns.
“Merciful heaven.” I dug my hand in, letting them sift between my fingers.
How many were there? Fifty? One hundred? In each pouch? The siphoned money from how many years? Grandfather might have been giving some of his wealth to help displaced Jacobites, but it seemed he’d been stashing quite a bit away as well. We were saved.
Thank you. I raised my face in gratitude to the clouded sky and saw instead Father Rey’s leering eyes and flapping jowls.
“Stealing from the church. Tsk. Tsk. You know the penalty. Which hand would you like cut off?”
“It isn’t stealing. This is my dowry.” I dropped the bag in the hole and reached for the stone to cover it. Father Rey’s shoe came down painfully over my fingers.
“It’s in my kirkyard. It belongs to the church.”
I shoved his leg back with my free hand at the same time I yanked the other from beneath his foot. He stumbled backward, grabbing at the remnant of my Hogmanay curls to keep his balance.
I screamed. My eyes blurred, my stinging scalp all too reminiscent of Brann’s treatment. “Let go!”
“Do as she says. For now.” Brann’s voice was more than a memory. The same boots that had broken my arm and bruised my ribs appeared in my peripheral vision. He looked just as I had seen him in my dream.
Father Rey thrust me away. I clung to the tree for support and pulled myself up.
“I admit you have surprised me, Katherine. How fortunate for me you did not die after all.” Brann knelt and retrieved the bag I had dropped. He opened it, and the light of greed flashed in his eyes. “When Donaid reported to me that Malcom had taken you without any trouble, I doubted that you’d any ability to see the future. Since you’ve managed to find this, it appears I was wrong, and there might be some value to keeping you after all.”
“I will not be kept,” I said defian
tly. “Neither will any of that gold— by you.”
“Still foolishly brave I see.” He smirked. “No worries. I am a patient man. Between Father Rey and myself, we should be able to purge you of those traits.”
As the two men exchanged evil smirks, I snatched the bag from Brann’s fingers. The tree behind me blocked any quick escape, and he yanked me to him before I’d taken two steps.
“Which arm did I break last time? Shall we try it again?” He twisted my arm behind my back, forcing me against his chest. The sack dropped to the ground as I struggled then stopped at the feel of cold steel against my throat.
I closed my eyes, shutting out Father Rey’s sinister expression and fighting through the blinding pain in my arm and the terrifying prospect of it being broken again.
It came to me, as it had many times before, that this was not what Grandfather had intended for me. It was not what he had seen my future to be. Too many times I had been here before, in similar circumstances, at another’s mercy. My strength was no match for a man’s, but my words... My gift.
“If you kill me, or even harm me now, you will lose your life as well.”
“Not likely, when you are here all alone. They won’t even know what’s become of you. I could have you in that grave with your husband, and no one would ever realize.”
“I’m not alone.” I’d Ian to thank for that lesson— that it was unwise to go alone in search of anything, be it water or gold. “The kirkyard is filled with MacDonalds and Campbells.”
“Aye, dead ones.” Brann gave a harsh laugh, though I noted Father Rey appeared uneasy as he craned his neck, looking for evidence I spoke the truth.
“You are not to die today,” I continued. “I’ve seen the date of your death, inscribed on your gravestone, in this very yard.”
A Promise for Tomorrow Page 32
