Yesterday's Promise

by Michele Paige Holmes

  “Our food is almost ready,” he said by way of greeting. Considering what Alistair had said about Collin thinking I was leaving him, and Ian’s unnerving assessment that I would not be Collin’s wife for long, talk of food seemed rather unexpected. I stood there dumbly for a few seconds, trying to think how to respond.

  “Or would you rather go upstairs?” Collin asked, misreading my lack of response for exhaustion. Or other interests? “Your trunk has already been taken up to the room.”

  This was enough to snap my mind back into focus. The last thing I wanted was to go upstairs with him. “I would prefer to eat down here, thank you.” I walked past him and seated myself at the table before he could offer further suggestions.

  If Collin thought my behavior odd, he did not comment on it, but seated himself opposite me and signaled the server that we were ready for our food.

  “You did well today,” he said, in a rather begrudging tone, as if he did not really wish to offer the compliment or could not quite believe it true. He glanced at me. “It was a long ride. No doubt you’ll be feeling it tomorrow.”

  I was feeling it already but wasn’t about to share that with him. “We sold my horse some months ago, and I have missed riding. It was a fine thing to be able to do so again. And even finer to be away from the carriage. I thank you.”

  “No thanks necessary.” Collin took a sip of whatever was in his cup and indicated with his hand that I might do the same. “I had it filled for you earlier.”

  I brought the cup to my lips, hoping for cool water but found instead something considerably stronger— some sort of ale, I guessed, though I was not familiar with the taste. I took but a small sip, not trusting the drink or my ability to consume it without becoming intoxicated before the night even began.

  Instead I attempted to start a conversation that I hoped would both last a while and answer some of my many questions. “About my father—”

  “Mm-hm,” Collin grunted, his gaze remaining fixed near the tavern door.

  I pressed on. “Why do you believe he is responsible for my fear of carriages?” I’d been thinking on this throughout the day. There was my entire recently discovered past that I remembered nothing of. Any knowledge of previous events or relationships might help me better navigate a future vastly different from the one I’d imagined.

  “You do not remember the day you left Scotland?” Collin said, finally pulling his gaze from the door to look at me. I wondered who he was watching for, then caught sight of Ian, lingering in the shadowy entrance.

  “No.” I shook my head. “I remember nothing of my life before England.”

  “Nothing?” His face seemed to pale, and his mouth gaped.

  “No,” I repeated. “Not my mother or my home in Scotland or—”

  “Me?”

  There seemed something vulnerable in Collin’s expression as he asked the question. No longer did he appear quite so stern and foreboding as I had first believed. Or possibly it was only that he seemed less fierce compared to some of the other MacDonalds. Compared to Ian.

  I thought that perhaps if Collin smiled, he might be pleasant to look at. I hoped it would be sooner rather than later that I would get to test that theory. I wished I could remember him and if he ever was prone to smiling. But in searching the deep brown of his eyes and the lines of his face, I found nothing even vaguely familiar. Still, there had been that feeling when I’d first seen him, a jolt of recollection when our eyes met. Or had I just imagined that? Had I wished it so?

  “I don’t remember you. I’m sorry.”

  He sat back in his chair and considered me as I had just done him. I squirmed uncomfortably beneath his gaze.

  “If you don’t remember, how is it that your father came to convince you to return to Scotland and marry me? What did he tell you?”

  “Nothing.” My answers were all starting to sound the same. And how had he come to be the one asking the questions when I was the one in need of answers? “Father never spoke of you. The only time he ever spoke of Scotland was when he stood up for her. He went to parliament to protest the Act of Proscription. He lost his commission because of that.”

  His commission. His will to live. His health. His life.

  “If you think to convince me that he was a good man, you are sorely mistaken.”

  “He was a good man,” I said, rushing to Father’s defense. “How dare you say otherwise when you didn’t even know him.”

  “I did know him,” Collin said, his voice as quiet as mine had been raised. “You have forgotten; I have not.”

  I worked to reign in my temper. I’d had a lovely childhood in a fine home. Collin had seen none of that, none of Father’s stories when tucking Anna and me in our beds. He’d seen none of our outings together, nor the way Father spoke kindly of all things, encouraging our curiosity about the world. Collin didn’t know of Father’s quiet and gentle temperament and the way he’d astonished everyone when he took up the fight for Scotland.

  “It would seem I am at an unfair advantage,” I said coolly when at last I trusted myself to speak. “As are you,” I added before Collin could jump in with further insults. “I have known the man one way; you knew him in quite another— during a time when he was enlisted in the fight against Prince Charles and his supporters.”

  Collin acknowledged my speech with the barest nod. He’d gone back to watching the doorway again.

  “Will you tell me about my father during that time?” Will you answer the question I first asked? “Tell me what happened the day that we left for England. Let me hear the whole of it and judge for myself.”

  “Your father was good to you?” Collin asked. Something in his tone made it seem as if this was a new idea to him, as if he’d never considered that possibility before. “Or were you visiting his grave today out of duty?”

  Had that only been today? It felt as if years had passed since then. “He was good to me. I loved him very much.”

  “Then we had best leave it,” Collin said with finality. “The past is just that.” His gaze traveled beyond me again, to some other distant point. To a time that I was not now, or would be, privy to.

  With an inward sigh I conceded defeat— for the time being. But I knew I’d best come up with a longer-lasting topic, or I would find myself upstairs and alone with my husband within the half hour. I dared a glance at Collin and found him drumming his fingers on the table and looking with some agitation toward the door, where Ian still stood.

  “Excuse me a moment.” Collin stood and pushed back his chair, then strode across the room to Ian. I watched, uneasy, as they exchanged what appeared to be heated words. After a few minutes, Ian turned his back on Collin but not before he’d swept his arm in front of him, beckoning fellow MacDonalds to rise from the surrounding tables. I’d not realized that nearly all of them seemed to be present in the smallish room. Once they’d filed out the front door, the tavern became decidedly more quiet.

  On the way back to our table, Collin stopped by the bar and placed a handful of coins on the counter. I guessed these were to cover whatever drinks and food the other MacDonalds had consumed. He returned to his seat looking considerably less worried.

  Would that I felt the same. We were as alone as we’d been all day, and I almost found myself wishing there were still a few more MacDonalds for company.

  “They are not staying here?” I asked when Collin had taken a drink and leaned back in his chair.

  He shook his head. “Too costly— in more ways than one. We don’t want anyone to take notice of us. They weren’t to be in here to begin with. “Ian’s foolish idea. Wanting to stir up trouble, no doubt.”

  “He doesn’t like me very much,” I said, not particularly wanting to talk about Ian, but finding him as good a topic as any at the moment.

  “Ian doesn’t like anyone,” Collin said.

  Do you? “What an unpleasant way to go about life.”

  Collin grunted his agreement, then surprised me by speaking actual wor
ds on the subject. “When Ian was fourteen he was given over to the Munros. They hated the MacDonalds even more than the Campbells did and treated Ian cruelly. It was only two years ago that he gained his freedom. Until then I’d believed him dead.”

  I didn’t see what this had to do with Ian hating me, but I kept my opinion to myself. Collin had just spoken more words— excepting his vows— than he had to me all day, something I was not about to discourage. “And now, where does he live?”

  “At the MacDonald keep, of course. With me. We’re brothers.”

  My eyes must have shown my distress at this, because Collin’s mouth curved in what might have been a wry smile had he held onto it long enough. Instead the look came off as much more of a sneer— the same expression I’d seen on Ian just a short while before.

  “Not exactly the family you were hoping to marry into?” Collin lifted his cup to his mouth.

  “I wasn’t hoping to marry into any family,” I threw back, dismissing his sinister half-smile from my mind. I did not wish to draw parallels between the two brothers. “I hadn’t plans to marry at all— until last night, when my mother told me you were on your way for that very purpose.”

  Collin choked on the drink he’d been in the process of swallowing. “Last night?”

  I nodded. “At this time yesterday I had never heard of Collin MacDonald or Ian, or Alistair Campbell— or any of it— of you. I didn’t even know I’d Scottish blood.”

  Disbelief, then anger paraded across Collin’s face. “What did your mother mean to accomplish by that?” he demanded. “By waiting until we were almost upon your doorstep?”

  I shrugged. “She insisted that it was Father who asked it of her. There was only his letter, telling me that he had promised long ago that I should marry you. He asked that I honor his promise.” I held out my hands. “So here I am.”

  “You are either very courageous or extremely foolish,” Collin said. “I’m not sure which.”

  “Courageous sounds so much better, don’t you think?” I smiled, showing him how it was done and hoping he might follow my example. He glared at me instead.

  A slow learner. I withheld another sigh. “What choice did I have?” I asked. “We were about to lose our home, and Father’s letter led us to believe that if I wed you there would be a more substantial payment for my mother.” I frowned. This still did not sit well with me. “Though without your funds my mother would not have even been able to get to London to stay with her family there.” I said this to console myself more than anything, though it did not. Have I given myself away for nothing? Might I still have been in my attic— perhaps counting out the pounds paid to me by Lady Gotties for my painting?

  “Some mother, trading you away like that,” Collin said derisively. He’d drained his cup and took to refilling it again from the bottle on the table.

  “That is oft the way of marriage in England,” I said, wondering at my defense of Mother. Her behavior this morning had been rather wretched. “Fathers often trade their daughters away. Is it not so in Scotland?”

  “Sometimes,” Collin said absently. “Though nothing is as it used to be— as it was before the uprising. We’re too consumed with having enough to eat and a roof over our heads to worry much over bloodlines and such. Many couples simply handfast in front of a witness. Then, after a year has passed, their marriage becomes official— if they both live that long.” He muttered the last under his breath.

  The picture he painted set me to worrying again. Yet were we not at an inn, two bowls of steaming stew and a basket of fresh bread being delivered to our table this very minute? If Collin was truly that poor, how could he afford this meal and our lodging? I felt the need to apologize for the expense that I was.

  “I am sorry it was so costly to come to England.”

  He waved away my regrets and concentrated on his food.

  “Would it not have been simpler to send for me?” One woman to make the journey instead of two dozen men from different clans?

  “And who should have been your traveling companion?” Collin did not wait for me to answer. “Not safe.”

  If he’d said the words in a different tone— one that didn’t indicate I was, in fact, both an annoyance and a serious problem— I might have felt touched by his concern. Instead I felt frustrated with my new husband and his lack of compassion.

  My stomach chose that moment to growl with hunger. I hadn’t eaten all day, but I wasn’t certain if I could eat, uptight as I was. I took a piece of bread from the basket and nibbled it.

  “Should we be staying at an inn?” I asked. “Is it wise, if the others are not? Will they feel slighted?”

  Collin’s spoon stopped midair, and he looked up at me. “Would you prefer to sleep in the forest with Ian and the other men?”

  In the midst of twenty or so strangers or alone in a room with Collin? Neither choice seemed particularly appealing.

  “I don’t want to be a burden.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” Collin shoveled another spoonful into his mouth, eating as if it was his first meal in a very long time.

  He hadn’t denied that I was a burden. I nibbled my bread some more.

  “Eat,” Collin said, pointing at my nearly untouched plate. “I can pay for it. If you must know, your grandfather had set aside funds for when the time came that I was to fetch you.”

  “Oh.” So Collin was paid to marry me as well? The situation grew more discouraging by the moment.

  “Why did my grandfather not come himself?” I asked, feeling both anxious and excited to meet my real mother’s father.

  Collin’s eyes darkened. “He’s dead.”

  Of course. Just like my real mother, Father, his parents... I was surprised to feel disappointed. I should have known. I should not care.

  “Why did you come to get me, then?” If neither Grandfather nor my father were there to make you? “Why did you marry me?” Surely there were women in Scotland who would love to marry a laird.

  “Long ago I gave your grandfather my word.”

  “So we are both bound by promises made to another and by another long ago?”

  Collin met my gaze. “We are bound by promises made by us. Long ago and today. My word was binding then, as it is now.”

  Don’t even think you will get out of going upstairs with me tonight, is what he might have said.

  “I am grateful, at least, that this is not at your expense.” You aren’t paying for this meal or our room. I know I am legally your wife, but you are a stranger, and I do not feel as if I owe you anything— yet.” I would have to behave as a wife sometime soon. I knew that much. Thanks to Anna. But did it have to be tonight?

  Collin’s gaze slid from mine, down to the table and his near-empty bowl.

  Was that guilt I caught flickering in his eyes?

  “You ought to know—” he began, and for all the world it sounded like he was about to make a confession of some sort. “You came with a dowry sizeable enough that my clan stood to benefit from it.”

  “Ah—” Hurt and shock competed at the forefront of my mind, followed by another, even more sobering realization.

  If I’d felt trapped by my predicament last night, Collin must have felt— must still be feeling— the same ten times over. I’d needed to marry so that Mother and Timothy would be all right. Collin had an entire family— families, a clan— to worry over. His cause was that much larger, and the necessity of going through with the marriage that much greater if he stood to obtain funds for his starving people. He might not have wanted me, but he needed me— or rather, my money.

  “Scotland is not so very different from England,” I said.

  “No,” Collin agreed, his own voice sober. “In some ways not so different at all.”

  * * *

  I forced myself to finish the meal, reasoning that I couldn’t feel any worse than I did already, since Collin’s revelation about the true nature of our marriage. It was clear now why so many Campbells were present this m
orning, escorting us on our journey. They’d not come to see me, but to ensure that the terms of the contract were carried out.

  The same reason so many MacDonalds had lingered in the tavern? Keeping watch over me and, thereby, their investment? Ian’s earlier words took on a new, chilling meaning. Not likely he’ll be keeping you...

  “What would you have done if I’d refused to marry you?” I asked Collin before I’d quite realized the direction of my thoughts and stopped them from being spoken aloud.

  “I half-expected you would refuse,” he said.

  Half expected or half wished? “What would you have done?” I asked. What will you do if I refuse to go upstairs with you now?

  He shrugged. “Ian would have been happy. He’s not much for bargaining with the devil.”

  I laughed, a nervous giggle. “The Campbells are the devil, I suppose?”

  Collin nodded. “Though were you to add horns to Ian’s head, he’d be a good likeness himself.”

  My eyes widened, and I smiled. I thought, perhaps, that Collin almost did, too. Again, it did not last long enough to fully form. It was as if he was reluctant to have any sort of pleasant interaction with me. Every time I thought we’d made a little headway, he withdrew again, back to the morose quiet that led me to believe Ian had been absolutely right in his assessment of the situation.

  Collin doesn’t want you.

  “You’d best get some sleep,” he said, pushing back his chair and standing. “Tomorrow will be another long day.”

  Sleep? That I could be so fortunate. According to Anna, not much of that occurred on one’s wedding night.

  When Collin made no move to assist me I pushed back my own chair and stood, my movements stiff and awkward as my body protested the long hours of riding.

  So much for similarities in culture. If my husband was lacking in such basic manners, what might I expect from him tonight? Would he show me any kindness or consideration at all?

  He tossed a few more coins on the table and waited for me at the base of the stairs. Though the MacDonalds had vacated the tavern, I felt other eyes upon me as I crossed the room and imagined that each man here knew that Collin and I had just married and tonight was our wedding night.