I turned to him and lightly touched his hand. He pulled away as if I had burned him.
“Thank you,” I said. “It was most kind.”
He looked away with an unintelligible grunt. I smiled, not because I had discomfited him but because I had predicted he would react just as he had.
Progress. The first step in friendship was to understand the other person. Collin had understood me— or my fear, at least— and found a way to help me overcome it. And I was starting to comprehend him. He’d done a good turn; it was up to me to do the next.
“Is it safe?” I asked, peeking through the open window. “No glass or—”
“Alistair and I took care of that this morning.” Collin opened the carriage door, and I climbed inside, unassisted, so he did not have to touch me. I slid to the far side and looked out the empty windows. I heard the door shut behind me and felt the familiar lurch of fear. Gripping the seat, I turned, my mind filled with thoughts of escape. But there was no need for that. I wasn’t trapped. The lock was no longer in place, and the door came just barely to Collin’s knees.
“You will have to be careful not to fall out,” I observed.
“Aye.” He followed my gaze to the low door. “But this will work for you?”
The carriage rolled forward, and I inhaled deeply, breathing in the fresh, country air and enjoying the nearly-unlimited view. My fear slipped away, and not into full-blown panic or a sense of despair or entrapment. A miracle, if ever. “It will do nicely, thank you.”
“Good.”
I let him enjoy the silence he seemed so bent on and watched as the inn faded from view. The forest came up on either side of the road, and I peered out, trying to see how far ahead the others were.
“Four men are out front— far enough from us to limit the dust and to scout out any trouble. The rest are in the rear.”
“The roads are better here,” I said, sticking my head out the window to look at the dark ruts worn into the earth.
“They’ll be more bumpy, but the dust will be less.” Collin kept his face averted, looking out his side, away from me. But at least he’d answered.
The ride did seem bumpier than yesterday. I recalled Alistair’s information about the cache of weapons hidden inside the carriage and hoped our journey wouldn’t get so rough as to send them jostling about.
“Am I sitting on a dozen loaded pistols or a stack of sharpened sabers?” I asked.
“Pistols,” Collin said. “The swords are hidden in the cushion behind your head. Who told you?”
“Alistair.” I wished he was riding with us today. Thus far he’d been far more open about answering questions than was Collin. “I was glad to know what is required of me when I am a passenger.” I spoke with a confidence I did not truly feel when it came to weapons.
“Nothing is required of you,” Collin said, deigning to look from the window long enough to scowl at me.
I ignored it. We would have a pleasant conversation today if it killed us both. “If I understood correctly, you are the best shot of this company— both among the Campbells and the MacDonalds. You are so good, in fact, that were we to be waylaid by thieves, you could easily defend this carriage and its occupants single handedly.”
“Aye,” Collin said.
And modest, too. I looked away so he would not see the roll of my eyes. “And what am I to do in such an event?”
“Get down on the floor, stay out of my way, and try not to get shot,” he said tersely.
Words every girl dreams of hearing from her husband the second day of her marriage. Oh, Anna, you have nothing on my circumstance, dear sister.
“You’re able to cover both windows at once?” Even with the glass already gone, I found this rather difficult to believe.
“More or less,” Collin said.
“Well, which is it?” I demanded, giving him a pert look. “More sounds all right, but less might prove fatal.”
“I’m not going to let you die,” Collin said.
“Nor shall I let you perish,” I declared. “You take the right side, and I shall defend the left.”
It was Collin’s turn to roll his eyes. “You know how to handle a pistol?”
“More or less.” I did my best to match his surely Scotsman’s tongue, then folded my arms across my chest and slumped a little in my seat for emphasis.
“It’s no joking matter.” He leaned forward so as to catch my eye. “Especially once we’ve crossed the border. You’ll do as I say and keep to the floor if anything happens. Otherwise I cannot promise you protection.”
That same prickle of fear I’d felt last night during my brief encounter with Ian flared to life again. Collin wasn’t angry with me, but he was deadly serious.
“Promise me, Katie.”
“I will— I do.”
“And promise you’ll not say another word about our weapons. What we’ve with us are near the sum total of what each clan has to defend itself— not much. And it’s taken years to scrape these together.”
“And if found with them...”
“It would not go well for any of us. I need your silence on the matter.”
“Yes. Of course. I promise.”
On that renewal of our vows, Collin leaned his head back and promptly fell asleep. I rummaged through the basket and found a dry bun and some overripe fruit and breakfasted by myself. The minutes and hours slipped by, and with no one to converse with, my eyelids drooped lower until I, too, was near sleep.
My last thoughts were of my mysterious husband, and so I dreamed of him— that he cared for me. I imagined him close beside me and his voice, not gruff but tender, whispering in my ear.
“I should never have come for you, Katie. Bad enough that I let you go, but bringing you back is unforgivable.”
“In time you will understand,” Laird Campbell predicted. Silently I disagreed.
“My actions— the actions of our clan— had naught to do with the English or taking sides, but everything to do with knowing what was coming in the future, and wanting to prevent it, or at the least to preserve what little of Scotland we could.”
I scoffed. “Fighting against your own countrymen preserves Scotland?” I would never understand him, and certainly I would never wed his granddaughter. Though the part he’d said about me being a leader of his people and my own intrigued me.
“I thought to stop the rebellion,” Laird Campbell confessed. “If your prince had not crossed the ocean and set foot on our soil, if he’d not rallied so many clans against King George, if more clans had refused their support...” His scarred face drooped with mournful longing. “Scotland might have had a chance.”
Chapter Eight
The horses required rest, so at midday we stopped at the outskirts of Leeds. From what I could see from our vantage point overlooking the town, it appeared to be much larger than Nottingham, and I knew a moment of wistfulness, imagining walking the streets with my husband, looking in the different shops.
That is Anna’s fate, not yours.
I told myself to quit thinking of my sister, to quit comparing our lives. There would be no comparison. Hers was everything a properly bred English girl hoped for. Mine— I glanced over my shoulder at Ian, standing a short distance away and openly glaring at me— mine bordered on nightmarish.
Turning my back on the men, I picked my way carefully down to the River Aire, wishing the bank was not so steep and I might remove my shoes and soak my feet in the cool depths. The day was hot, and notwithstanding the breeze I enjoyed in the glassless carriage, I felt sticky and dirty and longed for a cool bath.
Instead I crouched down and gathered several stones in the palm of my hand. Walking closer to the river, I lobbed the first one in a graceful arc and watched as it splashed in the stiller waters near the edge. Circles rippled out from the point of impact. One, two, three—
“You’re not any better at that than you used to be.” Alistair stood beside me, his arm drawn back. He brought it forward and, with a flic
k of his wrist, sent a stone skimming across the surface.
“I wasn’t trying to skip it,” I said and proceeded to do just that, my own rock traveling nearly as far as Alistair’s had.
“Not bad.” He nodded his approval. “You ken who taught you that?”
“You?” I sent another rock flying, though this one didn’t go as far. I’d been able to skip rocks— a most unladylike skill— as long as I could remember, though I’d always preferred to watch the stones splash into the water and create ripples.
“Me? Hmpf.” Alistair shook his head, as if I was a hopeless cause. “I hadn’t time to be chasing my own wee’uns around, let alone entertaining another’s lass.”
“My father then,” I guessed.
“Him? Not likely,” Alistair said. “Nor your mother either.”
“Father wasn’t really the rock-skipping type,” I agreed. He’d been wonderful to me in many regards, but he had never been the sort with any time for play or frivolity. I could no more imagine the two of us standing by the shore throwing rocks than I could imagine us dining together at the king’s palace.
“You’ve your husband to thank for your skill.” Alistair tilted his head in the direction of the MacDonalds.
“Collin taught me?”
“Aye.” Alistair sat on the grass and began untying a cloth bag.
I settled beside him, eager for information about my past, especially anything having to do with my reclusive husband.
Alistair held an apple out to me.
“No, thank you,” I said, the overripe fruit I’d eaten earlier still churning around in my stomach from our bumpy ride. “I remember nothing of my life before England. Will you tell me?”
“Nothing?” Alistair frowned, the creases on his forehead deepening as worry crept into his eyes. “Collin said as much this morning, but I didn’t believe him.” Alistair shook his head, as if discouraged. “Well, this complicates matters a bit.”
“How so?” Even if I had remembered Collin, the memories would have been those of a little girl, not a grown woman. I didn’t see that it really mattered one way or another.
“Ne Obliviscaris.”
“Forget not?” I translated. “I’m afraid it’s a bit late for that.”
“That’s the Campbell motto,” Alistair said. “You can start by remembering it.”
“Ne Obliviscaris,” I repeated, leaning forward to show I was an eager student. “How was it that Collin came to teach me something, to even know me at all?”
Alistair bit into the apple before answering. “Laird Campbell— your grandfather— gave Collin charge of you. Your mother had just died, and Collin’s father had been killed. The laird figured the two of you might be good for each other.”
I looked at Alistair skeptically. “Father told me I was four when my mother died.” I didn’t know how much older Collin was, but certainly much too old, even at that time, to find a four-year-old girl good company.
“You were just a wee thing,” Alistair said. “Small for your age. And Collin got teased something fierce. The other lads used to call him nursemaid.” He grinned. “I mighta said it a time or two myself.”
“That seems a cruel task to place upon a boy,” I said. But more than that was strange about this tale. “How was it that my grandfather came to be giving orders to a MacDonald boy?” I looked behind us at the two distinct groups of men, tending to their animals and eating. “Were the Campbells and MacDonalds friendly then?”
“Heavens no!” Alistair laughed so hard that when he slapped his knee, I wasn’t certain if it was a gesture of amusement or if he was choking.
“The Campbells and MacDonalds were not on friendly terms,” I said, when, after several seconds, it appeared he was still incapable of speech.
“Never,” he gasped. “Enemies— since forever. No two clans loathe each other more.”
“It might have been good to know that yesterday,” I muttered.
“Collin was given o’er to the Campbells because his father knew of no other way to keep him alive.”
“Wouldn’t handing his son over to an enemy clan be the way to ensure his son’s death?” Perhaps this somehow explained Collin’s serious nature and the burdens I sensed he carried.
Alistair glanced toward the others as he seemed to consider my questions. “‘Suppose I can tell you a piece of it. You’ve a lot to catch up on— quickly.” He sounded worried. “After Culloden, Ian MacDonald— Collin’s father— was a hunted man. He’d been key in aiding the prince’s cause, and there was a price on his head— and on the heads of his sons.” Alistair paused to take a drink from his water pouch. “The three of them managed to hide quite a while, but Ian was wise enough to know his luck wouldn’t hold.”
Alistair stopped again, taking another bite of apple and chewing slowly.
I glanced at the other men. A few Campbells had wandered closer to us, but the MacDonalds still stood in a bunch, engaged in some sort of serious discussion. I understood that Alistair needed to eat, but I wished he would hurry and finish this tale at least, before we had to leave.
“Brave man, Ian MacDonald,” Alistair said, respect in his voice. “Came to see your grandfather. Said he’d give himself up to your grandfather, who could turn him over to the English, if only he would promise to spare one of his sons and see him safely raised.”
“Just one?”
“MacDonald had already given the other o’er to Isaac Munro. A mistake, if you ask me.”
I silently agreed, recalling what Collin had told me about his brother the previous night.
“The man’s ruthless. Kept his bargain to see the lad raised, but he showed him no mercy along the way. It was what Ian MacDonald had feared— and the reason he split the lads up. He hoped at least one would fare well.”
“And did Collin? With my grandfather?” I wanted to believe so, to think that Grandfather had been a kind man.
“Depends on what you consider well,” Alistair said. “Collin had plenty to eat and a place to lay his head. He wasn’t subject to cruelty. Wasn’t treated as a slave or even as a servant.”
“How old was he when his father died?” What is Collin’s age? Though his face was solemn, he did not necessarily appear old.
“Fourteen. The both of them. Twins, ye see.”
“I do now,” I said, not having realized it before. Though Ian carried an aura of danger, I would have guessed that Collin was the older of the two, by a few years at least. He might have been treated fairly with the Campbells, but something had happened to place the weight of the world upon his shoulders.
“They were tall enough to look like men and, as sons of the laird, old enough to have participated in most of the ‘45.”
I leaned back, my hands supporting me, and looked out to the river, thinking on Alistair’s revelations. If I understood him correctly, my grandfather had been at least partially responsible for Collin’s life being spared. And in return, he had asked Collin to first watch over me, when I was a motherless child— and then to marry me when I was older?
“Supposing I was good company,” I said, still doubting that at four years of age I had been anything close to a good companion for a fourteen-year-old boy, “why would my grandfather entrust me to the son of his enemy?”
“Good question.” Alistair finished the apple and tossed the core away. “But I’m not the one to answer.” He stood, and I gathered my skirts, scrambling to join him.
“You’re the only one who will talk to me,” I protested. “You have to tell me.”
“The only one for now,” Alistair corrected. “Give Collin some time. He’ll tell your story.”
My story or our story? I gave Alistair a last, pleading look, but he shook his head.
“The lad never betrayed your grandfather’s trust. And he taught you to skip stones. Took him weeks and weeks. Someone less patient woulda gone mad with it. It’s your turn to be patient now.” Alistair looked past me, down the road we would soon travel. “I don’t susp
ect you’ll have to wait long. There are things you need to know and understand. Collin won’t neglect to share them.” Alistair lifted his hand in farewell and trudged off toward the Campbells.
Left alone once more, I faced the river and tossed another stone, watching the ripples appear. I imagined the moment of impact was my father arriving in Scotland. The first ripple was meeting my mother, the second the two of them marrying. I was the third— my marriage to Collin the fourth? The ripples widened after that, spreading thin and uncertain in a circumference around the spot where the stone had dropped. What did my future hold? What were the events of the past that contributed already?
I skipped the last of the rocks, then brushed the dirt from my hands. I turned to go and found Collin standing apart from the others, watching me, his arms crossed as if angry.
What are you thinking? I wondered. And where is the boy who taught me how to play?
* * *
It was full dark by the time we reached our lodging the second night. No light hung above the door, and only a few dim lamps lit the inside. Collin spoke to the innkeeper and had us shown directly to our rooms, promising a meal would be delivered shortly. I thanked him, closed the door, and collapsed on a piece of furniture that barely qualified as a bed. Straw poked from the tick beneath me, and the lamplight revealed bedding that appeared long overdue for washing. I shuddered and rose quickly, pacing the room until my trunk was delivered.
I opened it and found the previous night’s sketch of Collin staring up at me.
“Hello again,” I muttered. “Lovely place you’ve got here. No expense spared, I see.” I withdrew my cloak from the trunk and spread it across the bed, feeling I’d sleep better knowing it was between me and whatever else might inhabit the sheets.
I straightened and stepped back from the bed, then nearly stepped from my skin as I caught sight of Collin standing in the doorway, two plates in his hand.
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