Yesterday's Promise

by Michele Paige Holmes

  Collin steered me toward the carriage, where my trunk had already been taken down by a few other concerned-looking Campbells. He insisted I change inside with the curtains closed across the glassless windows.

  Only when I’d donned dry stockings and slippers, a clean shift and the grey dress I’d married in— the cleanest of my gowns, and still smelling very much like Ian’s horse— did Collin see to his own needs. Then we made our way solemnly to the Campbells’ fire.

  “Give her a swig of this. It’ll warm her.” Malcom passed a flask to the man seated next to him, and I watched— teeth still chattering— as it made its way around the circle of men surrounding the fire. Though the night was not particularly cold, I had my doubts as to whether or not I’d ever feel warm again. The long, terrifying minutes I’d spent fighting for my life in the river had left me chilled to the bone.

  The flask reached Collin. “Bit of whisky for you, Katie. Drink it slow.” He held it to my trembling lips.

  “Uisge-beatha. Breath of life,” Finlay said, ever ready to wax eloquent.

  Collin tipped the flask, and I took a sip, then almost immediately coughed most of it back out, much to the amusement of our companions. What remained in my mouth burned a path down my throat.

  “Good, ain’t it?” Quinn grinned broadly, what teeth he still possessed gleaming in the firelight. “That stock’s been said to burn the hair off a man’s—”

  “Quinn!” Collin made what I’d come to think of as the Scot’s sound in the back of his throat. “You’re speaking to a lady.”

  “Aye, but a Scottish one, a Campbell. So she’d best become accustomed to our ways,” Ruaridh said.

  “Perhaps not all at once,” Alistair suggested kindly.

  My head swam, and I could not entirely blame the small bit of drink. I’d not felt right since Collin pulled me from the river. I tucked the blanket tighter around me and suppressed a shiver.

  “Tell us what happened, lass,” Alistair encouraged.

  I didn’t want to recount it but knew I must. Especially for Collin’s sake. He, at least, was still in danger. I began with my foolish trip to fetch water and apologized to Malcom for losing his pouch.

  “Not a bother,” he assured, though his frown and furrowed brow said otherwise. “Drink up the whisky in the flask, and I can use that to store water in until we’re home.”

  Knowing the drink would only make me feel worse, I allowed it to pass by me as it made its way around the circle again. Instead I continued my story. I told them how Ian and Niall had prevented me from returning to camp, forcing me to the river’s edge.

  “You ought to have called for help,” Quinn said. “I was just in the meadow.”

  “That was what Ian wished. Had Collin— or any of you— come to my rescue, Ian and Niall meant to slit a throat.” Recalling the prick of Ian’s knife, my hand went involuntarily to my own neck.

  Collin had remained silent throughout my recitation, and I looked at him now, wondering what he was feeling. Was he surprised? Hurt? Did he feel betrayed by his brother, or had he sensed this coming?

  “We were fortunate tonight,” Alistair said. “But let us be all the more wary now.”

  “No MacDonald is a good MacDonald,” Malcom muttered from the other side of the fire.

  Ruaridh shoved him, so hard that Malcom fell backward off the log.

  “Watch your tongue, whelp. Have you forgotten who sits at our fire? Who had the blessing and trust of our laird and spent years among us?”

  “He doesn’t have the blessing of our laird now,” Malcom grumbled as he pulled himself up and retook his seat.

  Silence descended on the group, save for the crackling of the fire. All eyes, mine included, were on Malcom. What had he meant about the Campbell laird now? Was Collin not welcome there? Was that why he and Ian had spoken of delivering me to the Campbells, as if I was to remain there alone? But Collin had refuted that worry— hadn’t he?

  “Sorry,” Malcom said at last, glancing around the fire at everyone except for Collin and me. “He’s not a Campbell is all.”

  He spoke of Collin as if he was not sitting right among us, as if he was somehow less than the other men in our company. A few of them responded with their usual guttural noises, which I took, in this instance, to mean all was forgiven— for now at least. Prejudice on both sides had been building for centuries and did not seem likely to go away anytime soon.

  The fire had taken the worst of the chill away, and now I longed only for sleep. “I’m warm enough. May I rest now, please?” I addressed my question to Collin, having determined somewhere between leaving the river and sitting beside him at the fire, that I would endeavor from now on to be a more obedient wife. I had not disobeyed him exactly, with my visit alone to get water, but neither had I taken his warnings about Ian seriously— something that could have cost our lives.

  Collin took my hands in his and held them tight a moment. “I wouldn’t say you’re warm, but better than you were. I suppose sleep won’t hurt.” He stood, then helped me rise.

  I mumbled a goodnight and again expressed my gratitude to everyone. Finlay and Quinn’s timely arrival had saved at least one life tonight, for even had I managed to avoid crying out, it was likely Collin would have come looking for me. And Ian and Niall would have been waiting. That we had both come away mostly unscathed seemed no small miracle.

  “Don’t worry yourself over Ian,” Alistair called after us. “We’ve arranged the watch. Should he be fool enough to show his head here, we’ll be ready.”

  “Do you think Ian will come back tonight?” I asked Collin. His arm was around my waist, supporting me as we left the others and walked through the dark over uneven terrain.

  “Perhaps— or not,” Collin said. “I’ve no doubt he’ll have to be reckoned with at some point.”

  I shuddered, not wanting to think about such a confrontation, while at the same time feeling so exhausted that I could scarcely care about anything beyond sleep and warmth. So much so that everything else— even Ian’s threat— almost paled in comparison. “Wouldn’t it be warmer to make our beds near the fire?” I glanced over my shoulder at the cheery glow we’d left behind.

  “It would,” Collin confirmed. “But not as safe. That fire will burn for some time yet, illuminating all around it. I don’t want anyone coming into camp to be able to see you.”

  So he did think it possible that Ian would return this night. This ought to have terrified me awake. Instead I felt my steps slowing, my body dragging. I’m so cold and so tired.

  “What of the other MacDonalds?” My eyes flickered to their fire, some distance from the one we’d warmed ourselves at with the Campbells.

  “They’ll do us no harm,” Collin said. “I’m still their laird— perhaps even beyond this journey’s end. I’ve their fealty.”

  “What do you mean perhaps?” Did a laird not hold his position until his death? Collin wasn’t expecting to die, was he?

  “Ian was shortly to take my place as laird.” Collin stopped us as we reached the carriage. He retrieved blankets from inside while I leaned against it, eyes closed.

  “But why would you allow that?” I asked. Was it possible to sleep standing up?

  “It’s Ian’s right. He’s eldest.”

  “He’s reckless.” Only this evening had I begun to appreciate the difficulty Collin faced in keeping Ian from doing harm to me or anyone else.

  “Dangerous and temperamental, too.” Collin’s sigh sounded as tired as I felt. He jumped down from the carriage, blankets in hand.

  “Why then? Aren’t you afraid of what Ian might do to your people?” I threaded my fingers through my hair, attempting to comb out at least some of the tangles before I lay down.

  “I am concerned,” Collin admitted. “But I cannot be two places at once, and I need to be with you.”

  My hands stilled. I watched as he shook out a blanket, spreading it carefully across the ground. This was my fault. The ruin of the MacDonald clan could
be as well, if Ian was allowed to take over. I could not allow Collin to do such a thing.

  “If you had not married me, you wouldn’t be considering this, would you? Ian wouldn’t be taking your place as laird, putting your people in danger of— who knows what?”

  “But I did marry you.” Collin’s voice held no regret, yet I wondered how he could not resent me, and again why he had gone through with our marriage in the first place.

  “Is my dowry that much to make it worth it?” I asked, unable to come up with another, logical explanation.

  Darkness enveloped us, but as he turned to look up at me, I almost imagined a corner of his mouth lifting in a brief smile. “I would have married you without the dowry.”

  His quiet admission shocked me, warmed me considerably, and confused me more.

  “Come, Katie.” He stood, then tugged on my hand, pulling me away from the side of the carriage. Gratefully I sank onto the blanket he’d spread on the ground. While Collin continued bustling about I savored his words and continued running fingers through my hair, in a likely futile attempt to reduce the hideous tangles I knew would be present come morning.

  “You’ll sleep warmer if you plait it,” he suggested.

  “Aye.” My first Scottish one-syllable answer. Next thing I’d probably be making that noise in my throat to save opening my mouth altogether. “I haven’t my brush right now, and even if I did, I’m just too tired to work a braid.” I leaned sideways, intending to lie down and sleep, wet, tousled hair and all.

  “Wait.” A peculiar expression crossed Collin’s face. His brow furrowed in a look of recollection perhaps, then wry amusement. This time I was certain a corner of his mouth lifted.

  “What?” I asked warily, my arm supporting me in the awkward position of being half way between sitting and lying down.

  “I’ll do it.” Collin crouched in front of me and tucked a blanket over my lap. “I’ll braid your hair.”

  “You?” I’d never heard of a man plaiting hair.

  “Me.” There was a smile to his voice. He came around and sat behind me, allowing me to lean into him. “I’ll even tell you a story while I do.” Gently his hands took over, his fingers combing through my hair with a tenderness and skill I’d not expected.

  His ministrations quickly set my heart to racing and alternately left me feeling like a bowl of pudding at the same time. Heaven help me if he ever realized what power he could wield over me with such a simple touch.

  Perhaps he did realize.

  “You’ve done this before.” Mhairi. There was hurt in my voice.

  “Years ago,” Collin confirmed. “Let’s see if I remember.”

  Not Mhairi then. I felt myself relax, releasing the last of my jealousy. I had every reason to believe Collin took our wedding vows seriously. I will trust him. Even with my heart?

  His words had warmed me, but his touch felt like fire, waking me fully— arousing new feelings. Slowly his fingers separated the strands of hair, taking care with each, bringing me under his spell completely.

  He finished with my tangles, or those he could, and separated my hair into two sections. The first I pulled over my shoulder and held out of his way.

  “If I remember correctly, the secret to a good braid is three equally divided sections.”

  “That, and you must weave it tight,” I said.

  “Ah, but that is not always well-received. As with the story I share.”

  I waited as he separated the hair and began plaiting one side. I hadn’t worn my hair in two braids since I was a little girl, but he was taking such care with me, I wasn’t about to tell him that a single braid, down my back, would have been more preferable.

  “There was once a little lass,” Collin began. “Quite bossy and quite certain she knew all there was to know about everything.”

  “She sounds dreadful.” No doubt this was a tale about the younger me. Since I could not go back in time to correct my apparently poor behavior, at least I would not condone it now.

  “She might have been an unpleasant child,” Collin agreed, “had she not other qualities that made her likeable. But this story is about her bossiness and determination. One day the lass told me I must learn to plait her hair. And that I must do a proper job of it, too, or there would be grave consequences.”

  “But why you?” The answer came to me as soon as I’d asked the question. Collin had been assigned by my grandfather to watch over me, both an unusual and perhaps precarious assignment— if my displeasure at something made its way back to Grandfather’s ears.

  Recalling Alistair’s less-than-favorable descriptions of me as a child, I braced myself for more far-from-complimentary truths.

  “That was what I asked.” Collin tugged a bit too hard, and my head tilted to the side with his effort. “But the lass insisted that one day her life would be in danger, and I should be the only one around who could plait her hair. And doing so would save her.” He finished with the first braid and placed it carefully over my shoulder. “Hold this while I come up with a tie.”

  My eyes followed Collin as he got up and disappeared around the other side of the carriage. A few minutes later he returned, something clenched in his fist.

  “A bit of the laces. From your corset. They’re wet but should work fine.”

  Somehow I’d missed my sodden clothing being brought up to the carriage. I hadn’t given it a second thought since taking it off. The garments were ruined— or so I’d believed. But I had a feeling Collin felt otherwise. In the past year I’d learned that poverty makes for thrift. I wondered if I should soon be appreciating that principle far beyond what I’d experienced already.

  “So you plaited my hair when I was a child,” I said, bringing him back to the story when he’d tied off my first braid and started on the second.

  “I did. Took many a try for me to get it to your liking. How you carried on when I pulled your hair too tight, and how you complained that it looked messy when I did not. Once, when I had done a particularly fine job and the weave was extra tight, you complained and complained of a headache. Your grandfather finally dismissed you from the table and sent you to your room, and I enjoyed a nice evening, free of whining.”

  “I’m sorry I was such a wretched child.”

  Collin laughed— actually laughed— the sound so pleasant that I didn’t mind at all that it was at my expense.

  “You said that, not I,” he insisted. “Let me tell the rest.”

  “There’s more?” I winced, not from his braiding but from the discomfort of hearing about my past misdeeds.

  “Much more,” Collin said. “The tales I could tell.” He spoke with more animation than I’d ever heard from him, and I decided that if recalling my horrific behavior got him talking, then I would endure listening. Penance for wrongs committed long ago, I supposed.

  “The meal finished; evening turned to night,” Collin continued. “I had not seen you since your banishment. Your grandfather took me aside and spoke to me a while. All in all it had been a pleasant few hours, free of worry over my charge. I went to my place to sleep for the night and had just made myself comfortable when a terrible, high-pitched scream rent the air. I jumped to my feet and found myself face to face with a spirit. All white and ghostly, it floated from the ceiling, arms outstretched, and hair—” Collin paused and cleared his throat. I turned to look at him and caught him struggling against laughter.

  “Hair out to here.” He held his hands wide on either side of his head and then above it.

  “The spirit was me, wasn’t it?” My voice lacked the humor his held, but I could not deny that the story was amusing. And I knew what he meant about my hair. Anna used to make fun of me after taking out my plaits each morning. Her hair often hung in soft waves down her back, whereas mine tended to fluff and stick out at all angles. “How did I manage to float from the ceiling?”

  “You’d climbed up to a beam and tied yourself there with some cloth. You’d been sitting up there, waiting to scare
me— who knows how long— when I came up.” He held the second, completed braid out for me to see. “But I learned to braid and do it well. And here we are. Me saving you— from catching your death of cold, no doubt.”

  “I couldn’t have known this would happen.” While I believed the story of the mischievous ghost girl easily enough, I didn’t for one minute think I might have foreseen this night ahead of me, all those years ago.

  “That is the question now, isn’t it?” Collin’s voice quieted. “It’s said the Campbell leaders know the future. Your grandfather certainly did. Your mother as well, I’ve been told. And you...” His voice trailed off to a long moment of silence between us. “There are those who would use such a gift for their own purposes. You must be careful, Katie.” Collin wrapped both braids around the top of my head, then bound them together. “There. No wet hair to chill you— or less so, anyway. Now off to bed with you.”

  He spoke to me as if I was still that little girl he’d tended. For tonight, at least, I didn’t correct him— about that or the fact that I had no gift of predicting what was to come. My childish premonition had likely been nothing more than a ploy designed to make Collin pay me some attention by plaiting my hair. I could not see the future then or now. If so, I certainly would have seen Ian coming tonight. I would have seen Collin coming to marry me as well. And I had seen neither.

  “Lie down, and I’ll cover you up.”

  Too tired and cold to protest, I followed Collin’s suggestion. He pulled first one blanket, then a second up to my chin. He reached behind him for a third, from his own pile, and began to spread it over me.

  “You keep that one.”

  “I’m used to the cold and did not get as wet as you.”

  I disagreed. He’d been in the river, too, and one minute or ten, wet was wet. “We can share it,” I offered. “Spread half over the top of your other quilt.”

  Collin hesitated, then shifted his own bedding closer to mine. “All right.”

  “Thank you,” I said, feeling my eyes water from something other than pain or cold. I wanted to have him close. I was still scared, as much or more for him as I was for myself.