Yesterday's Promise

by Michele Paige Holmes

  I was also falling into some sort of trance, the plunge every bit as surprising as my spill into the river, the current of emotion sweeping me along just as swift. Every minute in Collin’s presence, every word he spoke to me, his slightest touch— all combined within me, stirring to life new and exhilarating and tender feelings. I kept reminding myself that I’d not even known Collin a week yet and could not possibly care for him so deeply. But that argument was quickly losing ground. He was my past, though I could not remember, my present— saving me, caring for me, patient with me. And he was my future and had given up his own as laird for me. For us?

  My only experience with romantic love had been watching Anna’s courtship and marriage. After only a few days with Collin, I knew that what we had— or had the potential to have together— went far beyond anything my sister had experienced. There was something more to us than romance or even friendship. It was as if we had been together forever already and had the strength of that bond, yet a newness of feeling, for me, anyway.

  I cared for Collin. I needed him. I didn’t understand how, exactly, I could feel this, but these emotions came from within and ran deep. The vows I’d judged dramatic seemed beautiful now, and I meant every one of them. I cared more for his life— that no harm came to him— than for my own. And that terrified me.

  Since pulling me from the river, Collin had been the epitome of a caring husband. I lamented that it had taken my near death to garner such concern and wondered if his attentiveness would continue after I recovered. After tonight I didn’t think I could bear going back to the silence of our first days together and hoped Ian’s disappearance meant we wouldn’t have to. I wanted to be near Collin always, to talk with him, to laugh, to plan and dream. If only the rest of the world would fall away and leave us alone.

  He lay down beside me, wrapping himself in his own blanket, then covering us both with the shared one.

  I closed my eyes, and though sleep beckoned, I did not give into it yet. Something— many things— from this evening and our conversation troubled me.

  Ian tried to kill me. First I’d been hated, and now I felt hunted. How could someone hate a person so much simply because of her name? Ian didn’t even know me. He’d made his decision before even meeting me it seemed.

  What kind of man did that? Certainly not one who might soon be leading others.

  I turned toward Collin. “Did Ian know you intended him to be laird?”

  Collin grunted. “Aye. We agreed to it when your father’s letter came. Ian had wanted the position for a while, but he wasn’t stable enough when he finally rejoined the MacDonalds. He’d been abused those many years, and it had left him less than whole.”

  I tried but could not muster any sympathy for Ian. I couldn’t see anything in him except a bloodthirsty, ruthless man, out to get gain any way he could. Even if that meant murdering his own brother.

  “The Munros did not treat him well.” Collin’s hands were behind his head, cradling it while he looked up at a night sky filled with more stars than I’d ever imagined. The creamy path of the Milky Way glittered above, like hundreds of jewels clustered together. I’d never seen it so clearly or felt its pull, beckoning me to follow, to find its end and discover the real treasure there.

  North, it seemed to say. That is the place for you. I could only wonder at what I would find there, in my mother’s homeland and the place Collin and I had begun.

  Had it not been such a trying day and terrifying night, were I not so tired and still shivering, sleeping beside him beneath the starry night would have been enjoyable. As it was now, I felt the cold and discomfort entirely worth our conversation and this new closeness.

  Collin continued his excuses for Ian. “Whereas I was given a place to lay my head within the very walls of your grandfather’s castle, given plenty of food to eat, and even a task that turned pleasant enough—” He glanced over at me with another of his near smiles that warmed me while at the same time making me feel strangely lightheaded— “Ian was near-starved, frequently beaten, worked like a slave, and led to believe our father had sold him to the Munros for a bit of silver.”

  “Wasn’t he old enough to remember the truth?” It was one thing for me to forget my four-year-old self. But it seemed entirely impossible that Ian should not remember the events of his fourteenth year.

  “Truth can be blurry,” Collin said. “Ian’s remembrance of the night the Munros took him was that Da pushed him down the hill and left him for dead. Myself, I did not see the fall, as it may be, only Ian lying limp at the bottom of the ravine. I wanted to go to him, but Da held me back. Told me he was dead and we must leave him or be caught ourselves.” Collin paused, his voice gruff. “I’d never seen Da weep before then. Never saw it after. Even when he left me behind and went to face the English and their rifles.”

  There it was again, that mention of his father and the English. I wanted to ask if my father had been one of those pointing a rifle at Collin’s father’s heart. I would have to ask that question someday, as it stood between us— but I hadn’t the courage tonight and didn’t want to risk what progress we’d made.

  While my mind had been with our fathers, Collin’s was still upon his brother.

  “Ian has gradually been getting better— more able to think of consequences, to act rationally. I thought him ready. And with the time come to bring you home, I knew he must be.”

  “Because you could not marry me and still be laird of the MacDonalds— even were we to live among them?”

  “Even then,” Collin confirmed, further stunning me. “Intermarriage between clans happens, but not between MacDonalds and Campbells. Never. What I have done amounts to treason, and it is only that I renounced my lairdship before going to England, and only the promised wealth my marriage offered the clan, that has allowed me continued association.”

  My knowledge of the workings of Scottish clans was limited, but I guessed enough to know that a lairdship was not something oft given up— without a fight, at least.

  “You truly planned to leave your people, what family you’d left, to give up living among them and being their leader— for me?” Those did not seem the actions of a man who did not want his wife. I leaned up on my elbow, searching through the dark to meet Collin’s gaze as he turned his head toward me.

  “That was my intent,” Collin said. “Though just now I don’t know what to do. If Ian is not fit to take charge, I cannot simply leave the MacDonalds without a leader.”

  “What, exactly, does a Scottish laird do?” I asked.

  Collin made a noise in the back of his throat. “He works. He cares for his people— who oft expect him to solve their problems, be they sick animals, an unfaithful wife, or a disobedient child, crops that fail, a house unfit to live in. To be a laird is to worry constantly over the affairs and welfare of many. It means providing for a great many and deciding what is best for the whole, even if that will mean a few suffer.”

  I thought of the sketch I had drawn on our wedding night. These were the burdens I had read in his face— or some of them, anyway.

  “It is a powerful lot of work and worry,” Collin said. “Not unlike being a husband,” he added with a low chuckle.

  “What do you mean?” Feeling indignant, I pushed up further, leaning on my arm.

  “To be a husband is to worry constantly over the welfare of one’s wife— be that altering a carriage for her comfort, finding someone to lace her corset or to do it for her when no one can be found, to cool my brother’s ire when she has insulted him, to pluck her from the river when she has fallen in—”

  “I didn’t fall. I was pushed.”

  “To see that she is warm, to plait her hair—”

  “Since I am such a bother, I’ll just go sleep elsewhere.” I leaned forward, intent on removing myself and my blankets, but Collin’s hand stopped me.

  “Let me finish.” His eyes held mine. “Being a husband is a heavy burden— because of the fear of what may be lost. Marriage is
the promise of having a friend— someone to stand at my side, to counsel with and confide in.” He waited a heartbeat— a few of them. Mine were fast and erratic at his simple suggestion that he might confide in me, might consider me his friend.

  Collin lifted my hand and turned it over, slowly tracing the thin scar along my palm. “Being a husband is to not be lonely for the first time in a very long time.”

  “Oh.” He has been lonely. I’d not expected that. I ought to have recognized the emotion in my sketch as well. My heart ached for him, with him. Had I not felt the same, first with Father’s decline, then with his passing and my being left out of Mother and Anna’s preparations for the wedding?

  And had it not started years before— my own fault, I supposed— with my preference for staying at home instead of going out? I had not minded— much. Safe at home had been better than terrified while traveling. Or so I had told myself while watching the carriage conveying my family away. I’d spent those silent days and nights lost in painting, imagining myself alone on a mountain that overlooked the world. But hidden in my art and deep within myself, I longed for company.

  “I want to be your friend, Collin.” In that moment I wanted it more than I’d ever wanted anything.

  “Long ago you were. I’ve missed you, Katie.”

  I’ve missed you, too. Had I, without even realizing it? I slid beneath the blankets and lay on my side again, facing him. “I’m here now.”

  “It’s different.” He shifted our hands so that our palms pressed together, fingers entwined. “You don’t remember.”

  “I want to. You can help me. I’ll try not to be such a bother.”

  “You always were.”

  I caught his lopsided smile— every bit as beautiful as I’d imagined— and felt a catch in my heart.

  “Kept me on my toes, kept life interesting, kept me from drowning in the sorrow of my losses. Whether you were looking like a specter, hanging from a sheet by a rafter, or causing me to get my fingers rapped by cook for stealing your favorite tarts from the kitchens—”

  “I didn’t—”

  “Frequently.” He nodded. “I don’t want you to change. I just want you to be safe, to be mine.”

  “I am,” I promised and meant it more than I had meant any of my wedding vows five days earlier. I squeezed his hand reassuringly, both thrilled and concerned with this side of my husband. “But I cannot ask you to abandon your family. Ian cannot lead them.” I didn’t want to talk about Ian right now or Collin’s status as laird of the MacDonalds. He had opened up a conversation about us, and I dearly wanted to continue that, to explore more on the topics of our past and present friendship. But it felt almost as if the weight of the MacDonald clan had somehow shifted from his shoulders to mine, and I could not let that subject go, no matter how much I wished to.

  “As he is now, Ian cannot lead them— anywhere but to disaster.” Collin gave a weary sigh. “If he seeks power he will think of none but himself. And the people will suffer for it. To be a laird is to provide for others, to be fair and just and continuously concerned with each and every man, woman, and child under your care. One’s own needs and wants oft come last, or not at all.”

  Was marrying me— and acquiring my dowry— simply another duty to his people, or had Collin thought of his own needs and wants? I wanted to believe the latter, but one night of attentive care and intimate conversation was not enough that I trusted him completely yet.

  “The MacDonalds are fortunate to have you.” I doubted very much that the English lords I knew were even aware of every man, woman, and child residing on their lands, let alone that they cared sincerely for their welfare. “It all sounds very contrary to the life of an English lord,” I said. “He sits in his manor all day or rides his horse or visits friends. He goes to his townhome in London for the season, where he is free to play billiards and attend parties and musicales. He has servants to do every menial task. And he collects rents— or rather, his steward collects them for him— from all those living on and working his land. ”

  “And how do those working his land feel about this arrangement?” Collin asked. “What are they provided in exchange for their rent?”

  “Provided?” I thought of the tenants I’d seen, the rickety cottages, their children who not only were uneducated but were sent to work in the fields almost as soon as they could walk— or so it seemed. “They are allowed to work the land and try to provide for their own. I imagine they feel rather poorly about their status.” I would have.

  “I should think so,” Collin said. “And yet, in recent years, I see some of the lairds turning to this. They have forgotten their responsibility to the people and are coming to feel instead that they are somehow better than those who live on and farm the land. When really, those are the lifeblood of a clan. I should know,” Collin said bitterly. “We’ve precious few of them left.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The rebellion cost the MacDonalds dearly. Those men who did not die in battle were hunted down after and imprisoned, killed, or expelled from Scotland. Nearly all our cattle were stolen, driven from our land and sold to lowlanders for a pittance. We’ve little more than the barley crop to support us, and widows and bairns cannot harvest a field like a man, though many are trying. It will be all I can do to keep everyone fed another winter.”

  “That is what my dowry is to be used for?” I could only feel glad of it.

  “Aye. God willing, it will get us through another year.”

  “But Ian was willing to risk losing it. Killing me would have hurt your people as well.”

  Collin gave a solemn nod. “He was not thinking of the whole, of anyone but himself.”

  “It is well that I lived, then.”

  “For more reasons than your dowry.” Collin held my hand close to his heart. My own leaped in response.

  “Now we need only figure out how to live among the MacDonalds so you can continue as their laird.”

  He shook his head. “It would be too dangerous. Ian—”

  “Must not be allowed to dictate our future,” I said with more bravery than I felt. His knife at my throat had been real. His hands had nearly sent me to my death. But I could not allow that knife or those hands to harm others, not when Collin had it in his power to protect them.

  “We need not solve it tonight.”

  “No,” I agreed, recalling how tired I’d been an hour hence when we’d staggered to the carriage. Nothing would be resolved tonight. But a confrontation loomed in the near future. How long was it before the road we journeyed separated the Campbells from the MacDonalds, each to return to their own land? Which direction would I go? Who would I join? What would Collin do?

  “We should sleep now,” Collin said. “Tomorrow will be another long day.”

  I suspected that every day promised to be long. Instead of feeling discouraged about this, I took heart. Collin’s hand remained over mine, warm and comforting. So long as he was at my side, I felt I could endure whatever hardship lay ahead. And more than that, I wanted to help him endure it as well. I felt an almost overwhelming desire to make his life better, to bear him up as he bore the weight of his failing clan.

  “Sleep well, Collin,” I said, wishing him a peaceful rest.

  “Sleep well, Katie,” he returned.

  “I will,” I promised.

  But I did not.

  “Now son—” Laird Campbell paused to clear his throat.

  “I’m not your son, and I’ll thank you to quit calling me that.”

  “I’m the closest thing you’ve got to a father, and as yours gave you into my care, I mean to take that responsibility seriously.” Laird Campbell reached forward, pulling my hand from my side. I started to resist, only to feel his grip turn surprisingly firm. He placed Katie’s hand in mine again, then wrapped his own around the both of ours.

  He needn’t have. I felt the inexplicable pull toward her as I had before, and this time I gave into it, clasping her tiny hand firmly, hold
ing on as if our very lives depended upon it.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The moon had trekked halfway across the sky when I woke with both a sense of urgency and a feeling of imminent dread. I turned toward Collin and found him gone.

  Hurry. A chill brushed against my shoulders as I sat up. I glanced around to see what or who had caused it but met only darkness. The necessity of leaving, of finding Collin intensified. I stood, discarding my blankets, and began walking toward a light so distant that at first I wondered if it might be a star. My steps were quiet, my stockinged feet stealing softly through the tall grasses of our camp.

  Gradually the light grew brighter and closer, and upon cresting a hill I saw that it was not one light, but several, all streaming from the windows of an immense castle perched on top of the cliff before me. A thrill of anticipation shivered down my spine. The light was for me, beckoning me close to discover some wonderful secret.

  I will not be alone for long. Collin is there— waiting. I ran as fast as my feet would carry me, tripping and sliding up the steep slope, ignoring the jagged rocks that scraped my shins when I fell and the burning in my lungs as I climbed higher.

  Hurry.

  I arrived, breathless, upon the doorstep, and the great iron doors unfolded, swinging inward, inviting. Light spilled from within, warming me, drawing me in.

  Just inside I stopped in a vast hall, arched high with timber and stone. A circular dais stood in the center, upon which a singular casket resided, surrounded at the head by the flame of a hundred candles. My excitement fled. I reeled backward, clutching my middle against a sudden, crippling sorrow. My back bumped against the doors, and I turned to them, pulling the handles in a vain attempt to flee.

  “Let me out!” I cried, beating my fists upon the doors. I begged and pounded until my knuckles were raw and bloodied, but the doors would not open. I leaned my head against them and wept.