Yesterday's Promise

by Michele Paige Holmes

  “Yes.” His simple touch had my heartbeat escalating once more. I tilted my head back, looking up at him, longing—

  Collin released me and stepped away. He led Ian’s horse to a grassy patch of ground.

  I made a pretense of studying our surroundings to hide my hurt and confusion at my husband’s abrupt departure and change of mood. He was far more cordial than he’d been the first few days of our marriage, but I sensed he was still holding back. Did he regret confessing his feelings to me? Something about us was bothering him. I wished he would tell me what it was.

  Instead of asking, I swallowed my hurt and wandered a few steps in each direction. I’d absolutely no idea where we were or even which direction we’d traveled in today, having long since given up trying to make any sense of the route Collin plotted. I trusted that he knew where we were and would get us safely home— if there was to be such a place for us.

  If not... I found myself strangely content in his presence, concern over all elements of society gone. It was vastly freeing, this not worrying over what anyone else might think of me or being concerned with conventions such as my hair or dress or even the wearing of shoes.

  I determined that my mother must have been right when she’d said I secretly longed for adventure. It suited me well.

  “We’ll camp here tonight,” Collin announced when he had secured the horse.

  “What may I do to help?” I moved past my moment of disappointment and determined to be of some use to my husband. I didn’t know how to hunt or cook. Neither had I any idea of what plants might be edible or which might poison us. I ought to start learning soon, if I intended to survive here.

  “Gather wood for a fire,” Collin instructed. It appeared he intended to do the same as he began walking, head bent toward the ground as if searching for something.

  I retied the blanket about my shoulders and began gathering what I could from the forest floor, be that dried grass, pine needles, or twigs. As I walked I took in the incredible landscape, doing my best to commit this scene to memory. I longed for a paintbrush and would have given much for a canvas just then. Instead I drank in the setting, feasting my eyes on a valley even more beautiful than the one we’d camped in previously.

  On three sides a meadow was hemmed in by stands of pine and aspen, the latter just coming into the full green of summer. Their leaves seemed to twinkle in the breeze, and, combined with the heady scent of a pine forest, the effect was intoxicating.

  To what I guessed to be the north of the meadow a monolith mountain emerged beyond the sloping hills, jagged peaks disappearing into low-lying clouds. I wondered just how high those peaks went and if anyone ever actually reached their summit. Though the mountain looked formidable, I hoped we might be crossing over at least some point— the views to be had from such heights could only be spectacular.

  But it was the meadow itself that held me most entranced. An exquisite carpet of purple, blue, and yellow wildflowers spread from one end to the other, from the forest to the foothills. Their vibrant colors bent with the wind in one continuous ripple that held me spellbound. I wished Timothy was here with me, though no doubt his seven-year-old boyish inquisitiveness would have found the giant boulders at the base of the mountain more fascinating than the flowers.

  Mother and Anna would have enjoyed them, though. Nothing Anna might see in Paris could rival this view. And Father? Had he witnessed these wonders, too? Was that part of why he had wished me to return?

  Thank you. Whether my gratitude belonged to Father or Grandfather or Collin, I felt it keenly, along with an utter sense of joy that I could not recall having experienced before. A place so astoundingly beautiful could not be entirely bad. No matter what hardships awaited me, I believed I could bear them, if surrounded with such grandeur.

  I sensed rather than saw or heard Collin’s approach, and the realization that my innate ability seemed to be growing stronger unsettled me a bit.

  “What are you looking at?”

  “Not looking.” I inhaled deeply. “Absorbing.”

  Collin came to stand beside me, a long, thin branch in his hands. His lips turned down with concern as he studied me.

  “Healing,” I clarified— or thought I did. His perplexed look grew deeper.

  “Last night your Highlands frightened and hurt me. But today—” I couldn’t help but smile as my eyes feasted on the colors of the meadow bathed in the glow of the late-afternoon sun. “Today their beauty is restoring.”

  “They’re not just my Highlands,” Collin reminded me. He took out his knife and began whittling one end of the branch. “You were born here.”

  “I wish I could remember.” How I wished.

  “Your birth? That could be rather... traumatic.”

  I turned my head in time to see the fleeting smirk on his lips and the sparkle of amusement in his eyes. “Was that a jest I heard— from Collin MacDonald?”

  He did not deny it, though his face pinched in a look of extreme discomfort. But I was not about to allow the moment to pass. It was too important.

  I dumped the small pile of kindling I’d gathered near his feet, then straightened, hands planted on my hips as I stared up at him. “You are possessed of humor,” I stated, daring him to deny it, and hoping to glimpse that side of him once more. “It becomes you, you know,” I added as an extra enticement.

  “All the more reason to keep such frivolous emotion in check,” Collin said. “You should not find me becoming or anything else.”

  “Why ever not?” I demanded. “We are husband and wife. I should hope I find you pleasant. And there is nothing frivolous about happiness, about the ability to experience joy, to smile once in a while.” I looked at him pointedly. “Laughter is good for the soul.”

  “There is precious little to laugh about in this life.”

  “Then perhaps you are not looking hard enough,” I said. “I could make you laugh.” I had once already. “Together we—”

  “You could have been killed last night.” Collin turned away, scraping wood shavings almost savagely from the end of the stick. “Why are you not angry with me? How can you speak of laughter and—” one hand swept an arc of the field— “and beauty when you are standing here with naught but a torn dress and a borrowed blanket to your name?”

  “I have more than that.” I strove to bury the stab of dismay I felt about losing my trunk— or, more importantly, the brushes and paints inside. Collin’s words had all but confirmed those would not be returned to me.

  There are far more important matters. I’d been over this same argument with myself before, on those occasions when my jewelry had been sold, my horse led away, when Anna was bedecked in stunning gowns and I in homespun. All that practice served me well now as I managed to swallow the bitter pill of this latest loss.

  “I have this ring on my finger,” I said, grateful it hadn’t been lost during my swift trip downriver. My fingers closed over the band of silver that meant more to me than any other possession I could recall. “It means a great deal because it means us. I don’t know exactly what our marriage is to be,” I admitted. “I don’t know where we are going or what our home will be like. I may be a little hungry just now, and my dress needs mending, but we are surrounded by infinite beauty.” I glanced to the meadow as a reminder of the strength I’d derived from it. “I am alive because of you. And we have each other.” I walked around to stand in front of Collin. “I see plenty of reasons to be grateful— and even happy.”

  “Would that I could feel the same.” His hand with the knife dropped to his side.

  “You could,” I said. But I was starting to doubt. There was no one around but the two of us, no reason for Collin to pretend indifference to me or our marriage. Yet he seemed determined to remain dour, predisposed to gloom and seriousness. I could think of no excuses for his behavior, especially considering his earlier confessions. Unless they had been untruthful.

  “I thought you wanted a friend and confidant?” I made no attempt
to hide the hurt in my voice. “Would that not make you happy?”

  “It would— it does.” He glanced at me briefly. “It’s just that I’m sorry, Katie. For your terror of last night. For being upset just now, for bringing you here— for everything.”

  “I know.” I felt the depth of his regret as poignantly as if it had been my own. And with it the depth of his caring. I lifted my chin, then bravely placed my hand over his, taking the initiative to touch him. “I am not sorry that you brought me here. I do not regret our marriage.”

  “You should,” he half growled, and a side of his mouth quirked up. It sent my heart soaring.

  “But then I don’t suppose I can expect common sense from a lass who’s both English and Campbell.”

  “Perhaps not.” Letting my hand slip away, I bent, collecting the shavings he had discarded. “But common sense is often overrated.”

  “Not here it isn’t.” He took my arm, pulling me toward him. “It would have saved you from almost being raped and nearly having your throat slit last night. I hope you’ve sense enough not to go off alone with any man now,” Collin said. “Campbell, MacDonald, or otherwise.”

  “Apparently not.” My mouth twisted in a wry grin. “It is just the two of us out here, is it not?”

  This gave him pause then, “Aye.” He thrust the branch to the dirt and threw his head back, sending his gaze heavenward, as if declaring a lost cause. “A worse idea there never was.”

  “You’re to sleep here.” Laird Campbell pointed to a spot on the floor directly outside the room I’d seen him carry the lass into just minutes earlier.

  “Like a dog,” I muttered beneath my breath. The cold, grey stone did not look particularly inviting.

  “Like the guardian you are,” he corrected. His eyes met mine in the dim torchlight, and understanding passed between us. The lass— Katie— had fallen asleep hours earlier, curled up snugly in her grandfather’s lap. I hadn’t been afforded the luxury of closing my eyes, though I could scarce recall feeling more exhausted. Or burdened. For reasons I still did not entirely understand, her safety depended upon me. And my life depended upon her safety. And she was in very real danger.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “If you’ll sit here on this rise, I’ll always have you in my sight.” Collin pointed to a patch of ground that sloped upward, looking over the meadow below.

  “And where might you be going?” I much preferred being at his side to merely being in his sight.

  “Fishing.” Collin held out the branch he’d been whittling, now shaped into a fine spear. “The river’s not far, just below— there.” He pointed to the eastern edge of the meadow. “I didn’t suppose you’d want to camp so close to the water, or go near it at all. You’ll be safe here until I get back with our supper.”

  I was touched that he had considered my feelings, but it was more frightening to think of being separated from him, even for a short time or distance, than it was to be near a river again. “I would like to come. Perhaps you can teach me to catch a fish.”

  A fleeting smile of pleasant surprise crossed his face. “Maybe. Though if it takes half as long as it did to teach you how to skip stones, we’ll starve.”

  Jesting with me again. I turned away, smiling, and let his teasing go, believing that the less I mentioned it, the more likely his lighter moods were to persist. Collin untied Ian’s horse, gathered an armload of the wood we’d gathered, and started off. I followed him eagerly across the meadow, my arms also laden with wood, as Ian’s horse trotted along beside.

  “I was only five when you taught me to skip stones. Don’t you think it possible I’m a faster learner now?”

  “I watched you a few days ago at the River Aire,” Collin said. “Only a few of your rocks skipped. You still haven’t got the hang of it.”

  “I only tried to skip a few,” I said, secretly pleased he’d been watching me. “I like seeing ripples.”

  “Hmph,” Collin muttered, obviously unconvinced.

  I determined to prove myself. When we reached the river I looked for a suitable stick for my own spear while Collin waded into the shallows, his in hand. The mostly treeless bank was devoid of long branches, and after a few minutes, I gave up searching and sat down to observe Collin instead.

  He stood perfectly still, barefoot, legs spread, and breeches rolled up as he held the spear a short distance over the water and leaned forward, his attention focused.

  The river was much slower here, forming calm, little pools as it meandered around the large stones which had no doubt tumbled from the mountains above years ago. From my vantage the river appeared shallower and muddier as well. I dared not move closer to look, lest I disturb Collin’s concentration. Our evening meal was at stake, and I’d no desire for oatmeal again.

  Minutes passed. I wondered at Collin’s patience and that his back and neck weren’t stiff from holding the same position so long. I thought we might be here until past dark and would indeed be eating oats.

  All at once he struck, plunging the spear into the shallow water, then bringing it up a moment later, a good-sized fish writhing on the tip.

  I stood and clapped, expressing my delight. “You almost make that look easy.” I stepped forward to examine the fish as Collin trudged up on shore.

  “Easy, is it?” He sounded insulted as he held his catch away from me. “In that case, this is my dinner.” He pulled the fish free. “You can try your hand at it now.” He thrust the stick at me, and I took it firmly in my hands, trying to show a confidence I did not feel.

  With no shoes to remove, I had only my stockings to peel off and my skirt to tie up. This I did, feeling self-conscious about baring my ankles and lower legs. I stepped into the river at the very spot Collin had stood, sinking to my knees as my bare feet squished into the muddy bottom and the cold took my breath away.

  “It’s freezing!” I jumped up and down, running in place, trying to endure the biting temperature.

  “Runoff from the mountain. Of course it’s cold.” Collin shook his head at me in a manner that indicated he thought I was hopeless. “You’ve just scared away any fish that were nearby. Anywhere nearby.”

  I followed his gaze down to the murky water, seeing all the sediment my movement had churned up. The cold forgotten, I trudged out of the water, then stomped off down the shoreline, this time looking for a spot more shallow, but not so much so that a fish would never venture there.

  When I’d located such a place, I entered the water quietly. I took two silent steps, then stoically clenched my teeth and curled my toes as the chill water swirled about my legs. I was hungry, and this was dinner we were talking about. And my pride. I could endure discomfort for a catch of fresh fish and some respect from my husband.

  I leaned forward as I’d seen Collin do, my fist gripping the spear, poised to strike. For several minutes I stared pensively at the river, willing the fish to come. They didn’t. Neither did it take long to confirm what I had suspected, that one’s back and neck grew stiff maintaining this same position for any length of time. Still, I waited, determined to succeed.

  From a short distance away I heard Collin whistling and soon smelled the smoke from a fire. Good. I’d need to get warm and dry the bottom of my skirts when I was finished here. I wondered how one went about cooking a fish. Hopefully Collin would be inclined to show me that much at least.

  As if he’d read my mind, Collin appeared suddenly at my side.

  “Don’t move,” he said as he dug in his sporran and withdrew a small handful of oats. These he sprinkled across the surface of the water where I stood. Nothing happened at first. Then, from the corner of my eye, I saw not one, but two shadows approaching, swimming back and forth. They entered the pool, mouths up, searching out Collin’s offering.

  “Now,” he whispered.

  I struck. The spear plunged just where I thought it should but hit only mud while the fish swam briskly away. My shoulders sagged with disappointment.

  Collin chuckled,
then came up behind me. He placed his hands on my shoulders and turned me the other direction, then walked us several paces to another, deeper pool. Before tossing his sporran to the shore he removed another pinch of oats.

  “Give me your hand,” he said.

  I held it out, and he dropped the oats into it. He stepped up behind me, his arms circling my waist, his hands resting over mine on the spear. “Sprinkle the oats across the water.”

  I did as he instructed.

  “Now we wait. Follow my lead.”

  I nodded, hunger, cold, and tiredness replacing my earlier pride. So what if my husband thought me inept at many tasks? It was the truth. I’d never caught a fish or lived outdoors or had any kind of adventure like this before.

  I resisted the urge to relax and lean back into him. Already I felt my emotions calming, simply because he was near. Requiring Collin’s help wasn’t all bad. His breath was warm near my cheek, and having his arms circled around me felt entirely pleasant. If only I would have admitted earlier that I required assistance.

  “Here they come,” Collin whispered. His hands tightened over mine and then, before the fish had quite reached us, before I thought he ought to, he’d plunged the spear into the river. I felt the difference this time, knew the second we struck. My hands fell away as Collin drew the stick out of the water, an even larger fish than the one he’d first caught flailing on the end of it.

  “Success,” he pronounced.

  “Your success,” I corrected, grateful nonetheless that we would have plenty to eat tonight. I turned to face the shore and was surprised when Collin did not step away but kept his arms around me.

  “I’m sorry I goaded you on,” he said. “That was a mean trick.”

  I tilted my head back to look up at him and, instead of the triumphant expression I’d expected, found his face flushed with guilt.

  “Why was it mean?” I folded my arms across my chest, putting a bit of distance between us and doing my best to conceal my flustered emotions and the exhilarating effects of his nearness.