Yesterday's Promise

by Michele Paige Holmes

  “It’s a difficult thing to spear a fish. When I was learning it probably took me a hundred tries before I finally got it right.”

  “One hundred.” I attempted a severe frown. And I’d believed I could accomplish the task in an afternoon. How foolish I must seem to him. “How old were you when you learned this feat?”

  “Thirteen— fourteen. It was during the rebellion. We were often without rations and had to fend for ourselves. Da taught me.”

  “And did a fine job of it.” I nodded to the fish on Collin’s spear. “I am grateful to you both.”

  Relief eased the lines of Collin’s face. “You’re not angry that I—”

  “Allowed me to make a fool of myself?” I shook my head. “Not at all.” Not embarrassed. Not shivering with cold and having numb feet for nothing. Not feeling far too attracted to you when you’ve yet to prove that your feelings— at least in that sense— really are the same. But it was difficult to feel irritated with Collin, especially when we stood so close. So close.

  As proof that I wasn’t truly upset I leaned forward, intent in my eyes as I focused on his face and then specifically his lips. Collin’s look softened further, his eyes darkening and his mouth parting slightly when I tentatively placed my hands on the front of his shirt. Beneath my touch I felt his own heart’s staccato beat matching mine, the rapid pitter patters of the desire he aroused within me.

  I could kiss him. I wanted to kiss him, or rather wanted him to kiss me, to show he was sorry, to show that he had feelings for me as I couldn’t seem to help but have for him. Is that so impossible? We had already kissed once, at our wedding, and had both survived. But I knew this time would be different. So different. It both thrilled and terrified me.

  I wondered briefly what my mother and especially Anna might think were they to see me at this moment, half dressed, standing in the middle of a river, about to kiss a Scottish laird. Our mouths drew closer, Collin’s head bent toward mine in anticipation. At the very last second, as if seized by some irrational fear, I pushed him backward instead.

  Collin staggered once, then sat down hard in the shallow water. In his effort to catch himself the spear fell from his hand. I caught it before our meal could be lost, then gathered my skirt and ran through the water toward the shore, wanting to be well away before he got up.

  I ran all the way to our fire, ignoring the stream of Gaelic filling the air behind me. It was probably best that I didn’t understand what he was saying right now. From the corner of my eye, I watched as he approached, water dripping from both his pants and shirt. Collin didn’t seem angry exactly, but rather serious and stern as he had on our wedding day, when he’d said I looked just as he expected. Which had been...

  As a spoiled, naughty child might. What I’d learned of my younger self the past few days was not pleasant, and yet just now had I not acted as the younger Katie would have, spitefully pushing Collin into the water when he had both helped me and apologized for his deceit? I wanted to hang my head in shame but instead forced myself to meet his gaze and apologize.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did that. It was unkind of me.”

  “If was foolish,” he said tersely. “What if my sporran and the last of our supplies had become wet? My clothes are soaked, and it’s near nightfall. What do you think will happen to you if something happens to me? If I get hurt or become ill?”

  “I would deservedly perish.” He didn’t need to tell me how helpless I’d be out here on my own. With a bravery I did not feel I stepped forward, stopping just in front of him as I had at the river. I reached up, intending to help him take his shirt off, but he pushed my hand away.

  “I’ll thank you not to touch me.”

  His words hurt more than any other rebuke might have. Stung, I turned away, fighting tears that were my own fault. “If you’ll hand me your shirt I will hold it near the fire to dry.”

  “I’ll see to it myself,” Collin said. “With your help I’d likely have no shirt come morning.”

  “I wouldn’t do that. I’m sorry I pushed you,” I said once more, still perplexed as to why I had. “I only meant to play,” I added softly. A poor excuse.

  “There is no play here,” Collin said tersely. “No frolicking and games as you had in England. In the Highlands there is life and death, and we walk the edge between. We don’t need any little thing tipping us to the far side. Can you understand that?”

  “Yes.” I straightened and held myself rigid, further hurt and now angry that he was treating me like a child. Don’t act like one, then came the guilty thought. I was no longer five. We no longer had my grandfather’s protection. We had only each other and could not afford to be at odds. How I wished I had kissed Collin instead. Dangerous though that might have been, at least it would have united us. Little chance there was for that now.

  He tossed his shirt at me as he walked past, and I barely caught it but felt grateful he trusted me with that, at least. I straightened the sleeves and shook the garment out, trying not to take notice of Collin’s bare chest as he moved about the fire, adding wood. I’d never seen a man without his shirt on before— not even my father. Mother and a nurse had bathed him during his illness.

  Against my will my eyes darted up frequently, admiring the smoothness of Collin’s skin and the planes and muscles of his chest. As if he’d sensed me watching him, Collin turned away, his back to me as he knelt on the ground to prepare our meal.

  This afforded me a view just as pleasing, and I openly stared, imagining what a portrait I might paint of my husband. I moved nearer to both the fire and Collin, then knelt beside him, his shirt spread across my lap to dry. He turned and found me there, then stood, as if to move farther away.

  “Don’t. Please—” I reached out to him, then let my hand fall away. “I just want to be near you. You don’t have to talk to me or even look at me. I promise to be quiet.”

  Collin grunted his acceptance of this arrangement and continued preparing our meal while I did my best to dry his shirt, all the while thinking that what I really wished to do was to touch him— to lean my head against his shoulder and wrap my arms around him, to draw the comfort and strength that came so abundantly with his touch.

  After several minutes he spoke. “You’ll want to move back a ways while I cook the fish.”

  He didn’t have to ask me twice. I stood and moved to the far side of the fire, where I held his shirt by my fingertips, fanning it in the air. It was nearly dry and nearly worn through. Along with my trunk, the clothing he’d worn to our wedding was gone. What would happen when the thin fabric of this shirt tore? As his wife, would I be expected to make another? I’d only ever practiced embroidery— and had little patience with or talent for that— so how was I to properly care for a home and, someday, a family? Being married to a laird in the Highlands, I was quickly discovering, was nothing like being married to a lord in England. I could envision no trips to the dressmakers and at best might hope the castle had a decent cook to prepare our meals.

  If we are permitted to stay. I watched Collin laboring over our meal and wondered what I was to do if both clans banished us.

  Feeling discouraged with my lack of abilities and particularly my lack of judgment at the river, I sighed out loud.

  Collin glanced at me. “What is it? Are you tired of holding my shirt?”

  “Not at all,” I said, grateful he might be speaking to me again. “I was just thinking of all the things I cannot do and that you did not get a wife who is very useful in the bargain.” No doubt Mhairi could mend his shirt and cook a fish for him.

  “I did not marry you because you were useful.”

  “I know.” Or hoped I did. Where had the Collin who had spoken so tenderly this morning gone?

  “Neither did you marry me for any skill I might possess,” Collin said. “I very much doubt this was how you envisioned your wedding trip.”

  I could tell he meant to make me feel better, but his observation only served to remind me of th
e settlement I’d believed would be made upon my mother. And of course Collin had known of the dowry provided by my grandfather. We had each done nothing more noble than to attempt to look out for our families. And little good that had done either of us. Mother hadn’t received the promised funds, and my dowry would likely fall to Ian who would use it for his own purposes.

  Leaving Collin and me without purse or home, and bound to each other in the most unusual of circumstances.

  “Are you ready to eat?” Collin held a stick out to me, from which chunks of fish hung lengthwise. During my musings, he had finished cooking our dinner, and now I had only to figure out how to eat it. Without utensils or plates, I would have to improvise. I took the offered stick from Collin.

  “Careful. It’s hot,” he warned.

  I held the fish away from me, not particularly enamored of the smell, but hungry enough that I would eat it, regardless.

  “We should give thanks.” Collin bent his head and offered a simple prayer of gratitude for the blessing of this meal. The sincerity of his words, along with his faith in an unseen God, humbled me.

  “Do you really think someone is there and listening?” Across the firelight I searched Collin’s eyes, wanting to see the same reassurance I’d heard in his prayer.

  “Aye.” Collin answered at once. “More than someone, likely. There’s God of course. And then those who’ve gone before who look out for us. My da, your grandfather.”

  He didn’t mention my father, and I knew now was not the time to bring up his possible connection to Collin’s past.

  “Do you not believe the same?” Collin asked.

  “Yes, but believing and knowing seem different. You sound as if you know.” I held the fish near my mouth, leaned forward, and nibbled a piece. Flavor burst pleasantly in my mouth, even as the meat seemed to dissolve. “This is good.”

  “You sound surprised.”

  “I am. I’ve never eaten fish caught fresh from a river before. And as you’d no spices or seasonings or a stove on which to cook it...”

  Collin patted his sporran. “I’d a few things I picked up along the way. Herbs and such.”

  “Whatever they are, you’ve done a marvelous job.” I took another bite and found it just as good as the first.

  “Thank you.” Collin didn’t exactly smile, but the lines around his eyes crinkled pleasantly, so that I suspected he was pleased with my compliment.

  I handed him his now-dry shirt.

  He leaned his own stick-fish against a rock and shrugged the shirt over his head. “It’s warm.”

  “But your breeches are not,” I said ruefully.

  “No,” Collin agreed. “I doubt you’d like me to remove them so they can dry.”

  “You’ll have to.” I lifted a hand to untie the blanket I’d worn throughout the day, more to keep me modest than warm. It was Collin now who had the greater need for modesty. “You can wear this around your waist.”

  “I’ll be fine,” he mumbled through a bite of fish, waving off my concern with his free hand.

  “You’ll be cold. And if you’re cold tonight, I will be, too. This is a purely selfish offer,” I insisted, holding the blanket out to him.

  “Doubtful.” Collin took it from me nonetheless. I stepped back to my side of the fire, where my torn bodice would not be so obvious.

  Colder than I wanted to admit without the blanket around me, I sat on the ground and scooted closer to the flames and continued to nibble my dinner while Collin went off to change. I felt tense and nervous with him out of sight, though he was gone only a minute or two. The river suddenly seemed frighteningly close.

  I was glancing uneasily behind me when Collin returned, the blanket tied around his waist.

  “Would you prefer to return to the spot I suggested earlier,” he asked, as if sensing the direction of my thoughts. Perhaps he, too, had that ability to know my thoughts, as I seemed to with him.

  I shook my head. “No. This is good. Being near the water makes sense. I was just— remembering.”

  “Don’t,” Collin advised. “Not that, at least. Banish it. There’s no sense in being haunted by the past.”

  “You sound as if you speak from experience.”

  A minute passed before he acknowledged my unspoken question. “I do. Though I am not sure you wish to hear of it.” He retrieved his water pouch from the ground, then came around the fire to hand it to me before taking a drink himself.

  The first sip of my wine. “Will you sit by me?” I patted the ground beside me.

  Collin crouched down, his legs and the opening of the blanket angled politely away from me. “Ian’s horse is acting a bit spooked. Probably nothing, but I’d prefer not to sit in case I need to get up quickly.”

  After drinking I passed the pouch to Collin, then stared through the dark at the stallion a short distance away. He seemed placid enough to me, munching the grass at his feet. But how many times had I been caught unaware already? What did I know of unseen dangers?

  “It’s probably wolves. I’ll bring him closer to the fire, though that might spook him, too.” Collin rose and went to Ian’s horse, then moved him nearer to us, but not so close as to have him straining to get away.

  When Collin returned I was pleased that he came to my side and sat beside me as if intending to stay a while.

  We ate in silence for several minutes while I enjoyed his closeness and pondered which topic— from the ones we’d touched on earlier— I wished to bring up again. When Collin had finished his meal and I was nearly done with mine, I finally decided what I wished to ask him, though I feared the subject might lead to more unpleasantness between us. His father, and specifically his father’s death had been on my mind. I needed to know— for better or worse— if my father had been involved.

  “Collin?” I began tentatively, placing a hand on his arm as he was about to rise. “Will you tell me, if you can, what it was in your past that you’ve tried to let go of?”

  “Telling you might be like bringing it back.” He voiced what I had considered already.

  “I can see that,” I said, choosing my words carefully. “And I don’t wish to bring you any harm or sorrow. But if there is something that would be good for me to know, something about you or me or us or our families, I would like to hear it. When you are ready,” I answered, realizing that might not be tonight.

  “Even if it will be painful for you?” Collin asked.

  “Yes. Even then.” I withdrew my touch, wishing he would take my hand and hold it close to his heart as he had the previous night.

  Collin stared into the fire a while, then rose and went to check on his breeches, spread out on the grass opposite us. “Nearly dry, but not quite. Time enough I suppose.”

  He sat near me once more, and I was grateful for more than one reason. The night had grown chilly, and I shivered, hugging my arms tight to myself.

  “You’re cold. You ought to have this.” Collin tugged at the blanket covering his legs.

  “No!” I flung a hand out to stop him. “You keep it. Please.”

  He chuckled. “So concerned. And here I thought you might have been—” He stopped abruptly, and I caught the change of tone in his last word. Once more he had slipped casually into pleasantness. Still, it never seemed to last long before the too serious, too solemn Collin returned.

  “What had you thought?” I dared ask, hoping whatever it was wouldn’t provoke him into one of his dark moods.

  “At the river earlier, it almost seemed you intended to kiss me. But I was wrong, obviously, and am currently without breeches to show for my lack of judgment.” He tried to make light of it.

  “Perhaps you were not wrong.” My heartbeat quickened at the confession and even thinking about our close encounter.

  “Only perhaps?” Collin asked, turning his head to look at me.

  “No,” I confessed. “You were right. I did want— to kiss you. I don’t know what came over me or why I pushed you instead.” I felt thankful for the d
ark to hide my flaming cheeks.

  “It’s better that you did not go with your first impulse,” Collin said. “Though I appreciate your honesty.”

  Why was it better? I wished he would be honest with me on that point, particularly if the name Mhairi had something to do with it.

  He scooted closer to me. “Come here, Katie.” He held his arm up, and I gladly leaned into him, grateful for the warmth and comfort he radiated.

  We spoke no more of the almost kiss or his involuntary swim. I sensed he wished it forgotten, as did I. Though I could not forget the feeling of his heart pulsing beneath my hand, or the look in his eyes as his face had descended toward mine. I wasn’t the only one who had wished for a kiss in those moments. And was that so wrong? We were husband and wife. Did a married couple not share such intimacies?

  If Anna was here, I was certain she would know what was proper and expected between a couple. But I’d not had reason to ask her before she left, and I’d preferred to hear as little on the topic of men and her impending marriage as possible, so I was now left to find my own way in the dark. Literally.

  All around us the night had grown black. As dark as the previous night, at the river, with Ian and his knife-wielding henchman. I could no longer see his horse, but heard it nicker occasionally. Collin leaned forward and threw a couple of pieces of wood onto the fire. A wolf howled in the distance, and the stallion snorted and stomped.

  “Best to keep the fire going,” Collin said. “Just in case. We can sleep beside it.”

  “Will we have enough wood?” I looked dubiously at the shrinking pile next to Collin’s drying breeches.

  “To burn low, yes. And that’s all we need if the wolves come. Embers could light a pile of grass and small sticks easily and scare them off. I added to it while you were attempting to catch your supper. If the wolves come I’ll throw more on the fire, and we’ll each light a larger stick as it blazes. It won’t last long, but the initial flare up would likely scare them away.”