A Year and a Day (11 page)

They were nearly half-way down the mountain when Cait’s foot caught on a loose rock and caused her to lose her footing. For one long second she hung in the air, arms flailing, and then she winced as she started to fall- only she didn’t. Two strong arms grabbed around her waist, hauling her security back to her feet. “Careful, pet,” Ewan said with a wink. “I’ll need you in one piece tonight.”

Cait thought that her cheeks would eventually
stay
red. As often as she’d caught herself blushing over the last two days, she could scarcely believe that it hadn’t happened already! Her color deepened when one of Ewan’s hands, instead of releasing her again, caught her own free hand and twined her fingers into his.

Cait was quieter after that. Ewan noticed the change immediately, but didn’t make any sign that he did. He was still searching for the “love” that his sister had declared to exist- and still coming up frustratingly empty. It was true that Cait didn’t shy away, but she didn’t seem overly pleased about the development either. Nevertheless, they continued together, hand-in-hand, all the way to the village.

Once they stepped into the village proper, Ewan drew Cait closer against his side. There were plenty of familiar faces, but the market was also crowded with sellers from other villages, other clans, and even a few that didn’t look to be from
Scotland
at all. Packed in between the rickety booths and carts were throngs of villagers and crofters and swarms of children ran underfoot. He wished that he didn’t have to expose her to the jostle and noise of the throng. Since he did, he wanted to keep her safe.

“Where do we want to start?” Ewan asked.

Cait surveyed the market carefully before giving a response. She’d really only been to market days on errands for someone else. It wasn’t often that she loitered to admire the fairings and trinkets that the sellers offered. “Over there?” she said, pointing at random to a seller with a cart of fabric and ribbons.

Ewan nodded his head and started that direction, but was stalled before they had walked more than a few feet.

“Captain Cameron!” a feminine voice drawled.

“You’re looking well,” another cooed.

“We were SO worried when we heard that you’d been hurt!” a third added.

Ewan and Cait both turned around. Standing behind them were three pretty blondes so alike that they could have been triplets, and all three were staring adoringly at Ewan and ignoring Cait.

The Gilroof sisters
, he thought with dismay, remembering a particularly colorful youthful discretion- one he didn’t particularly wish to recount to his
wife
. He turned to Cait, wondering how soon they could get away.

Like a tide rolling in from the sea, the three sisters converged around him. Without his participation, two of them took his arm on either side, while the third, after pouting prettily, sashayed around to face him and flirtatiously pat his chest. “Was it awful scary?”

“Will you have a scar?”

“You sounded
so
brave!” they began again, the lilts of their voices flowing together like a three part harmony.

Ewan’s first instinct was to flash them his most charming smile, and an apology for causing feminine alarm. He was pleased to inform him that he was quite well- in
perfect
working order, he assured them after a coquettish but worried question. The Gilroof sisters might have a bit too much of a reputation for him to tumble with anymore, but that didn’t mean he was blind, or completely immune to their considerable enticements. Very naturally, he fell into old familiar habits, letting them guide him toward the well
, but
then something began niggling in the back of his mind. Something wasn’t right. Something was missing-
Someone.

“Cait!” Ewan blurted, interrupting the middle sister’s latest rhapsody
of concern
and offers to rub
any
part of his body experiencing discomfort.

“Cait?” the girl said, then blinked and finally pouted, “I’m Leslie!”

“No!” Ewan growled, shaking the girls off as easily as if they were dust settled onto a rug, “I mean- yes, you are, but I’m looking for Cait!” His eyes scanned the crowed, and he was instantly frustrated by the abundance of black skirts and Cameron tartan shawls. Didn’t the villagers ever wear anything else?

“Who’s Cait?” One of the girls- he didn’t remember her name- demanded.

“That haughty serving girl from the castle,” he sister responded in a sneer, “The
English
one.”

“The one who always has her nose stuck in a book?” the third sister laughed mockingly.

“My
wife!
” Ewan growled, gratified, at least, that this stunning announcement was enough to gain him silence.

The three girls still silent, looking at Ewan, and then each other. Finally, one of them- Leslie- found her voice and began to laugh. “Oh, Ewan!” she trilled merrily, “You’re such a tease! Your
wife!
”

“It’s NOT a joke!” he hissed back, wondering why everyone found it so unbelievable that anyone would want to marry Cait. It was true that she was a bit estranged from the family- the English blood of her unknown father had bought her that- but she was beautiful, cultured, intelligent, cheerful…

“It
has
to be!” another sister’s shrill insistence trun
cat
ed Ewan’s list. He met her eyes, causing her to recoil from the ferocity of the glare.

“I assure you that it is not!” Ewan tipped his head to all of them in a sign of unilateral dismissal. “Now you’ll have to excuse me. Mrs. Cameron and I have shopping to do!”

Ewan twisted sharply on his heel and strode away. He went just outside of their view, however, before he was forced to acknowledge that he had no idea where Cait had gone.

He tried to remain calm, and leaned back against a nearby wall to scan the streets. She couldn’t have gone far. A glance over his shoulder proved that she hadn’t flounced back to the castle in a huff. That meant that she must have wandered off in the market, and so he decided to look for her there, heading first to the fabric vendor she had pointed out before.

It took him longer than expected to cross the square. Either the Gilroof girls were lying or the absolute last people in the village to know about Ewan’s surprise marriage, because the streets were practically buzzing with the news. He couldn’t walk more than a few feet without a hail,
a congratulation
, or a polite inquiry about “Where is the bonnie lass then?”

Ewan would dearly like to know. A survey of almost all the sellers was fruitless. Frustrated, he stalked toward the tavern- and that was when his eye caught on something he’d missed.

Torlach MacEantach was the village apothecary, selling herbs and simples that he gathered and concocted in the sunny room above his shop. In consequence of his profession, he traded regularly with the outside world, and his shop was always stuffed to the brim with tiny artifacts and trinkets from foreign lands. Additionally- and perhaps more importantly as far as Cait was concerned- he was the only seller of books, having a shelf and a half of volumes that he had collected on his travels which were also offered for sale.  Ewan could remember several occasions when he’d heard Cait gushing over some new volume that had arrived. He felt very smugly pleased with himself when he walked through the door and found Cait standing next to the shelf, nose deep inside a leatherbound copy of Shakespeare plays.

“There you are!” he called, sidling up behind her and slipping his arms around her waist just as he had that morning. He was growing fond of the gesture, loving the way that her little body fitted into his, the top of her head settling perfectly beneath his chin and her shoulders flush against his chest. “I’ve been looking everywhere.”

When Cait looked up her expression was aloof- frankly better than he’d dared to hope for. “I didn’t think you’d notice,” she said calmly.

Ewan frowned, “Of course I noticed,” he insisted, plucking the book out of her hand. As he’d hoped, Cait turned to protest, and he dabbed a kiss onto her now-available lips. “Don’t mind those girls,” he said gently.

“I
didn’t
!” Cait insisted, but color was rising into her cheeks, “Why would I?”
 

Ewan shrugged knowingly, but said, “Nevermind…” he gestured toward the door, “I do believe that we were going to see about getting you some pretty clothes?”

“Yes,” Cait nodded meekly. She started to go, but Ewan stopped her.

“We have to pay for this first, right?”

“This?” Cait asked.

“The book,” he said, popping it onto the counter and fishing in his sporran for coins. He glanced at the
title:
“Twelfth Night”. He’d never heard of it, but Cait had seemed absorbed, and he owed her a token in return for her tolerance.

“Oh, but!- But!” she stammered, “I couldn’t possibly accept!”

“Why not?” Ewan challenged.

“Because…” Cait started again, meaning to yammer something about putting herself under obligation to an unmarried man, but then she realized that wasn’t appropriate. She
was
under obligation already- and Ewan
was
a married man.

“Let’s go,” Ewan said, kissing her cheek again, earning them both a knowing smile from the shopkeeper before they went on their way.

Feeling curiously light headed, Cait stepped willingly back into the bright autumn sunshine outside, clutching her new book to her chest. It was a treasure- hideously expensive and frivolous, but the mere fact that it had come from
Ewan
was what made it valuable.

Very carefully, she let the back of her hand brush against his own, and was delighted when, at the first fluttering though
t
, his fingers closed around her. His broad palm and long fingers easily engulfed her tiny hand as they walked back toward the cart that they had first spied when they arrived at market.

Ewan had been surprised, but encouraged by the tentative action, and intended to reward it. He l
ifted her hand to his lips and brushed them
across her skin. From the corner of his eye he saw her give a tiny smile, and he couldn’t account for the sudden burst of warmth that he felt in his chest.

The well-wishers who had crowded around Ewan when he was alone were holding back now, but he could still feel their eyes on his back. Their voices fell uniformly silent upon the couple’s approach, and then buzzed to life again when left in their wake.

At least the vendors did not ignore them. “Ah! Hello! Something for the lovely lady, then?” the shopkeeper, no doubt recognizing Ewan, rubbed his palms together in excitement upon the couple’s approach. “Something pretty? A bit of lace, perhaps?” he said, holding up a scrap of Belgian tatting.

Ewan looked at the offered piece with a critical eye, and then turned to Cait. “Do you like it then?”

Cait seemed to shrink from the seller’s eager scrutiny. “I…I…” she stammered, “I don’t need anything so fancy,” she finally said.

“Aye, but I asked if you
liked
it,” Ewan corrected, deciding the moment that he saw her astonished smile that he was going to enjoy spoiling Cait, “I don’t care if you need it or not.”

“Well,” Cait said, reaching out with tentative fingers, “it
is
very pretty…” she traced the pattern of the tatting with her finger, “Maybe I could use it to redo one of my old dresses.”

Ewan made a dismissive sound at that, determined that she would have
new
dresses, and then nodded to the salesman, “Verra well, we’ll take it….now how about a scrap of cloth to set it on…”

Unlike many men, Ewan had an interest in fashion- although not to an extreme degree. His long and varied acquaintance with the female sex had taught him an appreciation for cut, quality and color, and he applied it now, picking out several lengths of fabric to devise a new wardrobe for Cait. They ended with enough for four new dresses: A dark blue velvet for the winter, a deep red wool for Christmas, grey wool for everyday, and a bolt of exquisite yellow and pink oriental silk for a new formal gown. He handed silver over to the ecstatic merchant and then moved to another stall. There, he purchased ribbons, slippers and a new silver comb.