A Year and a Day (34 page)

Ewan picked up his quill again, intending to pen another line, but got no further than dipping the nib in ink before he was distracted again, this time by the thunder of hoofbeats.

The new
Laird
squinted toward the horizon as he tried to make out the direction of the sound. Looking east, he made out the figure of a lone rider, rushing up the castle lane, clearing on a mission of great import.

With a mingled rush of relief and panic, Ewan left his chambers. He hurried down the flights of stone stairs in the tower, and was at the courtyard almost at the same time that the rider dismounted his horse.

“I need to see the
Laird
!” the man- a boy, really, with scraggly, straw-coloured hair and mud brown eyes- declared breathlessly.

“I’m the
Laird
,” Ewan answered, still self-conscious of the title. “What’s happened? Is it about the English?”
 

The boy nodded his head. “I’ve come from the fighting, sir!”

“Fighting? Where?” Ewan’s skin prickled with misgiving. Everleigh’s men had last attacked the Camerons, to the west, and the southern borders. However, the rider had clearly taken the Frasure road.

“East, sir!” the boy continued anxiously, “East on the Frasure border. They might’ve attacked the Frasure lands too, sir. I don’t know.  I came straight away.”

“Along the road?” Ewan asked, suspiciously.

“Aye, sir,” the boy said, nodding emphatically. “They didn’t come by the road, sir. They looked to take the hill pass, up river from Shreve.”

Ewan paled when he realized how close the
boy’s
words placed the fighting to Glen Mohr.”

“What happened?” he demanded, barely noticing the sizable crowd that had gathered around the pair.

“Surprise attack, sir,” the boy said.

“My pa reckoned they were trying to convince the Frasures to keep out of the fight. They came out of nowhere and burned three villages to the ground before we could rally the men. Then they slipped away again, back into the hills.

Ewan nodded, but frankly wasn’t as concerned with the English army’s
current
lo
cat
ion as he ought to have been. “What villages?” he pressed.

The boy’s eyes gleamed, and he looked at his feet, unwilling to let the tears be seen by the assembled clansmen. “Walton, sir…and Dunbatton.”

“And?”

“And…and Glen Haven,
Laird
.”

“The village and the surrounding towns?” James’ voice chimed in. Ewan was grateful. He had lost the power of speech.

The boy nodded, “All that was close: burned and emptied. There weren’t many of us who made it away.”

“But….
Muira
,” James said, his voice cracking. Unlike the messenger, he seemed to have no inhibitions about letting his emotions show. “Muira and the children…”

One of Ewan’s captains, the
Laird
’s old adviser, intervened. “Did you see
Laird
MacRae’s family among them?”

“Or Cait?” Ewan added in a whisper.

The boy looked warily between them, but finally shook his head. “No, sir,” he admitted. “I didn’t. I’m sorry sir…but it
doesn’t
mean they didn’t make it,” he insisted, although not with much conviction.

All night long, survivors of the raids continued to trickle into the castle. It was mostly men. Ewan had the sense that it was mainly warriors who hadn’t been able to join the fight, or nearby townsfolk who had panicked. He expected a second wave of survivors soon- the women and children who were forced to walk the whole, weary way, and he told the castle to brace itself for their imminent arrival.

“What are we going to tell
Lachlan
?” James had pestered Ewan with the question all evening until the
Laird
finally sent him away. He wasn’t ready to think about what to tell his brother-in-law. He wasn’t ready to think that his sister and niece and nephews might actually be dead! In truth, he hadn’t devoted much thought to Muira. He was more concerned with Cait.

He hadn’t gotten to say goodbye properly. His entire body felt raw with regret. He had come so close to telling her how he really felt, but hadn’t. He could still remember how she had asked to be brought along. He argued that it was too dangerous- and now she had been killed, sitting quietly at home!

He didn’t care so much now that the English might be knocking down their door at any moment. What did it matter? What was there left to live for?

Your family
, a small voice said, reminding him that James wasn’t strong enough to stand on his own,
your clan
. Everyone was looking to him for answers. He couldn’t forget his duty. It was all that he had left.

Cait had tried to run away, but it wasn’t any use. The Frasure guard had caught her in three easy strides and wrenched her to the ground.

“My baby!” Cait yelped, shielding her still-flat stomach from the fall. The man cast
a sk
eptical look, but treated her more gently as he pulled her back to her feet.

“Not from these parts, are ye, Lassie?” he asked, frowning as he examined her rumpled appearance. “That’s a Cameron tartan!” he remarked, noticing her shawl.

Cait tucked the garment back until her cloak and lifted her chin defiantly, refusing to answer.

“You’d have to be a Cameron, or a fool to try and steal from the
Laird
!” the man said, his expression less friendly in the face of her obstinacy.

“The
Laird
?” Cait squeaked, and then chided herself for being surprised- of course the orchards belonged to the castle. “I was
hungry
!” she defended, after a pause.

“Aye, well- tell it to the
Laird
,” the man said firmly. He grabbed her elbow and nudged her forward, pushing Cait along a pleasant stone path and into the castle proper.

Cait’s cheeks flushed scarlet as she endured the curious stares of strangers as they watched her being herded through. She worried about what the
Laird
was going to do. Surely he would be lenient! After all, she’d only taken a few apples. She could pay for them if he wanted! Still, she was too aware that the
Laird
had almost total power. He could hang her if he wanted.

Worked up nearly to the point of hysteria in her mind, Cait was surprised when she was brought to a stop in front of an ordinary ash desk. An old man was sitting at it, facing out the window, ignoring them until the guard cleared his throat.

The man looked up, and Cait caught her breath- although she felt foolish for doing so a half-second later. There was something strangely familiar in his face, as though they had met before. The set of his jaw or, perhaps, the bow of his lips resonated somewhere in Cait’s memory, but she couldn’t place the thought. As soon as she looked closer, the resemblance fled, and she felt foolish for being so startled.

For what it was worth, the old man must have seen something too, because he stared frankly back, a questioning look in his milky grey eyes. They looked at each other for nearly a full minute, before the guard broke the silence.

“I caught this girl, sir, out in the orchards. She was stealing your fruit.”

“Only three apples!” Cait interjected, but was silenced by a hard nudge to the ribs.

The old man did not take kindly to her attempted explanation. “Is it less wrong to steal a little, than a lot?” he asked, frowning.

Cait thought it was better not to answer the question.

“You aren’t from the clan,” the old man- the
Laird
Frasure, she assumed, spoke after a pause.

“N-no sir,” Cait answered finally.

“Your accent is rather queer.”

Cait’s heart seemed to stop as she considered, with a jolt of panic, what might befall her if the
Laird
decided that she was English! She carefully mimicked her clansmen when she spoke again. “No, sir. I’m…I’m from another clan.”

“Which clan?” he asked, suspiciously.

Cait licked her lips, wondering if she dared to tell the truth. It would be humiliating to be packed away home. However, she was frankly reconsidering the wisdom of running at all. Her money was nearly gone, and she had nothing to show for the adventure.

Luckily, Cait was spared the necessity of making an answer. The door behind her opened, and the
Laird
looked toward the person who had entered.

Cait didn’t dare to turn around, but she could read some information from
Laird
Frasure’s face. At first, his features were cross with annoyance at the interruption, but they quickly softened. “Isobel,” he said quietly. “You shouldn’t have come.”

“It’s time for your tea,” a soft, but aged female voice called back. Cait was hustled out of the way by the guard, and she was able to watch the woman bring the
Laird
a cup of steaming liquid.

Cait studied the older woman’s appearance. Her hair was silver, and her skin was finely l
ined, but she was still slim. Her
face was turned away, but even from the side it was radiant with a beauty that would never completely fade.  She must have been truly ravishing as a young woman. Cait decided immediately that she was the
Laird
’s wife- a suspicion that was confirmed when, to the man’s consternation; the lady popped a kiss on top of his head as she sat the teacup before him on the desk.

Even after the tea was delivered, the woman seemed in no hurry to leave. She looked over his desk with frank curiosity, rearranging his papers into tidy stacks. Only when she was finished did she look at Cait- and then she squeaked in surprise.

Cait felt an electric current skim across her skin when she locked gazes with the stranger. Unlike with the
Laird
, she instantly determined the reason for her surprise:
their eyes were exactly the same
.  Cait didn’t know what to make of the coincidence. The appearance was eerily exact: the same size, the same almond shape, and the same foamy green color.

“Who are you?” the old woman asked, voice shaking.

Once again, Cait didn’t have time to reply.

“This is an apple thief,” the
Laird
said, pointedly avoiding Cait’s face. “Jacob found her in the orchard.”

Cait made an indignant sound, which caused the
Laird
’s expression to harden, “You don’t deny stealing the apples, do you?”
 

“I can pay for them!” Cait said, fishing in her pocket for her silver.

The
Laird
scowled, “And have you stolen some money too?”

“Richard!” his wife said in a scolding tone, which only seemed to aggravate him further.

“Three lashes!” he barked curtly. Both women gasped.

Cait felt her blood run cold. It wasn’t just the anticipated pain and humiliation of being whipped- but what would it mean for the baby. “PLEASE!” she wailed, struggling against the guard, who was already leading her out. “PLEASE! I’m pregnant! Do anything else, but don’t hurt my baby.”

“Richard!” the old lady said again, this time tugging urgently at his sleeve. “You can’t!”

The guard hesitated, and the old man sighed, “She certainly doesn’t
look
pregnant…”