A Year and a Day (42 page)

Laird
Cameron had been to mass at least half the Sunday’s of his adult life, and he didn’t pay much attention as the words whizzed by: the invo
cati
on, the Kyrie, the Gloria, a rather pat homily about love and family duty- until Father Murtagh finally reached the wedding portion of the mass.

The words were different than they had been for his joining to Cait. He supposed it was fitting. This was a contractual and religious arrangement-
while
his joining to Cait had been more truly a union of souls- even if they didn’t know it at the time. He held
Mary
’s hands gingerly, and steeled himself to sound sincere as he waited to speak his vows. The priest seemed to take an especial
ly
long time to reach the point, but finally arrived at: “If there be any man here, who knows any reason why these two should not be joined in Holy Matrimony, let him speak now or forever hold his peace.”

Ewan took a breath, expecting the moment to pass
-
only it didn’t!

“I hav
e a reason!” a voice called out. It was
a
feminine
voice which Ewan instantly recognized as his sister. A murmur of consternation broke out among the crowd and, for a moment, the priest didn’t seem to know what to do.

Ewan wheeled around to face
Muira
, his face a cross between fury and relief. “And why is that?” he spat, before the priest had a chance to address her.

Lachlan
was trying frantically to silence his wife, but he didn’t succeed. Muira wrenched free of his arms and strode into the aisle. She levelled her hand accusingly at Ewan. “My brother can’t marry
Mary
MacMillan
,” she announced angrily, “Because he
already has a wife
!”

Cait spent
Laird
Cameron’s wedding evening occupied in the wholly unglamourous task of sewing
swaddling
for her son. He was growing bigger every day. Although she certainly didn’t enjoy the task, the mindlessness of
the activity
was a welcome distraction from her thoughts.

I seem to be looking for
distractions a lot lately,
Cait thought, unable to remember the last time that she had allowed herself to indulge in daydreams
, but suspecting that it had been
before the time that they
appeared to come true, only to warp into a horrible nightmare.

She heard church bells ringing in the courtyard, and assumed that the ceremony had begun. She concentrated on weaving her needle and thread in and out of the soft woollen fabric, pausing occasionally to check that little Robert was still asleep. She had given him her necklace to play with, tying it to the top of the basket where he laid, and he stirred occasionally to give the bright metal a kick.

Cait folded
a completed diaper and reached for another piece of fabric
. Against her will, she tried to guess what part of the ceremony had been reached. The gentle strains of the organ, which she felt, rather than heard humming through the stones, informed her that it was early yet.

She hadn’t been offered the opportunity to attend the wedding- a fact for which she was grateful, rather than annoyed. It saved her the trouble of finding a suitable pretense for skipping.

Cait couldn’t imagine that the torture of seeing Ewan actually marry another girl
.
She was perfectly content- at least, as content as it was possible to be- remaining in her room.

The minutes plodded by. Cait heard the organ again- the Gloria- and then
there was nothing.

Cait had anticipated a stretch of silence. She had been to enough other weddings to have almost memorized the traditional words- so formal and staid compared to the vows that had once bound she and Ewan! Still, she hadn’t expected them to last so long. She expected a sudden swell of music,
indicating that
the deed had been done, but it never came.

Every second was torture. Cait felt as though she
was
awaiting execution, and the hangman
kept
tying and untying the noose! She
continued
sewing for as long as she could, but finally had to stand and pace the floor.

She went to her chamber’s tiny window and glanced out. If she strained her eyes and pressed her nose almost against the narrow slit, she could make out a corner of the yard. Thro
ngs of people had filled it. The
wedding must be over
. She wondered why they hadn’t moved on to the main dining hall.
Confused and heartbroken, Cait
lay
down on her bed to weep. It was over. Ewan
was no longer hers
.

Disturbed by his mother’s crying, little Rob
ert awoke and his cries mingled with Caits.
They were both wailing when the door was flung open.
When it
slam
med
against the wall- an excited, rather than angry gesture- Cait
gasped and lifted
her eyes. Lady Frasure was framed in the doorway, appearing too excited to even note her maid’s distress.

“Well, now! We’ve had a to-do!” Lady Frasure announced, eyes sparkling as though she had received the juiciest bit of gossip in her entire life.

“The wedding?” Cait asked weakly, wiping her eyes and trying to compose herself.

“The
almost
wedding,” Lady Frasure said, tantalizingly. “There wasn’t one after all.”

“What?” Cait said, holding her breath and still not daring to believe. “What do you mean?”
 

“I mean that Lady MacRae interrupted the wedding- she claims that
Laird
Cameron already has a wife!”

Cait knew that Lady Frasure expected her to respond. No doubt she was meant to laugh, but Cait couldn’t do ANYTHING but stare, jaw ajar, her mind reeling from what she’d just been told.

Ewan hadn’t married Lady
MacMillan
. Her brain kept getting caught up on the fact, unable to process anymore. It took a few more harried
cries of
“Cait?
Cait?”
before
her thoughts
moved on- lurching immediately to horror that Muira had broken her word.

Cait was quite certain that her friend had
sworn
not to reveal that Cait was at the castle.
No, that wasn’t exactly true…
Cait reminded herself. She had exacted a promise that Muira wouldn’t make the revelation to Ewan or
Lachlan
individually. No doubt Muira felt that an announcement to the entire castle didn’t precisely break her word.

Of course, it didn’t matter anymore what had been agreed. Clearly, Ewan
must
know now that Cait was home- and the only question remaining was: what
should she do about it?

Cait’s heart seized as she looked up into her mistress’s face. The old woman was staring at her in confusion and concern. No doubt the sweet lady couldn’t imagine why a serving girl- a
MacGregor
serving girl at that!- should be so overwrought by news concerning the Cameron
Laird
that she, ostensibly, had never met. She was going to lose
everything
, Cait realized,
even her memories.

“How horrible!” Cait said, finally finding her voice and forcing a detached smile onto her face. “It isn’t true, of course?”

“Well…” Lady Frasure looked heartily relieved that her maid was acting normally again. She spread her skirts and settled daintily on the edge of Cait’s bed, bending over to scoop up the baby and cradle him against her chest. “It seems there
is
a smidge of truth to it. Apparently, the
Laird
was hand-fasted a few years ago to some Cameron girl. The poor lass was killed in the raids. Apparently he was heartbroken.”

“Heartbroken?” Cait asked breathlessly.

“Aye! They said he fought like
the Devil himself against the English
army and pushed them back all the way down to
York
. At any rate, the girl was dead and he had to move on- for the good of the clan- only his sister claims she’s alive, and in this castle!”

“No one believes her, surely!” Cait said, but then she remembered the connection she had felt with Ewan when she had seen him in the hall. She could sense his presence, even now.
She wondered if he could feel it too.

“Well…” Lady Frasure laughed uncomfortably, “Of course, no one wants to doubt the word of a lady.”

“Of course!” Cait said with relief.

“But…
Laird
MacMillan
doesn’t want there to be any mistake.”

“Well, what are they going to do?”

“They’re-” Isobel started to explain, but was interrupted by a knock at the door. “Enter!” she called before Cait could stop her.

The door swung open, revealing one of the castle guards. A few more, indistinguishable figures were arrayed behind him. “Pardon me, Lady Frasure, but-”

“It’s her!”

Cait cringed as the voice of Alice MacEantach, one of the scullery maids, called out from the hall. She hunkered down over the baby, hoping against hope that the cry had been directed at someone else. Of course, it was not meant to be.

“What?” Lady Frasure said, brow furrowed.

The portly little housemaid squeezed past the guard and levelled her pudgy finger at Cait. “There she is! It’s Lady Cameron!”

“
Lady Cameron?
” Isobel said, laughing lightly. “Please tell me that you’re joking! It’s only Cait Greer, my maid. Cait- tell them who you are! Cait?” Lady Frasure’s complexion paled when she saw the look on Cait’s face. The younger woman rose unsteadily from the bed and started walking toward the door. She couldn’t bear to meet her
mistress’s
eyes when she finally confessed.

“I’m not Cait Greer,” she said quietly. “I’m Cait Everleigh- and I’m the girl they’re looking for.”

The silence that filled the room was deafening. Cait struggled not to crumple under the frank, disbelieving stares of all assembled as she walked toward the door. “What are you going to do with me?” Cait asked the guard who sputtered for a moment. Apparently, the idea of actually finding Cait had been so unlikely that no one had bothered to think beyond the search.

“I’ll take you to the
Laird
,” the man finally said gruffly and jerked his chin toward the door.

Cait didn’t bother to ask if Lady Frasure would mind keeping Robert. She took the lady’s failure to object as a sign of assent, and went into the hallway without a fuss.

Cait had never felt more on display! Rather than the former lady of the house, she felt like a
prisoner. She was surrounded
on all sides by guards- both her original escort, and a pair who joined them in the hall.
Alice
was taking up the rear, smugly triumphant as she trailed in the wake of her “find”. Everywhere they went, castle occupants stopped and stared. The guests could, of course, only guess her identity, but a fair number of Cameron’s recognized her. All of them stopped to stare in shock.

The pathway to Ewan’s chambers took longer than Cait remembered- attributable, of course, to the fact that he had moved since she was last in the castle. He was
Laird
now, and so they had to wind very slowly up the cent
er
staircase until they reached the top of the tower where the clan leader’s quarters were lo
cate
d. They hesitated outside the door, stalled by angry voices inside, snippets of which drifted into the hall: “
No,
Laird
MacMillan
, of course we had no idea…” “My wife can be…impulsive..” “I asked my brother to sit with her until things quieted down…”