A Year and a Day (49 page)

Ewan and Brodie rejected the offer of an escort. Ewan knew, too well, that if guards were needed, they wouldn’t stand a chance. Frankly, he didn’t have the men to spare. So, after checking that his own weapons were ready, he swung onto his horse and started out of the gates.

There was a moment of heavy tension when the gates swung open. If Ewan was walking into a trap, that was the moment it would best be sprung. To his relief, however, the gate clanged shut again. He heard the heavy timber bar fall into place, and the portcullis drop behind him before he nudged his horse forward into the night.

The English soldiers were waiting. Without speaking, they led him down the hill and toward the English camp. Tents were ranged behind the circle of cannons, but they kept going toward the village.

Ewan’s heart twisted uncertainly when he saw the town. It was, more or less, intact- but he guessed this was because the English officers were using it for occupation, rather than their decision to leave it be. His suspicion was partially confirmed when he was taken to a house in the centre of town and instructed to dismount.

“The Colonel asked that you be taken to him straight away,” one of the soldiers said, his voice a shock after such a long, tense stretch of silence.

Ewan nodded. He and his fellow Laird followed the soldier into the house.

Ewan wasn’t certain what he expected. He was facing a great enemy, it was true- but he was also facing Cait’s father. That last fact left him unsettled. Surely there had to be some good in a man who had sired a woman like Cait? Would they look the same? Act the same? Would he be met with any pity or mercy at all?

He didn’t have time to wonder. They stopped before a wooden door and were instructed to step inside. Colonel Everleigh was sitting behind a desk, sipping a glass of wine. He gave the Lairds a predatory smile when they entered the room.

The only feature that the man seemed to share with Cait was his dark hair. It was tied in a queue behind his neck, held with a black silk ribbon. His features were very pronounced: small, ice-blue eyes, thin lips, a square jaw and a very prominent nose. He was handsome in an unconventional way- but nothing like Cait- to Ewan’s endless relief.

“Ah, ‘Laird’ Cameron, I presume,” The English officer drawled, his eyes gleaming with amusement when he spoke the title as though he doubted its authenticity. “And Laird…?” he waited for the other man to identify himself, apparently unable to place the tartan.

“Brodie,” came the muttered reply. The officer nodded.

“How kind of you to join me.” He nodded toward a decanter and a pair of glasses, “Wine?”

“No,” Ewan grunted, wanting to waste no time on pleasantries. Beside him Brodie echoed his gesture.

Everleigh sighed heavily, “To business, then.”

“Aye!” Ewan shot the other man a haughty look, “Why don’t you tell us when you’re going to go away,” he demanded, “And while you’re at it why the hell you’re here to begin with.”

Everleigh responded with a patronizing laugh, “Why do you think we’re here, Laird Cameron?” he queried, lips quirking at Ewan’s annoyed resistance to offering a response. “Please- indulge me.”

“I won’t!” Ewan spat back, but that didn’t stop him from adding: “If this is about Cait…”

“Cait?” Everleigh said in confusion. It seemed to take him several moments to place the name. When he finally did, it was his turn to look offended. “Ah, yes,” he purred dangerously, “You’re the man who thinks he’s married my…chambermaid? Mistress?”

“Daughter,” Ewan growled, although the word gave him no pleasure.

He wanted to punch the leering grin off of Everleigh’s face. Even more so when the man replied coolly, “I don’t have a daughter.”

“You took Cait’s mother away from the clan!” Ewan countered, hating his wife’s parentage, but unwilling to abide impli
cat
ions that she was a liar.

“Her mother?” Everleigh sneered. He seemed to search his memory for a moment, finally chuckling cruelly, “
Grainne
, possibly?
Grainne
Cameron?” He didn’t wait for Ewan’s confirming nod before he hissed, “That little slut of a Scotswoman was pregnant before I ever killed her miserable fool of a husband and took her into my bed- for all that was worth. The little
whore wasn’t fit for
my dog.”

Ewan didn’t even hear most of what Everleigh had to say, and didn’t have time to question that the story didn’t match precisely with what he’d been told. White hot rage welled up in his chest, churning so furiously that he wasn’t able to hold it in. He went sailing across the table, landing one solid blow to the colonel’s jaw before he was dragged away.

“Laird Cameron!” Brodie hissed anxiously.

Ewan looked up, staring into the barrels of three muskets, and then he heard Everleigh’s hated voice, “That will be enough, Laird Cameron!” He bellowed, wiping away a trickle of blood from his lip. “I’m getting very tired of
Scotland
.”

“Then go home!” Ewan suggested hotly.

“Not yet,” Everleigh countered back.

“You have a demand?” this time Brodie spoke.

Everleigh turned to him, apparently deciding that he was the more rational of the pair. “Aye, I do,” he said calmly. Putting the handkerchief away, he sat up straighter behind his desk. “A whole list, in fact.” He met Ewan’s eyes in challenge, “First, you will surrender the castle immediately.”

“NO!” Ewan growled, but Everleigh ignored him and continued in an even voice.

“Clans Cameron, MacRae and a MacKenna will pay tribute to the crown in the sum of six years taxes,” he said, naming the astronom
ical sum without batting an eye
. “Clans Cameron and MacRae will be merged. Ewan Cameron and Lachlan MacRae will resign as Lairds in favour of an appointment of my choice.”

“Oh, will we?” Ewan sneered, knowing that the clans would never swear fealty to an outsider. “And who might that be?”

“Someone I think you know,” Everleigh said, practically gleeful as he looked over his shoulder. A man stepped out of the shadows.

“Alister MacEantach!” Ewan growled.

The MacEantach’s had been fiefs to Clan Cameron for as long as anyone could remember. Originally a humble peasant group, they had eventually gained wealth from farming and from selling their wool to the lowland mills. By Ewan’s day, the sept was powerful- so powerful in fact that many had viewed Tavish MacEantach, Alister’s older brother, as a rival for tanist of the clan in the days of the former Laird.

Ewan’s little sister, Muira had once been engaged to Tavish, before a strange accident had thrown her in the path of Lachlan MacRae. Tavish had renounced his claims to Muira only reluctantly- and he had always held a grudge.

The result of that grudge was a terrible crime carried out a few months later. Ewan, Tavish, and Ewan’s cousin Donaid- the tanist then- had comprised a peace envoy to the MacRaes. They had hoped to stem some of the animosity between the clans and strength the bond that Muira’s marriage had wrought. Tavish, however, had other ideas. He had sought revenge on Lachlan MacRae- and Muira- by poisoning half the clan. More than 20 of the MacRae had died, and Tavish’s involvement was quickly caught out. He’d been hanged- justly so in Ewan’s mind- but the consequences had been great.

The MacEantach’s went into revolt, first accusing Ewan and the Tanist of treason and then, when the old Laird agreed with their actions- accused all of the Cameron’s of plotting to steal their fortunes. They had withdrawn from the Clan. Unable to take their land, they had withdrawn vast sums of money and men instead. Ewan suspected that the undefended southern borders they’d left behind had been a large part of their success- that and outright collusion, he suspected now. It wasn’t any secret that MacEantach sympathizers remained in the clan. No doubt they were the reason that the English army had been slipping through his defenses undetected.

“Alister has some excellent ideas for clan leadership,” Everleigh drawled, “Which is good. The MacEantach clan- oh…did I tell you that’s what we’d named it?” he waited for this jab to land before continuing, “They’re going to need someone strong to guide them after the death of their own dear Lairds.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Ewan growled.

“Did I forget to mention?” Everleigh smiled, “You and Laird MacRae- and anyone else who wants to have an opinion- are dead I’m afraid. Treason to the crown.  Execution’s a wicked business but the- MacEantach tells me that the Camerons and MacRaes are rather adept.”

“Never!” Ewan hissed, ignoring the fact that he didn’t have the first clue how he was going to get back to the castle to begin with, much less see that Everleigh’s threats did not come true.

“So certain?” Everleigh baited.

“Aye!” Ewan answered fiercely. “I think that you ought to be the man worried for his neck. We chased you down to
York
once.”

“You and your highland army,” Everleigh said tightly, “Which, I note, didn’t make it to the wedding.”

“We have men enough,” Ewan responded, aware of the hollowness of his threat, “And the others will be arriving soon.”

“Called by whom, precisely?” Everleigh taunted. “We’ve sealed the village. We’ll kill any man who steps so much as a toe out of the castle walls. Your only hope is to surrender now.”

“And if I say no?”

Everleigh shrugged, “I have no pressing engagements. I suppose that I can wait.”

“Aye, you’ll wait allright,” Ewan hissed, “You’ll see the inside of Castle Cameron in hell.”

“Yes, but you’ll be there already,” MacEantach said, his voice cold and dry like the hiss of a snake.

Ewan didn’t lower himself to so much as look at the other man, “This meeting is over,” he snapped and turned to leave.

He wasn’t surprised when the guards blocked his progress. He reached for his sword. Behind him, Everleigh held up his hand, and the soldiers stepped aside. “Let Laird Cameron deliver my message,” he instructed them, “It won’t be long until we see him again. He’ll be so much more fun to hang, after all…or drawn and quartered, perhaps? After all, it is treason he’s accused of.”

Ewan tried not to listen as he walked away. It was difficult, however, when Everleigh called after him, “Do say ‘hello’ to Mary’s little bastard,” he taunted. “Maybe you can get some use out of her? Although, if she’s anything like her mother…”

“Keep walking!” Laird Brodie said firmly, grabbing hold of Ewan’s wrist in an attempt to keep him steady, “You can cut his tongue out later once we’re out of this mess.”

Ewan nodded, and hurried back to his horse.

He hadn’t really expected to be let go so easily, and his nerves were wound as tightly as a spring until he finally made it back through the castle gates.

“What did he say?” Laird Frasure, waiting just inside the castle courtyard, asked hopefully.

“He said we’re going to fight,” Ewan answered gruffly, then went inside to deliver a full report.

He wanted to go immediately to Cait, but there was business to attend to. The lairds debated late into the night how they ought to proceed. Lairds MacCloud, MacKenna and Drummond wanted to offer settlements of their own. Their lands were not involved, and their fates had not been threatened by the English- yet.

Ewan couldn’t bear to spare the twenty able men that they had among their number, but was in no position to impose his will. He accepted their defection as gracefully as he could and plotted with the others how to proceed.

Laird Brodie had been fostered for a time with the Camerons, and his lands bordered theirs on the north. He saw it as a matter of security to move forward and make his stand now. Ewan was annoyed by Laird Frasure’s lack of commitment.

“The Frasures never fight!” Ewan blurted angrily, but Laird Frasure was unruffled.