A Year and a Day (23 page)

Ewan looked up when his uncle interrupted his thoughts. He quirked an eyebrow
in question
.

“Putting the clan first,” the older man said, “Even when it rips out your heart. It’s your duty, Ewan- bigger than both of us. Lord knows there’ll be enough dissention in the Septs
about
going to the MacRae’s rescue. Five years of peace isn’t nearly enough to erase a lifetime of suspicion. But if they don’t come together we’re all ruined, Ewan. All
of us.”

Ewan nodded grimly, trying not to let his face show that his heart was breaking inside. Of course, his uncle was right. He might love Cait, but he loved the clan more…didn’t he? Ewan was troubled that he wasn’t able to answer the question. He’d sorted out in his own mind that, if he failed to lead the clan, then the order would crumble. James would never be able to rally everyone together, and his uncle was too old to fight. It was up to him to save the clan- but at such a terrible price.

“It doesn’t have to be straight away,” his uncle said in what he hoped was a compassionate tone, “No one’s thinking about the wee lassie as long as I’m alive to be the
Laird
. Let the year run and
allow
things
to
end quietly. There won’t be any call for fuss. If there isn’t a baby, there won’t be any cause for people to even remember.”
 

Ewan bobbed his head numbly, barely noticing when his uncle clapped him on the shoulder and then led him toward the door.

“Where are we going?” Ewan finally asked when they neared the great hall.

“Best get it over with now,” the
Laird
said.

“It?” Ewan asked, and then his heart sank when he realized where he was being led. They walked through the main doors, and then into a small courtyard where a group of boys were playing with stones.

“
Keith
, be a good lad and get yer daddy,” the
Laird
said to one of the boys. He nodded to a man across the way “Gather the men you can,” he said. “I’m going to do the naming.”

Ewan felt all of the blood drain from his face when his uncle walked him to the swearing stone- the place where the men of the clan made their oath of loyalty every year.’

He knew what was going to happen next. The
Laird
wa
s going to officially name him T
anist. Usually, such ceremonies were carried out with much more pomp and circumstance- but usually, situations were not quite so desperate. There simply wasn’t any time to call in the outlying clansmen to witness the act. If Eilean Donan was going to be saved, they would have to leave almost at once- and Ewan must first be invested with the full authority as Tanist in addition to his position as chieftain.

Little by little the men of the clan who were present, and a number of their wives and children trickled into the courtyard. James had not yet returned from the East country, but Ewan was surprised and relieved to find his sister- and his assorted nieces and nephews- among the first to arrive.

“I didn’t want to go back without
Lachlan
,” Muira confided as they waited for other’s to arrive. Ewan could tell from her face that she was conflicted about the decision. She was relieved that she and her children were safe, but obviously worried sick about her husband.

They didn’t wait more than half an hour until the
Laird
signified that the ceremony should begin. It didn’t take long. The
Laird
announced his decision, invited comments. Then, there being none, invested Ewan as his tanist, inviting him to take the oath.

Ewan had to struggle not to let his voice waiver as he repeated the ancient creed- one that had been passed down through his grandfathers before him, since the very first Cameron’s had come to these lands. He repeated the words, never expecting them to cut so deeply:
I will defend the clan with my honor, and my blood, and my heart…

Ewan felt his mind try to wander again and again toward Cait. Again and again he pulled it back. He was about to go to
war
, and any distraction could mean his death, and the deaths of countless members of his extended family, but he couldn’t make himself stop. He was almost painfully conscious of Cait’s absence.
He felt
that she should be there, listening to him take the oath, waiting for him afterwards for them to pass their final night together before sending him into battle.

They’d already had their final night together
. The thought twisted in Ewan’s stomach like a knife
.
He wished that he could turn back time
and
savor
the moments they had shared.

After what seemed an impossibly long time, the event was finally over. The tribesmen broke up, but Ewan was led into the feasting hall with his family. It was hours later before he could leave. Even then, he was called almost immediately to a council of war. He collapsed in his bed that night, and left the following morning at dawn, already weary, and already wondering if it really mattered whether he won or lost.

It was four weeks before Cait quit running to the window at the sound of hoofbeats. She knew that it was foolish and irrational to hope that Ewan might return so soon, but she couldn’t stifle a flicker of hope that she might be wrong.  At the very least, if it wasn’t her husband, he might send word.

Word traveled to the village, but very slowly. Cait supposed that this was a good thing. If anything happened to the
Laird
or, God forbid, to Ewan, she knew that it would reach her quickly. The
last
bit of news had arrived in a matter of days.

Ewan was the tanist.

Cait supposed that she wasn’t surprised- how could she be when Ewan was the natural choice now that the
Laird
’s own sons were dead?
In addition to the claim of
his
birth
as the Laird’s nephew
, he had the claim of might. He was a natural leader and an experienced warrior that the people could rally behind- but she didn’t know where that left her. Cait was, frankly, no one’s idea of a
Laird
’s wife!

She knew a little bit about running a castle. She had commiserated with Muira while her friend suffered under the tutelage of her very capable aunt, and, of course, she had scrubbed the floors herself- but she didn’t have the first idea how to plan a banquet, or how to dance, or any herb lore or the other arts where
Laird
’s wives were meant to be adept. She felt hopelessly out of depth- not that it was even likely to matter.

Cait knew that it was foolish to hope that Ewan would keep her on when the year was over, but she couldn’t stifle the dream completely. Surely there was
something
real
about
what she and Ewan had shared together? At least, it had felt real, bundled up in his arms. If only they had more time! Four months had already passed. Cait greeted the Ides of March – her four month anniversary- with a heavy heart. One third of her time was already over, and her husband wasn’t even at home!

There was a
small
chance that he would be back quickly, at least. Two days earlier, gossip began to spread that Eilean Donan had been liberated. The English warship had sailed away. She didn’t know where that left matters. Would the English
leave completely
? Would they return on foot?

Cait grew sick with worrying about her husband’s health.
Then she was simply sick.

Cait had always been a hardy girl. She hadn’t had the leisure to be
delicate when she faced
the long, hard days of working at the castle. When she’d woken one morning, climbed out of bed, and promptly dashed to the basin to heave, she attributed it to something she’d eaten. The second time it happened, she was less certain. By the third, she was anxious enough to consider a doctor. It wasn’t her only symptom. She was
so
exhausted, some days she could barely manage to crawl out of bed, and she was sore and aching all over her body. Still, she assumed that the matter was trifling, and carried on as best she could.

One morning, when the cook served fish for supper, she was sick in the middle of her lunch.

“I’m sorry,” she cried, mortified, “It was delicious. It’s just…the smell!”
 

“I know!” the jolly old cook said kindly, cleaning Cait’s plate away. “There’s no call to apologize. I was the same way with my first.”
 

“Your first?” Cait asked, wrinkling her brow.

“My first baby, of course,” the cook said. “The master’s been gone…what? Two months? Don’t worry lass, it can’t be much longer until the worst is over. My guess is by the time the buds are bursting you’ll be the very image of health again, and have a wee bairn to coddle afore the frost.”

Cait stared at the old cook, absolutely gobsmacked by the news. She
couldn’t
be pregnant!
Cait’s heart cycled through a strange range of emotions, beginning with shock, and ending with a sort of terrified euphoria- the same way that she had felt her first time on a horse, or setting off on a ship: her stomach soaring and churning at the same time.

Utterly oblivious to Cait’s blank expression, the old woman continued to prattle on cheerfully. “What do you fancy? A boy or a girl? I’m sure it’s a boy that the master’s wanting, but you never can
tel
l. The old
Laird
was sorely disappointed to hear that his second was another boy…” he
r
voice trailed off for a moment, and then she crossed herself, “and now both the poor things
are
cold in graves. I ache for their dear mother…”

She continued talking, but Cait had ceased listening
and had become
lost in her own thoughts. The more that she considered the possibility that she was pregnant, the more certain she was that it was true. She and Ewan had certainly done everything in their power to assure that it
did
happen- Cait’s body burned and ached as she thought of her absent husband- and she’d certainly shown all the signs.

Autumn
, Cait thought, a smi
le flitting across her lips as her
hand drifted wistfully onto her stomach.
I’m having a baby
she thought to herself, and then the grin finally burst out in full force. Suddenly, she didn’t feel tired anymore. There were a hundred things that she wanted to do! She would have to see about a midwife, and she needed a nursery. Most important of all she had to try
to get a message to her husband!
Pleasantly occupied, and feeling happy for the first time in months, Cait bustled off to begin preparations.

Ewan watched the familiar shape of Castle Cameron rise over the hillside with unmasked relief. He’d be home in a few more hours. There was only one last valley to cross before he could collapse inside the sturdy walls. Eilean Donan was liberated- at least for the time being, and they’d pushed the English back far enough to justify a brief retreat. He knew that the final battle was still weeks- possibly
months
- away, but he and his soldiers needed a break.

Ewan felt like he hadn’t stopped since he’d left Glen Mohr three and a half months before. He had been at Castle Cameron for only a few days before departing to the front. The weeks that followed had been brutal. He had lost countless friends and kinsmen in a bloody, seemingly never-ending battle, and
still
the English foes had drawn back only slightly to their lowland allies in the South.

In all his years, Ewan had never seen fighting so brutal and relentless. Rather than large engagements, the Scots and the English had played at ambushing each other and making raids- rendering the psychological toll of always being on guard almost as bad as the fighting. For now, however, he was allowed a
temporary
respite. Their spies disclosed that the English commander, Colonel Everleigh, had been briefly recalled to the south. Ewan left Eilean Donan in the hands of his brother-in-law and headed
east
.