A Year and a Day
Authors: Stephanie Sterling
A Year and a
Day
Second Edition
By Stephanie Sterling
A Year and a Day
Copyright © 2012 by Stephanie Sterling.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems without permission in writing from the author except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.
For Julie, who didn’t think it was dumb.
-S.
Ewan Cameron was not expecting heaven to smell so much like bacon.
Truth be told, Ewan Cameron was not expecting
heaven
at all, but when the
MacLeod
axed had fallen and he’d tumbled off his horse, the last words on his lips were a prayer. Apparently, it had done a bit of good.
He was
not
writhing in a pit or burning in brimstone
and
fire. The temperature was warm, but pleasant, and he was
lying
very still. There weren’t any choirs of angels either. Finally, the approaching patter of footsteps convinced him that he just might
be alive
after all.
He tried to turn his head, but couldn’t, and felt a flare of panic
. It
subsided
when he heard a familiar voice:
“Saints be praised!” The soft, clipped syllables of an Englishwoman caressed his ears, “Muira! He’s awake!”
With effort, Ewan managed to part his lids, although the action cost him. A searing p
ain shot through his head from a
sudden burst of light, and when the glare faded, his vision was oddly dim.
Still, he didn’t let his lids slip closed again. His eyes appeared to be the only part of his body that he could control, and so he used them to focus on the source of the voice: Cait Everleigh. Raised much of her life in Engand, she was nothing more than one of the serving girls
in the castle, but also a lifelong
friend. Seeing Cait meant that he was home. That knowledge soothed away a portion of his pain.
Cait settled beside him, perching on the edge of the mattress so that she could stretch across
his
broad frame. He couldn’t see what she was doing, but a cool cloth was pressed against his head, and then he felt a warm ooze
spread over his skin
as if she’d lifted a bandage.
“Barely a trickle,” she spoke in a tone of plain relief. “Well it’s a good thing after all, Ewan Cameron, that your head is as thick as a wall!”
Ewan blinked at the remark. He would have laughed if he could have spared the effort, but he could not.
Thick as a wall indeed
, he thou
ght, although at the moment he
was wishing he didn’t have a head at all.
I’m sure that the lobsterbacks would be pleased to arrange it
. T
he thought came, unbidden from the back of his mind. Then, a flood of memories came too.
It was years since they’d gone raiding on the borders they shared with the MacCraes. Ewan’s sister, Muira, had married the young
Laird
Lachlan Macrae a half-dozen years before, bringing an end to their families’ feud. Still, it was a valuable training exer
cise- one that the younger men (
many of them not so young as to have forgotten that they were raised to hate
MacCraes)
liked to embark upon with or without the blessings of their clans.
Laird
Cameron and
Laird
MacCrae had reached an understanding on the issue. As long as the looting and rustling didn’t fall too heavily on either side, the harmless pranking would be ignored. It had recommenced again with gusto on both sides. Deep within the highlands, the clans were insulated from the English threat. They were getting bored. Even Ewan couldn’t resist the temptation to go and have a little fun.
He hadn’t been alone that night. His younger brother James had
with him
, along with Hamish and Donaid, the sons of the
Laird
. A few of their friends had tagged along as well as they rode through the night, finding as much use for tankards and wenches as they did for their pistols or dirks. They’d all been a touch more than drunk when they arrived back at the Gilkurn pass- the crossroads boundary between the clans. Towing a string of three fine
cows
and a bellowing drinking son
g
s at the top of their lungs they hadn’t noticed anything out of place- at least, not until the first shot was fired.
It hit Donaid square i
n the chest. Ewan’s horse reared back as warm blood splattered on beast and rider both. That was probably what had saved his life. He’d moved just a fraction out of range from the blade that was making for his skull, so it clipped him, rather than slicing through
. He was
knocked from the animal. He
fell
. The next thing he remembered was waking up again in his bed.
“Jamie
!” he moved his lips to shout his younger brother’s name, but sound refused to come. Noting his distress, Cait lifted a glass of water to his lips. “
Jam
ie
!” he managed to rasp
at last
.
Cait bobbed her head, “Aye, your wee brother’s fine,” she answered.
“D-Donaid?” he continued.
This time, Cait didn’t answer.
There were many other things that Ewan wanted to ask, but speaking only the two words had nearly wrung him out.
“Sleep now,” Cait whispered. It was the same as if she’d spoken a spell. His lids felt heavier than before, and he felt sleep wrapping around him once again. “We’ll talk more when you’re able,” she promised, her voice chasing him into dreams. The world faded into darkness, and then he knew no more.
Cait lingered at Ewan’s bedside until his breathing grew steady and deep. Then she rose again. There were other patients at the castle who required her attentions- although none were granted the service with quite so much honest zeal.
Ewan was awake…
The simple fact of seeing his eyes flutter open, of hearing his voice, was enough to earn a prayer of thanks. She’d nearly
died
when she’d seen him carried, stiff
and bloody
,
through the gates. Ewan Cameron was what made her life worth living- although
she kept that secret to herself
.
Cait thought it would be ung
racious to lament her lot in lif
e. She had a warm bed to sleep in and food enough to keep her belly full. She had
kind
friends and a clan that claimed her- despite her southern accent and English ways- any yet she’d never been able to stop the yearning for something
more.
She didn’t mind being a servant. It was in some ways better than she’d expected or deserved when she’d been presented at the castle door. Her mother
was
the old
Laird
’s daughter who’d run away when she was young. She’d discovered the hard way that an English officer’s promises didn’t hold when one moved South of Hadrian’s wall.
Despite
her sacrifice
of family and reputation
,
Grainne Cameron
had been
left with nothing but a little daughter and a stack of debts. She abandoned them both in
Plymouth
and sailed
south with a new lover to
France
. From that day forward, Cait had been forced to live by her wits.
She’d been luckier than most. She hadn’t been on the streets for more than a week, and was hungry but not yet desperate, when a kindly sea captain had recognized the
scrap of tartan that she wrapped around her hair
. He’d sailed from Skye the year before and had heard a bit of the Cameron clan. A Scotsman himself- although a lowlander- he’d been moved by the plight of a little lassie left on her own. Employing her in the ship
’
s kitchens, he’d offered her passage to
Scotland
, and found a friend to see her all the way to the seat of her clan. She’d p
resented her story to the
Laird
. I
t had been accepted- and Cait finally found the only home she’d ever known.
After a childhood drifting from boarding house to boarding house with her mother and her mother’s “friends”, life in the Scottish countryside had been idyllic. Cait loved the wide open spaces and the scent of heather on the air. She loved her tiny but comfortable room, and the sounds of the castle routine that went on morning, noon and night. Muira Cameron, the
Laird
’s niece, had been her first real friend. Muira’s brother, Ewan, had been her first- and
only
-
love.
Ho
w could she help but love him? S
he wondered. Looking back, her reasons were perfectly clear. He was strong, intelligent,
dashing,
handsome
. That
was
only
the beginning of an endless list. In simple terms, Ewan was perfect. Cait couldn’t be convinced of anything else.
