A Year and a Day (50 page)

“We’ve never had to,” he explained.

“Not yet,” Ewan countered. “Not now, but what about next year, when MacEantach is your neighbor? What happens when the English army is camped outside your castle?”

Despite his persuasion, however, Laird Frasure remained unmoved. He wasn’t ready to try and leave the castle, but neither was he willing to commit to the bitter end.

After the departing Lairds broke away to plot their own strategy, the chief topic of debate was how to get a message outside- but they were no closer to finding a solution than they had been the day before.

After the meeting, Ewan checked the walls again and did a quick inventory of the stores. Then, well after midnight, he finally crawled up to bed.

“Ewan, thank God!”

Cait had been waiting up for him. She was wearing a nightgown and rocking Robert against her breast. As soon as she saw him, she put the baby down and rushed across the room, locking him in her embrace.

“Cait,” he whispered into her hair, rubbing his hand up and down her back.

Cait was crying. He felt the moisture against his cheek, “They said that the English had got you!” she whimpered. “They said…!”

Ewan silenced her with a kiss. “No talk of that now,” he whispered, sick of strategy and worry. He only wanted a few minutes of comfort, well-aware that they were living on borrowed time.

Cait gave him all of that and more. Ewan lost track of how many times they made love. They both were craving sleep, but more than that, they were craving each other, clinging to their happiness in this world while they stood on the precipice leading into the next.

Dawn, when it came, was much too early. Cait was still asleep. He didn’t want to wake her- but he couldn’t bear to leave without saying goodbye. Today might be the end.

“Cait…” Ewan whispered against her neck, “Cait…wake up, my Beauty…Cait?”

Very slowly, she stirred. Ewan watched, his heart wellingup with unspeakable emotion as her lashes fluttered and her body shifted, slowly coming away. She drifted gently into consciousness, but without even a moment of blissful disorientation. When she met his eyes, it was with a sad smile.  “Already?” she asked.

Ewan nodded.

“It’s too early.”

It was. Too early in the day and too early in their lives to be time for parting, but there was no shirking of duty. Ewan kissed her cheek. “I have to go.”

Cait nodded her head, but clenched her eyes, not wanting him to see her cry. Her efforts were in vain, however. Ewan brushed away the teardrops gleaming in her eyes with his lips. “Don’t cry, my Beauty,” he begged, not knowing if he was strong enough to leave her if she did.

Cait nodded her head, seeming to understand. “I’m not crying,” she lied and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Be…be careful today,” she begged him. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” The words didn’t seem enough. They didn’t seem to capture a fraction of the depth of feeling that he held for his wife- but there wasn’t time to frame his thoughts. He offered them in another kiss, and then rolled out of their bed.

“Will it happen today?” Cait asked in a frightened tone, obviously inquiring about the castle’s imminent breach.

“I think not,” Ewan assured her. Eilean Donan had survived for weeks- but then, her defenses, both natural and constructed, were stronger, and she’d been fully staffed by the MacRae army. “A few more days,” he spoke wishfully. “There is still time for help to come.”

“Who?” Cait asked, but Ewan didn’t answer. He couldn’t answer. There was no one left. Every messenger they’d sent had fallen. There didn’t seem a point in wasting more able-bodied men. They had all lost so much. Even Ewan’s brother James was gone, though he hadn’t yet taken the tie to reconcile himself to that fact.

“Listen to me, Cait,” Ewan said instead, his mind racing ahead to the possibility of their ultimate defeat, “When the castle walls are broken…”

“If!” Cait corrected him, desperately.

Ewan sighed but nodded. “If the castle walls are broken, I want you to hide in the kitchens. They won’t kill you if they think you’re just a serving girl. Take Robert with you. Lie about who you are.” He prayed that Everleigh wouldn’t be looking for her, and that the other servants wouldn’t turn her over. It was a gamble- but the only chance they had.

“But-!” Cait started to protest, but Ewan shushed her. “They’ll impress you probably, make you work as a servant. Go along with it until they stop watching- then run away- to Brodie lands, or the Frasures will have you back.”

“Ewan!” Cait wailed, “Don’t talk like this! You’re frightening me!”

“You ought to be frightened,” Ewan said plainly, and then felt guilty when panic flared in her face. He tried to kiss it away. “Miracles still happen Cait, every day. Just…just pray for one now. Pray that we’ll make it through and be happy together.” He kissed her neck, and then her shoulder, and then kept going, planting another firm buss in the centre of her stomach. “Pray for a little brother for Robert…for our cottage by the river…for the future, Cait.”

“I will,” she promised, throwing her arm around his neck, never wanting to let go. She held him there until there was a knock at the door- a pounding that couldn’t be ignored- and Ewan had to go.

They made it through another day. Miraculously, the walls were still holding. They had lost another seven men, and two women, both of whom had been carrying water to the wall. The rations were holding. Frankly, Ewan wasn’t too concerned about food- they’d all be picked off before it had a chance to run low.

The bombardment continued overnight, and he couldn’t get to Cait except to tell her goodnight and promise another day. Somehow, he managed that as well. By the third morning, however, all the men knew that they wouldn’t hold on much longer.

“Lord Everleigh’s repeated his terms, sir,” a messenger entered the chamber where the lairds had gathered, offering a scroll of parchment that had been carried to the door. He was unsurprised to find it no more than the previous offer- clearly meant as a taunt rather than an olive branch. He shot the other lairds a haggard glance, and then turned to the messenger, “Tell the Camerons,” he began, not daring to speak for the other clans, “If they want to attempt their own separate peace with the British, it will be without shame. They’ve fought well, but I won’t surrender.”

“They won’t go, sir!” the messenger said, cheeks hot with a fierce, desperate pride. Ewan knew that was the truth. It wasn’t the highland way, but he felt obliged to make the offer. After the messenger left, he turned to the other leaders- a smaller group than it had been before. MacCloud and MacKenna had left. Drummond had died, but Brodie remained and Frasure was too far committed now to change his course.

“How much longer will the defenses last?” Brodie asked bluntly.

Ewan met his friend’s eyes. “Until tomorrow morning…and then it’s a matter of hours,” he answered frankly. “We don’t have the men left to defend the wall. They’ll move up the battering ram at dawn and it’ll break.”

The other men nodded at the assessment. They could move soldiers from the other sides of the castle, but that would leave the remaining walls undefended.

“Can any of the women shoot?”
Lachlan
asked, an edge of desperation in his voice, “The older boys?” Ewan shot him a pitying glance. He’d been so caught up in his own fears that he hadn’t stopped to think of how desperate the other man must be, with not one but four children hiding in the chapel.

“Not well enough to matter,” Ewan answered with a sigh.

The other lairds acknowledged this grimly. They harboured hope, ever how slight, that some of the women and children might be spared. There was no sense sacrificing them to buy a few extra hours.

“What do we do tonight?” Laird Brodie asked.

Ewan took a moment to answer, “We feast,” he said after a moment of deliberation. They might as well have one final night of rejoicing. He had cases of Alsatian wine that he’d be damned if he’d let the English drink, and they might find a little courage for the end if they met it well-fed and rested.

“Feast?” Laird Frasure answered, disbelieving, “A feast to what?”

“Life,” Ewan responded plaintively, and then considered, “And my wedding.”

“Your wedding?”
Lachlan
spoke this time, “I thought you and Lady Cameron were already…”

“In a church,” Ewan said, “In a mass. I’d rather have it proper before…” he let his voice trail off.

Lachlan
clapped him on the back, silently voicing his approval. Laird Frasure nodded his assent as well. “Aye, that will do,” he answered. He smiled a bittersweet smile, “Isobel will be happy. She’s such a soft spot for our Cait.”

“It’s settled then,” Ewan answered, and then he bid them all goodbye.

“A wedding!”

Ewan’s decision had its desired effect. Despite the danger lurking beyond the castle walls, nearly ready to break most of the women in the castle were wearing smiles as they converged around Cait, tongues wagging, as they plotted an evening ceremony.

“Well, he could have given us a bit more time!” Rhea MacMurphy muttered, hands on her hips as she eyed the stash of candles in the chapel vestibule and pondered how they could be put to use.

“At least she has a dress!” Muira MacRae chimed in. She’d just come back from her old bedroom bearing a parcel wrapped in silk. She laid it gently on the back of one of the pews, “I hoped that someone would get to wear it…well, before Maisie, that is.” She stood back and let Cait unwrap the parcel: a gown of heavily embroidered silk that had been waiting seven years for its debut.

“Is there any greenery?” Lady Brodie said, pressing her lips together in disapproval. “She has to have a posy to carry at least.”

“We’ll manage something,” Cait muttered, flushing from all the attention around her.

“Yes, let them manage!” Muira said bossily, tugging on Cait’s arm, “We need to get you ready.”

Cait followed, Muira’s children and Lady Frasure trailing in their wake. They climbed the winding staircase up to the Laird’s quarters. Even though the sounds of cannons and fighting were still raging outside, Cait could almost forget that a battle was being waged as she resigned herself to her friends’ attentions.

Cait was certain that she had never been so thoroughly spoilt in grooming. Together, the Laird’s laidies washed and dried her hair, oiled and perfumed it, and then coiled it expertly on top of her head. Muira scavenged creams and cosmetics from the other castle ladies, and applied them after Cait had been bathed and powdered and pampered to perfection. Finally, as night was falling, they helped her into her dress.

“The Laird is waiting in the kirk,” one of the kitchen boys said, poking his head in after running up the stairs. Cait looked up in surprise. The cannons outside were silent. The day had passed without her knowing.

“Is he well?” she asked, because she knew she ought to- the battle might have been something fierce. The lad nodded.

“Aye, mistress. The fighting wasn’t so bad today,” he answered brightly, though all assembled knew- too well- the reason why. The English were biding their time. They wanted to make sure that there were plenty of men left to execute when they finally burst inside.

“Thank you,” Muira said, dismissing the lad. She moved to where the dress had been laid out to air, “Well, are you ready?”

Cait nodded her head.

“I’ll take the wee ones down then,” Lady Frasure said, “There’s something that I want to bring to the chapel.” She gave Cait a kiss on the cheek, “I want to see you before you go in.”

Cait nodded in agreement, then watched as her friend ushered the pack of MacRae children down the stairs. Little Ewan and Robert had been left in the chapel. So, after Muira helped Cait into her dress, there was no reason to wait. They walked down the steps together.