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The immense fire in the wall-sized fireplace was doing its best to lull me to sleep. For the third time I straightened in my chair at the banquet table and tried to focus on the conversation. Collin sat beside, instead of across from me, with two of the clansmen who’d accompanied us from Liusaidh’s hut this morning sitting on either side of us. Hugh was a giant of a man, and Lachlan, his opposite, had a tall, wiry body. Alistair and the others had gone home to their families, but it had been agreed that Collin and I should have at least two trustworthy clansmen with us throughout each day and stationed outside our door each night.
It wasn’t much compared to the supposed army of men loyal to Brann, but it brought a little comfort.
Donaid, one who had journeyed with us from England, but from whom we had been separated the last week, sat directly across from us now, in the midst of Brann’s council.
The tension in the air was a palpable thing. Collin and I asked questions and were given mostly unsatisfactory answers regarding the current state of affairs with the Campbells. Little of the council, if any, would side with us, we determined, from the answers they gave.
This made sense, of course, as those eating with the laird and enjoying the benefits of castle living were no doubt in league with him. I suspected these were the men who did his dirty work. No doubt taking care of Collin and me was on their list. I had never enjoyed a tasty meal less.
Collin and I had decided— prior to our arrival this morning— to drink only water at the keep. Three members of my grandfather’s council had become ill and then died in rapid succession shortly after his death. According to Ruaridh, many of the clan suspected Brann had poisoned them, though no one had been able to prove it. But as it was more difficult to conceal poison in water than wine, Collin and I had deemed having water as our only beverage the wiser course.
I found it wiser for other reasons at the moment, as no doubt my heavy eyelids would not have been able to resist the relaxing effects of the dinner wine.
Given the threat of poison, we’d also had to eat with utmost care, following Brann’s lead— serving ourselves only from platters he’d taken from, then taking a bite, only following one of his own.
Collin leaned forward in his seat now, his gaze intent as he came as close to pleading with Brann as I guessed he would. “Katie’s dowry must be delivered to the MacDonalds within a fortnight, or I predict significant trouble from my brother.”
Brann appeared unfazed as he leaned back in his seat, one leg propped casually across the other, a glass of amber liquid in his hand. “So the MacDonalds are still scraping by— if that— when you, at least, could be much better off. I cannot understand why you’re so keen to preserve the poverty of the Highlands. It’s a fool’s errand— as is your request for this supposed dowry. I know as little of that as I do of the deed you claim entitles Katherine to this castle.”
“That you don’t know of the deed is your own fault,” I said, irritated by his denial and more so by my inability to provide the one material thing Collin needed from our marriage. I believed him when he said he hadn’t married me for my dowry, but I also believed he’d expected to receive it— not for any personal gain, but to keep the MacDonalds from starving another winter. “Obviously Grandfather felt he couldn’t trust you with either the important documents or the clan’s funds,” I said to Brann.
“Liam didn’t trust anyone in his last years,” Brann said, not denying my accusations. “He didn’t do much to lead this clan either— cooped up in his room most days. They were all but begging for leadership when he finally died.” Brann paused long enough to take a drink. “You’ll see the wisdom of my decision yourself in the coming months— if you’re here that long.” He stole a glance at the right side of the table, where his council was still seated. “When once again the harvest is worth less than what it cost to plant.”
“Of course it’s worth less.” Collin’s tone had turned angry, whether at Brann’s unspoken threat or his cold-hearted assessment. “When you hardly plant enough to feed the inhabitants of this castle, let alone extra to help the other tenants or any to take to market. Income depends upon volume.”
“My income depends upon sheep.” Brann said. “Though you are correct. Volume is important, which is why I continue to grow the herds.” He was still defending his position, as he had been all day, for clearing away so many of the crofts and the farming families who had lived in them. “The moors that make up the land are more fertile in weeds than grain. Only a fool would try to farm them.”
“Several centuries of Campbells would disagree with that opinion,” Collin countered.
“Certainly the ancestors of the families who lost their homes would,” I added. “To say nothing of the families themselves.” It made me angry, too, thinking of the Campbell men, women, and children who had already been driven from the land. These were relatives I would never know, people whose lives had been stolen from them, people my grandfather had expected me to return to and care for.
Collin glanced at me— one of the few times he’d taken his eyes off Brann all evening. “Katie is tired. We can talk more of this— and her missing dowry— tomorrow.”
“Tires easily, does she?” Brann’s eyes narrowed as he looked at me.
“Not at all,” I said, rising before Collin could offer me assistance. “It is the company I find wearying.” It had been a long, anxious afternoon in close proximity to Brann. I swept past them both, across the hall to the foot of the stairs where Bridget, a fixture in the castle since before my birth, led us to our room.
Candle in hand, she began a brisk march that left no question as to her abilities in spite of her age. I followed at a slower pace, with Collin a step behind. His pistol was concealed once more, but still within easy reach. Hugh and Lachlan followed.
Collin’s senses had been on alert throughout the entire day, taking in everything around us, even as he listened to every word uttered by Brann and the others near to him. Now as we walked he kept his hand close to his pistol, and his eyes darted this way and that, trying to scope out the dark corners.
“Here you be.” Bridget forced the key in the lock and pushed the door open. “Your old room, the one you shared with your mother.” Lowering her voice she added, “I’d have cleaned it for you earlier today, but I didn’t want Brann knowing I’d found the key until the last minute, when it’d be too late for him to get in here— not that he was likely to ask. I’ve had it for years, but he never cared to go in here, never even asked about this room. It was your grandfather’s chamber he wanted, your mother being dead long before Brann became laird.”
Dead by his hand. I wondered if Brann was afraid he might find her ghost in here. “Thank you, Bridget.” I had vague memories of the older woman from when I was a child and felt at once that I might trust her. Though Collin knew her as well, he was more cautious.
He held his hand out. “May we have the key?”
“Of course.” She surrendered it without hesitation. A maid carrying a stack of clean linen came up behind her.
Bridget stepped aside. “Strip the bed, then make it up,” she ordered.
The woman hesitated, as if loath to cross the threshold.
“Don’t be all night about it.” Bridget took hold of the woman’s arm and pulled her into the room. Collin and I followed while two other maids trooped in behind, one with an armload of firewood, the other struggling beneath the weight of two full buckets of water.
Collin hurried to relieve her of them. She gave a squeak of thanks, then hurried off.
Odd. I wondered if the maids were wary of Bridget or us, or something else entirely.
Collin watched all carefully as the women bustled about doing their work. I had eyes only for the bed. It had been so very long since I’d slept in one. And there was only one. Collin and I would be sharing this chamber. I could only assume we would be sharing the bed as well. After the trying day it had been, I needed the comfort of his arms around me tonight.
Bridget hurried about the room, removing sheets draped over the furniture and the paintings on the walls. “We’ll come back and do a thorough cleaning tomorrow,” she promised. “But we can at least make it appear normal tonight.”
It looked better than normal to me, more so as the furniture and rugs made their appearance. Who knew that such an eyesore from outside could harbor a quaint room such as this?
“How long since this room was last used?” Collin asked.
“Since Katie left,” Bridget said. “Laird Campbell said it was to be kept for her, and there would be a curse upon any who attempted to stay here in her absence.”
“Brann really is superstitious,” I mused as I stopped before the fireplace and gazed up at a painting two of the maids had just uncovered. “Collin—”
“What is it?” He came to stand behind me, one hand resting lightly on my shoulder as he looked up. “Bealach Druim Uachdair. It’s almost the same as your painting.”
“Your mother was quite the artist.” Bridget arranged two chairs in front of the fireplace. “That painting was one of your grandfather’s favorites. How he loved his mountains.”
“I never knew,” I murmured, feeling the connecting threads of my past weaving through me. I didn’t remember my mother working before a canvas, though it seemed as if I ought to, ought to have questioned, somewhere along the line, where my own abilities came from. “Do you suppose my painting was created from a memory of this?” I asked Collin.
“Maybe. The likeness between the two is astonishing.” He reached past me to retrieve a small wooden horse from the mantel. He smiled wistfully as he held it out to me. “Happy sixth birthday, lass.”
I took the horse and ran my fingers over its smooth planes and curves. Like my wedding ring, the details were incredible. The mane could have been real, and the eyes made the toy seem almost alive. “It’s beautiful.”
“One of my first attempts,” Collin said, returning it to its place.
I moved slowly about the room, studying the other artwork. The last to be uncovered, also the smallest, was a portrait.
“I remember when your mother painted that one.” Bridget clucked her tongue. “Had to hold you on my lap so you’d be still enough. Took us weeks upon weeks, as you’d no patience for it.”
I stared at the portrait, studying my younger self, and felt my heart might burst. I’d never thought to question where my talent came from, but knowing it had been my mother’s first, and that I had that of her within me, filled me with bittersweet joy.
At last the maids finished and Bridget ushered them all out, with a promise that she would return with our breakfast tomorrow morning. “No point in eating at table with that horrid man any more than you have to,” she whispered loud enough that I worried Brann— or someone allied with him— would hear.
As if she’d read the concern in my face, Bridget patted my hand with affection. “No need to fret over me,” she assured. “He knows I loathe him, but he likes his comforts, and this house doesn’t run itself. If he wants good food and clean sheets, he’ll keep me around.”
“Nice to know he has some sense.” I shared a conspiratorial smile with her, hoping Brann would have sense enough to leave once it was proved ownership had transferred to me and Collin.
Bridget left. Collin consulted in the hall a moment with Hugh and Lachlan, then returned to the room and closed and locked the door.
“I’ll install a bar tomorrow. Until then—” He dragged the bureau closest to the door in front of it.
“Are you certain that’s a good idea? Brann is known for setting fires while people sleep. We might need to get out quickly.”
“I doubt he’d try that in his own castle.”
“It isn’t his anymore.” I moved to a chair and sat, more than ready to be done with my shoes.
“True,” Collin agreed. “But he’ll act as if it’s his. Besides, you’ll know beforehand if something’s going to happen.”
“I’m not certain I share your confidence.” I finished removing the first shoe and started on the second. “It would seem that a seer should know more of the future. But I cannot see if Edan and Finlay are safe. I didn’t see you coming to England. I hadn’t any idea that Malcom would try to hurt me.”
“I don’t have an answer as to why you’re able to know some things and not others,” Collin said. “For your grandfather it was the same. He believed he would be shown what he needed to, as will you.” Collin dropped into the chair opposite me.
“He described his sight as a game of chess. He might be shown some of the moves but not all. He might know which pieces would eventually be eliminated and the outcome of the game, but it was up to him what to do with and about that knowledge. He warned me once that the things you are able to see may not seem helpful at first. Sometimes you may see a clear path, as you did on our journey here. Other times, you may feel helpless to do anything about what you are shown.”
I dropped the second shoe to the floor with a frustrated sigh. “If I’m unable to do anything with what I know, what good is this ability at all?” I recalled Finlay’s cryptic revelation this morning. “How many other Campbells have a similar gift?”
“I don’t have all the answers. I’m sorry your grandfather isn’t here to speak with you. He’d know better than I.” Collin slumped in his chair, his eyes closing.
My frustration with my unanswered questions and lacking abilities, Brann, our situation— everything— came to a grinding halt as I looked at my husband’s weary face. Collin had done so much for me. He needed me. He believed in me. That would have to be enough. We would figure this out. All of it.
“Sometimes your gift may not seem useful,” Collin continued. “At other times, it might save your life. And it is those times I most care about and am grateful for.” He opened his eyes, to look at me tenderly.
I couldn’t disagree with him about the usefulness of my sixth sense and hadn’t forgotten the danger I’d felt on our way here when faced with the decision of which route to take. I’d known exactly what both Brann and Ian had been thinking, and I still knew what the consequences could have been had I not known and acted accordingly.
Collin must have mistaken my silence for continued argument. “Why didn’t the Campbells side with the Jacobites in the rebellion?”
“Because Grandfather knew they would lose.” I remembered Alistair’s explanation and how I’d thought his statement rather pretentious.
“He did,” Collin said, “but he desisted for more reasons than you might suppose. It was not simply to be on the winning side or to gain favor with the crown. Your grandfather saw what was coming for Scotland— he saw this— people starving and homeless, families being thrust from the land they’d farmed for generations, lairds turning against their own. He told me he saw the end of the clans— unless the war could be prevented. And so the Campbells refused to aid in the prince’s cause and did all they could to be prepared, hoping, against hope, that they could be strong enough after the war to preserve not only their families but the Highland way of life as well.”
“But here we are seeing all that Grandfather feared come to pass. What good came of his knowing? You said yourself that he— we— are powerless to change the future.”
“Life was better for your family— for a while anyway,” Collin said. “There’s that, and Liam was also in a position to save me from the same fate as my father. And in turn for me to then save you, when Brann would have done you harm.”
“Something very good came of it,” I said quietly, repenting of my earlier arguments. The thought of Collin being taken and killed made my stomach churn, as did the memory of Brann strangling my mother. If Grandfather hadn’t known the future and acted as he had... neither of us might be here.
Even the tiniest decision I made might have significant consequences. A shiver passed through me with the weight of such responsibility.
Respect your gift, I could almost hear my grandfather saying. From now on I must do more to both heed and understand it. We were going to need all the help we could get.