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“The Campbell lands begin here.” Collin placed his finger on the map, over a blue swathe labeled Loch Tay.
“Which side of the loch? Is our clan permitted to use it?” On our journey here I’d learned just how valuable bodies of water— and access to them— were when traveling in the Highlands.
“Both. Campbell land surrounds it.” Collin traced the faint line running higgledy- piggledy around the lake and spread out in various fingers beyond. “Though the MacNabs, Menzies, and even Murrays lay claim to it too.”
Meaning they felt it worth the risk of encountering Campbells to reach the water. We’d taken a rather circumventing route from my home in England to the Campbell holding, in part to avoid crossing the land of other hostile clans. And also to ensure that we had food and drink— fish and fresh water— the duration of our trip. For us the many lochs scattered throughout the Highlands had been the difference between life and death. Seeing no other sizeable bodies of water nearby, I could understand why those other clans laid claim to the loch as well.
I sipped from the mug Bridget had brought with our breakfast while Collin finished the last of his porridge. We’d awoken this morning to discover that Brann was no longer in residence. He’d disappeared sometime during the night, and no one knew— or would admit to it, at least— when he would be back or what he was up to.
His absence had done little to ease our strain, as three members of his council, his brother and two cousins, were still milling about. We’d spent the morning avoiding them while meandering the main floor of the castle, reacquainting ourselves with the place that had been our beginning. We had ended our tour here, in one of the small chambers adjoining the great hall, this one containing maps and having been used for plotting defensive strategy in times past.
Collin’s finger continued its progress along the map. “To the south the border goes here, all the way to The Firth of Clyde. And further west, this belongs to the Campbells as well.” He outlined a finger of land jutting out a considerable distance from the main body of Scotland. “Loch Awe runs through Campbell lands here.” Collin’s hand moved north over the parchment. “And finally, the whole of this belongs to the Campbells as well.” He spread three fingers out across a large portion of the map.
“That’s enormous.” I sucked in a breath, feeling more than a little overwhelmed by the vastness of what he’d just shown me. I planted my palms on the table and leaned forward over the parchment.
Like a goddess looking down upon my kingdom. That was hardly the case, and instead of feeling thrilled at what Collin had just shown and described to me, I felt terrified. People were spread out all over that land. Campbells, looking for a leader, someone to save them from poverty and displacement. Where and how were we even to begin?
“There are some other Campbell clans in the Highlands as well, though not associated directly with your grandfather’s line.” Collin pointed out a few more places on the map, distant to those he had just described as ours.
“Well, that’s something at least,” I said half-joking. “If we fail to save our Campbells, at least the name will still exist somewhere in Scotland.”
“We won’t fail.” Collin glanced sideways at me and took a step away, instead of coming closer and placing his hands upon my shoulders as he used to. I made a pretense of studying the map a moment longer to get my bearings. While I finally understood the reasons for his reticence to be close, it didn’t lessen the hurt such actions caused. I needed him and his affirmations of love. He really was the calm to my storm and the comfort to my fear. I wasn’t certain I could do this without his arms around me as we stepped forward— blindly it seemed, in spite of all Collin was doing to help me understand my history and what we were up against.
“So, that is the land Brann has been filling with sheep.” I pushed off the table and stood, arms folded as I thought. “It appears there should be plenty of room for both— people and their farms, and sheep.”
“One would think so,” Collin said, bitterness in his voice.
“Where is your land?” I asked, scrutinizing the map once more as I realized he had neither mentioned nor pointed out the MacDonald holdings.
“Here.” More bitterness. Collin used his little finger to trace a slim line bordering a northwest corner of the Campbells.
I said nothing but swallowed painfully as I stared at the thin strip of land labeled MacDonald. It was no wonder I had missed it, tiny as it was and sandwiched between the sprawling Campbells to the south and a good-sized Cameron parcel to the north.
“Reconsidering your marriage vows?” Collin’s mouth twisted in an ugly, unfamiliar way.
“I didn’t marry you for your land,” I said quietly, uncertain how to tame the beast I’d sensed growing within my husband since our arrival.
“Nor for my money, I hope.” Collin snorted. “As I have none.” It was not an exaggeration. He’d used his last guinea to get us here.
I turned away from the table and the troublesome record spread across it, the written evidence of the downfall of the clans who’d been Jacobite supporters. “You know I don’t care about either land or money.” I’d married Collin because I’d had to, because I was honoring a promise made long ago by my father— and my much younger self, it had turned out— and because I had believed it would provide a financial benefit for my stepmother. Those reasons didn’t really matter now. I wanted this marriage and Collin, no matter if he came only with the shirt on his back.
“Well, that is good,” he said shakily. “As I’ve not much of either.” He ran a hand through his hair, making it stand on end and causing a sore temptation for me to reach out and smooth it down for him. To soothe away his hurt.
But we had made another promise to each other last night, a vow to avoid touching one another, insomuch as possible. I’d never hated a promise more, or believed I would be so challenged to keep it, but at the end of Collin’s explanation, I had been unable to argue with the wisdom of such a decision.
Anytime we came within a stone’s throw of one another, some sort of flame seemed to ignite between us, bursting to life with a passion Collin did not trust himself to control. If anything, I was less trustworthy than him in this regard.
I kept my hands to myself, clenched in the folds of my skirt, and let his hair remain as it was.
“Who determines the borders?” I asked, forcing the topic to safer waters.
“Used to be the clan with the most weapons.” A wry grin made a brief appearance on his face. “In the past dozen years the boundaries have become more or less settled, changing only when the English take land from one clan and give it to another. That’s not as common now. Most of the Jacobites’ lands were forfeited immediately following the rebellion.”
Including Collin’s father’s. So much for the change of topic.
“Would you like to ride it?” Collin asked. “Some of it, anyway. We can’t cover the entire Campbell holdings in one day.”
“Take our leave of this charming edifice?” The castle of gloom, I had come to think of it. I could hardly contain a grin.
“Aye,” Collin said. “You ought to see the land and meet the people who live here.”
Those who are left. “I’ll ask Bridget to pack a basket for us.” A ride to inspect the dismal state of affairs of my clan wasn’t exactly a picnic outing, but it almost felt like one. The prospect of being away, and at least somewhat alone with Collin, lifted my spirits as possibly nothing else could.
* * *
The sun was directly overhead before we made our first stop, near a worn-out-looking stone cottage with a thatched roof that likely invited more rain in than it kept out.
Collin dismounted and left Ian’s horse to search out what he could on the moor. The ground here was not particularly flat but seemed fertile, lush with green and purple, albeit at a constant slope, a gradual climb toward the snow-capped mountains to the east.
“You’re a good girl.” With affection I patted the neck of the mare I’d ridden. Though I’d been disappointed to realize that Collin intended to carry our no-touching policy so far that we would no longer ride together, I could not deny that I’d enjoyed the freedom of controlling my own horse and flying across the heather.
Or the illusion of freedom, at any rate. Two of our Campbell guards— Moreiach and Quinn today— slowed their horses to a stop behind us. They’d kept pace all morning, staying just out of earshot so Collin and I might have a conversation, a constant reminder of the danger we were in.
“Do you know who lives here?” I asked, leaning forward into Collin’s arms as he helped me dismount. At least he’d deigned that much contact appropriate and allowable.
“Used to be Eithne and Gavin Campbell. I hope it is still the same.” Collin set me on the ground and promptly released me. “They were kind to me when I was here. Eithne and Gavin never had any bairns of their own. Gavin’s hands were crippled, so your grandfather sent me here to work for him, shortly after you’d left.”
There were dozens of other stories between the lines he’d just spoken. Of a pain-filled and difficult time for both of us, and perhaps for this couple as well, who’d not been blessed with a child of their own. That Collin had found a place where he’d been treated kindly filled me with an instant liking for these people before I’d even caught first sight of the woman at the door.
Wiping blackened hands on an apron then smoothing the kerchief tied in her hair, she stepped from the cottage and made her way toward us.
“Her husband’s appearance is somewhat different,” Collin whispered to me. “Try not to stare if you can help it.”
“Of course.”
“He can’t farm the land as other men, so instead they make the soap for most of the clan, in trade for their sustenance.”
Halfway across the yard Eithne paused, her eyes lifting to Collin’s.
“Mercy. Is that you, lad? Have you grown even taller now?”
“I don’t think so. Perhaps you are shrinking.” Collin’s voice was lighter than at the castle, lighter than I’d heard in days.
“That may be.” She took a step closer, and Collin beckoned me to come with him to meet her.
I smiled, liking her more already as I caught the tears glistening in her eyes.
“Here you are, looking as fine as can be.” She waved a hand in front of Collin. “And I’m a pure nick.”
A what? I looked to Collin for an explanation.
“Eithne is concerned about her appearance,” Collin said to me while smiling at her. “But she’s as bonny as ever. Still making soap?” he asked.
“Aye. And what a mess it is.” She inclined her head toward a great black kettle hanging over a fire in the yard. “The lye is boilin’, and Gavin fetched another load of ash and lard this morning. I was just filling the barrels.” She held her blackened hands out as evidence.
“Eithne makes the finest soap you’ll ever use— has for years.” A teasing glint came to Collin’s eyes. “Her soap’s nearly as famous as MacDonald whisky.”
Eithne pulled a rag from the waistband of her apron and swatted at him. “One’ll clean your outside and one your insides, right? Same troublesome lad, I see.” Affection shone through her words, and my gratitude for her deepened. At least a few Campbells had cared for Collin.
“Eithne, I’d like you to meet my bride, Katie.” Collin introduced me proudly, as he had to Liusaidh, and I felt grateful to be looking a bit more worthy of his boasting today. Living in the gloomy castle had some benefit, including the regular use of water for bathing as well as my mother’s trunk with its supply of pretty, if older, gowns.
“Spitting image of your mother, you are.” Eithne reached out, as if to clasp my hands in greeting, then apparently thought the better of it and began to withdraw her blackened palms.
Already tired of Collin’s avoidance, I decided to have none of this and surprised us both when I snatched her hands quickly in mine. I raised them to my lips and kissed the back of both, over her bony, weathered knuckles. “Thank you.” I lifted my face to hers. “Thank you for caring for my Collin while I was away.”
I’d never before called him my Collin that I could remember, but it described perfectly the way I felt. He was mine, and nothing was going to take him from me. Not Brann or Ian or anyone else.
Eithne squeezed my hands as a smile blossomed on her wrinkled face. “Bonny in soul as well as body. You’re blessed, Collin.” She released me and planted her hands on her hips. “So, have ye ousted the imposter from the castle then?”
“Not exactly.” Imposter seemed an interesting choice of words and too lenient a description of Brann. Charles Stuart was known to most English as the imposter, having sailed from France to Scotland, intending to take over the English throne. Certainly the fighting he’d caused had resulted in bloodshed, but from all I had learned of him, he had not been an outright murderer— as was Brann.
“We’ve filed Katie’s claim to the keep and await news of its acceptance,” Collin said.
But it’s not likely Brann will leave without a fight. I read the unspoken words in his stiff posture and defensive stance.
“We are here, and that is a start.” I sent a look of displeasure Collin’s way. Could we not have one afternoon free from the tension of the castle?
“Aye. It is.” Collin’s smile was apologetic, and he wrapped an arm around my shoulder in a brief squeeze. “Katie’s sight saw us safely delivered. No doubt it will see us through what is to come.”
“I expect no less,” Eithne declared. “Now, I suppose you’ll be wanting to see Gavin.”
“Aye,” Collin said, eagerness expressed in that one syllable. “Is he about?”
“Oh, yes.” Eithne rolled her eyes. “Drove to fetch the ash, and now he’s good for nothing the rest of the day.”
“I’m pure done in, woman.” A man who appeared much older than Eithne emerged from the doorway of the little house. Leaning heavily on a cane, and moving at an odd angle on twisted legs, he shuffled toward us with a slow, painful walk. “Kicked me out of bed in the middle of the night, she did. Telling me I must be off to collect the ash. As if it couldna wait until morning. I’m fair puckled now.”
“You ken well enough yourself it couldn’t wait,” Eithne returned with a shake of her head. To me she explained, “The lye has to cook slow all the morning. Until it’s very strong. If I start too late in the day, I’ll be working alongside the moon.” She waved me to come with her, and I followed, leaving Collin to his reunion with the fair-puckled Gavin.
We crossed the yard to the enormous kettle, even larger close up, and she leaned forward, face scrunched, sniffing at the rising steam. “Not strong enough yet.”
Truly? I held a hand to my face, in an attempt to cease the pungent aroma’s assault. It seemed impossible the smell could be any stronger.
“We’re behind, see!” she shouted across the yard to her husband. “Should have pushed your sorry hide out of bed sooner.”
Gavin raised his cane in the air and shook it at her in response. It was only when I caught Eithne’s quick smile, followed by a loud snort, that I realized they were teasing one another. Relief swept over me, and my feelings of concern for her obviously ailing husband dissipated.
“He’s been that way for years,” she said, catching my curious look between them. “Hands started to twist soon after we married. Knees don’t like to work. Everything that’s supposed to bend doesn’t want to. Pains him terrible, but he doesn’t complain. And he loathes sympathy.”
“So you don’t give him any.”
“None at all.” She winked. “A man’s pride is sometimes all he’s left. I give that to Gavin each time I expect more of him and harp like any other woman would on her man.”
I wasn’t entirely certain I agreed. Do I harp on Collin? My stepmother had done so only in my father’s last years, and it had not been pleasant for any of us. So while that methodology might work well for Gavin and Eithne, I had no desire to put it into practice myself.
“Once the lye is strong enough, what must you do then?” From a distance I had watched, a time or two, as our household servants made soap. I’d never had much interest in the process, and neither had my stepmother. She’d taken to ordering it most of the time, instead of having it made at the manor. But now I supposed this might be one of dozens of skills I ought to have at least a cursory knowledge of— on the off chance that Collin and I were ever to live our lives alone, somewhere peaceful and beautiful like this, somewhere no one would threaten or bother us, and where we could work together creating everything, from our home to the children who would fill it.
This thought stimulated the new feelings that had been inspired by our talk last night. My stomach tingled pleasantly at the idea of carrying a child there. Collin’s baby. Our eyes met across the yard, and a flush warmed my cheeks as I imagined the kisses and what else would have to precipitate such an event.
“You have it bad for him, don’t you?” Eithne said with a knowing smile. “How long have you been married?”
“Two and a half weeks.” I felt my blush deepen.
“Ach.” She clucked her tongue. “And out of bed already. Surprising, knowing that lad. When he puts his mind to something, he sticks to it until it’s done right.” She nodded at the delicately engraved wedding band on my left hand. “Cannot tell you the hours and days and months he worked at that. And now I’d guess he wants a bairn to carry on his name. I’m surprised he’s allowed you out of bed at all until that’s well and accomplished.”
I was certain my face was positively flaming now, in spite of the fact that Collin and I had not actually been in a bed together yet. As that was not a discussion I wished to have with such a new acquaintance, I returned to my earlier question. “Will you teach me how to make soap?” The idea did interest me, in spite of the smell.
Collin had already proven he was good at providing for and protecting me. I wanted to be able to perform my part of the marriage tasks as well. Learning to make soap seemed as good a place to start as any.
“Roll up your sleeves, lass,” Eithne instructed. “You’ll be an expert in no time. We’ll make a mild batch, one good for cleaning that bairn you’ll soon be carrying.”