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The following days became a repeat of the same pattern. I hauled and washed the wool and took it to those who did the carding. At last, after weeks of work, the wool was ready for spinning. The Campbell women in our group taught me how, and I took my turn alternately on one of the two big wheels in the sunny upstairs solar adjacent to what had been my grandfather’s rooms. Eight of us labored there, using hand spinners when it wasn’t our turn with the wheel. I’d never done any sort of work like this before but found it satisfying. It was the nearest to creating I’d done since leaving England.
It was also a good place to hear the latest gossip and discover what both Campbells and MacDonalds alike thought of our new, shared, arrangements.
“Clayton and Maggie are moving into their new house today,” Mhairi announced on Friday morning.
“It’s finished already?” another asked. “Cannot be much good if it was built in less than a week.”
“It’s a fine, simple house,” Mhairi declared. “At least as good as what they had before. No less than ten men spent the better part of three days on it, and now they’re onto building the next— that one is to be for a Campbell, of course.” Her gaze strayed to the three Campbell women seated across the room. I was not next to them this morning, having purposely seated myself in a different chair, every day this week, in an effort to get to know all of the women, Campbells and MacDonalds.
“Campbells helped build the last house, did they not?” one of the three asked.
“Aye,” Mhairi said.
“Then it is only fair that they should get the next house,” I said, striving to keep the conversation civil. “We are working together to help both clans.”
“Who would have ever thought such a thing?” A Campbell named Ellen clucked her tongue. “MacDonalds among us.”
“My grandfather, Laird Campbell, thought of such a thing,” I said firmly. All eyes were on me now. I set the spindle down and looked at each of the women in turn. “He saw this day. It was why I was betrothed to Collin MacDonald when I was only four years old.”
“That was done in secret,” Ellen said. “Had many of us known, there would have been objections.”
“And have you objections now?” I asked. “To what is being done here?”
“I don’t like it,” Ellen said boldly. “And I suppose you can tell your husband that if you’d like and have me beaten for it.”
“My husband is dead.” I tamped down the stab of pain that accompanied this statement. “Anything told to me in this room will not be repeated to Ian MacDonald.” I hoped that wasn’t a foolish promise. “Women need a safe place to speak their minds and share what they feel.”
“Aye,” several chorused as their heads bobbed.
“Ian MacDonald and I are handfast, working together for this year, doing our best to save our families. Neither clan was likely to survive the winter without each other— or his leadership,” I added. “Had we continued under Brann’s rule, Campbells were likely to be extinct before another five years had passed.”
“Because of your laird,” Mhairi said. “Your land is not to fault. You’ve so much of it can be tilled. And you’ve forests and rivers, lochs, mountains, and moors. MacDonalds have scarcely any. You have it all.” It was the first bitterness I’d heard from her.
Had it all? I wondered if she was referring to more than land and crops. To Collin.
“For now, at least, you have as much as we do.” I lost him too.
I directed my next words to the Campbell side of the room. “The MacDonalds have been here only a short time, and already look what has been accomplished.” Collin had been right. “Ian is a good leader.” His tactics were at times harsh, but I could also see that some of that was needed here.
I looked at Ellen again. “What don’t you like? What would you see changed?”
“Aside from the MacDonalds leaving?” she asked.
“New homes would not be being built, but burned, if not for the MacDonalds,” I reminded her.
“True. But it’s not natural them being here. Can’t trust ‘em.”
“It is the Campbells who cannot be trusted,” another of the MacDonald women spoke up. “How are we to be certain you won’t murder us in our beds as was done at Glencoe?”
Always their arguments return to the past. Feeling a headache coming on, I rubbed my temples. “You cannot let the past govern your thoughts and actions today,” I argued. “None of us were there. We are not those Campbells or MacDonalds. We are better than that, and we are here— together— fighting to keep our country and the Highlands alive.”
“Little you know,” Ellen said with a harrumph. “You’ve not even passed a season with us yet.”
“She knows plenty,” Mhairi said, surprising me with her defense. “Anyone who can tame Ian MacDonald deserves our respect.” She glanced at me. “He is not the same as when he left with Collin to fetch you from England. Ian’s changed into the man his brother believed he could be. I only wish Collin was here to see it.”
“Thank you.” I smiled my appreciation, grateful to feel I had perhaps one friend here, and a MacDonald at that.
* * *
As had become custom, I retired to our chamber as soon as we had taken our evening meal. Ian followed a short time later, and I could not entirely fault him, the tension in the great hall being what it was these days. Collin had years of earned trust and had become a respected friend to at least some Campbells; but Ian was seen more as an unwelcome interloper and I his accomplice now that we had handfast. Though I could see his efforts and others surely could too, it was going to take a great deal more time and no few miracles if the winter of Campbells and MacDonalds together was to be a success.
Life had become complicated and wearying, and the line I balanced upon that much more tenuous than before. Only now I was more invested in it. I was developing a genuine concern and love for my mother’s people— my people— and I would not be driven from them. Perhaps not surprising, given the feelings I’d had for Collin, I felt the same about the MacDonalds. Ian’s chant of together did not bother me as it had two months ago. I was starting to think he might not be as mad as I’d believed him to be.
And that was terrifying for its own reasons.
I glanced up from my mending to see him openly staring at me from his chair on the other side of the room. He’d brought several pairs of boots up with him tonight and sat working over them by the lamp, leaving me the better light and warmth near the fire.
And the better light for him to watch me in. I had caught Ian’s eye on me too many times to count the past weeks. It never ceased to unnerve me, and on those few occasions I had allowed our gazes to meet... Those feelings did not bear thinking about. In spite of being surrounded by numerous people daily, I was lonely, still very much a stranger in a foreign land, and still mourning Collin. All circumstances to recall in moments I felt weak. Ian undoubtedly sensed this weakness and would pounce given the first opportunity.
That he had not done so yet no longer surprised me. I’d come to understand that he intended to keep his promise to Alistair. I sensed I’d become a challenge to Ian. His quest to win me over became as personal as his dealings with the clans during the day tended toward impersonal and methodical. His judgments were swift, commanding, and largely impartial. I’d seen him grant and withhold from Campbells and MacDonalds alike.
But with me it was different. He’d not had another outburst since the incident of the tea. Ian’s voice, while loud and unrelenting by day as he oversaw all manner of work— pushing all to do the most, the best, and what at times seemed impossible— turned quiet and reflective during the evening hours we spent together. His questions were meant to draw me out, his many kindnesses meant to woo.
I fought off his advances as I would have had they been of a physical nature. For were I to forget and give in even once, a child might result and I would be his, to order about, to MacDonald lands or beyond, as he saw fit. It was a danger I could not risk.
Outwardly, he might appear to have softened, but I could not allow myself to be deceived. His eye, so like Collin’s, was merely calculating when it looked upon me. And his actions, no matter how considerate, might still be a ruse, a means of gaining trust before the axe that was the MacDonald clan fell upon us.
“What is wrong?” Ian asked, setting a boot aside. “You’re brooding tonight.”
“You’re a fine one to speak of brooding,” I muttered, stabbing the needle into the cloth viciously.
“True enough,” Ian admitted. “But it does not become you. Tell me what is troubling you. I’ve a hunch it is I, so best be out with it and let our quarrel be done with sooner rather than later.”
“I’ve no wish to argue.” It’s not like that, anyway. There was nothing palpable that we could argue over. Ian made me feel uneasy— unsettled in his presence— and I was not about to admit that.
“I’ll guess, then. You’re upset because I’ve cut meals to two per day, except for children under twelve.”
I understood exactly why he’d done that. I’d been present for the final tally of the harvest and knew how the larder would have to stretch to feed all in the coming months. Still, he had not made the decision I would have. “What of nursing mothers, or those expecting a child? They ought to be favored with the children.”
Ian’s gaze slid to my belly. “Might you wish that included you after all?”
“Only if it was Collin’s.”
“So you would have extra meals? I ought to give them to you anyway. You’ve yet to recover fully from Brann’s mistreatment.”
“No.” I frowned, realizing Ian was baiting me once more, yet unable to hold back my retort. “So I might have something of Collin to remember.”
“You have me.” Ian tilted his chin toward the ceiling and struck an exaggerated pose, his lopsided grin somehow more amusing than sinister tonight.
He appeared so ridiculous that I bit my lip to keep from laughing, even as I realized what he was doing and felt a flare of anger. Would that Collin and I had enjoyed nights like this to jest with one another.
“Not that, then.” Ian abandoned his effort, unaware of how close he’d come to breaking my stony exterior. “You’re angry I ordered the Campbell men out to hunt and kept the MacDonalds here.”
“Shouldn’t I be?” That had made me, and the rest of the Campbells, more than a bit wary. What more perfect opportunity might there be for MacDonald men to take advantage of or outright murder the women and children left behind?
“You do realize that I armed those Campbell men with nearly everything we have,” Ian said in his defense. “The Campbells know this land far better than the MacDonalds. It made sense that your clan should hunt. And had they wished, it would have been far easier for them to turn on us, slitting throats or filling us with lead. At the least they could have easily shot me or slit my throat.” Ian brought a hand to his neck, and I knew a moment of panic, imagining him killed. This was followed immediately by alarm that I actually wanted him to stay alive and safe. How could I possibly feel this way?
Ian leaned forward, staring at me intently. “What is it, Katherine?”
“Nothing. You should stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?” He continued to stare and sounded far more innocent than I believed him to be.
“As if I’m a tasty dish you cannot wait to devour. It’s unholy.”
“Is that why you’re angry with me? Because I enjoy feasting my eyes upon you? But you do look tasty.” Ian’s mouth crooked in a smile that I would have found endearing from Collin.
“I’ve no intention of devouring you,” Ian continued. “I should miss your company too much. You must forgive me the indulgence of taking in a lovely sight. It is about the only pleasure left to me.” He flexed his hands, free at night of bandages, but scarred enough that movement was still restricted. His black eye had long since healed, and so largely had the other cuts and bruises on his face and arms. Yet I knew he suffered.
Often in the evenings I would notice that his mind seemed to be in another place, one that caused a grimace of pain or his lips to be pressed together as if holding in deep sorrow. I wondered if he was thinking of Collin, or if some other, bitter memory haunted him. Either way, I did not feel sympathy. His behavior, prior to coming here, had been deserving of misery.
“I am not your pleasure,” I said, bristling at such a term. “And even were I— Collin never looked at me that way.”
“Then he is an even bigger fool than I believed.” Ian wiped his hands on a rag and tossed it aside.
“Don’t,” I ordered, a fragile quiver to my voice. “Don’t you dare criticize him. You’ve no right.”
“I’ve more right than you’d believe.” Ian stood and ran a hand through his regrowing hair, making it stand on end. “He brought you here and endangered your life.”
“He brought me home,” I corrected.
“He spent much-needed MacDonald money on travel when it wasn’t going to be replaced.”
I stiffened in my chair, the subject of my spent dowry still a sore one. “Neither of us knew the money was gone.”
“He left the MacDonalds floundering and stirred up the pot with the Campbells— not exactly doing his part to save Scotland.”
“That is quite a lot of responsibility and blame to put upon one man.” I looked down at the shirt spread across my lap. It had belonged to Collin. And I was mending it for Ian, who—like the rest of the MacDonalds— had arrived with very little. “Collin was a good man, but I doubt even he had it in him to save Scotland.”
“Aye, well the old Campbell laird believed he did.” Ian’s words were so soft I almost missed them.
“My grandfather believed in me too. If you think he’d be disappointed in Collin, I imagine it is nothing compared to what he would feel about me.”
“Collin said your grandfather had this astounding faith in both of you.” Ian brought a hand to his forehead in a gesture that was familiar. During the short time I’d been married to Collin, I had seen him take this same stance many times, and on each occasion I’d thought he looked as if he carried the weight of the world. It seemed that weight had been transferred to Ian’s shoulders now. I wouldn’t have thought it possible.
The Ian I had known on our journey to Scotland had been cold and calculating, with vision only for himself and perhaps his own clan. The Ian I’d witnessed since then seemed to waver between ruthless and compassionate, depending upon whose company he was in. An improvement, to be sure, but still...
The irritation I’d felt just a few moments before melted away as I looked at him—physically altered, yet I dared not hope internally changed as well. If only I might trust that was so, I would take his scarred appearance and changed heart any day over the striking figure he used to pose.
“I’ve almost finished with this shirt,” I said, holding it up to show him. Our conversation had grown too serious for my liking, and I feared allowing my own heart to soften anymore toward my self-proclaimed protector. He can protect me from Brann, but that is all. I would not be safe in any way if I allowed myself to get close to Ian or to trust him.
“Thank you.” His brief smile appeared again, and he returned to the pile of boots. He’d ceased wearing his old ones, complaining that they were no longer comfortable, since his foot had been recently stepped on by a horse.
“How many pairs do you need?” I asked, only half-teasing.
“These aren’t for me.” Ian held up a shoe, dangling it from his fingertips. “What do you think?”
I blinked, making sure I was seeing correctly. The shoe was small, much too small for a grown man, and appeared to be cut from the leather of Ian’s old boots.
“Is it for a child?”
“Aye.” He turned the shoe over, holding it between his knees, and resumed his work. “Winter is coming, and too many weeuns in bare feet.” He inclined his head toward the pile of shoes and boots on the floor beside his chair. “These weren’t being used by anyone. The Campbells are a lazy, wasteful lot.”
I took umbrage at this, mending a shirt for him, as I was. “So who are those to be for?”
Ian looked up at me, a sly grin on his face. “MacDonald bairns, of course.”
Weary of our conversation, I said nothing but put the shirt down and retreated to the safety of the screen, to change from my gown. My composure was slipping, and sooner or later I would laugh— or possibly lunge at him— because of something he said. Better to hide in the refuge of sleep.
With the longer strings Bridget had found for tying my corset, I had the process of undressing down to a few minutes. Ian knew his assistance was not needed and thankfully stayed away.
But this night when I went to get into bed I found him already there, shirt off, sitting on the edge, as if waiting for me. My breath caught as my eyes riveted to a recently-healed cut zigzagging across his midsection. It marred an otherwise perfect torso, one that brought to mind Collin when he had removed his shirt the evening I pushed him in the water.
A corner of Ian’s mouth lifted. “Not entirely indifferent then, are we?”
“I’m looking at your scar,” I said a little too quickly. “You’re one big mess of them. I’m amazed you survived whatever happened before you came here.”
“Perhaps it is time I tell you what happened.”
“Maybe some other evening.” I didn’t trust myself to more conversation with him tonight.
“How long are we to continue this way?” he asked.
“Another nine months and twenty-three days,” I retorted. I kept careful track, lest he attempt some trickery at the end of our term.
“And then— after that— will you acknowledge me as a person?”
I dropped into a chair. “I acknowledge that now. You are the person who pointed a pistol at his own brother and who tried to drown me. You are the man who raged at me in this very room and destroyed many of its belongings like some savage animal. You are the person who had a man beaten almost to death, because he was Brann’s follower. You are the man who would have banished an innocent woman for her part in trying to help me. You are someone to be wary of.”
“I see we have slightly different points of view,” Ian grumbled. “And I must say yours is skewed rather dangerously. The man was beaten because he threatened you. He was found on the stairs in possession of a knife. That he confessed to working for Brann only confirmed what I had guessed. And he is fortunate to have escaped with his life, considering his intent was to end yours.”
I had not heard that part of the story before and realized, with some consternation, that if Ian spoke the truth, then my Campbell relations had purposely omitted it.
“As for Bridget, her mistake was grievous. Had there been but a little more of her brew, you would not be here now, but beneath the ground. Again, I believe I curbed my anger and expressed my displeasure in a rather contained manner, given the circumstances.”
“Be that as it may, there are still the incidences before your arrival,” I reminded him and myself as well. A good man does not force someone into a river at knifepoint.
“You mention only my faults,” Ian argued. “How about acknowledging the good I’ve done here and that a man can change?”
“Once broken, trust is difficult to repair.”
“But not impossible?” There was a small bit of hope and a great deal of uncertainty in the question.
Two months ago I would have said with surety that it was impossible Ian MacDonald might ever be considered trustworthy, least of all by me. A month ago we wouldn’t have been having this conversation. But now... I was either the biggest fool for starting to believe in him, or perhaps a man really could change.
He was asking me to give him hope, yet to do so seemed it would only walk me that much closer to the edge of the cliff. And if I fell, I wasn’t certain whether he would catch me or laugh as he watched me tumble to my death.
“Earning my trust will take at least another nine months, and even then it’s doubtful.” More in question was whether I could continue that long in these strained circumstances. If, after only two months, I found it increasingly difficult to reconcile the two Ian’s, how was I to feel when three or six months had passed? A year? Was I handfast to the pistol and knife-wielding Ian, or the Ian who, this very day, had stopped to lift a crying child from the mud and carry her to her mother? I wasn’t certain who he was anymore. And worse, he made me uncertain who I was and what I wanted.
To believe in him, to trust him and begin to care for him, felt like betrayal to Collin. We might have had only three weeks together, but a promise of nearly fifteen years had bound us, its pull stronger than anything earthly. There was no such promise with Ian, no otherworldly forces binding us together. But what if Collin had trusted Ian in the end?
“Katherine.” Ian’s touch was light on my shoulder. I gave a little jump anyway. Since the night we had tended to one another’s hands, we had gone out of our way— or I’d gone out of mine— to avoid touching each other, so it was unnerving when we did. He removed his hand, then crouched beside my chair so that we were nearly eye level. “We can’t go on like this. I need your forgiveness— your understanding. I can’t bear to see you still grieving so. The things I’ve done— they’re eating me inside. I need to tell you—” He broke off suddenly at the sound of angry voices outside our door.
Ian stood and walked over to it, pressing his ear to the wood. His face drained of color, followed at once by a hardening of his jaw. “Impossible.” His whispered words sounded shocked— and fearful. He turned a quick circle, scanning the room, his eye lingering a moment on my dressing screen before settling on the bed.
“Get into bed,” he ordered,
I held my ground. “What? Why? Who is out there?”
“Quiet.” Two strides and he was before me again, then scooping me from the chair. I shrieked as he walked to the bed and practically threw me on it. The voices outside were louder now, accompanied by pounding on the door. I scrambled away as Ian pulled a knife from his discarded boot and stuck it in the back of his belt. “Cover yourself as best you can. Don’t speak. If you’ve the chance to get out, take it. Find Alistair or Gordon— Earnan. Anyone who will protect you.”
“From who? What is going on, Ian?”
“Katie.” He gripped my shoulder so hard that it hurt. “Trust me and do as I say.” More than his words or the threat in his touch, it was his pleading expression before he turned away that convinced me.
A woman’s scream on the other side of the door made my hair stand on end.
“I know you’re in there, Ian!”
I scrambled beneath the quilt a second before Ian undid the bar and lock. He jumped back as the door flew open, the heavy wood stopping only when Ian’s hand shot out to catch it. Mhairi appeared in the doorway, her head wrenched back by the man behind her.
I gasped. Ian’s accomplice from the river stood only a few paces from our bed. He took his attention from Ian long enough to look over at me. Recollection sparked in his eyes and flared his nostrils.
“I’m sorry,” Mhairi cried. “He threatened to kill Greta’s bairn if I didn’t take you to him.”
“It’s all right,” Ian said in a soothing tone. “You did well.”
“It’s true.” Niall’s gaze flickered between me and Ian. “You’ve really done it— taken your brother’s bride and her clan.”
“Their laird left them in a poor state,” Ian said nonchalantly, not quite bragging, yet neither clarifying the particulars of the arrangement and the tenuous peace he’d worked to establish between MacDonalds and Campbells.
Where are his pretty words now?
Niall’s gaze slid toward me once more. “And with Collin out of the way—”
“Aye.” Ian cut him off. “What do you want, Niall? I’m a bit busy.” He inclined his head toward our bed.
“Seems we both are.” Niall sniggered, the same menacing laugh he’d had at the river’s edge when his knife had been pointed at me. Holding Mhairi by the hair, he forced her to face him, then pulled her close against the length of his body.
“Let her go,” Ian’s voice was deceptively calm, while his stance was as a wild cat ready to spring. The muscles in his neck stood taut, his scar bulging beneath his new growth of hair. “Your quarrel is with me, not her.”
My eyes flickered to Mhairi. I must help her.
“True.” Niall released Mhairi, then slapped her face, rocking her head to the side. “But she is a family friend, no?” In a flash of steel Niall’s blade was out and slashing the air in front of Ian’s face.
Ian ducked to the side just in time, pushing Mhairi out of the way. He reached behind him, and then his own knife was raised, matching blow for blow with Niall’s.
I clutched the covers, thinking madly what I must do. What would Collin have done?“You deceived me.” Niall stabbed the air, only narrowly missing Ian’s shoulder. “Left me for dead.”
“Should have made certain you were.” Ian attempted an undercut, but Niall moved faster, slicing the tip of his knife across Ian’s forearm. Ian gave a shout as blood trickled down his arm and the fight continued.
Mhairi scooted her way toward the door, but Niall was still close enough that he might reach her. I gave a slight nod as I caught her attention, then grabbed the pitcher on the night table and slowly raised to a standing position on the bed.
“Suppose you thought you’d enjoy the spoils here on your own without me.” Niall struck again, barely missing Ian once more. I screamed as loud as I could. Both men turned toward me, giving Mhairi precious seconds to flee.
“S’alright,” Niall said, catching sight of her. “I’m more interested in you,” he said to me. “I’ll have my turn in a minute.” He grinned, showing off an array of filthy teeth.
I threw the pitcher at him, and he ducked easily, the porcelain shattering on the floor behind him. Niall’s blade met Ian’s flesh again. The fighting continued, far more barbaric than sword play, at such close contact.
I leapt from the bed, but kept pressed against the wall, looking about for anything that might be used as a weapon.
Niall surged forward, backing Ian toward the chairs and fire. I shoved the one I’d sat in out of the way just in time to keep him from tripping over it.
“Get out of here, Katie,” he yelled.
“Aye. Run and hide.” Niall sneered. “Makes the game that much more fun.”
I backed toward the fire, banked now for the night. Hands behind me, I grabbed the poker just as Niall leapt, shoving Ian backward against the wall and sending his knife spinning across the room. I swung the poker as hard as I could, slamming it into the back of Niall’s neck instead of his head as I’d intended.
He shouted, looked over, and missed Ian’s fist coming at him. Ian’s aim was better than mine, and Niall stumbled backward, tripping when I caught him behind the legs with the poker.
Ian pounced, straddling Niall’s torso, fist already raised. He brought it down savagely, pummeling Niall’s face. By the second punch blood spurted from Niall’s nose.
“You ruined my brother— nearly destroyed him!” Ian lifted Niall by his shoulders, then slammed him back onto the floor repeatedly. “If not for you, he’d be here. He’d be alive.”
If not for— What did Niall have to do with—
He shoved Ian from him, and they rolled across the floor. I jumped back. Ian gained the advantage again, shaking Niall, as the latter slowly raised his arm, knife poised.
“Ian!” I lunged forward as Ian shifted his weight, not a second too soon. In a fluid movement he jumped up, stepped on Niall’s arm, then wrested the knife from him. Instead of throwing it away, he raised it above Niall’s chest.
I turned away, but not quickly enough to miss Ian lunge, the blade sinking into Niall’s chest. The man’s brief scream blended with mine as I felt myself sliding to the floor. I backed away, curling myself into the corner.
Ian jerked the knife from Niall’s body and raised it to strike again.
Bile rose in my throat as I half sobbed, half gagged. Ian turned toward me, his expression murderous. Our eyes met, his bulging with fury. He jerked back, as if surprised to see me there, then threw the knife aside and stepped away from Niall’s lifeless body.
“Katie—” He held bloody hands out to me, pleading.
I shook my head and tried to make myself smaller. “Stay away.”
He stared at me a long second, anguish contorting his face. Running footsteps pounded in the hall. Alistair burst into the room, Mhairi and two other men close behind.
“What have you done?” Alistair’s eyes were huge as he looked from the body to Ian.
“Murderer,” another man, also a Campbell, said.
“Aye.” Ian turned from me and faced them. “I am a murderer. You would do well not to forget.” He poked at Niall’s corpse with his foot. “And not to cross me.”