She knew before she even stepped through the door that this room was the Campbells’ library. The odor of vellum and old parchment swept out into the corridor like escaping spirits. But these were not spirits antagonistic to Celia. She loved this smell. It was the smell of knowledge, of wisdom.
Celia knew it was also the smell of money. The guard posted at the door was protecting some of the Campbells’ most valuable possessions. Only the wealthiest of the nobility in Scotland could own books, though many of them up to the present had chosen to forgo what they saw as the “luxury” of a library. That’s what the wealthy, old monasteries were for. But since James IV put into law that the sons of the lairds had to learn to read, the value of books was increasing rapidly.
Colin moved through the library and lifted the wooden bar on another oak door. Pulling it open, he ushered Celia out into the misty twilight of the Scottish dusk.
She found herself standing on a broad stone terrace, and the sight before her was breathtaking. A garden, or rather what had once been one, stretched out in front of her, and beyond the wall at the far end, the line of cliffs and crashing surf of the firth curved away into the mists.
Two stone stairways flanked the terrace, and the high wall of the South Hall to Celia's right bordered the west side of the garden. To her left, a high stone wall provided privacy from the rest of the castle's outbuildings and training grounds. The garden itself, large enough to exercise a troop of mounted horsemen in, had been broken up into four sections by four tunnels of latticed wood, radiating from a raised stone pool in the very center. The symmetry of the design was exquisite.
But if the design was superlative, the overgrown garden beds themselves were not. Her eyes took in the trellised tunnels, the wild tangle of climbing roses that covered them. Celia looked at the areas of lawn where the precisely knotted designs of low hedge or herbs had grown into an unruly mélange of brush and sticks. The low walls, too, that formed bench seats around several sides of each of the sections had once been planted with grasses or close-growing herbs. But now, huge tufts of weeds sprouted at intervals along the walls, last season’s growth spilling from the seats in a brown cascade.
There was, however, one aspect of the garden that appeared to have matured in spite of going unheeded. In each of the four corners of the garden, there was a large cherry tree. The trees were all approximately the same size, and as Celia went to the top of one of the stairways leading from the terrace, she could see that the fuzz-covered buds on the branches were preparing to open. Reaching out to one that was overhanging the stairway, Celia could almost feel the life within the small bud, growing steadily, pushing at the season, preparing to burst into a renewed cycle of life.
Of all the things Celia had missed growing up on her father's ships, she most regretted not having a place to grow things. She had always dreamed of a cool green place where friends could meet amid the reds, and blues, and yellows of the spring and summer flowers. A protected place where she could take refuge when she was sad, and hurt, and confused. A place of solitude strangely devoid of loneliness.
Celia loved this place. She never had any idea that Kildalton Castle had such a garden, and she wondered why it had been so ignored.
Abruptly she turned to Colin, wondering why he had brought her here. Why now, when his anger seemed to be all that was left of the few precious moments they had shared. The giant warrior was standing by the low stone wall at the edge of the terrace, looking out at the untended garden. Turning to her, his eyes showed none of the coldness that Celia had seen in the Great Hall.
“I'm going away for a day or two,” Colin said simply. “I want you to stay here until I come back.”
“Stay? Why?” she questioned. At first perplexed by his request, Celia suddenly felt all the doubts, guilt, and sorrows that she'd been keeping pent in inside her gush up, flooding her conscious mind with overwhelming emotions. “Why? Haven't I done enough? Haven't I caused enough trouble and suffering for you and your people? Your Great Hall is filled with innocent people who are hurt and homeless simply because I passed near their homes. Don't you know that the same could happen here?”
Celia's head dropped to her chest. Two tears rolled off her cheeks to the stone slabs at her feet. A chill swept over her as she stood alone, not wanting to look at him. She hugged her arms around her and turned toward the tree as she spoke.
“Don't you hate me? For what I am? For what I've done?”
Removing his cloak, Colin moved to Celia's side and wrapped it around her. Pulling her to him, the young warrior enclosed her in his arms, laid her head against his chest, pressed his lips against her hair.
“Hate you? You really do not understand, do you?” Colin whispered, softly rubbing his chin on the top of her head.
Celia braced her arms against his chest, pushing back slightly until her eyes met his.
Colin looked down into her velvety eyes. They were glistening from the tears that had welled up in them.
“Celia, I care for you deeply. I want you and Kit to be safe,” he began. “Look around you. This garden is so much like the Campbell lands, so much like Scotland itself. It's a place where life must begin again, where new starts can...nay...must be made.”
Colin released her from his embrace and, taking her by the hand, sat her beside him on the low wall at the edge of the terrace. As they sat, he clasped her hand firmly in his, resting them in her lap.
“And I want us to spend time here, the two of us,” he continued. “Getting to know each other. I want to know everything about you, and not just the glimpses you've allowed me now and then. And I want you to know me as well. You do not know me; that's why you do not trust me. But if you stay, you will know me. You will trust me.”
Celia sat quietly, her exterior hardly betraying the tumult of emotions within. This was all she had ever dreamed of, more than she had ever hoped. She had never even imagined that the overwhelming happiness that was surging within her could also hurt so terribly. The tears began to flow freely as she answered him.
“Colin, I want all these things, as well. My life was an empty shell until I met you. These past days have filled something in me. They have given me something that I will cherish my whole life.”
Celia paused and, pulling her hand from his, stood up and backed away from him. She turned slightly and looked out beyond the garden at the mist-enshrouded sea.
“But I cannot,” she continued. “I will not make a promise that I cannot hope to keep. I care for you too much to be the cause of even greater sorrows that are sure to follow...when it is all over.”
“Over? Why over?” he asked. Something in Colin hardened at her words. “Celia, is there someone else?”
“Aye,” she said, stumbling over her answer. “And no.”
The muscles of Colin's jaw contracted in anger and frustration. Celia saw the hurt and anger flash across his face. His hands clenched into fists as he stood, turning away from her.
“I'm telling you the truth,” she said quickly, laying her hand on his arm. “If you really want to know me, then you'll listen now. But you have to promise me that what I tell you will be enough. Please promise me that you'll ask no questions.”
Colin turned back to her, looking steadily into her eyes. Aye, he was angry...and disappointed, too. But looking at her, Colin saw the pained look in those black eyes. She spoke of telling the truth, but should he believe her? A voice inside was telling him that this was not pretense. She was as upset as he was. And Colin knew he must hear what she had to say. There was so much he wanted to know about her. He nodded solemnly. “I promise you.”
Celia took a deep breath and sat on the wall again. Colin placed one foot on the wall beside her and leaned one elbow on his knee. His gaze wandered from Celia to the garden behind her, finally coming to rest on the tree beside the terrace steps.
“When I was very young, arrangements were made for me to marry. But it was to someone I've always hated and despised, now more than ever. These plans were made after my father died. I was only fourteen at the time and a ward of the court, and I had no say in the matter. At that time it was only because of Edmund that I was able to postpone the marriage. He would not even agree to a formal betrothal. But I knew the time would come that not even my uncle could stop it from happening. When that time came nearer, I ran.”
Celia paused, tired of the pretense, tired of being someone else, tired of hiding from what she wanted most.
“I ran away from court, in part, to escape that marriage, to escape a fate that is to me worse than death, but it is a fate that I know I cannot escape in this life.”
Celia's eyes surveyed the stone slabs before her. The area beneath the tree branch appeared spotted and stained. They were dark stains, like drops of blood. If there was one thing she was afraid of, it was the lie she was about to reveal.
“And, I'm not who you think I am. Perhaps you were taken with that someone else. But I'm telling you now, I'm not Lady Caithness. That was just a ruse to disguise us. The real Lady Caithness is in England.”
Celia raised her eyes to Colin's face. His gaze shifted to meet hers. She was trusting him, and Colin knew it. It was a trust he would not betray. He felt a glow of affection, of appreciation for the honesty that Celia was exhibiting, even though she was telling him something he had already discovered. In Colin's mind, this trust elevated the feelings between them to a more precious level.