Heart in the Highlands by Heidi Kimball
Chapter Fourteen
Two days later, the three of them stood at the railing of their small packet ship as they sailed along Scotland’s coastline. The air was frigid on this final day in March, and Kate held tightly to Charlotte’s hand. Yesterday the water had been choppy and the sky gray. Today the water was a crystalline blue, and the sun shone brightly, counteracting the fierce coastal wind, but Kate didn’t trust the changeable moods of the sea.
Nor did she trust Callum. She still hadn’t forgiven him for tricking her into flirting with him. It felt as though she constantly had to be on her guard against him.
The ship glided through the water, approaching some cliffs that had seemed far off just minutes before. Kate craned her neck, wanting to take in the entire vista—the waves that churned and boiled at the base of the cliff, the rocky landform that jutted into the ocean, the white rays of sun that fringed the whole of it. She lifted a hand to her cheek only to find it wet from the mist of the turbulent sea. She was no longer an observer of the scene but a part of it. This wild, majestic beauty, this stark landscape that demanded one’s attention, one’s very being. When had she last felt such a stirring? When had she last felt so alive? She inhaled deeply, taking in a lungful of the biting, salty air.
The bob of the ship tipped Kate forward, and her stomach flailed. She grabbed for the railing, keeping a firm hold on Charlotte. Before she could expel the air that had seized in her lungs, Callum’s steadying hands encircled her waist, throwing her further off-balance.
“Careful,” he breathed into her ear. “It is quite a view, is it not?”
She stepped sideways, dislodging the hands spanning her waist. “Yes. But I think I would prefer to admire it from a more secure location.”
“Ye’ll never see anything like that from land. Views like that are available only to those willing to take a risk.” He chuckled, and Kate didn’t at all like the way the deep sound rumbled through her.
“Birds, Papa!” Charlotte shouted. She pulled her hand free to point, and Kate was grateful for the distraction.
“Those are kittiwakes,” Callum informed her. The wind shifted his hair back and forth, and his cheeks were colored by the cold, but the long lines of his body indicated his ease aboard the sea vessel. “They like to make nests in the steep faces of the cliffs.”
Kate liked the way Callum spoke to Charlotte. He didn’t simplify his words or assume Charlotte wouldn’t understand. He explained but didn’t condescend.
Charlotte watched, transfixed, as several of the birds swooped overhead. They began to squawk, their voices raised in a sharp cry.
“If you listen carefully, you’ll hear them say their own name,” Callum said. “Kittee-wa-aaake. Kittee-wa-aaake.”
Charlotte listened to them, and then a smile burst across her face. “They want Cleo to wake up! They sayed, ‘Kitty, wake! Wake up!’”
Kate couldn’t help but smile at her daughter’s assumptions, and she glanced at Callum, whose gaze met hers over Charlotte. His eyes spoke of affection and love for their daughter, and it made Kate’s chest burn with a sensation she had never known. How she’d longed for someone to appreciate Charlotte the way she did. Harriet and Archie loved her, of course, but it wasn’t the same as the pleasure a parent took in their child.
Now Kate had someone who could cherish Charlotte as she did, yet she didn’t feel thankful. It only served as a reminder that Callum had missed hundreds of Charlotte’s precious experiences. Kate had shouldered the joys and burdens of parenting alone. Resentment welled inside her, bringing tears to the surface, and she looked away.
“Look up there.” Callum knelt and pointed so Charlotte’s gaze could follow. “That is Dunnottar Castle. Both William Wallace and Mary Queen of Scots were visitors there.” It was impossible to miss the pride in his voice. His Scottish roots went deep, likely bolstered by his father’s disdain for his mother’s heritage.
“Who are they?” Charlotte’s little voice demanded.
“Ye shall learn, my Scottish lass.” He tapped her nose. “Ye shall learn.”
Charlotte turned back to the railing, watching the birds.
Kate finally had her emotions under control. “Scottish?” She couldn’t help scoffing, though she kept her voice down. “She was born on English soil.”
Callum raised his brows, mouth twitching. “Aye, but she was conceived on Scottish soil, was she not?”
Kate could feel the blood rushing to her cheeks, no doubt painting them a vivid crimson color. “She has lived the entirety of her life in England,” she replied, though she couldn’t have said why she was arguing the point.
“And she will live the rest of her life in Scotland,” Callum said quietly. “As will you. Will ye resent every moment of it?”
Kate blinked, his words pricking at her. She bristled. “It is yet to be seen whether you will stay around for that long,” she said archly, her voice a hiss. It was not like her to be so resentful, but ever since Callum had returned, there’d been something continually gnawing at her, a sense of grievance that hadn’t lessened. Callum had swept in and seemed ready to move forward with the past behind them. But she couldn’t do it. She hadn’t forgiven him, and she wasn’t sure she ever could. But neither did she want to live in a constant state of discontent.
“’Twas me, not Scotland, who betrayed your trust,” he said, and his shoulder brushed hers as he stepped closer. “Do not hold my sins against her.”
The shadow of Dunnottar Castle fell across them.
Kate bit her lip, her thoughts aswirl. “You ask me not to hate Scotland based solely on the offenses you committed against me, yet do you not love Scotland merely because of your father’s hatred for it? Are love and hate not formed on such experiences?”
“I do not love Scotland because of my father’s hatred. I love Scotland because ’tis my home. I love it because it has never asked me tae be anything I am not. Its people are proud and loyal and hearty, and I am one of them.”
“Yet your hate is stronger than your love,” she said, accusation frosting her tone, though she still managed to keep her voice low for Charlotte’s sake. “It was hatred for your father that cost you the thing you love most.”
“Scotland, ye mean?”
“No.” Kate shook her head and looked over at their daughter, who was squealing and laughing as another bird flew overhead. She nodded her chin. “Charlotte.”