Heart in the Highlands by Heidi Kimball
Chapter Fifteen
For the rest of the journey, Callum had been remarkably quiet. He spoke when requisite and gave Charlotte the attention she clamored for but nothing more. There was a stillness about him, a withdrawal that made Kate itch with guilt, yet she refused to apologize for speaking the truth. If Callum suffered from remorse, that was his cross to bear.
Still, Kate would have appreciated his easy conversation as they descended from the carriage in front of Castleton Manor. It was a peculiar homecoming—strange and familiar all at once. The house itself looked the same, grand and stately with its gleaming stone and elegant columns. But the land around the house was strikingly different.
She still remembered, upon her first arrival, the wonder she’d felt seeing the heather-covered fields washed in purple majesty. But those colors had quickly grown dull, fading to autumn shades of orange and brown. With each passing day the air had grown colder and the wind stronger.
This was a different Scotland, the early days of April giving way to vibrant greens and welcoming hills full of golden, white, and purple flowers. The land around them seemed to be thriving, and it gave Kate a little hope—perhaps things might be different this time.
She tamped down that feckless thought immediately. It was the heady influence of spring, giving her strange fancies. Autumn winds would come again. And besides, it was silly to believe the seasons had any bearing on her marriage.
Charlotte tugged her hand free from Kate’s grip. “I can go by myself, Mama!”
Much as she hated to admit it, Kate was probably tethering her daughter due to her own discomfort. “Are they expecting us?” she asked Callum, willing her voice not to tremble.
He came from the back of the carriage, where the trunks were being unloaded, still holding Cleo. “Aye. I sent a note to Mother telling her we’d arrive today or tomorrow, given I didn’t know exactly how many stops the packet ship would make.”
She nodded. “Come, Charlotte. It is time to meet your grandmother.”
Charlotte begged Callum to let her hold Cleo. Once she had the cat firmly in her grasp, she darted forward. She came to a halt when she reached the steps, and her eyes grew wide. “This is Papa’s home? Ooh.” She exhaled. “It’s so big.” She readjusted Cleo, who had begun to slip through her arms. “Cleo, this is our new home. This is Scotland.”
Resentment fought its way to the surface. Had Castleton Manor already overshadowed Rosemont Cottage and the happy years Charlotte had passed there?
Callum leaned toward Kate and spoke into her ear. “Thank ye for coming. I know this cannae be easy for ye.” His voice was low and sent a shiver tiptoeing down her spine.
She ground her teeth together. “Of course. This is where Charlotte belongs.” But a vise squeezed around Kate’s heart, insisting she was a liar. Charlotte belonged with her. And Kate did not belong here. She’d believed she did at one point and flinched at the thought, remembering her naivety.
“Come. Charlotte will grow impatient,” she said brusquely, fighting off old memories.
Callum followed her, the tips of his fingers brushing the small of her back for half a second before he dropped his hand.
When Callum’s mother appeared at the top of the steps, she was a very different woman from the one Kate remembered. Though her face still held to the beauty of its past, wrinkles had begun to spread across her face like the vines that crept across Rosemont Cottage. And there was a weariness in her expression that hadn’t been there before. But that all disappeared when she caught sight of Charlotte. “Och, what a wee, precious lass! Will ye embrace me, darling?” She knelt down, waiting.
Charlotte set down Cleo, who yowled before scampering behind one of the large pillars. “You are my papa’s mama?” She looked back at Callum.
“Yes, she is.” His voice was raw with emotion, and sorrow bloomed in Kate’s chest as his eyes misted over. He’d not seen his mother in four and a half years. Kate wasn’t the only one Callum abandoned. What kind of hatred went so deep that one could sever ties to all one held dear?
Charlotte took a step toward her grandmother, who held out tentative arms, not wanting to overwhelm the girl. Charlotte rewarded her grandmother’s patience by throwing her arms around the woman’s neck. When Charlotte finally pulled back, she cocked her head to one side. “Did I maked you sad?”
The duchess wiped her eyes and stood. “Och, no. ’Tis my joy in seeing ye. ’Tis likely I will cry a guid deal these next few days.” Next, her gaze went directly to Callum, and she didn’t have to ask. His arms went around his mother, engulfing her in his strong embrace. “Bethankit. I prayed every day ye’d come back tae me,” she whispered. “Every day.”
Callum’s voice was gruff with emotion. “I was a fool tae have stayed away so long. But know this: ’tis likely your prayers are the reason I’m here.”
Several long minutes passed before either of them stepped back, and they both looked immediately to Charlotte, who was chasing Cleo through some bushes to the side of the porch. They locked eyes, and tears began to fall down the duchess’s face once again. “I perhaps could have forgiven ye for staying away sae long, but not for denying me these years with my own grandbairn.” She shook her head.
“I am sorry, Mother,” he said. “If ye must know, it will be a long while yet before I can forgive myself.”
Kate wrung her hands, fearing reproach from the duchess. After Callum’s disappearance, the woman had been nothing but kind to Kate in the two months she had remained at the manor. But young and frightened as she’d been, Kate had mostly kept to herself. Perhaps Callum’s mother thought her rude and selfish, especially now that she knew Kate had kept Charlotte a secret from them.
But the woman turned a warm gaze on her. “When ye left us after yer granda died, I feared ye’d not come back.” She smiled. “But I cannae blame ye,” she said and pulled Kate into an embrace.
Kate couldn’t say anything. It had been so long since she’d been hugged by anyone but Charlotte, and she was surprised to find how much she welcomed the touch. She felt a swell of camaraderie with the woman; they’d both been hurt by Callum. This woman’s arms had been empty for years, and she’d not had Charlotte to fill them.
“Whitevur ye need, ye’ve only tae ask,” the duchess said before stepping back.
When the round of welcomes was over, Callum asked, “How is Father?”
The weariness returned to her eyes. “Th’ doctor is uncertain whether he will recover. He speech is verra slow, but he does eat.” She put a hand over her heart. “He isnae the man he was. It has been verra hard on him. I’ve nae told him about Charlotte, for I wasnae sure how he would handle it. I try not tae upset him.”
Callum’s jaw tightened.
“Mama, Cleo maked me muddy.” Charlotte appeared at the bottom of the steps, her hair askew and the knees of her dress caked in mud. “She runned so fast!”
Kate sighed. So much for Charlotte’s first impression as a well-behaved child. “Come with me. Let’s get you cleaned up.” She held out her hand.
The duchess cleared her throat. “Ye must be tired after your journey. Perhaps I could help Charlotte while ye freshen up. I’ve some biscuits jest begging tae be eaten.” She raised her brows at Kate, waiting.
Kate looked uncertainly at Charlotte. She had never left her daughter alone with anyone other than Harriet. But at the hopeful look on the duchess’s face, she relented. “Do you want to have a biscuit with your grandmother?” she asked.
Charlotte shouted, “I love biscuits! They be my fav’ite. Harriet makes biscuits too.” She took her grandmother’s hand and disappeared through the front doorway, leaving Kate standing next to Callum.
“Shall we?” he asked.
She nodded and took a fortifying breath as she stepped into the world she’d sometimes wondered if she’d dreamed up. But here it was, real and unchanged.
Several footmen entered with Kate’s trunks, and Callum directed them to take her things upstairs and put them in her room. Kate removed her bonnet and gloves and then followed Callum up the stairs in a bit of a haze. He waited outside her door, and Kate was hit with a stab of pain, remembering their wedding night as he’d teasingly held open the door for her.
How she wished she could demand another room, any room but this one. But she couldn’t behave like a child. “I can see myself in, thank you,” she said, and for once there was no undercurrent of malice in her voice, only a profound sadness at the thought of how different things might have been.
Callum nodded, looking as though he wanted to say something but then thought better of it. He rubbed his jaw. “Take a rest, if ye’d like. I promise my mother will take good care of Charlotte.”
“Thank you,” she said and shut the door, unable to be in his presence another minute. The air in here felt so close it was hard to breathe. In dire need of a little breeze, Kate hurried across the room and opened the windows. She stared out the window, not really seeing. She didn’t need to look around the room to know every inch of it. Everything here had imprinted itself on her in a way that only grief could. The sounds, the smells, the colors. The way the white muslin curtains rustled in the breeze. The spindled legs of the chair drawn up to the dressing table. The spot where Callum had set the quaich when he’d told her his family’s conflicted history.
And the bed, where she’d passed nights crying herself to sleep as the piney scent of Callum slowly faded from the pillows. The room threatened to engulf her, to strangle her in a noose of past memories. She bowed her head. How could she bear it to live here again? Kate thought she’d done the right thing coming back here for Charlotte, but she’d vastly underestimated how difficult this would be.
A minute later, she lifted her head. She looked out the window, really looked. At the ancient peaks of the Cairngorms in the distance, still topped with snow, and closer, past the manicured lawn, where gentle hills were dotted with sheep. Sheep Charlotte would adore.
Kate pushed past the ache in her chest, went over to the trunk that was set back against the wall, and opened it, retrieving a few of her favorite things. A blanket she’d once embroidered for Grandfather, several of her beloved books, and an amateur painting she’d done of Rosemont Cottage several months before. She draped the blanket across the end of the bed, placed the books on the bedside table, and took down one of the pictures on the wall and replaced it with her own rendering. She would make this room hers. It did not belong to the Kate of before. It belonged to her, here and now. She would make a place here for herself, for Charlotte’s sake.
“Mama?” Charlotte’s small voice sounded at the door. Kate hadn’t even heard it open.
“I am”—she yawned—“tired.”
The duchess stood behind her in the doorway. “She had several biscuits. But now she wants ye.”
“Of course, darling.” Kate crossed the room and pulled Charlotte into her arms, not knowing until that very moment how much she’d needed her daughter. “I was about to take a little rest. Would you like to lie down with me?”
The duchess gave her a smile. “Ring once yer awake, and I’ll send someone up to help ye dress for dinner.” She closed the door quietly.
Without taking any care for the fact that she was still in her traveling clothes or that Charlotte’s muddy dress hadn’t yet been remedied, Kate slipped off her shoes and helped Charlotte do the same. Then they climbed onto the bed and lay down together. With a few heavy-lidded blinks, Charlotte was carried off to a tranquil sleep, but no matter how long Kate lay there, nor how heavily her bone-deep exhaustion pressed down on her, she couldn’t manage the same.
Callum paced outside the door of his father’s bedroom.
A twisted feeling lodged in his gut, and every muscle in his body felt strained and tense. He knew there was no sense in putting off this meeting, yet he dreaded it. Shame filled him. How could a man he hadn’t seen in years still hold such power over him?
He clenched his jaw. No more.
But what Callum saw when he entered the room hit him like a gust of icy wind. The man he’d once very much envisioned as a bear—both in stature and temperament—now lay in bed, a shell of his former self. His presence, which had once so easily filled every corner of the room, was hardly noticeable. His white hair was thin, his cheeks sunken. One half of his face sagged, his mouth pulled down. When he saw Callum, one eye widened.
Uncertainty hovered as Callum towered over his father; he took the chair against the wall and pulled it near the bed. He nodded. “Father.”
His father’s mouth spasmed. “C-C-C-Callum. H-H-Home.” He lifted his head a little.
Callum was surprised by the unease that tugged at him, seeing his father brought so low. The duke had always emanated such power, such control. And now the man could hardly string two simple words together. Callum swallowed. “Yes, I am home. I’ve brought Katie and my daughter, Charlotte.” His mother might have qualms about upsetting his father, but he had none.
“Ch-Ch-Charlotte?” He made a small gasping sound, and his hand fluttered on the covers. “D-D-D-Daughter?”
“Yes. My daughter,” he said without apology.
His father seemed to panic, perhaps fearful he wouldn’t be able to communicate what he needed to. A desperate light shone in his eyes. “S-S-S-Son?” The word was drawn out into several syllables.
“No, I do not have a son. No heir.”
The duke’s breath rattled in his chest. His face sagged, and he lay back, his strength spent. Callum stared at his father’s weakened body, and a heaviness settled over him. There was no sense of satisfaction, no victory. He’d thought by flouting everything his father had wanted, he’d find a measure of fulfillment. But the victory was hollow, and any sense of satisfaction was overshadowed by all he’d lost. The cost of that long-ago choice seemed only to mount.
Suddenly Callum wished to be anywhere but here. He got to his feet, one hand on the chair. “I will begin overseeing the dukedom immediately. I am sure Davies can help catch me up on the affairs that require my attention.”
“S-S-S-Son?” his father repeated, almost a plea.
“Good day, Father,” Callum said and strode from the room. It wasn’t until he was walking away that he realized he’d been speaking in the clipped English accent that his father had always expected.