Heart in the Highlands by Heidi Kimball

Chapter Seventeen

Callum sat in the chair at his desk while he listened to Davies’s tedious explanation about the rotation of crops, trying very hard to forget the glint of anger in Katie’s eyes as she’d reprimanded him this morning. It proved to be a fruitless effort.

He couldn’t help but reflect on how easily Katie had fit in with his mother’s family. She came from a family of title and wealth, and Callum had been worried there might be some awkwardness, but it had felt so right to have her beside him as he’d been reunited with some of the people he loved most. She’d been so at ease among them, talking and laughing and smiling, despite the fact that a woman of her station was more suited to a London drawing room than a rustic croft in the Highlands.

And her impressive horsemanship? Callum had only caught Katie on her mad gallop home because he had the superior horse. He was finding himself constantly surprised by his wife, in the best of ways.

He was falling. Fast.

“My lord, are you listening?” Davies asked.

Callum glanced up, tempted to lie. He loosened his neckcloth and blew out a breath. “I apologize. My mind is elsewhere.”

Davies got to his feet and bowed. “Perhaps we could continue this discussion tomorrow.”

Callum hoped he hadn’t offended the man, though even if he had, Davies would never let on. Callum stood too. “I’ll have a decision about the crop rotation by tomorrow. I promise.”

“Very good, sir.”

Callum waited until Davies had left before letting out a frustrated sigh. The truth was, despite his growing feelings for Katie, he was no closer to winning her trust—or her love—than he’d been on the day he’d arrived on her doorstep.

Beyond the anger he’d seen in her expression today, pain lingered just beneath the surface. Katie was a complicated woman. And he was at a loss for how to handle such a delicate situation when his feelings were growing so rapidly. Should he push harder or pull back a little? If nothing else, every time he pushed her boundaries, it seemed to bring the real Katie to the surface. And that, perhaps, was the best place to start.

Dinner was a quiet affair. Callum’s mother sat at the head of the table, with Callum to one side of her and Kate on the other. The duchess took on the burden of conversation, and Kate was grateful, for she could scarcely keep her eyes open.

Charlotte had awoken when Callum had tried to lay her down and had been irritable for the remainder of the afternoon. Kate had put her to bed an hour earlier than normal, but by the time she was finished, she was ready to sell Charlotte to a local peddler. Exhausted, Kate had been tempted to ask for supper in her room so she could retire early herself. But this was to be their first formal dinner together, and Kate hadn’t had the heart to disappoint Callum’s mother.

Halfway through their meal, Kate lifted her napkin, trying to cover yet another yawn. How quickly could she excuse herself once the dishes were cleared away without appearing rude?

Callum unexpectedly changed the topic of conversation. “After watching Katie ride today, I’m convinced she needs a horse of her own. Willow is too tame for her.”

Kate’s napkin fell to her lap. She nearly choked on the food in her mouth before she managed to swallow.

Callum chuckled. “Well, ye enjoy riding, do ye not?”

Kate blew out a breath, now fully awake. “Yes, but—”

“’Tis an excellent idea,” the duchess chimed in.

“The man I knew in Banchory always gave me a fair price. I doubt that’s changed,” Callum said to his mother. Then he turned his gaze toward Kate. “We can make it there in half a day and back in another if we drive hard.” He cocked his head. “Of course, it would mean a long day for Charlotte, but hopefully she’d fall asleep in the carriage.”

The duchess began shaking her head. “Och, ye cannae be thinking of taking the wee lass after all the traveling she’s done already!”

“I doubt Katie would be willing to leave her.” Callum glanced up at Kate casually, and that was when she knew. Had she not been so tired, she’d have seen this coming. But Callum had played his cards just right.

“Ye should go, jest the two of ye,” his mother said. “I can look after the wee one—it would be my pleasure. It’d be nice for ye tae have some time to yourselves.”

Kate set down her fork. “I couldn’t possibly impose on you.”

The duchess shook her head. “’Tis no imposition, I assure ye. I cannae imagine anything I’d like more.” She beamed. “Why, it would give me a chance tae show her the nursery.”

What argument could Kate possibly make that would hold any merit? She tried another tact. “There is no rush. Willow suits me well enough. And I am sure Callum cannot take himself away from the responsibilities of the estate so soon. Not when we have just arrived.”

Callum stretched back in his chair, a lazy smile on his face. “If ye are willing, I can take the time. Perhaps we could go on Tuesday.”

Blast him. And blast that cheeky grin of his.

“He’s been gone four and a half years,” his mother said with a frown of disapproval. “I assure ye another day will do nae harm.”

Kate could not acquiesce. She could not. She refused to spend time alone with Callum. But the alternative? She glanced at the duchess. Being obstinate and awkward about the matter would not only offend the woman but make her believe Kate didn’t trust her.

Callum had worked Kate into a definitive corner. She felt her ire growing, flaring to life when she saw the tick in his cheek that gave away his self-satisfaction. She was so livid she could have spit. Instead, she settled for kicking him under the table.

“Ow!” the duchess yelped.

Kate’s eyes widened in horror. “Oh, oh! I am so sorry! I didn’t—”

Callum nearly lost his composure as he realized what she’d done. “Ye’ll have to forgive her, Mother. Katie’s leg has an incontrollable—er, spasm.”

The duchess rubbed at her leg. “A spasm?” she asked doubtfully.

“Aye,” he continued in a solemn tone. “A dreadful business. One never knows when it will strike.”

“Should we summon a doctor for ye?” the duchess asked in concern.

Kate thought she might die of mortification. Before she could muster a response, Callum answered, “That won’t be necessary. Best thing is tae get her some rest. Will ye be all right if I escort her upstairs?”

“Of course, of course. See to your wife. I think I shall retire as weel. I need to see tae your father.”

Callum kissed his mother’s cheek, and then he was at Kate’s side, helping her out of her seat, his hand at her elbow. Kate apologized to the duchess once more, profusely, before they made their exit. As the door to the dining room shut behind them, Callum burst out laughing. “Ye kicked my mother.”

Kate pursed her lips together, trying not to smile. “It was intended for you, as you well know.”

“Perhaps I deserve such treatment, but I cannae imagine what she might have done to merit such from ye.” Callum continued to laugh. He doubled over, wiping his eyes. “My mother,” he repeated, shaking his head.

Kate avoided looking at him, for it was taking every ounce of self-control she had not to start laughing herself. She glanced down and found her dinner napkin still clenched in her fist. She whipped it toward Callum. “You rat! You absolute . . . swine. Trying to make me break another of my rules.”

But he only laughed and snorted, and she couldn’t help but join him. “I kicked your mother,” she moaned, still laughing, covering her face with her hands.

“No, no. Your leg spasmed. It couldn’t be helped.” He hooted.

Kate kicked him in the shin. “You were right. This spasm really is uncontrollable,” she said.

“Perhaps I should see about calling for that doctor,” he said, and she burst into another round of giggles. Tears streamed down her face. Her cheeks hurt, and her stomach cramped, yet she couldn’t seem to stop. It felt good to laugh, to loosen the tight hold she’d kept on herself ever since Callum had reentered her life. For a fleeting moment, laughter blotted out the pain of the past.

But as quickly as it came, it was gone. The truth twisted in Kate’s gut. These kinds of moments might have been ordinary—should have been ordinary—except that Callum had left her, and everything about this was wrong. Her emotions began to careen out of control, her fatigue and anger and fear all coming to a head.

“Katie?” Callum stepped toward her, his voice etched with concern, as if he could sense the sudden change in her mood.

A wave of grief hit her, knowing what might have been. Her face grew tight and hot as she tried to choke back a sob. Her eyes burned with unshed tears, but the cork on her emotions had already been undone, and she began to cry in earnest. She pounded her fists against Callum’s chest. Weak from the laughter, her efforts were feeble, but she was so upset she couldn’t stop.

He took hold of her wrists. “Katie, Katie. Shhh,” he soothed. His touch was warm and gentle.

But his words of comfort only made her self-conscious, embarrassed by her outburst. “I don’t know why I’m crying,” she said, tears still pouring down her cheeks. She couldn’t put it into words, not really.

“Shhh,” he soothed again and took her into his arms.

He was stiff at first, his body rigid. But slowly he relaxed, and with one hand he cradled her head against his chest. The feel of his arms around her, his chin resting on her head, brought back memories so achingly fierce that she began to sob uncontrollably. “I hate you,” she choked out. “I hate you!”

“I know,” he returned, his voice barely audible. “And ye have every right.”

“I do!” she said and pulled back. They stood inches apart, his hand still resting on her shoulder. “You left me—with nothing more than a note. I was so alone. So scared. And when I found out I was expecting, I thought I’d die of despair. But you didn’t know. You didn’t care.”

She wiped at her tears in one swift, jerky motion. Callum swallowed heavily, but she ignored the remorse shining from his eyes.

“I had no one! And I’ll never forgive you. Never.” She sagged, exhausted by her emotional turmoil. He pulled her close again, and she let him, not fighting even though she knew she should. She needed Harriet. Archie. Charlotte.

Anyone but Callum.

“Shhh,” he said, stroking her hair back from her face and rubbing his hand up and down the length of her back.

“I hate you,” she whispered against him. “Why? Why did you do it?”

He said nothing.

“And now you bring me here, back to Scotland. I’m here, aren’t I?” She gulped in air. “I came, just as you wanted. And still you will not leave me alone.” She pulled back once more, wanting to look him in the eyes. “You are determined to make me break every one of the rules I’ve established! Is it all a game to you, Callum? Is it?”

Kate was breathing hard, and Callum was so close she could have reached out and traced the anguish engraved in his expression. His gaze swept over her face, and his knuckles brushed down the line of her cheek, wiping at her tears. She grew still, so intently aware of his touch it felt as though heat was licking at her skin.

“’Tis no game to me, Katie.”

She felt an inexplicable pull, drawing her closer to him. She craved his touch, his kiss, like nothing she had ever craved before. A warning feathered through the back of her mind, but it was nothing to the warmth and wanting she felt.

Kate’s hand lifted, almost of its own volition. She touched Callum’s face, her thumb brushing across his lower lip. Everything receded, save for the two of them. His gray eyes shone with burnished gold, like sunrays behind rain clouds, and a look of desire that went straight to her core. She was so tired of fighting—fighting against her loneliness, fighting against her fears and doubts, fighting against him.

Her breath disappeared in a little puff as Callum caught her hand, kissing each of her knuckles. When he pressed a kiss to the inside of her wrist, the graze of his lips like velvet, she was lost. Kate had spent the last four and a half years alone. She ached for him. She needed him.

She went up on tiptoe and brushed her lips silently across his, a ghost of a kiss. Callum froze under her touch. He stood stock-still, and Kate could feel the pulse of her wrist counting the seconds as they passed. She turned her head, shamed by her boldness. “Another rule broken,” she whispered.

“Bent,” he corrected, taking her chin in his hand and turning her to face him. Tenderness shone in his gaze, as well as desire, but he seemed to hesitate as he glanced at her mouth. “And devil take me—I cannot resist breaking it.” He set his hand on the curve of Kate’s hip and bent toward her, slanting his mouth over hers.

It was agony and ecstasy. All she remembered and everything she had tried to forget. His lips molded to hers, claiming her as if he cared for her, as if she meant something to him. Her hands slid up his shoulders, and a sigh of pleasure escaped her lips. He groaned in response, his kiss growing fiercer, more desperate.

For a moment everything was forgotten but the way he stroked her collarbone and the fire where their lips met. His mouth left hers, kissing her eyelids, then her cheeks. Warmth infused her from head to toe, and she was floating away, far from the worries of the past or the cares of the future. Callum wanted her. Didn’t he? He couldn’t kiss her like this and not care for her. She sought his lips again, anxious for reassurance.

But Callum’s arms went slack. Breathing heavily, he set her back from him and then fisted his hands at his side. “I cannae do this, Katie.” He ran a hand through his hair, refusing to look at her.

The loss of his touch felt like plunging into a pool of icy water, and she rocked back, searching for purchase against the wall. He didn’t want her. Panic rose in her chest, a tidal wave that threatened to drown her.

“Cannot do what?” she accused, tears ready to surface once more. Her lungs constricted, making it hard to breathe. “Should I applaud you for walking away before taking me to bed this time?”

“No.” He shook his head, the look on his face one of defeat. “I never should have touched ye.”

“But why?” The words came out a strangled sob.

“Because ye have your rules, and I—I have no right to break them,” he said quietly and then turned and walked away.

Callum stalked outside, the night air cooling the heat of his skin. He stood at the top of the steps, waiting for the drumbeat of his heart to subside.

Fool that he was, he’d nearly lost his head.

He descended the stairs, running a hand through his already disheveled hair, and then braced his hands behind his neck and stared up at the stars. Thank heaven he’d come to his senses in time. If he’d let things continue the way they’d been going, he’d have been in danger of losing Katie for good. Tonight had shown him how very badly she wanted—nae, needed—to be loved. But he’d gone about it all wrong.

He made his way down the front walk and crossed the lawn, heading toward the loch. A cold night swim would do him good. A chill spring wind rushed by him, clearing his head. He should have stopped her, should have stopped himself, sooner. But he’d been placed in a labyrinth with no way out.

From the moment she kissed him he’d been caught in an impossible choice between pulling back and pushing forward. How could he not have kissed Katie when she seemed so hauntingly empty and she’d looked at him as though he had the ability to fill her up? She’d have seen it as a stark rejection. But the alternative—kissing her—had turned out to be far too dangerous a prospect.

If anything, he was more attracted to her than he’d been when they’d first wed, and tonight’s kiss had awakened a desire in him that had lain dormant for far too long, yet what he felt for her was more than attraction. In truth, he was coming to care for her in a way that seemed to point to something much deeper.

He loved watching her with Charlotte, enthralled by the constant little touches of affection between them and the genuine interest Katie displayed in everything Charlotte said and did. He loved watching Katie’s eyes, the way they sparkled with intelligence, the window they gave into understanding her deepest emotions. He loved the firm set of her shoulders and the lift of her chin as she tried to put up a wall to keep him out.

And, heaven help him, he loved kissing her.

The loch appeared before him, small ripples of moonlight reflecting on its surface. Callum removed his boots, leaving them on the steep embankment. He shrugged out of his jacket and untied his cravat. He lifted his shirt over his head and felt the cold April breeze against his skin. But even that didn’t manage to block out the curve of Katie’s lips, the slender arc of her neck, the headiness of her rosewater scent. Before he had a chance to reconsider, he dove in.

The icy water pierced his limbs and filled his mouth. He swam down, the bitter cold and darkness a punishment for tonight’s indulgence. The water dulled his mind and numbed his body, until he could think of nothing but getting out and getting warm. With a few deft strokes he broke to the surface. He whipped his hair back, his breath forming a misty cloud.

Tiny pinpricks of pain in his legs urged him out of the loch into the frigid night air. Lake water sluiced off his body as he wrung out his trousers as well as he could. He pulled his shirt back over his head and jerked his boots on.

Numb from the cold, he flexed his hands and walked quickly to try to get his blood flowing. All thoughts had been drowned in the lake but the worst of them. The image of Katie’s anguish as she’d hit him over and over and the sound of her saying, “I hate you!”

It registered in his brain that much of Katie’s hurt stemmed from her belief that he’d used her. Married her, consummated the marriage, and left, as if she were a chess piece on the board he was playing with his father. And she was right. He’d been selfish. As bad as his own father—or worse. It was part of the reason he’d left in the first place, the fear he’d become the brute his father was.

But all this time, Katie had had him fooled. She’d presented a strong front, shown him how very well she’d been without him—and he’d believed it.

Until tonight, when he’d gotten the slightest glimpse into how his leaving might have devastated her.

He had much to atone for. More than he ever could have imagined. Thank heaven he’d stopped himself when he had tonight. No matter how badly he wanted Katie, he would not let his desire get the best of him. If she, for even a moment, believed all he wanted was for her to warm his bed, she’d never believe his intentions to be serious.

After all, this was not about what he wanted for tonight but what he craved for the lifetime ahead: a marriage with Katie, a true marriage, with love and laughter and tenderness.

The family he knew they were meant to be.