Heart in the Highlands by Heidi Kimball
Chapter Eighteen
The next day, Kate didn’t so much as look in Callum’s direction. Or the next day, or the next. She avoided him whenever possible and spoke to him only when absolutely necessary. Yet anytime he entered a room, her face flooded with heat, burning with the humiliation of his rejection.
Which was why, two weeks since that awful night, Kate still hadn’t brought Charlotte down to breakfast with Callum. She tried to convince herself it was a necessary precaution. The duchess took breakfast in her room, which meant eating upstairs was the only way of ensuring Kate and Callum weren’t alone with no one more than Charlotte as chaperone.
Kate set a plate with eggs and toast in front of Charlotte, who sat at the small table by the door, swinging her legs as she looked warily at the plate in front of her. She glanced toward the door of their room. “Why can’t we eat breakfast with Papa?”
“Papa is very busy with matters of the estate, and he often eats breakfast before you wake.” Kate pasted a smile on her face, unwilling to show her daughter any of her turmoil. There was no reason Charlotte should be subjected to the ups and downs of her parents’ relationship. She bent down and placed a kiss atop Charlotte’s head. “Now, remember, as soon as you finish your breakfast, you can go look for Cleo.”
Charlotte took a bite of her toast and nodded, legs still swinging.
Kate crossed to her dressing table and picked up the brush, working through the tangles in her hair. “Keep eating,” she encouraged, as Charlotte had a tendency to get distracted during meals. Kate began plaiting her hair around her head, the one hairstyle she had found that could withstand the fierce winds that blew so far north.
Sometimes she could hardly believe she was back in Scotland. She still felt like a guest here, never quite comfortable in her surroundings. Rosemont Cottage had been her home for so long, and she missed it with a fierceness she’d not have thought possible.
And that pining had only grown with all the awkwardness around Callum these past few weeks. Her thoughts grew tangled, old fears she didn’t want to consider taking root. Was she somehow not enough? Was that why he’d ended their kiss so abruptly? And even more horrifying . . . during all the time he’d been gone, had he found comfort in another’s arms? The thought shriveled her stomach into a tight, cold ball that never seemed to ease.
Kate had distanced herself from Callum as much as possible, but complete avoidance was impossible. He’d tried to show kindness to her over the last week—producing a bouquet of wildflowers he’d picked with Charlotte, offering to help her find something to read in the library, discreetly putting off his mother when she asked about their going to Banchor to buy Kate a horse of her own—but Kate balked at the gestures.
Callum had rejected her. Oh, he’d held up her rules as an excuse, but the truth was clear. He’d never shown a shred of respect for her rules and then suddenly embraced them when it became convenient. Well, none of his kind deeds could lessen the hurt of his rebuff. It still lanced through her with fresh pain whenever she thought of it.
Pain, Kate had come to realize, was something she would have to learn to live with. If she tried very hard, sometimes it became only a dull ache, one she could forget for a few minutes at a time. She often felt like a transplanted flower, far from the climate in which she belonged, denied all she needed to thrive.
But enough self-pity. She finished plaiting her hair and pinned the end atop the crown of her head, adding several more pins than necessary to keep it secure.
A glance in the mirror satisfied her, though there was a certain dullness to her complexion, and her dress had seen better days. She supposed she ought to have some new ones made, just as she ought to secure a nursemaid for Charlotte and have her move to the nursery.
So many oughts.
Kate stood up from her seat with a sigh and glanced over at the table, where Charlotte was eating her breakfast. Or where she had been eating her breakfast.
“Charlotte?” she called. The chair where Charlotte had been sitting was scooted back, half a piece of toast left on the plate. A sweep of the room gave no clues as to her whereabouts, even when Kate got down on her hands and knees to look under the bed.
The door was open, and Kate guessed Charlotte had gone hunting for Cleo, who’d yowled impatiently to be let out before breakfast had been brought up.
Kate peeked her head out the door, silently praying she wouldn’t cross paths with Callum. But the corridor stood empty, not a trace of her husband or daughter to be seen. The passage was unwelcoming, a long row of shut doors with a small window at the far end. The door adjacent to the window stood slightly ajar.
A long rug filled the length of the corridor, stifling the sound of Kate’s footsteps. She stopped right outside the open door, and Charlotte’s singsong voice carried to her, speaking to someone with perfect ease.
“Has you seen her, sir? She is gray and fluffy.”
“N-no.” The male voice shook, the word drawn out.
“Can I check under your bed? It’s her fav’ite place to hide.”
“C-c-come,” came the reply. That voice could only belong to Callum’s father.
Kate pushed the door open wider and stood in the small alcove that served as an entrance to the room, chancing a glance around the corner. Callum’s father lay propped up on some pillows, his once daunting figure now slight. His hair was disheveled, and one side of his mouth pulled down at the corner. And though she had every right to hate the man, her heart twinged a little in the face of his frailty.
Charlotte’s shoes peeked out from under the bed skirt. She scooted backward, her backside appearing first, and then her head popped up, her hair wild and dusty. “No Cleo,” she said, shaking her head.
“C-c-cat?” the duke asked.
“Yes. Once I finded her, I can bring her to meet you.” Charlotte moved closer to the head of the bed, and Kate wondered if she had any idea the man was her grandfather.
“Cleo and I have the same Papa, though he be’d gone for a long, long time. But Papa bringed me and Mama here, and he says I will get to see some lambs be borned.”
Kate thought she saw the hint of a smile turning up one side of the duke’s mouth.
“Y-y-you l-like it?” A small bit of drool spilled down his chin. “H-h-h-here?”
She nodded. “Oh yes, I like it. And I liked the boat that bringed us here. But I don’t think Mama likes it. She sometimes looks at Papa with her eyebrows all bunched up like this.” She pulled her eyebrows low over her eyes before her expression cleared. “And I’ve heared her crying at night,” she went on. “I think she misses Rose Cottage and Harriet and Mr. Archie. But they are coming, and maybe they can bring the cottage and she will be happy again.”
Kate placed a hand over her stomach, trying to quash her rising panic. In coming back to Edinbane with Callum, she’d been determined that Charlotte never discover the truth of what had passed between the two of them. But it had been no more than a few weeks since their arrival, and Kate hadn’t been fooling Charlotte at all. If she couldn’t shield the person she loved most in the world from the ugliness of her past, how could she bear to stay?
Kate’s face crumpled, her lungs seizing. She backed out of the room silently. She needed space—to think, to plan. Hadn’t she already given as much as she had to give? What more could she do—what more would be required of her? This was all so much more difficult than she’d imagined, and it likely wasn’t going to get any easier. Not when she had to live under a roof with the man who had broken her heart.
Callum rose with the sun, anxious to escape the house and his far-too-attentive steward, who always seemed to have matters of business that couldn’t wait. He forwent shaving, quickly dressing in clothes befitting a day of labor, and slipped out of the house, heading toward the stables.
But as the first rays of light slanted over the hills and hit the dew-covered grass, making it sparkle like diamonds, Callum bypassed the stables and decided to walk. His uncle’s house wasn’t far, and by cutting across the property, he could assess the condition of the dam. This visit was long overdue, but despite what he’d told Katie about the leniency of his schedule, Callum had barely had a moment to himself since their return. He’d been working late into the night over the past weeks, trying to come to an understanding of the state of the dukedom.
Much had been overlooked in the months since his father’s stroke, but of more concern to Callum were the outdated methods of farming and husbandry, the neglected dwellings, and the overworked tenants—vexing issues that could not be solved overnight. It was pure agony spending his time poring over ledgers and traipsing across the countryside when all he wanted was to be with Charlotte every minute of every day, to soak up her smiles and the sound of her giggles and every other perfect detail he had missed over the course of her life.
To top it off, Katie had barely spoken a word to him since the night he’d kissed her, and every effort he’d made to repair things between them had been thoroughly rebuffed. Even when he’d finally made it to bed after a long day’s work, he could hardly sleep for concern over how to make things right with her.
Callum shook his head. To think he’d walked in hopes of distracting himself. He let out a deep breath and forced himself to look around and just be. The loamy smell of damp earth filled his nostrils, and the grass along the path was a lush emerald green, dotted with vibrant wildflowers. The sun shone bright in a sky the color of bluebells. Callum’s greatcoat flapped as an icy wind eddied by.
The look of spring here could be rather deceiving, and before he set out, Callum had taken note of the dark clouds that hovered over the peaks and crags of the Cairngorms to the west. Hopefully the storm would hold off long enough for him to help with some of the repairs on the stonework.
He approached the dam with some trepidation. Davies had reported the structure had been repaired several months after Callum’s departure, but Callum wasn’t certain if the job had been done soundly. Much to his surprise, the dam seemed to have been rebuilt entirely, and with stronger buttresses in place to anchor it in the case of too much rain. It made sense, he supposed, since the dam also affected his father’s land.
He passed Ewan in the fields before he spotted Blair, still hard at work plastering the stonework on his cottage. Blair nodded to him, intent on the work before him. Callum removed his coat and slung it over the low wattle fence, petting several of the collies who came forward to greet him.
“Can I lend ye a hand?” he asked Blair and stepped forward, surveying the work his uncle had already completed, estimating how many more hours of work remained.
“Aye,” Blair said. “There’s another bucket around the corner.”
Callum wasted no time in retrieving it. He’d helped with this task once before, long ago, but he watched Blair work for a few minutes, refreshing his memory before he picked up the trowel and began to apply the wet slurry. They worked in silence for almost an hour, the only sound the slapping of the slurry against the stone and the scrape of the trowels.
“That’s enough for today,” Blair said, stepping down from the ladder. “I don’t want to risk doing any mair with that starm blowing in.” Sure enough, the menacing clouds had blown halfway across the sky, and the wind wasn’t letting up.
“Will it rain, do ye think?” Callum asked, worried that all their work had been for naught.
Blair shook his head. “There’ll be heavy snow in the mountains, and the temperature will drop, but we won’t see anythin’ but a strong wind.” Callum didn’t doubt him; Blair had always had a sense for these things.
They placed the empty buckets in the barn, and Blair grabbed a few tools. “One of the sheep pens needs mending, if ye’re willing.”
“More than willing.”
They walked in silence. Blair glanced at Callum occasionally, the set of his mouth grim. Callum sensed there was something Blair wanted to say, but the man always spoke in his own time, and Callum wasn’t going to leave until his uncle had said his piece. They passed grazing sheep, ewes heavy with their unborn lambs. Blair took long strides, and Callum matched them, until they’d reached one of the broken sections of a pen used to keep the lambs with their mothers.
“There’re some prime trees over thar.” Blair nodded toward a thicket of trees half a mile away. “Let’s try for some alder.”
Despite the steady wind, Callum was slick with sweat by the time they’d finished chopping down two alder trees. He used his sleeve to rub off the perspiration on his forehead. “That should do it,” he said, leaning against the ax. Though his body protested, it felt good to work with his hands, to do some labor that didn’t involve sitting at his desk.
Silence played in the fretful wind as they both took a slight reprieve. Blair picked up the glut and placed it against one end of the log. He tapped it with the maul to secure it and then handed the maul to Callum. “Four and a half years is a long time tae be away.” He spoke slowly, his words measured. “Long enough to mend old wounds.” He gave Callum a meaningful look. “Or perhaps create deep rifts.”
Callum brought the maul down with a firm strike, and the glut went deeper, forming a deep crack in the log. “Back then, nothing made more sense than running away.” Callum sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’d no idea it would lead to this.” He hit the glut twice more.
“I understand why ye left,” Blair responded as he picked up the glut and moved it down. “But I still don’t understand why ye left her. Ye made promises, vows before God. And then ye broke every one of them.”
His words pierced Callum’s very center. Three more hits with the maul, a welcome outlet. “Aye, I did. But I assure you nothing you say can compare to the way Katie looks at me. Every glance from her is a sermon of censure.”
“Good.” Blair nodded. “Then, I’ll not speak more of it.” They repeated the process several more times until it split in two, and then they started on a new log.
“I’d welcome your advice,” Callum said, wiping his forehead again. “Heaven knows I’m failing miserably.” He traced the wood grains in the maul with his thumb. “Katie made a list of rules I had to promise to follow before she agreed to come back with me.” He made another hit with the maul, the ring of metal on metal resounding in his ears. Callum looked toward his uncle, rueful. “She was so rigid about it all, so I made a game of breaking her rules, hoping it might help break down some of the barriers between us. But things took a turn for the worse.” The accusation in Katie’s eyes after he’d broken their kiss gutted him anew. “I’m afraid I’ve only made her more cautious. All my efforts are rebuffed. I’ve no idea what to do. I’m at a loss for how to move forward.”
Callum set down the maul, and the two of them moved the split logs out of the way, making room for the next log. Blair waited, holding the glut with his calloused fingers before placing the tool again. His hands looked older than Callum remembered, more like the hands of an old man. The lines in his face grew more pronounced, and it seemed an eternity before he looked up.
“I think of ye as my own son—ye know that. I could not love ye more if ye were.”
Callum nodded.
Blair gave him an appraising look. “Do ye know why she created the rules in the first place?” he asked, surprising Callum.
“Because she loathes me,” he said matter-of-factly.
Blair shook his head, an air of frustration in his expression. “Nae, son. She fears ye. She fears that ye’ll break her heart all over again. And those rules, which ye broke so casually, are her best defense against ye.”
Callum took in a sharp breath, the cold wind filling his lungs as that truth sank in. How could he have been so careless? He’d wanted to eliminate the distance between them, but instead he’d put Katie in a vulnerable position. The very thought split him open as surely as the wood at his feet. He was not his father; he knew that. But he was not yet the man he wanted to be. He picked up the maul and tapped it against the side of his boot.
Blair spoke softly. “Ye destroyed the trust of the woman ye swore tae cherish. Ye broke your marital vows, and ye broke her heart. Ye mustn’t break her rules—’tis a fool’s errand. It is time tae start mending what ye’ve broken, for your wife’s sake, as well as your child’s.” He sighed, his eyes shining with concern. “Ye know better than anyone the cost of parents who do not love each other as they ought.”
The words stung, sharp as a splinter beneath his nail. Callum hunched his shoulders, his thoughts heavy. What had happened to his long-ago vision of a happy family, and how could he have strayed so far from it? “Aye, I know the cost,” he replied, squeezing his eyes closed.
“It will require patience, Callum. ’Tis a blessing ye are a hard worker, for this will require more effort than anything ye’ve ever labored at before. Whether or not she chooses tae forgive ye is out of your hands. Nae matter what, ye must right past wrongs and be the man she deserves, beginning now.” He held his hand out for the maul.
Callum nodded, his throat tight, and handed it over. His uncle was right—he could not change the past. He could only begin from this moment forward. His uncle swung the maul back, and Callum watched him, pierced by gratitude for this man who’d taught him the value of honest labor.
The battle ahead of him was sure to be a long one.
Callum adjusted the glut and reached for the maul. Blair shook his head, refusing the offer. “Did ye not hear me? Ye’ve a different kind of work to do, and I think ye’d best get started.”