Heart in the Highlands by Heidi Kimball
Chapter Nineteen
By the time Callum walked through the front doors, the large ormolu case clock in the front entry tolled the noon hour. He immediately set about looking for Katie, but she was nowhere to be found, nor Charlotte either. Callum looked through all the downstairs rooms and inquired of the staff, but no one had seen her for several hours. Had Katie taken Charlotte somewhere? Or could Katie possibly be ill? Self-sufficient as she was, it would be just like her not to ask for any help and instead shoulder the burden on her own.
Though he’d avoided it these last few weeks, Callum resigned himself to going to her room. He knocked, waiting for a greeting, a dismissal, any sort of reply, but silence ensued.
He knocked once more, to ensure she wasn’t merely sleeping, and then pushed the door open.
The room first appeared in his mind’s eye the way it had been on their wedding night—with a cozy fire, the curtains drawn, and Katie’s trunks against the wall. He blinked, and it was gone, the drapes pulled open and the room enveloped in the gray afternoon light. And the starkest difference of all: no Katie.
He turned to go but felt a tug of curiosity. Callum hadn’t been in this room since that long-ago night, and disadvantaged as he was, a look around might give him some insight into his wife. He’d likely not get another opportunity to explore so freely.
Katie hadn’t made many changes to the room, not that he’d have expected her to. Save for a few books on the nightstand and a pearl-handled brush on the vanity, it seemed to hold almost nothing that was simply hers. It almost looked like . . . like she wasn’t planning to stay.
Which was precisely why he needed to speak with her.
He turned on his heel and was almost out the door when a wall hanging on the paneling captured his attention. It was a small painting done in watercolor—of Rosemont Cottage. The detail was exceptional, with the two grand oak trees framing the house and each of the features that made it look lived in and cozy. A gray cat perched in one of the branches of the front willow tree, and below, a small girl sat in a swing, her hair flying back in a mess of curls. Charlotte. Her joy had been captured so perfectly he felt he could almost step into the painting and hear her laughter.
Had Katie rendered this likeness? He’d not known she had any inclination toward painting, and certainly not a talent such as this. Given Charlotte’s depiction, it was obvious the painting had been done somewhat recently, yet the initials in the corner read K. M., her initials before their marriage. His throat knotted. It hadn’t been done to hurt him—she’d likely not ever expected him to see it—but it served as a sobering reflection of how she felt. And of the great chasm that would have to be bridged in order for him to make things right.
He left the room and pulled the door closed to find his mother coming toward him, holding Charlotte’s hand. “We’ve been in the nursery, Papa!” Charlotte said, skipping toward him. He knelt down, and she jumped into his arms. “And there is a set of Noah’s animals that Grandmama says is for me!”
He smiled, remembering hours upon hours of playing with those very same animals and the finely crafted ark. What he wouldn’t give to take Charlotte upstairs right now and do the same. But the matter itching inside him could not wait. “Ye are a lucky lass. Might ye be willing tae show me tomorrow?”
She grinned and nodded, her pearly white teeth showing.
He released Charlotte and got to his feet. “Mother, have ye seen Katie?”
His mother’s expression grew troubled. “She came and found me this morning and asked if I’d be willing tae keep an eye on Charlotte and show her the nursery. She was dressed to go riding.”
A pulse of alarm beat through him. Katie had been skittish about showing Charlotte the nursery, and for her now to not only do so but to leave Charlotte completely in his mother’s care . . . “And she hasn’t come back?”
“I havenae seen her. Do ye fear something is amiss?”
With Charlotte standing there, he’d not give cause for worry. “Likely not. I’ll go to the stables and see if she’s returned.” He knelt down and set his hands on Charlotte’s shoulders. “Perhaps the two of you could have some biscuits in the nursery, aye? But be chary of the giraffe, who likes to steal a wee bite now and then.” He winked.
Charlotte giggled, showing no concern over the whereabouts of her mother. As they disappeared down the corridor, Charlotte waved back at him. “I love you, Papa!”
The words stole his breath, and he realized he’d been yearning to hear her say them. “I love you too, Charlotte Rose,” he said, but his throat knotted with emotion, and he doubted she’d heard him. How like a child, to give such valuable words so freely. Perhaps she’d somehow known he needed the strength those words would endow.
He wasted no time, hurrying to his room to add some more layers, including some thick gloves and a hat, then taking brisk strides out the back doors and down the path that led to the stables. The temperature had dropped considerably, and the wind had grown icy and fierce, whipping at his hair and coat. His uncle was right; there would certainly be snow in the mountains. Probably already was.
Gowans, the stablemaster, approached, almost as if he’d been waiting for Callum. His leathered face held lines of worry. “I was about to fetch ye, my lord. Lady Row—”
“She hasn’t come back?” Callum shouted to be heard over the wind, fighting down rising desperation.
Gowans removed his hat, and he seemed to regret that he couldn’t give a satisfactory answer. “Nae.”
“And did she not take a groom?” The chances were slim, but still he hoped.
“Nae, my lord. She headed out by herself. She’s a capable rider and was insistent on being alone.”
Callum silently cursed. He scanned the land, his brow dipping as he glanced toward the Cairngorms. “Which direction did she go?”
Gowans pointed toward the path that led west, over the foothills and toward the mountains, where the storm looked to have hit full force. Lead pooled in Callum’s stomach. He tried to keep his voice even, despite the panic nipping at his heels. “We’ll both ride out. I’ll saddle my own horse while ye mount up. And have someone gather as many blankets as can be found.”
Gowans was already moving, easily grasping the urgency of the situation. Callum saddled Bayard with a speed beyond his usual capabilities. Once he secured the girth, he took hold of the cantle and swung himself up, urging his stallion out of the stables. Another groom met him at the doors, three coarse wool blankets in his arms. He handed them up to Callum.
“Tell Gowans to take the south fork; I’ll take the north. If he doesn’t find Lady Rowand within the hour, he should turn back. If she is found, fire two shots, one right after another.”
The man nodded, and Callum was off, giving Bayard his head through the path that led to the foothills. The wind bit at them both, a tangible wall that seemed determined to slow their pace. The pounding of Bayard’s hooves seemed to echo the anger building inside Callum. What had Katie been thinking, heading off by herself? To someone unfamiliar with the land, it was far too easy to get lost in these hills and mountains.
Within a quarter of an hour white flakes as large as guineas had begun to fall, and his anger turned to unease. Likely as not, he was the reason behind Katie’s rash behavior. Blair had spelled it all out so clearly, and Callum regretted how cavalier he’d been . . . about everything.
Just yesterday Charlotte had accompanied him to the barn and very nearly scared him to death when she’d climbed up a rickety ladder the minute his back was turned. It was the first time he’d felt the true weight of his responsibility as a parent. The task of not only keeping her safe but so much more: to educate her mind, instill a strong sense of morality, teach her manners and etiquette . . . the list was endless. And with that weight sinking squarely on his shoulders came the stark realization of how hard it must have been for Katie to bear the weight of that responsibility all on her own. His gratitude for her was profound, his regret greater still.
He pressed on for another hour, his gaze scanning either side of the trail, hoping for a glimpse of a flapping cloak, the gentle whinnying of a horse. He took care to flex his fingers to stave off the numbness that preceded frostbite. Had Katie no notion of an April blizzard in the Cairngorms? Of course not. There was no chance at all that she’d been prepared for weather such as this. What was it that had so upset her this morning that it could send her into danger, heedless of the storm?
The incline became rockier, and Bayard struggled for purchase on the icy trail. The snow had begun to sting Callum’s face, hundreds of miniature bullets pelting his exposed skin. He cursed the snow, which covered any trace of Katie’s tracks. Worse still, it was a wet snow, melting as it landed on his coat sleeve. He pushed on blindly, helplessness building inside him. What if she hadn’t even gone this way? He could as easily be on a fool’s errand as be Katie’s savior.
The flurries began to fall faster. Callum could still see the outline of rocks and the grass pushing through the snow, keeping him on the trail, but soon everything would be covered in a blanket of white, making it impossible to keep his bearing. It wasn’t safe to go on.
Why hadn’t he made things right with her before now? Why had he let nearly two weeks pass with nary a word between them? He felt ice sweep through him that had nothing to do with the wind.
Ten more minutes. Just ten minutes more. The snow was already ankle deep on Bayard. Callum rubbed at the stallion’s neck, hoping to offer some encouragement. With every step forward he feared the snow would turn into a full-out blizzard, which would not only make finding Katie impossible but would make his own return home dangerous. Could Gowans have found her? Would he have heard the shots to signal her safe arrival over the wind?
Callum adjusted his scarf, using it to cover his nose and mouth, leaving a small opening for his eyes beneath the brim of his hat. He looked out over the bleak, snow-frosted landscape, the terrain high enough that spring had not yet touched it. Where was Katie?
The realization hit him like a forty-foot wave, so shocking he felt bile rise in his throat and had to breathe through his mouth until the sensation passed. Katie had woken up that long-ago morning and wondered that very thing about him. Where was he? And she’d continued to wonder for four and a half years.
He looked out at the snow-slicked landscape, feeling the depths of her loneliness for the first time. What had displayed signs of spring merely hours before now looked cold and barren, not a sound or a trace of human affection. And her loneliness had been tenfold. A hundredfold. His very soul groaned at what he’d done to her. Self-loathing clawed at him, carving out his middle, leaving him with a yawning emptiness. He pushed on, his fingers growing stiff and numb, his heart trailing behind in the icy snow.
At last he reined Bayard in. Still no sign of Katie. Callum bent his head in frustration, saying a silent prayer, hoping the vows to Katie he’d broken wouldn’t prevent God from answering his pleas. She had to be all right. Charlotte needed her. He needed her.
Suddenly Bayard’s head lifted, his ears turned back. Callum froze, trying to listen for any sound beyond the keening of the wind. And then he heard what had put Bayard on alert. The barely discernible sound of a whinnying horse. It came from behind him, back the way they’d come.
He turned Bayard, and the horse’s pace quickened, perhaps sensing Callum’s anxiousness. Off to their right the land arced upward. He followed the incline until Bayard pawed nervously, refusing to go on. And no wonder, as the ledge was a drop-off. Callum couldn’t hear anything anymore, and he wondered if he’d merely imagined it.
They backtracked again, this time heading down. Only then did they see Willow standing next to a rocky outcropping that formed a little cave. The tightness in Callum’s chest eased, but he’d not feel true relief until he found Katie.
“Katie!” Callum shouted. “Katie!” He dismounted in one swift motion, grabbing the blankets and running toward the hollow. “Katie!” he shouted again.
He ducked underneath the overhanging and found Katie curled against the wall, knees to her chest, shivering with such ferocity his gut twisted. “Callum?” Katie’s voice was weak and raspy, but he’d never been so happy to hear anything. Her hair was a mess, her hat missing. She lifted her head a little as she caught sight of him, her face bone white, her nose and cheeks flushed from the cold.
Her eyes fluttered open as he knelt down beside her. “Charlotte?” she asked, the name a question.
“Is safe. But ye are far from it. What were ye thinking, woman?” His tone came out too gruff. Did she not know she could die out here alone in the cold? Charlotte would lose her mother, and he . . . he would lose the chance to set things aright.
He bent his head, needing to focus. He’d traveled up the mountain path for over an hour, but going down would certainly take longer, given the accumulating snow. With each snowflake that fell the journey became more precarious.
Callum took off his thick wool-lined gloves and then unlaced Katie’s boots and discarded them. Her feet were frozen, badly enough that he dreaded frostbite. He needed to get her stockings off, remove any layering that separated her limbs and the warmth they could share. He pulled back her skirts, only to discover her stockings were attached to a garter. Impatient, he ripped them free, first from one leg and then the other and peeled her stockings off. Her toes were so white they almost looked blue, and he began to rub her legs and her feet, trying to get some blood flowing.
She moaned under his ministrations and tried to pull away. “Ow! You’re hurting me, Callum!” Her words slurred together, almost as if she’d had too much to drink. The cold had begun to muddle her brain. He knew her weary body longed for sleep. But sleep was dangerous.
Callum needed to get her warm, and fast. He moved with speed and precision and took one of the heavy woolen blankets and wrapped it about her legs and feet, layering it with another. It felt as though everything depended on this moment; perhaps getting this right could somehow right some of his past wrongs.
Her eyes fell shut again.
“Katie, ye’ve got to stay awake. Do ye hear me?”
“So . . . so tired.” She didn’t blink.
He shook her shoulder, and her head bobbed wildly. “Katie, open your eyes!” he demanded.
“Stoppppit.” Her head dropped to the side, her eyes still closed.
There were few options left to him. He knew it would sting like the devil, but she needed something to rouse her. He pulled back his hand and slapped her, just hard enough to wake her.
Her eyes flew open, and that beloved fire in their blue depths roared to life. “How dare you? It is I who should be slapping you!”
“Aye. And I promise if ye stay awake on the way home, ye can slap me as many times as ye wish.” Callum removed his outer layers. He needed to share as much of his warmth with her as possible. He slung his greatcoat and scarf over his arm and then, without asking Katie’s permission, he picked her up and carried her outside to where Bayard stood waiting, pawing impatiently in the snow.
“T-t-too cold,” she said, pushing against him. Her anger was fading, her drowsiness descending once more.
“No, no. I’ll get ye warm, I promise. But we must go.” He lifted her onto Bayard’s back, resting sidesaddle, making sure the blankets around her feet and legs hadn’t come loose. Then he removed her cloak and gloves and began to unbutton the jacket of her riding habit. “What are you doing?” she demanded. There was an affronted tone to her voice, which suited him well enough. Anger would only help his cause.
“We’ve got to get ye warm. And as I’m the only one here tae do it, we’ll have to forgo your desire for modesty. Help me, will you? Lift your arms.”
After her jacket was off, Callum used a nearby rock to mount behind her. He lifted her up onto his lap and settled her against his chest. “Arms around me,” he directed, and she complied, but not without an affronted sigh. Her hands were like bricks of ice, and the cold leached through the linen of his shirt, almost making him gasp. But with her in nothing but a chemise and her stays, his heart was beating fast enough to warm them both. He awkwardly pulled on his greatcoat, buttoning it around the two of them, and then layered her jacket, cloak, and the last of the blankets over Katie’s lap. Finally, he pulled on his gloves.
Katie nestled against him, her head resting in the hollow where his shoulder met his collarbone, her lashes fanning against her pale skin. The sweetness of the feeling lit a candle in him, a desire he’d not expected. To protect. To cherish. To do all those things he’d failed to do before.
Callum clicked his tongue, and Willow perked up, coming up behind Bayard, ready to follow. He took hold of Bayard’s reins and urged him forward, his mind bent on one thing—getting Katie home.