Heart in the Highlands by Heidi Kimball
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Three days later Kate was more than pleased when Harkness announced that Olivia was waiting in the drawing room for her. She hurried downstairs, anxious to put Callum’s cousin at ease, for it couldn’t have been easy for her to accept Kate’s invitation, no matter how genuine the offer.
“I’m so glad you came,” Kate said as she entered. “I worried you wouldn’t.”
Olivia held Tavish in her arms, an awkward affair with her well-rounded belly. Her smile was halfhearted. “I came tae thank ye for helping me find work. But I dinnae think I should stay. Tae be honest, I’m feelin’ like an imposter.” Tavish arched his back, trying to get out of his mother’s hold.
“Nonsense,” Kate reassured her. “You are welcome here. But should you be carrying Tavish in your condition?”
“I worry if I let him doon, he’ll tetch something he shouldn’t,” she admitted.
“Perhaps you’ll enjoy yourself more if we have tea up in the nursery. I can carry Tavish, if he’ll let me.” Kate held out her arms. Tavish hesitated. “Charlotte will be thrilled to see her cousin,” she told him. “And she has some horn cups I think you’d enjoy stacking. And some toy soldiers that are begging to be played with.” With that, he went into her arms easily, though he kept his gaze firmly on his mother.
“Aha. I thought so.” He was only a year younger than Charlotte, but Tavish felt so much smaller in Kate’s arms. She felt a twinge of sadness. Charlotte rarely let Kate carry her now.
When they reached the nursery, Charlotte squealed with delight at the sight of her cousin. “Tavish, come! Come see the ark!”
Tavish didn’t have to be told twice. He squirmed until Kate let him down and then dutifully followed Charlotte, who immediately began introducing him to all the animals.
Harriet went to call for tea, and Kate offered Olivia a seat in the rocking chair and then took a seat herself. “How are you feeling?” she asked. Olivia looked a bit peaked, though Kate wouldn’t say so.
“I’ve ne’er felt sae tired in all my life. Sae different wi’ how I felt wi’ Tavish. Surely it mist be twins.”
Kate would never forget the constant kicks within her swelling belly. Her smile grew tight. “Do twins run in the family, then?”
“Oh, aye. My da’s maither was a twin.” She rubbed her belly, grimacing.
“Are you getting enough rest?” Kate asked. “If you need a respite, Tavish could spend a night or two here with Charlotte. I know how exhausting this age can be. They’re so very busy.”
Charlotte and Tavish were racing back and forth across the nursery now, their legs pumping. More than once, one or the other of them slipped on the wood floors, but instead of crying, they seemed to think it a game.
“Aye, they are that.” Perspiration dotted Olivia’s hairline, and she used her hand to fan herself.
Kate got to her feet and opened several of the windows, and soon a fresh spring breeze was moving air through the nursery. “There, that’s better, isn’t it?”
“There’s nae need for ye to wait on me,” Olivia protested.
“You forget I’ve been in your position before. No one is more deserving of being waited on than one in your condition. Now, let me check on the tea,” she said. In truth, Kate had another errand in mind, but she doubted whether Olivia would mind being left to herself. She caught Harriet coming down the corridor.
“Tea will be up shortly, though it isn’t proper to take it in the nursery,” Harriet said.
“I assure you Olivia won’t mind. Keep an eye on Tavish and Charlotte so she can rest. I’ll be back shortly.” Kate hurried down to her room, where she’d been going through some of Charlotte’s baby things. If Olivia truly did deliver twins, she’d need twice as many things.
The finality of packing up Charlotte’s baby things wrung at Kate’s insides, feeling the weight of saying goodbye to a stage of Charlotte’s life she could never recapture. But she was determined; it was far better the clothes be put to use than stored away and eaten by moths. She saved only one of Charlotte’s tiny gowns, a beautiful cotton print Kate had made from one of her own dresses. The others she folded and wrapped inside a baby blanket.
As she tied a piece of twine to secure the bundle, a tear dropped onto the blanket. And then another. Impatiently, she dashed them away. It was only Charlotte’s approaching birthday that had her in such turmoil. The day was always accompanied by poignant memories and beset with tears. It certainly had nothing to do with Olivia’s coming confinement or the guilt that pressed down so heavily upon Kate’s breastbone that she had difficulty drawing a full breath.
Enough, she scolded herself. She had company. A friend. She had no intention of whiling away what precious little time she’d have with Olivia before her confinement. Placing one final knot in the twine, she picked up the bundle and quit her room.
Later that evening Kate and Callum tiptoed out of the nursery, leaving Char-lotte asleep. “Join me in my study?” Callum asked. It was ridiculous, he knew, but his stomach turned over every time he waited for her answer.
She shook her head. “I can’t. Not yet. I was planning to finish Charlotte’s birthday present tonight. But it shouldn’t take more than an hour or so . . . if that isn’t too late.”
Callum did his best to hide his disappointment. Surely he could stand an hour apart from his wife. He had plenty to keep him occupied, after all. He’d received a letter from William this afternoon about some pressing matters that needed to be seen to before they could decide on the cargo for their upcoming shipments.
“Very well. I shall await your arrival,” he said, inclining his head. Once encased in his study he pulled out William’s letter. It was hardly a surprise that the bulk of the missive was full of questions. About Katie. About their reunion. About whether there was hope for their marriage. “I think so,” he said softly to no one but himself. “I hope so.”
The remainder of the letter held the usual business inquiries, matters Callum would normally resolve right away. But not tonight. Not when all he could think of was Katie.
He steepled his hands and glanced at the clock. Not five minutes had passed. A flicker of guilt passed through him as he remembered the promise he’d made to visit his father. But he couldn’t right now. Not yet.
Instead he forced himself to pull out a sheet of paper and put his quill to it. He first wrote to William inquiring about the pricing of a hogshead of whisky from several different suppliers and then drafted a letter to their contact in London about procuring and transporting the soap and perfume they’d ordered from Yardley. Once the ink dried, he sealed both missives and set them on the corner of his desk, where Harkness would see them and have them posted.
Twenty-five minutes had gone by, and Callum had not a hope of accomplishing anything further, so consumed were his thoughts by Katie. If he was a besotted fool, so be it. He scooted his chair back from the desk.
After a quick inquiry one of the maids pointed him toward the morning room. “She’s likely pentin’. She set up her easel thar amaist a week ago.”
Katie had revealed nothing of what she had planned for Charlotte’s birth-day present, and Callum’s curiosity was piqued. The door stood open, and he approached quietly, wanting to watch Katie work without making her self-conscious.
He was delighted to see a stretch of watercolor paintings hung across a line. Each picture featured animals, though not in their usual environs. One painting exhibited a group of chickens playing battledore. Below it the script read, Back and forth the chickens go, using racquets to vanquish their foe. They flap their wings and run and cluck; the victors require both skill and luck. Another showed some frogs riding in a coach-and-four, yet another two monkeys fencing. They all had equally enchanting verses. He could have stared at them for hours, enjoying the perfect little details Kate had managed to imbue them with.
He ducked under the line of paintings, taking care not to rustle them and alert Katie to his presence. Her head was angled to one side, a small palette in her left hand. Her right hand held a brush, which she dipped into a small vessel of water before mixing it into one of the paint blocks in an open wooden box.
Callum watched every little stroke of Katie’s hand, mesmerized. Her fingers were slender and elegant. A small stain marred her middle finger with a slight protrusion, likely from using a charcoal pencil. She moved deftly, her brush creating a charming scene stroke by stroke. Three cats sitting in the drawing room drinking tea. The one on the left, gray and fluffy, was clearly Cleo.
He stepped closer, unable to muzzle his curiosity any longer. “What will go there?” he asked, leaning forward and pointing to the blank spot on the page.
Katie startled, whirling around and nearly dropping her palette. “Callum! You scared me out of my wits!” She glanced at the clock and gave him a firm glare of disapproval. “I didn’t promise to meet you downstairs for another half an hour.”
“I couldn’t wait.” Callum shrugged unapologetically. “So what will go in that blank spot?”
One corner of her mouth quirked up. “You’ll have to wait and see. But if you want to stay and watch, you must promise to be silent.” She pointed the brush at him, and he was transported back to their wedding night, her with a different brush in her hand. The memory was so poignant it felt like a vise around his chest.
He tried not to think on it. Tried not to show how greatly thoughts of that night still affected him. Instead he gave her a look of absolute innocence and made a show of sealing his lips.
She laughed and shook her head at him. “Impossible,” she murmured, turning back to her painting.
He admired the soft set of her shoulders as she worked. A month ago they’d been as stiff as soldiers, not a hint of relaxation in her posture. And that was not the only change. She laughed more now, and more freely. Her eyes had stopped relentlessly drifting toward the clock as if counting every minute of every day. Instead she was present. Comfortable. He might go so far as to say content.
Too bad Callum couldn’t say the same for himself. He was far from content. He often felt like a hunting dog, waiting for the signal that would give him freedom to make a full-out pursuit of Katie. He could be patient, and he would be, but it tested him to his very limits.
Every day he learned more of this woman he’d taken as a wife, but instead of satiating his curiosity, all he learned only made him ravenous to know more. He knew Katie’s love of riding and painting and how she took her tea, but he longed to know her opinions on everything, what she and Olivia had talked of this afternoon, if she regretted not knowing her parents. He enjoyed their evenings spent together, but he wanted to wake up with her in his arms each morning.
She’d given him glimpses into herself, an artist revealing a small corner of her painting. But that wasn’t enough for Callum. He wanted—needed—to see the whole canvas.
“Well?” she prodded, bringing him out of his woolgathering. “What do you think?” She set down her palette and scooted back her stool so he could get a better look.
“Aha. Very clever,” he said with a wry grin.
“You don’t like it?” she asked, her lips pulling into a playful pout.
“Oh no, I love it. Truthfully, there is nowhere I’d rather be than sitting around in the drawing room sipping tea with some felines.”
She laughed. A glorious, melodious sound. “Well, you did seem to enjoy Cleo’s company on our trip.” The corners of her mouth rose in a mischievous smirk.
He gave her a searching look. “’Twas some sort of test, wasn’t it?”
“Perhaps,” she said coyly.
He folded his arms across his chest, enjoying this more playful side of her. “Then, the least ye can do is admit I did a far finer job of enduring that wretched cat’s company than ye were expecting me to.”
“Ye may have,” she admitted, her dimple peeking through.
“Ye?” he said with delight, chuckling. “Why, I think ye may be turning Scottish.”
She colored. “I am English through and through.”
“Ye’ve become a wee bit Scottish. I saw ye picking some heather with Charlotte yesterday. And now ye’re using ye instead of you.” He couldn’t hide his satisfaction. “Admit it. Ye are beginning to think ye might be able to be happy here after all.” His eyes caught hers. “Ye are starting to love Scotland.”
Silence pulsed. “I think perhaps I could be very happy here.” Her voice quavered, and she bit her lower lip. “And I am beginning to love Scotland.” They both knew she wasn’t speaking of Scotland at all.
How could he ever endeavor to deserve such a woman? Callum took a step closer to Katie, too enamored of her to be wise. She raised a hand to brush her hair back from her face, and her elbow caught on the paint palette, sending it flying into the basin of water she’d been washing her brushes in. Water, paint, and brushes went flying across the floor.
By the time they’d finished picking up the mess and wiping the floor, the moment had passed. It is better this way, Callum tried to convince himself. He didn’t want to rush her. “Ye’re not too tired to spend an hour downstairs?” he asked, more eager than a lovesick schoolboy.
“No,” she said with a smile. They walked together down the corridor, and Katie rubbed her arms. “It’s a bit chilly. I’ll meet you downstairs after I fetch a shawl.”
He was unbearably tempted to say something that would make her blush, but instead he merely nodded. “Will you bring your sketchbook?”
“I left it down in your study last night,” she said. “I won’t be long.”
His heart pounded in his chest as he contemplated being alone with her. “I’ll be waiting.”