Heart in the Highlands by Heidi Kimball

Chapter Three

Callum wasn’t quite sure what he’d imagined when he’d pictured his future bride, but it wasn’t the woman standing before him. His first impression of her was that she looked incredibly young. Though she was thin—her shoulders narrow, her face angular—her bearing was patently refined. His gaze drifted downward to her sodden gown. There certainly wasn’t much to her figure.

“You are Lord Rowand?” she asked in her English accent. He jerked his eyes up at the soft, almost lyrical quality of her voice.

She removed her wet and misshapen bonnet, giving him a better look at her. Expressive blue eyes and milky-white skin gave her a look of fresh-faced innocence. A few soft pieces of brown hair framed her face, the rest a wet and tangled mess. Soaked as she was, thin as she was, Lady Katherine was still undeniably pretty.

Not that it mattered.

“Guilty,” he said gruffly. He cast his eyes about and got straight to the point. “But where is your carriage, your trunks?”

She gave a breathy huff. “The carriage is in worse condition than I am, if you can believe it.”

Despite his misgivings, he softened a little. “Given the state of the roads, I surely can.”

“I didn’t have the heart to force my maid to continue on. I left her back at the inn.” She stared at him for a moment, head angled.

He ran a hand through his hair, wishing he were more presentable.

“I went on ahead with Jack in the hope of meeting you before . . .” She glanced down, suddenly shy.

He was struck with amusement. Perhaps she had no more interest in this marriage than he did. “Before we make lifelong vows tae one another?” he supplied with a wry grin.

She met his gaze and laughed. A dimple made its appearance, softening the lines of her face. “Yes, precisely.”

They stood staring at one another, the crackle of expectancy filling the air between them. Callum hadn’t expected Lady Katherine to be so enchanting. He hadn’t expected to like her at all.

He took a slight step back and raised his chin toward Jack. “What happened to Jack here? How is it that ye ended up walking while he is seated atop that filthy old nag?”

She turned back toward Jack. “Oh yes. He turned his ankle, I’m afraid.”

“The ground here is treacherous after a heavy smur.”

“Smur?”

He smiled and made a small noise at the back of his throat. “Rain. Welcome tae Scotland.”

“It has been quite a welcome. But at least I am here.” She shrugged her shoulders. Against his will, Callum was impressed by her good-natured perspective, given all she’d been through.

“We shall do our best tae remedy your poor first impression. But first, let me see to Jack.” Callum examined Jack’s ankle to assure himself the boy wasn’t seriously injured. With a brief word of thanks, he sent the lad back to the inn, confident Auld Boy would see him safely home in due time.

Callum spoke over his shoulder to Lady Katherine. “My horse is over here.” He led her toward the cowshed around the back of the cottage. Once his horse was readied, he unfastened the shed door and led Bayard out.

He held his hand out for his intended. “I think ye’ll find Bayard a rather marked improvement over the nag Jack offered ye,” he said.

Lady Katherine approached warily. She glanced at Bayard, then back at Callum. “Are we to ride bareback? Is this commonplace here in the Highlands?”

“We do use saddles, even all the way up here in the Highlands,” he said dryly, fighting a smile. “But riding with two in a saddle is rather uncomfortable. We’ll ride bareback oot of necessity, not custom. ’Tis not far.”

“Well, I must say that is a relief.” She blew out a breath. “How am I to mount without a stirrup?”

He came up behind her. “May I?” She gave a stiff nod. A small jolt of attraction shot through Callum as his large hands spanned her small waist.

He brushed it aside and set her atop his horse sidesaddle. Pulling at the bridle, he led Bayard over to the fence, and with a quick step onto the fence railing, Callum seated himself behind Lady Katherine. He anchored his legs around her to ensure she wouldn’t fall, then reached past her waist to take hold of the bridle. His blood warmed with her so close. Her slight build seemed to belie the profound effect she had on him.

He shook away the cotton filling his head. “And now I think we’d best be getting you . . . home.” The way she tensed said she felt the weight of the word, same as he.

He allowed Bayard a walk, nothing more. Lady Katherine remained quiet, her body rigid in front of him. Was it him? Or the novelty of riding without a saddle? He didn’t know her well enough to venture a guess. “I hope Jack’s ankle isn’t seriously hurt,” he said, aiming to distract himself from such pointless thoughts.

Her arrow-straight spine softened. “His tongue certainly isn’t,” she said, and he could hear the smile in her voice.

“His mother is deaf, and the village joke speculates such was God’s way of making sure she didnae go mad.”

She laughed with him and relaxed against him a bit more. He felt himself softening toward her. Rather suddenly, she quieted, clearing her throat. “Will you think me very forward if I ask you a few questions?”

Callum couldn’t help but tease her a bit. “Dinnae be shy. It might be your one chance before we’re leg-shackled.”

She gave a breathy, nervous sort of laugh. “I know you are in jest, but it’s true, isn’t it? I imagine you have a great many questions for me as well.”

“Aye, I do.” A great many.

“Let’s take turns, then,” she said. “Do you mind if I begin?”

“Fire at will. But fire rapidly, Lady Katherine. That is Castleton Manor up in the distance.” He released her waist briefly to point at the magnificent edifice his grandfather had commissioned—gleaming white stone, gabled rooftops, and stately pillars.

Her head turned in the direction he pointed. She sat unmoving for several long seconds, taking in what would shortly be her new home before she unleashed her first question. “If that is Castleton Manor, do you mind me asking what you were doing in a farmer’s hut, looking like a—”

Some primitive, protective instinct bristled against her thoughtless words. “A common laborer?” he supplied. She’d probably resent his lowly relations.

“Well, yes.” She turned toward him, her blue eyes offering a silent apology.

The tightness in his shoulders eased a bit. “If ye must ken, I was helping one of the tenants with their sheep when the dam broke.” He decided not to mention the fact that those tenants were his aunt and uncle, for that explanation would dominate the whole of their conversation. They had already reached the gravel drive that led to Castleton Manor’s imposing entrance.

“Oh.” She was silent for a moment. “That’s very good of you.”

Her answer took him off guard. Was her response genuine? “Now, I believe it is my turn for a question,” he said.

She twisted again, cocking her head.

He took that as permission to continue. “How do ye take your tea?”

“How do I take my tea?” she echoed. “Of all the questions you might ask, that is what you most want to know?”

“Do ye take issue with my question?” he asked in a tone of mock affront.

“No, I am trying to make sense of the man who asks such a question when we are nowhere near a drawing room.” The set of her mouth was almost challenging. “If you must know, I take it with a little cream.”

He imagined the perfectly shaped bow of her mouth as she sipped her tea. “I see,” he said, nodding thoughtfully in an effort to distract himself from that unsolicited thought.

She craned her head around farther, her nose wrinkled in confusion. “What, exactly, do you see?”

He softened his hold on Bayard’s bridle and slowed the horse’s walk. “There is much tae learn from how a person takes their tea. Some women are so austere they take their tea plain and scalding hot. Others add endless amounts of sugar and cream, then dip scones in their concoction. Still others are so indecisive they do it differently every time.” Her dark-winged eyebrows had risen steadily during his explanation. “Ye, Lady Katherine, seem tae be an unfussy sort of woman.”

“And is that the sort of woman of which you approve?” Her eyes were deep-blue pools of anticipation.

He inclined his head. “Oh, very much.” He shouldn’t flirt, he knew. But, heaven help him, she was so very likable.

Bayard halted at the front of the drive, saving him from his own stupidity. “Here we are,” he said. He got down and turned and reached for her. She went into his arms without hesitation.

“Thank you, Lord Rowand,” she said in her melodious voice.

He didn’t move to go inside. “Given the circumstances, I think ye’d best call me Callum.”

She smiled, her dimple peeping through again. “And you may call me Kate.”

“Katie,” he said, liking the feel of it on his tongue. “In Scotland ye’ll be Katie.”

After seeing Lady Katherine safely into his mother’s hands—thankfully, his father was nowhere to be seen—Callum wasted no time in ridding himself of his offensive-smelling clothes and settling into the warm bath Benson had waiting.

He closed his eyes and saw Lady Katherine behind his lids. He tried to be honest with himself. Was he still desperately hoping for a way out of this marriage now that he’d met her? Hardly. He’d imagined a vain and stuffy Englishwoman like those he’d been introduced to in London a thousand times. But she was no frivolous debutante. She’d ridden through unending rain, walked through mud, and looked after both her maid and young Jack. Katherine—Katie—was unexpected, to say the least. Though she’d been chosen by his father, Callum had to admit she would likely meet with Uncle Blair’s approval as well.

She certainly gave Callum pause.

He got to his feet suddenly, the water splashing up over the sides of the bath. He couldn’t allow himself to be distracted. He’d flirted with her far too much. And there was still time, still a chance he might find some way out of his impending vows. Better to keep a safe distance between them.

Yet, even after reminding himself to keep her at bay, she remained firmly lodged in his thoughts as he toweled off and changed clothes.

Half an hour later he slipped downstairs and found himself alone. Given that Katie was without her trunks or maid, they’d likely be holding dinner while arrangements were made for an interim wardrobe.

Anxious to see if the rain had stopped for good, he moved to the Palladian window in the large drawing room. No hint of rain for now. But he couldn’t forget the damage it had done. Uncle Blair’s furrowed brow and the firm set of his upper lip wouldn’t leave Callum’s mind. He stepped into his father’s study. Though dark hadn’t fully fallen, the misty gloaming made it necessary for him to light a candle.

He perused the shelves, looking for the catalogue that would give him a better idea of Blair’s losses. What he found wasn’t encouraging. The price of Shetland sheep had risen over the past two years. If left to his own devices, it would take Uncle Blair well over five years before he could replace today’s losses. And that was only if all went well in the meantime, which was no sure thing for a tenant farmer in Scotland. To make matters worse, Blair was already in debt to Callum’s father.

Callum closed the catalogue and walked to the window. The last vestiges of light gave way to a lavender-tinted evening sky. He sighed, grateful Benson wasn’t here to see him run a hand through his hair and muss it.

“Your attentions are misplaced, son. You are not a steward. Let Davies do his work.” The duke’s voice came from behind him, over near the doorway.

Callum turned. “Uncle Blair lost half of his flock today. Just because I am not a steward doesn’t mean I do not care what happens to the tenants, particularly when the tenants are my family.”

The slightest crack in his father’s grave exterior manifested itself in an upward tick of his brow. “They aren’t family,” his father said in his gruffest tone. “I’ll not have you acknowledge them as such.”

“Aye, they are,” Callum countered.

The duke went still.

Callum had thought that as he grew older, his father’s power over him, the man’s ability to control every aspect of his life, would diminish. But there had long been a pattern that had proved just the opposite.

Like when his father had discovered that Callum had befriended another Scottish lad at Eton. He’d been warned in a letter to sever the acquaintance, but so far from home, Callum had believed himself safe from his father’s meddling. Until the day he’d learned that his friend had been sent packing, without Callum having a single clue as to the reason for his disappearance. The headmaster’s explanation? The boy had been deemed “unfit” for Eton.

Then, like now, his father’s iron fist seemed to strangle Callum to the point of madness.

But it was amidst that boiling anger, that suffocating helplessness, that a pinprick of light appeared. The bargaining chip he’d been hoping for. An opportunity to use what his father wanted to Callum’s own advantage. With the wedding tomorrow, now was the perfect time.

Katie’s pretty face flashed through his mind. Callum filled his lungs, letting the idea take root, looking at it from all angles before he spoke.

“You may never see them as family, but I do.” He spoke in a crisp English accent, for once having no intention of riling his father further. “I want to ensure they are looked after. More than looked after—taken care of. You,” he continued, despite the skeptical look on the duke’s face, “are hoping for a union between Lady Katherine and myself.” He paused, allowing his words to sink in. His chest expanded with a strange sense of power. “I think it is possible for both of us to get what we want, don’t you?”

“Are you threatening me?” The candle flickered, the shadows playing against his father’s craggy face.

Callum straightened. “I wouldn’t call it that, exactly.” He set his feet apart, widening his stance. “I am merely attempting to align our interests.”

“You would embarrass your family, tarnish your inheritance, your very status, over an obsession with your mother’s . . . relations?” The duke nearly spat the last word.

“Let me speak clearly so there can be no misunderstanding. I cannot change how you feel about the Stewarts, but you will act as if you care. You will see Blair’s flock replaced—from your own pocket—or I will not marry Lady Katherine.” The ultimatum was freeing.

“You wouldn’t dare refuse.” His father seethed.

Callum raised his chin a notch. There was no pleasing this man, so he slid into his comfortable Scottish brogue. “Aye, I would. Arranged marriages are no longer legal, ye ken. Ye cannae force me.”

The mottled color overtaking his father’s face said it all. His bearlike hands twitched at his sides. He stiffened, the very idea of acquiescing to another’s demands seemingly more than he could stomach. But at last he yielded. “Very well,” he ground out.

“I want your word.”

“I said yes. That is good enough.”

It was far more than the man had ever conceded before. A pulse of victory rushed through Callum’s veins, heady and freeing. He would still be cautious. He’d check with Davies in the morning to ensure that his father intended to do what he said. But an enormous weight slid off Callum’s shoulders. He could go into this marriage as his own man, on his own terms.

Lady Katherine hadn’t been his choice. Yet, perhaps now, she could be.

“Jest thes way,” the soft-spoken duchess said as she held the door open for Kate. It was hard to believe the woman had a grown son. She looked exceptionally young and could still be touted as a beauty. She didn’t speak or move quite like a woman of gentle birth, however. Kate’s head was filled to the brim with questions about this family she was to marry into.

“Do you know when my maid and all of my . . . things might arrive?” Kate asked, hoping she didn’t sound too demanding. But poor Helen—the woman had been quite overwhelmed.

The duchess turned to face Kate. “I’ll send some men doon for yer maid an yer trunks at first lecht.” The woman was kind and capable, but her Scottish brogue was so thick Kate couldn’t understand above half of what she said. Kate was beginning to realize she’d need to learn a whole new language here in the Highlands.

“Thank you, kindly, Your Grace.”

“Flora will see tae your bath while I try tae find somethin’ suitable for ye tae wear.” With that, the duchess bustled out of the room, leaving Kate to herself.

Crossing to the large mirror that adorned the far wall, Kate took in the sight of herself—hair wet and stringy, her face smudged with dirt, her mud-stained overcoat. This was the state in which she’d become acquainted with her husband-to-be! It didn’t bear thinking of.

She glanced around the room. Eggshell-blue walls made the space feel light and airy, and the canopied four-poster bed looked positively heavenly. Dusk obscured the view out the large oriel window on the far wall, where a writing desk sat perfectly situated for composing early-morning letters. Lovely delft tiles framed the elegant fireplace, and best of all, a large fire popped in the grate. Kate moved over to stand beside it and held out her hands, grateful for the warmth against the chill of her wet things.

She turned around to allow her backside its share of warmth. The firelight generously bathed the room in soft colors, and she followed its gentle dance until her gaze came to rest on a door. Not the door she’d entered through but a smaller one, papered so as to blend in with the wall, its gilded knob the only hint of the door’s existence. Could that be the door that connected her room to Callum’s?

That thought alone was enough to send a blush from the tips of her toes all the way up to her hairline. She closed her eyes and heard the sound of her name on his tongue again. In Scotland ye’ll be Katie.

Perhaps Scotland would not be quite as bad as she’d feared.

She slowly undid the buttons on her redingote as she revisited her first meeting with her betrothed. His dry sense of humor brought a smile to her face and lessened the pit that had settled in her stomach over the duration of her journey. Though she’d sensed some reserve in him, he wasn’t overly stuffy or high-handed. And those mesmerizing gray eyes of his nearly had her under his spell. Perhaps Grandfather was right. Perhaps this could be more than an arranged marriage.

But the thought of Grandfather touched a tender spot in her heart. Had his cough grown worse? Was he already confined to his bed? She ached for news of him, but it would be at least several more weeks before she received a letter.

A rap on the door brought her back to herself. Two footmen entered first, carrying a large copper hip tub. A line of maids followed, each with buckets of steaming water. In no time at all the tub was full. Flora, one of the young maids, remained behind to help Kate undress and bathe.

The water’s heat soothed away the chill on her skin, the strain of a week’s worth of travel. Kate hoped Helen was being cared for half so well. She closed her eyes and lost herself in Flora’s ministrations while questions about what awaited her below dominated her thoughts.

A few minutes later Flora cleared her throat. “Are ye finished, my lady?”

“Oh yes. Of course.” She’d lost track of time. The family was probably holding dinner for her. She’d best get moving. Kate set the French-milled soap on the small stand beside the tub and let Flora help her into a fire-warmed robe.

The dress that had been laid out for her was an old, outmoded gown in pristine condition. “Her Grace is sorry she hasnae anything in the latest fashions that’ll fit ye,” Flora said. “She was about yer size before giving birth, so she thought this might work.”

The dress looked to be of traditional Highland fashion, with an emerald-green skirt that had very little body. The bodice was long-sleeved, white, and low-cut. Kate donned a chemise, and Flora produced an antiquated corset for her to wear. It felt as uncomfortable as it looked, constricting her waist and making it hard to draw a full breath.

Flora helped her into the gown, the soft fabric rustling as it slipped over her head. Next, she pulled out a box of pins and began to methodically pin the bodice to Kate’s corset. Kate remained perfectly still, not wanting to risk being poked. Indeed, she had never been more grateful for the simple high-waisted dresses that were modish now.

“There we are,” Flora said. “Now, if ye’ll take a seat, I can do something with yer hair.”

Kate chanced a glance in the mirror and stared, mouth open. Somehow, the corset and dress managed to make her—her!—look generously endowed.

As if she weren’t already apprehensive enough about the evening ahead. “Flora, I must have a shawl of some sort. I can hardly go downstairs without—”

“Och, I forgot the plaid! I’ll be ri’ back.” The maid returned with it in hand and draped it over Kate’s shoulders. The deep crimson color of the plaid extinguished any hopes Kate might have had of not drawing attention to her lack of a proper wardrobe.

Hardly recognizing herself, she took a seat and let Flora style her hair.

When Kate emerged from her room, she looked around self-consciously before making her way to the stairs. Harkness, the butler she’d been briefly introduced to when she’d arrived, greeted her as she reached the bottom. “Lady Katherine, the family awaits you in the green salon.” The man’s accent was undeniably English. This household was full of surprises.

Her stomach tightened as the butler motioned toward the door. It was a strange thing, to feel so nervous. She’d already met Callum. But somehow this meeting felt weightier, more real. After all, the duke and duchess would be looking on.

She took a calming breath and followed Harkness in. “Lady Katherine,” he announced. Her courage faltered as a whole host of eyes turned in her direction. Foolishly, she’d believed she would be dining with only her family-to-be. Instead a roomful of strangers took her measure.

“A Scottish plaid?” she heard someone whisper.

“He’ll never—”

Her gaze was immediately drawn toward a man off to her left, with his bearish features and shock of white hair. Though she could not have said why, she knew him to be the Duke of Edinbane, even without an introduction. He wore an austere, imposing look. She felt stripped bare as he scrutinized her, seeming to be estimating her value.

Perhaps young Jack hadn’t exaggerated after all.

The duke’s gaze came to rest on the brightly colored plaid settled around her shoulders. His eyes narrowed. “What is this?” His voice was low but not so low she couldn’t hear the disdain in his tone. She shrank back in confusion.

The duchess touched his arm. “’Tis all I had that would fit her. Her trunks have nae yet arrived.”

“Her ensemble was not intended to offend you, Father. Not everything is,” Callum said.

The duke let out a low growl. “Lady Katherine,” he said finally, inclining his head.

Despite the pounding of her heart, Kate curtsied and held out her hand, which he encased in his two larger ones, his grip unforgiving. “I am sorry to hear about your grandfather’s poor health,” he said finally.

A lump rose in her throat. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

“You arrived not a moment too soon.” The duke’s voice was brittle, with nary a hint of his son’s soft Scottish brogue.

“Indeed not, sir.” She looked around, hoping for some reassurance.

As though he’d heard her thoughts, Callum came to stand beside her, meeting her glance with a wide smile. He bowed, and she took the brief moment to observe him. He was dreadfully handsome in a fitted superfine jacket and deep-blue waistcoat—looking every inch the future duke.

“Och, Lady Katherine,” the duchess said with a timid smile. “Yer a beauty, even in that auld frock.”

Kate bowed her head. “Thank you, Your Grace. I’m grateful for your gener-osity. Such conditions were not how I imagined making your acquaintance, I assure you.”

“Think naethin’ of it. I cannae—”

“Dinner has waited long enough, I think,” the duke interrupted and offered his arm, leaving the duchess little choice but to take it. The other guests followed suit, and Callum stepped forward, offering his arm to Kate. She didn’t look at him, but as her hand settled in the crook of his elbow, she could feel a distinct awareness between them, a hum of attraction that was impossible to ignore.

His gaze swept over her appreciatively. “I think I finally ken why tartans were outlawed for so long.” He winked at her, and a rising heat scorched her cheeks as he helped her into her chair.

She sighed with relief as he took the seat next to hers. A decadent meal was served amidst lively conversation. Her future father-in-law kept a firm hold on the discussion around the table, his many guests only too anxious to defer to him. Occasionally, the duke deigned to ask Kate a question. Between bites she answered as well as she could, but inevitably her response was diverted back to a topic the duke controlled. Her estimation of Jack’s opinion grew.

During the duke’s long monologues, she took pains to observe Callum. He was attentive and answered when spoken to, but there seemed to be a latent intensity about him, as if he’d rather pace around the table than sit as one of its occupants. Certainly not the flirtatious man who had escorted her into dinner.

But every time she began to believe him a somber dinner companion, he would look up and give her a disarming smile. As often as not an untamed wave of his dark-brown hair fell over his forehead, and he impatiently brushed it back, only adding to his charm. And then there was his Scottish brogue—that came and went like a passing breeze. How difficult he was to make sense of.

Kate soon grew too tired to try. As the meal dragged on, she found her eyes drooping. She stifled her sigh of relief when the ladies were excused to the drawing room.

Callum stood as well and cleared his throat, garnering his father’s attention. “I think I’d best escort Lady Katherine up to her rooms.” His gaze met hers as he extended his arm. “She has had an exhausting journey and is in need of a good night’s rest.”

“As you will,” the duke said. “Goodnight, Lady Katherine.”

The duchess bid her goodnight as well, and Kate thanked them both and voiced the expected niceties to the other guests, her stomach awash with nerves. Even amongst so many people she felt quite alone.

At long last, Callum escorted her to the stairs. He stopped at the bottom, taking her hand from his arm and turning to face her. There was a surprising vulnerability in his expression. “I apologize for my father. He—”

“You needn’t,” she interrupted rather more forcefully than she’d intended. “Apologize for him, I mean.” In truth, Kate felt a swell of appreciation for Callum’s kindness. It felt like a ray of light in the encroaching lonesomeness. “I’m grateful.”

“Grateful?” His brows pinched together in confusion.

“Yes, I . . .” Now, with him staring at her, it felt too brazen, too desperate to put into words. But still she pressed on. “I’m grateful to you . . . for marrying me. For giving me a roof over my head.” It wasn’t coming out right at all. “I only mean to say I suspect you didn’t have much choice in the matter either.”

He didn’t reply one way or another, only gave a stiff bow. “Goodnight, Katie. Until tomorrow.”

Tomorrow.

Kate’s heart thumped in her chest. Suddenly sleep was the last thing on her mind.

Once in her room, she blew out a breath of relief when she saw her trunks arranged against the far wall. She hadn’t expected them until tomorrow morning. Hopefully that meant Helen had arrived in one piece and was downstairs eating her own dinner.

Kate crossed the room and opened her blue trunk. The contents had shifted a little during the long journey northward, but her things seemed unharmed. She retrieved her sketchbook and some charcoal. She took a seat close to the fire, biting her lip as she tried to conjure the moment she’d first laid eyes on Callum. And then she began to draw.