Heart in the Highlands by Heidi Kimball
Chapter Thirty-One
By the time Callum stepped into his study at a quarter to five the next morning, the sun had already cleared the horizon. During late spring and summer in the Highlands, the hours of daylight stretched well beyond their usual bounds. But the unfiltered rays of sun brought Callum no joy. Indeed, they seemed only to highlight his anguish. His tread was heavy, his soul weary.
He’d hardly slept all night. How could he, with a gaping hole in his chest? The woman he loved was under his very roof and yet further from him than she’d been when they were an ocean apart.
He retrieved several of the ledgers from the bookshelf where he’d placed them yesterday and turned, startled to see Katie curled up in one of the chairs across from his desk, her sketchbook in her arms. The sight of her nearly undid him, seraphic in the early-morning dawn, her face limned with rays of sunlight. Her hair tumbled over one shoulder, its chestnut color giving way to tones of auburn and amber.
In the past when he’d imagined his wife, the image he’d conjured was hazy and out of focus, an intangible someone. But the woman before him was real. And she was everything to him. Vibrant and alive, dauntless in the face of hardship, tender to those she loved. Love twined itself around his heart, budding and growing, a swell so powerful he nearly staggered under the weight of it.
Callum couldn’t stop himself. Touching Katie was not merely a want or a need but a physical ache that consumed him. He stretched his hand forward and brushed the back of his knuckles across her porcelain cheek. She stirred and blinked, and then her eyes went wide, as blue as a Caribbean sky.
A second later she jerked up straight in one swift motion, clutching the sketchbook to her chest as if he might have cause to take it from her. Her features tightened, and the heavy tension from last night unspooled, a tangled thread of uncertainty.
He already missed the touch of her skin. The loss of their connection was disorienting, and at once he was adrift, as if he were at sea without a compass. “I did not mean to wake ye,” he whispered.
“And I did not mean to fall asleep in here,” she said, unfolding herself from the chair and getting to her feet. She touched her hair self-consciously, and her expression softened. For a brief instant he believed she might try to bridge the chasm between them, and Callum’s chest expanded.
“I’m sorry,” she said and looked away. Without another word, she was gone, the gulf between them as wide as it had ever been. Callum was left with a sick feeling in his stomach, yet he didn’t know how to make things right between them.
The three days before Charlotte’s birthday were much the same. Dreich days, all of them. Callum barely managed to acquit himself of his usual duties. Katie had her old mask in place, and its reappearance made something harden inside of him.
He did his best to focus on Charlotte. Given the uncooperative weather, he feared her special day might be marred by clouds and rain, but instead the morning of her birthday dawned clear, a brilliant sun shining in a cloudless sky. This was the first time he would be present for the day marking his daughter’s birth, and he was determined to make it memorable. He’d involved the staff in the preparations, with everyone more than anxious to help. Since her arrival, Charlotte had quickly become a favorite.
Charlotte woke an hour earlier than normal, begging Callum to come down to the kitchen with her to sample the treacle scones Mrs. Hammill had made. “She said I could have four because I am four!” she pronounced.
“Do I get thirty-one, then?” he teased. It didn’t come easily. With the rockiness between him and Katie, every moment of levity was forced.
“No!” Her hair whipped as she shook her head. “It’s not your birth-a-day, Papa!”
“Well, then, do I get four?”
She shook her head again. “Only me. That’s what Cook said.”
“So ye get more than me? ’Tis hardly fair,” he said in mock complaint.
She giggled, clearly pleased with the arrangement.
After Charlotte had eaten two scones, she eyed the third with trepidation. “Perhaps ye could eat the other two later,” Callum suggested. “Or ye could take them to Harriet.”
A smile lit her face. “Ooh, yes. She loves scones.”
Callum helped wrap the remaining scones in a napkin and escorted Charlotte up to the nursery. Harriet’s face was stony as usual, but he didn’t have the heart to put his usual effort in with her.
“A good morning to ye,” he said, his voice tight. “Do ye know why today is a special day, Harriet?”
“It’s my birth-a-day!” Charlotte chirped before Harriet could respond.
“How many scones has she eaten?” Harriet asked, her hands on her hips.
“I stopped her after two. We wrapped the other two in a napkin.”
Charlotte held them out from behind her back. “And they are for you. It was Papa’s idea.”
“A kind deed, my dear. Thank you,” was all she said. And for once she didn’t glare at Callum as he left.
The duchess’s words plagued Kate. Tense by day, sleepless by night, she could hardly hold a coherent conversation. The wisdom of those words rested on her heart, insistent that she forfeit her cowardice and take a step into the dark.
Love is brave. And bold. It provides no guarantees. True love gives, without expecting anything in return.Kate was guilty of doing the exact opposite. She’d been cautious and apprehensive. She’d given Callum almost nothing while expecting absolute assurance from him that her heart would be safe.
She’d wanted a breathtaking view of the jagged cliffs and the tempestuous ocean while standing safely inland. And, as Callum had once reminded her, such a thing was impossible. That kind of beauty was available only to those who took risks.
When you learn to love someone in all their imperfections, only then will your heart truly be full.
Kate’s heart had lain empty for far too long. Yes, she’d had Charlotte. But loving her was different—it was no choice at all, just as Callum had said. When was the last time she’d given something of herself, chosen to truly sacrifice, for another’s happiness? Perhaps when she’d agreed to this marriage so that her grandfather might die in peace.
And he, more than anyone, would want her to do whatever it took to find love in the marriage he’d arranged.
Which was how Kate found herself telling Flora she’d wear her new gold dress in honor of Charlotte’s birthday. As Flora fastened its numerous buttons, Kate scolded herself for her vanity, but she couldn’t help but be grateful for the confidence such an elegant creation provided. She’d need it. Though the love she felt for Callum burned in her chest, it would take a great deal of courage to overcome the caution her mind continued to urge. Her warring halves were enough to split her in two.
Thankfully, however, her resolution to share the truth of her feelings with Callum, the truth of everything with him, helped her keep some of the anguish that usually accompanied Charlotte’s birthday at bay.
“Och, my lady. Ye’re breathtaking.”
Kate glanced up and examined herself in the mirror. She was hardly breathtaking, but the warm tones of the dress made her hair gleam, and there was color in her cheeks, though that couldn’t be credited to the gown.
“Thank you, Flora. I appreciate your help.”
“O’ course, my lady. Is thar anythin’ else?”
“No, that is all.” Kate pulled Charlotte’s gift from the drawer, smoothing the brown paper and twine that held the book she’d made. She was going to insist Charlotte open it before Callum presented his gift. Once she saw the pretty pony that was all her own, she’d have eyes for nothing else.
Kate took the present downstairs to the drawing room and then went up to see Charlotte in the nursery. Harriet had taken special care with Charlotte’s hair, her curls for once tame and shining.
“Mama!” she ran to Kate and threw her arms around her. “Did you wear your most prettiest dress for my birth-a-day?”
“I certainly did.” Tears choked her throat at the memories of the day Charlotte was born.
Harriet shot Kate a sideways glance, eyeing her dress. “I’d wager Charlotte isn’t the only reason you’re wearing that golden dress.” She made a tsking sound as Kate blushed. “Be careful; that’s all I’ll say.”
Charlotte was oblivious to their little exchange. “Harriet sayed I can bring two animals to my party, but I can’t decide.” She walked over to her animal house and began fingering the creatures, her bottom lip jutted out with the gravity of the decision.
Harriet stepped closer to Kate, her voice low. “Are you all right?” She set a hand on Kate’s shoulder, and it was all Kate could do not to burst into tears. “I’ll never forget, and neither will you. But don’t let grief steal away the joy of this day.”
Kate swallowed, nodded. “Yes,” she said, staring at Charlotte. “Yes. I must focus on the joy.”
A knock sounded, and Callum pushed the door open. His handsome face made her breath hitch, his presence stirring up far too much feeling. “I’ve come to escort all ye lovely ladies to the party.”
“Papa!” Charlotte rushed over to him, an animal in each hand. He swung her up, and she revealed her choices. “I’m bringing the giraffe and the frog. I almost chosed the lion, but he might eat all my cake.”
“Excellent reasoning,” he said, hugging her to him. When he put her down, he looked straight at Kate, and the bleakness in his expression nearly made her weep. Words of love and assurance longed to break free, yet there wasn’t enough time for a moment alone.
Guests had begun to arrive, and Charlotte’s excitement drove them downstairs to bid everyone welcome. First came Blair, Aileen, and Ewan. By half past three Olivia and her husband, Ian, had arrived, with Tavish in tow. Olivia approached Kate. “I cannae thank ye enough for the things ye sent for my wee’an. They’re all so bonny. ’Twas thoughtful of ye indeed.”
Kate tried to ignore Callum’s interest in their conversation, smiling in the face of Olivia’s gratitude. “It will be a pleasure to see them on your sweet baby. Or babies. How are you faring?”
“Thar won’t be anither birthday today but hopefully soon,” Olivia said, patting her belly. She seemed less tired than the last time Kate had seen her. Hopefully she was getting the rest she needed.
Presents were opened: a cat’s-cradle string and the promise to help her learn the formations from Ewan, a handmade doll from Aileen and Blair. Harriet had made a small bonnet and some booties for Cleo that Charlotte insisted her pet try on at once. Ewan helped Charlotte wrangle the cat into her new clothes. Cleo yowled as Charlotte proudly presented her in her finery, and scampered off as soon as Charlotte let her down.
The duchess had purchased Charlotte some beautiful new shoes to match her birthday dress. Finally, Kate handed over her gift. Charlotte sat on the sofa, and everyone gathered around her, oohing and aahing over the pictures of rabbits sitting at pews in the kirk, an ostrich riding a horse, and of course, Callum having tea with three kittens.
“I love it, Mama,” Charlotte said. “Can we read it every night?”
“Of course. I wish you joy on your birthday, my darling,” she said, bending to kiss Charlotte’s cheek. Callum’s gaze rested on Charlotte, love shining in his eyes. The sight of it nearly undid Kate.
Her heart yearned to be free of its restraints. Tonight, she promised herself.
Tonight she would gather her courage and tell Callum the truth.
Once the cake had been served, Callum waited for the time when he could present Charlotte with her new pony. He wanted to rush everyone, to carry Charlotte outside and watch her face glow with delight when she saw her final gift.
By some miracle he managed to keep himself in check until everyone had finished. “My present awaits,” he said, motioning toward the door.
“Wait, Papa. I need to taked some cake to Grandfather.”
Callum’s heart stopped in his chest. Everyone’s eyes were upon him, waiting. Pure innocence shone in his daughter’s eyes. How could he deny her? “Very well,” he agreed, his voice tight.
He battled a growing tide of defensiveness as they went upstairs. He’d long promised himself that his father wouldn’t have any influence or control over his children. Yet Charlotte’s wee hand pulled him along. With each step he took he relinquished a little of the hold on his deep-seated resentment.
“I bringed you some of my cake,” Charlotte said, extending her offering toward her grandfather. “Mrs. Hammill maked it.”
Callum would not soon forget the look on his father’s face as she set the cake on his bedside table. “Thank y-you. Today is your b-b-birthday?” the duke asked.
She nodded with pride and then held up all the fingers on her hand, slowly bending her thumb against her palm. “I am four today.”
“You l-look just like your f-f-father did when he w-was four.”
Callum expelled a breath of surprise.
Her eyes widened. “I do?”
He nodded. “S-Sometime I will show you his p-p-portrait. B-But not n-now. Y-You go enjoy the r-rest of your p-p-party.”
The portrait gallery was far from the main living quarters of the house. Callum had nearly forgotten about it, and he certainly hadn’t visited the gallery since he’d returned home. He’d always thought himself beneath his father’s notice, unless the duke saw something in his son of which he disapproved, and Callum wondered if the man truly remembered what he looked like as a child.
Charlotte skipped out of the room, and Callum nodded to his father and then followed her.
“C-Callum.”
He stopped midstride.
His father’s voice was imbued with strength. “All those y-years, I . . . d-didn’t know. S-s-son, y-you were enough. And Ch-Charlotte is enough. I h-hope you see it.”
Callum lowered his head and swallowed. He nodded forcefully, unable to speak, and then quit the room.
At last everyone gathered out on the front drive, where Archie had brought round the chestnut pony Callum had chosen for Charlotte, a blue ribbon tied around its neck.
“It’s mine?” Charlotte squealed, full of elation.
“Your very own,” he said.
“Come meet my pony, Tavish,” she said, gesturing him forward. Together they laughed and giggled as the pony sniffed at them and they petted its side.
Callum took her on a short ride round the front drive, and she didn’t stop grinning for a minute of the excursion. “Can Tavish ride with me?” she asked. “Please?”
How could he say no? They circled twice more. Callum watched the two of them together. Their giggles pulled at his already fraying emotions, tugging something loose. A yearning, an undeniable hunger. How ironic, that Callum finally understood his father’s deep-rooted desire for an heir. Someone he could teach to love this land as he loved it. A young boy with Katie’s sea-blue eyes and chestnut hair. But not just a boy. More girls, God willing. How could he not want more of the light Charlotte brought into his life?
He glanced at Katie. He loved Charlotte. Adored her, even. But he needed Katie. Ached for her. Wondered how he had possibly survived the past years of his life without her.
He turned back toward Charlotte, trying to latch on to her obvious joy. To convince himself that even without Katie she was enough.
“Can I ride again tomorrow?” Charlotte asked, a wide smile upon her face.
“Every day,” he promised.