Heart in the Highlands by Heidi Kimball

Chapter Thirty-Five

Someone shook Kate’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry to wake ye,” Ewan said. “Mother sent me—it’s Olivia. Her time has . . . come.” Kate blinked several times. In the dim lantern light she could just make out the flush that climbed his cheeks. “She’s asking if ye’ll attend her.”

Kate’s mind darted through what Ewan had said, trying to make sense of his words. Olivia. Attend. She was expecting twins. All that had happened here in the lambing shed came hurtling back, tumbling down on Kate like boulders in a landslide. It had to be well after midnight now, and Callum hadn’t come back. Hadn’t merely needed time and space to think things through.

“Yes,” she said through the heaviness that had settled over her. She eased Charlotte up. “I’ll come. Could you see Charlotte home?”

He looked relieved. “Of course. I’d be glad tae see the little miss home.”

“And this as well?” She handed him her sketchbook.

“Aye.” He nodded.

At the disturbance, Charlotte sat up, and the little lamb in her arms began to bleat. It struggled free from Charlotte’s grasp, hurrying over to its mother. Charlotte followed, wriggling out of Kate’s arms.

Charlotte clapped her hands. “The lamb sleeped with me, Mama!”

The guileless words were a prick to Kate’s tender heart. She tried to smile. “You held her so gently, Charlotte. But now we must leave the lambs to their mother, and you must go . . . home.”

It was all she could do to hold back the tears that stung her eyes. Was Castleton Manor even home? Would it ever be?

Not without Callum.

Kate got to her feet and brushed the straw off her dress. She would not dwell on it now. Could not. Elsewise, she’d melt into a puddle of tears at her daughter’s feet and be useless to Olivia. “Come, Charlotte. Ewan will take you home. Won’t that be fun?”

An hour later she sat at Olivia’s bedside, allowing her to squeeze Kate’s hand with each wave of pain. She spoke soothing words, anything that came to mind. Words from scripture, words Grandfather used to say to her, words of comfort once uttered by Harriet during Kate’s own confinement. Even as the night stretched long, Olivia seemed to find them soothing.

And, unexpectedly, Kate found solace at Olivia’s side. There wasn’t time to think. She couldn’t mourn or grieve or take stock of her broken heart. There were only deep breaths, the rhythm of Olivia’s pains, and the binding strength of womanhood as she, Aileen, and the midwife attended to Olivia’s needs.

By sunrise Olivia’s forehead was slick with sweat, and her iron-tight grip left the bones in Kate’s hand aching. The poor woman had been pushing for almost an hour with nothing to show for it.

“We’re almost there,” the midwife said. “I see a little head. I ken ye’re tired, but ye must push!”

An hour before, a fierce storm had set in, barraging the tiny cottage and adding extra tension to the room. “I cannae,” Olivia moaned. She lay back, panting.

“Think of little Tavish when he was born,” Kate said, finding strength from some inner reserve she hadn’t known existed. “So tiny and precious. You’ll soon hold a new bundle in your arms if you push again.”

Aileen wiped Olivia’s brow. “Do ye remember the first time ye held him? What joy.”

Olivia nodded, her face grooved with pain as she bore down. She ground her teeth together and moaned.

“’Tis a son,” the midwife crowed. “Leuk at his dark hair.”

His angry cry and the red coloring of his skin almost made Kate gasp in relief. The midwife handed the squalling baby to Aileen, and she quickly cleaned him off and settled him in Olivia’s arms. But she’d held him for only a few minutes when her reprieve ended.

“There’s another,” the midwife announced. “Ye must push again. Aileen, take the baby.”

Olivia looked ready to collapse, and Kate could hardly blame her. This was how Kate must have looked on the night of Charlotte’s birth. She said a silent prayer that the next baby would come out squalling like the first. She wouldn’t be able to bear the heartbreak of another loss, even if the child was not her own.

Kate gripped Olivia’s hand. “One more push. Just one. Your son would like to be with his brother or sister. Hear how he cries. They’ve never been apart.” Her lungs contracted as she uttered the words.

Olivia exhaled and closed her eyes, squeezing Kate’s hand so tightly it felt as though her bones were being crushed. Kate counted aloud, trying to sustain Olivia through her exhaustion. When she’d reached eight, the midwife held up a second baby. “Another son!”

At the sound of his cry, Kate’s relief was immediate. It poured through her, making her limbs weak, her hands shaky. The midwife placed the crying infant in Kate’s arms, and Kate waited to feel a surge of elation. Or longing. Something. Instead she was only aware of the hole in her heart, the ache Callum had left in his wake.

A hole no child could ever fill.

But for Callum? That hole would always be there, gaping and deep, grieving for the children they couldn’t have. How could she live with that? See that truth etched in the planes of his face every day?

The truth was she couldn’t.

With that realization came fatigue so deep it felt as though Kate’s body had been lined with lead. She helped as much as she could, but once the babies were clean and warm, snuggled against their mother, she had little left to offer. She congratulated Olivia and left her with a kiss on the cheek.

“Go home tae your own sweet one,” Aileen said, pushing Kate out the door. “Should I see if there is a horse ye could ride home?”

Kate shook her head. “I can walk, thank you.” But her steps were slow and weighted. She kept her eyes on her feet as made her way forward, afraid she might slip. Numbness slowly worked its way through her.

When she reached the fork of the sloped valley that would lead her toward Castleton Manor, she stopped, eyes sweeping over the stunning vista. The rainclouds had been whisked away, and the air smelled earthy and clean. Rays of sun burst through the clouds, touching the horizon. The beauty pierced Kate to her core. The intensity of her feelings was almost past bearing; every emotion seemed to magnify in that single moment: Her fear of rejection. Grief over her son. The gaping loneliness Callum had left in his wake.

But through it all, one thing became clear. She’d lost her heart here in the Highlands—she loved the land, she loved its people, and she loved Callum. She loved him. How could such love cause such pain?

A desolate fog pressed down on her heart, her love for him an agony that threatened to crush her. The sun disappeared, blotted out by new clouds edging across the sky. A chill breeze ripped through her layers, and she pulled the plaid tighter around her shoulders and turned toward home.

Would summer never come?