Heart in the Highlands by Heidi Kimball
Chapter Four
Late-afternoon sunlight streamed through the arched floor-to-ceiling windows of the kirk, which was near to bursting at the seams, for every local wanted to see their future duke and his bride. Callum glanced up at the ceiling, where scenes from the Bible were carved into the alder ceiling. The church dated back to the thirteenth century, and he couldn’t help but wonder how many people had stood in this exact spot, sending up fervent prayers to heaven before speaking their vows.
Since speaking with Davies, his father’s steward, this morning, Callum’s nerves had settled. To his surprise, the man had already been notified of the arrangement concerning Uncle Blair’s flock. He’d even shown Callum the contract that had been drawn up, outlining some of the specifics of the agreement. With that put to rest, Callum had begun to turn over the idea of marriage to Katie in his mind.
From the moment he’d helped her onto Bayard yesterday evening, it had been impossible to deny the rush of attraction he’d felt for her. But it wasn’t until after he’d settled things with his father that he’d allowed himself to truly consider Katie as his future wife.
He found himself inexplicably drawn to her. There was something refreshing about her unfiltered candor, the artlessness of her manner. And seeing her in his mother’s plaid last night, with a blush on her cheeks? Much to his surprise, the only thing that muted his anticipation of their union was recalling her parting words to him last night. I’m grateful to you . . . for marrying me. He knew her grandfather was near to death, but was her situation really so desperate?
His contemplations over her misplaced gratitude were disrupted when Katie appeared at the far end of the nave. A swell of murmurings filtered through the crowd before a hush stole over the kirk. She was dressed in a cream-colored gown with gold-embroidered flowers. Her face was obscured from view by a lace veil draped over her bonnet.
Callum readjusted his stance as he waited for her to join him in the chancel. He was ready, eager even, for the ceremony to begin. Perhaps good could come of this marriage. Friendship, camaraderie, or something more.
When Katie reached his side, she smiled. He returned the gesture and took his place at her side, both facing the reverend. Callum tried to listen, but the solemn words of the minister faded to a hush in the background as he glanced over at Katie to see her hand resting at her side, trembling. Should he comfort her? She hardly knew him. Slowly, so as not to draw anyone’s attention, he reached out and slid his hand around hers, gently intertwining their fingers. Her hand was ice-cold, and he pressed his palm flush against hers, hoping to reassure her.
What courage it must have taken for her to come alone all the way to the Highlands to marry a man she’d never met. Her life, more than his, would drastically change.
Once the requisite vows were exchanged, Callum placed a gold band, engraved with vines and flowers, on her fourth finger. He marveled at the power of a few simple words. In a matter of minutes he and Katie had changed from strangers to lifelong companions.
The kirk went still as they faced one another as man and wife. Slowly, each move of his hands deliberate, he pulled back the veil, revealing a wide-eyed and breathless Katie. His wife. An unexpected warmth coursed through him, a bewildering desire to both protect and treasure the woman standing before him.
He took hold of her hand, brought it to his mouth, and pressed his lips to the spot where her wedding ring now rested. Her breath caught at the simple gesture. With that same hand in his he drew her toward him. Her chin trembled a little, and her full lips parted in surprise. A longing stirred inside him. He wanted nothing more than to bring her closer, to kiss her, to discover whether their mouths would fit together the way he suspected they would. But that would have to wait. Instead he leaned in and pressed a kiss to the center of her forehead. She was soft and sweet and carried the subtle scent of rosewater.
As he pulled back, their gazes met, her goldish-brown eyes sending a rush through him. In unison they turned toward the crowded pews, and Callum brought his hand to rest on the small of Katie’s back, satisfied at the subtle flush that colored her cheeks.
The spectators were anxious to wish them well. They approached his parents first, where they waited in the front pews. His mother gave them a teary-eyed hug while his father bestowed nothing more than a nod of satisfaction.
The lukewarm reception seemed to confuse Katie, but she put on a brave smile as they started down the aisle side by side, accepting the warm felicitations of their many guests. Aunt Aileen beamed, and Uncle Blair clapped Callum on the shoulder. “God bless ye and yer bride.” He held out a simple silver cup, a quaich. “To bless yer marriage.”
“I thank ye.” Callum took it, marveling at the sacrifice such a gift must have entailed.
“Not here,” the duke spat from behind them. “We’ll not practice that vile tradition here.”
Katie’s face went white, her arm on Callum’s tense. His mother’s eyes grew wide with worry. Fury writhed inside Callum—for the unnecessary scene his father was making, for the crestfallen expression on his uncle’s face. He was half-tempted to stand up to his father and let the scene play out.
“I’ll keep it for now,” Aunt Aileen said hurriedly, pulling her husband’s offering away. “Perhaps ye can celebrate in private.”
Callum quickly saw the wisdom in the deed. Far better to allow his aunt to diffuse the tension than confront his father and allow Blair and Aileen to be publicly humiliated.
He pulled Katie forward, doing his best to pretend nothing had happened. Ewan gave him a lopsided smirk, and Olivia stepped forward, holding out a small bouquet of wildflowers. Callum worried Katie might think his cousin forward or find the odd mélange not suited to her taste.
Instead, she took the flowers with delight. “How very thoughtful of you. Now I feel like a true bride. I shall dry these and keep them as a treasured memory of this day.”
Olivia blushed and smiled in flustered pleasure. He wondered, briefly, if she and his new wife might become friends.
They continued on toward the back pews, where every face was near and dear to him, these people who’d both watched him and helped him grow. Old Mr. Abercrombie, who’d ignited Callum’s passion for the world. He’d spent hours studying the man’s maps and listening to his stories of a sweltering and exotic India, the great storms of the Pacific Ocean, and the peculiar animals of Australia. Dear Miss Colville, who invited him over for cake at every opportunity, then spent most of the time looking for her spectacles.
And there was young Jack, hobbling on a wrapped ankle, his deaf mother at his side. “Lady Katherine!” He waved his arms, trying to get her attention. She stopped and greeted him with enthusiasm, inquiring after his injury. She left him with a kiss atop his head and a broad grin on his face.
Callum shook his head, marveling at Katie’s bravery. Save for her maid, she’d not known a single soul inside the kirk, yet already she was winning favor everywhere she went. No doubt she would soon be a great favorite in town.
Callum’s throat grew thick as they continued up the aisle and each of the villagers bid them congratulations and wished them joy.
With this kind of beginning, he could almost believe such joy was possible.
As much as she enjoyed the genuine goodwill of all those who had come to celebrate, Kate was near tears. She didn’t mind not having friends and acquaintances here to wish her well, but she missed her grandfather with an ache so sharp it was hard to draw a full breath. She’d always imagined him at her wedding, not far from her side, on this day of all days. Instead, there’d been that awful tension-filled scene with Callum’s father that had left her both unsettled and full of questions.
When they finally made their way through the church, a barouche stood waiting. Kate turned her focus to the fine pair of matching grays to keep her tears at bay. “Katie Darrington, Marchioness of Rowand, allow me,” Callum said with a dramatic air, holding out his hand to help her up into the open vehicle. The gallant gesture surprised her, though she couldn’t have said why.
Callum took note of her interest in the horses. “Grays are good luck at a wedding,” he said as soon as they were both seated. “As is the heather in your bouquet. We Scots are very superstitious, ye ken.”
“I think any couple could use their fair share of luck on their wedding day,” Kate said with a shaky breath. She held the bouquet with both hands, trying to hide their subtle tremble beneath the lovely arrangement.
For some reason, it felt stranger now to sit alone with Callum by her side than it had yesterday when they’d shared his horse. During the brief ceremony all societal barriers that existed to safeguard her reputation had been removed. She could be alone with her husband without fear of reprisal, yet she didn’t feel like a married woman. Perhaps after tonight . . .
“Come now, Katie, it’s our wedding, not your funeral.” Callum cracked a smile, but she saw the concern swimming in his eyes. “No need to look so somber.”
She blushed, grateful he couldn’t know where her mind had wandered. “I’m sorry. It is just that it is so much . . . so very quickly.”
His gray eyes caught hers, a slight furrow etched across his forehead. “And I’m sure ye are missing your grandfather.”
She nodded, swallowing against the thickness in her throat. Would she ever be able to think of him without summoning tears?
“I think he’d want ye tae be happy, would he not?”
She bobbed her head again, unable to look Callum in the eye any longer for fear that she would burst into tears. Ironic, really, when considering the fortitude with which she’d met yesterday’s host of calamities. Grandfather had always teased her in such instances, but thinking along that vein pierced her heart, for it had quickly become apparent that the Duke of Edinbane would never be the loving father figure she had hoped for.
The warm touch of Callum’s hand on her shoulder made her jump a little. “I have just the thing to distract ye from your homesickness.” He gestured up ahead, where children of all ages lined the road. “In Scotland, we have what we call the wedding scramble.” He pulled out a large pouch from under the seat of the carriage and released the tie at the top. “This is why children love weddings,” he said with a grin and then reached into the bag and pulled out a handful of coppers and silvers, tossing them to the waiting children.
The children scrambled, some clustering around where the coins had landed, others watching anxiously to see where the next fistful would be thrown. A wedding scramble.
Kate laughed. She couldn’t help it. “There’s Jack,” she said, pointing. “Make sure he gets his fair share.”
Callum held out the bag. “Go ahead.” She reached in and threw a large fistful in Jack’s direction. The lad gave her a nod of thanks and began scooping up the coins, despite his injured ankle. The children’s faces were full of joy and enthusiasm, and Callum was right—it proved the perfect distraction from her momentary melancholy.
They were nearly back to Castleton Manor before the crowd petered out. “Any other Scottish traditions I should know about?” Kate asked, leaning her head back to rest it against the cushion in the barouche. In doing so, she brushed Callum’s shoulder and nearly jerked away but instead forced herself to remain still. The man was her husband, for goodness’ sake.
“Aye, there’s another.” Callum looked at her, a sly expression upon his face.
Kate’s stomach dipped, her hands growing clammy.
He leaned in, his breath tickling her ear. “But that will keep until tonight.”