Heart in the Highlands by Heidi Kimball
Chapter Eight
Kate set her embroidery aside and stared out toward the weatherworn swing that hung from the willow tree as another drop of rain rolled down the window. Blast the rain. Blast Suffolk. Blast all of England. It felt as though she’d been damp for months. She longed for sunshine and a day out of doors.
Though it was March, signs of spring had been slow in coming. Buds had formed on the trees but had yet to show forth their foliage. The brown winter grass had begun to brighten into a soft green, no doubt helped along by the incessant rain. Surely blooming flowers and blossom-laden trees couldn’t be more than a month away.
But there wasn’t time for her to indulge in such wishful thinking. There was plenty to do in the remaining hours of the afternoon. She’d already wasted nigh unto half an hour and had managed only a handful of stitches.
“Mama?”
Kate turned at the soft voice, husky from sleep.
There stood Charlotte, her brown curls wild and tangled, gray eyes blinking. “Is it raining again, Mama?” She yawned.
“Yes, sweet one, it is raining again.” Kate pulled Charlotte up onto her lap. Her little round cheeks were warm and red from her nap, and Kate couldn’t help but kiss them.
They sat together in silence, Charlotte resting her head on Kate’s shoulder, content to snuggle against her as her sleepiness wore off. This was Kate’s favorite time of the day. After Charlotte woke from her nap was one of the rare times she allowed herself to be held and cuddled. And with the fight she’d been putting up about naps recently, Kate likely didn’t have many of these precious moments left.
Ten minutes later, Charlotte pulled back. She began to wiggle across Kate’s lap. “All right,” Kate announced. “It is time we begin to work on Mr. Archie’s surprise. Would you like to help Harriet and me in the kitchen, or would you prefer to draw him a picture?”
Charlotte considered, as if the decision were a very serious one. “Picture first. Then I help you.”
“A very good plan indeed,” Kate agreed. She set Charlotte up with a pencil and paper at the dining room table and then headed to the kitchen.
Harriet didn’t look up from the bread dough she was kneading. “That husband of mine. I don’t know that he deserves such effort.”
“Of course he does,” Kate said as she began gathering ingredients for the cake. It was warmer here in the kitchen, where the fire was always burning.
Harriet wiped her hands on her apron and laid a cloth over the bread dough. Her silver hair, as usual, was pulled into a perfect bun on the crown of her head, which Kate always thought gave her a royal look, as if she were queen of the kitchen. Harriet placed her hands on her hips. “Mark my words, instead of getting the things we asked for, he had a pint of ale and took a nap.”
“He did no such thing,” Kate defended. “I am sure it is the rain holding him up. And that is fortunate for us, since we are nowhere near ready.” She stifled a yawn.
Harriet harrumphed. “You’re looking a bit peaked. Why don’t you go upstairs for a bit and lie down. I can mind Miss Charlotte from in here, you know.”
“You can’t fool me,” Kate said with a smile. “I know you worry I’ll ruin the cake.” But all the same, she felt a swell of thankfulness for Grandfather. She’d known he’d planned to leave her Rosemont Cottage, but she’d never anticipated how much she would come to rely upon the caretakers he’d hired to look after it. Since the day she’d shown up on the doorstep of this cottage, pregnant and alone and beyond terrified, Archie and Harriet had seen to her every need.
Kate left Harriet with a kiss on the cheek. The woman gave a little snort, but the wrinkles around her eyes softened.
The stairs creaked as they always did, and the corridor that led to her room had a slight draft, but Rosemont was home now. In fact, it was the only home Charlotte had ever known.
Kate shut the door to her room and lay down on the modest bed in the center of the room. The rain on the window made a musical plinking sound, and she closed her eyes. She hadn’t realized how truly exhausted she was.
She could hear Charlotte’s singsong voice downstairs and Harriet’s gruff reply as she puttered around the kitchen, the muted sounds familiar and soothing. For some reason, it was easier for Kate to fall asleep during the day than at nighttime. In the darkness, old memories encroached, and the quiet of the night did little to keep them at bay.
Sleep soon overtook her, pulling her into its heavy embrace.
Wind rustled through the room. Kate sat up suddenly, certain the window had been closed. She looked down, startled to see the letter in her hand. Callum’s bold strokes filled the page.I am leaving Scotland and will not return for the foreseeable future.
No.
She crossed the room, the drapes fluttering in the breeze. Her heart dropped as she glanced out the window. Her hand crept to her throat. A soft mist wove its way over the purple hills. She wanted to step back, to shut her eyes, to do anything to block that view and the sense of loneliness it brought her. But it was useless. She stood frozen, staring out at the desolate moors, a sob caught in her throat.
Kate awoke with a gasp, her heart racing. The loneliness still gaped after her, the feelings of the dream so real it was as though she’d been transported back in time. It had been months since she’d last been plagued with that nightmare. She caught her breath and went over to the window. It was securely closed. Small rivulets of rain traced down the pane, and the view outside was a long stretch of fallow muddy fields and pastures of half-dead grass as far as the eye could see.
Callum should be lost and forgotten, hidden away in a corner of her mind so small he was impossible to find. But it was rather difficult to relegate him to such a place when Charlotte bore her father’s gray eyes. Callum’s face may have become blurry over time, but Kate hadn’t been able to forget those eyes.
Charlotte had been her world for nearly four years now, she reminded herself. A world filled with constant chatter and never-ending questions, exclamations over a beautiful butterfly or the soft chirp of a bird, and the litany of things Charlotte had learned about animals from Archie. “Archie tolded me a baby cow is called a calf! Can we get a calf, Mama?” There was no loneliness in a world where Kate could hold Charlotte close and kiss her cheeks and sing her lullabies as she fell asleep.
Kate may hate Callum for what he had done, but at least he had given her Charlotte.
The back door of the cottage opened with its signature scrape against the floorboards. No doubt Harriet was already giving Archie an earful. And Charlotte was likely taking advantage of her distraction and trying to crack the eggs herself. Sometimes the girl’s precociousness stretched beyond its bounds. Kate smoothed her hair and headed for the stairs.
Archie was removing his wet outer things, with the door still ajar, when Kate entered the kitchen.
“Did you knowed we have a ’prise for you, Mr. Archie?” Charlotte danced on her tiptoes, her little body bursting with excitement.
Archie raised his brows. “A surprise? Is that so? Take this basket to Mrs. Harriet, and then you can tell me all about it.”
Charlotte nodded and took the basket, pleased to be entrusted with such a task. Her mouth pulled into a concentrated pucker as she carried out her errand. Archie looked up and saw Kate standing there, and the lines around his eyes deepened.
“What’s the matter?” she asked. “Did Oscar refuse to walk home in the rain again?”
“No.” He gave her a half smile. “That stubborn old donkey has finally come to understand that I am the master.”
Harriet made a sound of amusement. “Only because he hasn’t dealt with me.”
Archie shook his head. Kate took Archie’s coat and hung it up on one of the hooks near the door. “I’ll have you know that Harriet was certain you stopped for an ale, but I defended you.”
He reached back and closed the door. “She certainly isn’t a trusting woman, my Harriet.”
Kate chuckled. “True, but you’ve known that for years. That doesn’t explain your long face.”
“I have a letter for you, but I’m afraid it may be a bit waterlogged.”
“Well, that’s nothing the fire can’t fix. Give it to me and I’ll set it out to dry.”
He handed her the letter, limp from the rain. A dark-blue seal indicated it was from her solicitor, Mr. Adams, in London. Likely a missive informing her he’d transferred the monthly allowance to her account. She broke the seal and unfolded the paper, then set it atop the mantel of the fireplace, where it could dry so she could read it later.
The evening was a sweet one, with lively conversation and delicious food, and then Harriet brought out the cake. “This was Miss Charlotte’s idea, not my own.”
“’Cause it’s your fav’ite, Mr. Archie!” Charlotte exclaimed, clapping her hands. “And today is your birth-a-day.”
“Why, so it is. ’Tis good you remembered—I’d like as not forget.” He glanced toward Harriet, who had a smug smile upon her face.
“I has a present for you,” Charlotte announced. She presented him with a rolled-up paper tied with twine.
Archie opened it and made a big show of the picture she’d drawn of a horse. “Horseys are s’perior to donkeys like Oscar,” she said. “That’s why I drew a horsey.” Archie laughed and pulled her into a hug.
Kate presented Archie with a new waistcoat with handsome brass buttons, and Harriet had knit him some thick stockings. After they enjoyed the cake, Charlotte was allowed to stay up thirty minutes past her bedtime to play several games of cat and mouse. She thought it was great fun to be the mouse and giggled every time the cat came anywhere near her.
Finally, Kate put her to bed, and the remnants of the celebration were cleared away. Instead of sewing by the fire and complaining about her dull shears, Harriet headed up to bed, proclaiming herself “worn thin.”
Kate stood idly at the fireplace, warming herself.
“There was no need to make such a fuss as that,” Archie told Kate.
“But there was. We need things to plan and look forward to. And celebrating your birthday was a worthy cause. Didn’t you see how happy it made Charlotte?”
“That I did,” he admitted. “She’s hard to say no to, that is certain.” He pulled on his coat. “And now I’ll go out and see to the milking,” he said and closed the door quietly behind him.
Kate banked the fire and then remembered the letter. Though it was wrinkled, it was now thoroughly dry. She unfolded it and spread it on the table. The reading was slow going as she tried to make out the streaked lines of ink.
Lady Rowand,
About a month ago I received a letter from a Mr. Gilmour, who is your husband’s man of business, inquiring of your whereabouts. I debated over what to tell him, but before I could post a reply, I received another letter informing me I could soon expect a visit from Lord Rowand himself.
When your husband pays me a visit, I am afraid I have no legal standing to keep your whereabouts from him. Knowing the situation for what it is, I write you merely to inform you so you will not be taken by surprise when he arrives. If there is any way I can further be of assistance to you, you have but to ask.
Yours, etc.,
D. Adams
Heavens. Kate set the letter down, not liking the visible evidence of her alarm in the trembling of her fingers. She’d known he would come eventually. But, in truth, sometimes her marriage—if she could call it that—seemed nothing more than a dream. She’d grown so accustomed to the simple rhythm of her life here at Rosemont Cottage that she often forgot what had brought it about.
Charlotte.The thought of explaining her to Callum . . . Kate’s blood ran cold. She felt her defenses rising, her protective instincts bubbling up. She didn’t want to share Charlotte with the man who had disappeared after one day of marriage. Who’d made her feel loved and wanted and then shown her how thoroughly disposable she was.
What on earth could he want after all this time? He’d made it clear that he had no interest in being a husband. And he already had her dowry. What more could the man want?
And the more pressing question: how could she protect her daughter from the man who seemed intent on waltzing back into Kate’s life as thoughtlessly as he’d waltzed out of it?