Heart in the Highlands by Heidi Kimball
Chapter Nine
Kate stewed for the next several weeks. Her mind was in constant turbulence, playing out various scenarios, thinking through ultimatums, asking herself the same questions she’d been plagued by for the past several years.
When Charlotte asked her questions, Kate’s replies were aloof and halfhearted. Every time Kate’s mind drifted and Harriet had to repeat herself, the dear woman clucked her tongue and said, “So help me, that husband of yours will get an earful.” Archie had taken to doing the chores Kate neglected in her distraction. Try as she might, Kate could not seem to focus. As it turned out, living in the present was nearly impossible when one was busy agonizing over the past.
One chilly morning, she decided to try dusting the parlor in an attempt to clear the cobwebs from her mind. The dark formal room suffered from misuse, and the neglect showed. Armed with a clean cloth and the furniture wax, Kate began her task with unusual vigor. If only she knew when Callum would come! It was the bane of her very existence, this not knowing. And why did he not write and explain the purpose of his supposed visit? Sometimes, she almost wondered if he’d forgotten they were married.
No. He’d written over the years—proof enough he remembered her. She certainly hadn’t seen fit to write him in return. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to even read his letters. Instead she’d used them as kindling. And why not, when it was obvious he wanted nothing to do with her?
What, then, was his purpose in coming here? Kate’s stomach churned as she imagined him meeting Charlotte. If Callum discovered he had a daughter, Kate would be at his mercy. No matter that he had rejected and abandoned her. The law gave a man absolute power when it came to his wife and children. And Kate would do anything to keep Charlotte at her side.
How was such a situation to be managed? Her mind seemed to loop endlessly, and every answer only led to more questions. An ache began behind her eyes, but she continued on, taking out her frustration on the wooden mantelpiece that framed the hearth.
Half an hour later, she inspected her work and let out a sigh of disgust. If anything, the room looked worse. She could practically see the evidence of her chaotic thoughts streaked across every poorly dusted surface. Each spot she had managed to dust seemed to emphasize those she hadn’t, gleaming next to their dusty counterparts.
“Mama?” The door creaked open.
“Yes, Charlotte?” Kate set down her cloth.
Bits of hay stuck out of Charlotte’s messy braids. “I can’t find Cleo. And I lookeded everywhere.” She crossed her arms over her chest, her lips gathered in a small pout.
Kate laid a gentle hand on her daughter’s head and removed an errant piece of hay. “Do you remember where we found her last time?”
Charlotte nodded, her face solemn. “Under your bed. I looked there first.”
“What about your bed? Did you look under there?”
Charlotte glanced up. “No.”
“Let’s go look together, shall we?”
Charlotte grinned, her sweet smile so beautiful that it made Kate’s heart hurt. Kate followed her up the stairs, and within a few minutes, they’d found the cat hiding behind the corner bookshelf.
“Maybe she likes dust,” Kate said, handing Cleo into Charlotte’s waiting arms. “She seems to always find a dusty place to hide.”
Charlotte sneezed and then giggled. “That’s why I am sneezing when I hold her.” She glanced down at Cleo. “Please don’t hide. I been worried.”
Kate looked down at her animal-loving daughter, who had not a single concern beyond finding her cat so they could play. She deserved to be carefree. She deserved a happy home with certainty and security. She deserved not to have an absentee father, who had not even cared enough to learn of her existence.
Callum didn’t deserve to know he had a daughter. Not yet anyway. Kate would wait for him to visit and discover his intentions. If she did tell him about Charlotte, it would be on her own terms and at a time of her own choosing.
Nearly three months aboard the Destiny. Several days in London tracking down Katie’s solicitor, followed by three long days in a confined carriage on a rutted, muddy road down to Suffolk. To say Callum was anxious to stretch his legs was an outlandish understatement.
Yet he’d gladly endure it all over again rather than do what he’d come here to do: face Katie.
In truth, there was little he could do to prepare for the encounter. After all, what did a man say to the wife he’d abandoned for four long years? He knew what he wanted. He wanted her to come with him back to Scotland so they could start over. That image of a happy family still lingered in the back of his mind, though it had become hazy and seemed out of reach. Had he given away every chance of that dream when he’d left Katie behind?
He’d spent years turning his decision over and over in his mind. He’d wrestled with his choices and justified his actions. On board the Destiny, as he’d been lashed by winter gales and buffeted by ice storms, he’d finally admitted the truth to himself: he’d been a coward.
He’d been afraid of becoming like his father. Afraid of hurting Katie. Afraid she’d married him only because she’d had little choice in the matter. But he wasn’t going to let fear control him any longer.
Still, with the wheels of his carriage turning beneath him, taking him ever closer to Rosemont Cottage and the woman who would justifiably hate him, his stomach knotted. He knew that whatever lay ahead would alter his life forever. On their wedding night, Katie had teasingly threatened him with a hairbrush if he ever crossed her. He doubted her weapon of choice now would be so benign.
Callum stared out the window, taking pains to observe his surroundings for the first time today. Spring grass lined the road, no doubt hastened on by the slow drizzle that had settled in for the afternoon.
After what felt like both the blink of an eye and a near eternity, the carriage rolled to a stop. “Rosemont Cottage, my lord,” the driver announced as he hopped down, gesturing in the direction of the cottage. “The drive is too narrow for a carriage.”
Impatience made it impossible to sit still. Before the coachman had a chance to attend to the door, Callum undid the latch and let himself out. He rolled his shoulders back and brushed himself off. Across a fair stretch of lawn sat a midsized cottage so quaint it looked as though it belonged in a painting. Deep-green ivy climbed the stone walls, and the gabled roof rose at a steep angle, sheltered by a stalwart oak tree on each side.
The sight was almost welcoming, until a woman in a light-blue dress walked around the side of the cottage. Somehow Callum knew it was Katie, though she was much too far away for him to be able to discern her features. Before he could decide what approach to take, she went in the front door.
A brief pang of disappointment hit him. He’d hoped to meet her outside, thinking perhaps his presence would feel less threatening. But maybe inside was better given the rain.
He strode across the lawn. He wasn’t going to waste another second in his own head; three months of that had been quite enough. Once he reached the weatherworn front door, a small overhang gave him some shelter from the rain. He removed his hat and hit it against his leg to brush off the rainwater. Finally, Callum knocked. His entire body stood tense, on high alert, in very much the way he’d felt as a young lad at Eton, when a boy several years his senior had challenged him to a fight.
A slim older man opened the door, his gray hair brushing the top of his collar. “May I help you, sir?” he asked with a friendly smile.
“I certainly hope so. I am looking for Lady Rowand and was told I would find her here.” He fingered his hat. “Would you please inform her that Lor—” He paused. “That her husband is here to see her?”
The man’s smile faded. He made a quick assessment of Callum but revealed nothing of his thoughts. His voice, however, was decidedly less amiable. “If you’ll wait here, my lord, I will fetch Lady Rowand.”
The door closed, and Callum blinked, unaccustomed to such discourteous treatment. It appeared the man knew of his and Katie’s history—and that did not bode well for what was to come.
Callum took quick stock of his surroundings. Rosemont Cottage held a certain charm, but it certainly wasn’t in the best condition. The front wooden steps bowed, the paint was peeling around the doorframe, and one of the front windowpanes was cracked.
Why had Katie chosen to live here, of all places? He could understand why she wouldn’t have wanted to stay at Castleton Manor, but he had plenty of other holdings where she would have been more comfortably situated. In England, even. Why, at the very least, hadn’t she requested a small sum of money to use for some basic repairs?
Not a minute passed before he heard footsteps through the thin door. And then the man’s low voice. “You have a caller. I hope you’ll forgive me for not sending him away.”
“Who?” The note of curiosity in Katie’s voice brought memories rushing back, her sweet and determined manner when he’d first seen her at his uncle’s door. “It isn’t like you to be so secretive, Archie. Are they in the sitting room?”
“I left him on the front porch.”
“How very ungracious of you,” she said lightly and laughed. And then her amusement halted. “Oh.” A pause. “Is it—?”
“Yes, my lady.”
Soft footsteps faded away and voices lowered. “Keep her . . .” Callum’s tension soared. And then the door opened in one swift jerk.
Katie stood ramrod straight in the doorway—so very different from the image of the young bride that had lingered in his memory. Where nineteen-year-old Katie had been all bones and sharp angles, her older counterpart was softer, with more womanly curves. She held herself in a self-assured manner, a woman who knew her own mind. Life had been etched into her features, a depth of maturity that hadn’t been there before. And Callum found the combination very, very attractive.
When they’d first met he’d certainly thought her pretty, but this Katie was stunningly beautiful.
The greatest difference of all, however, was the way she looked at him. Not a dimple to be seen. Her blue eyes held none of the insecurity she’d displayed before their wedding. Now they flashed with pure contempt.
“Lord Rowand,” she said coolly. “To what do I owe this pleasure?” She accentuated the word pleasure in a show of irony.
He stepped forward, his voice hoarse. “Katie, I—”
“Lady Rowand,” she corrected, her voice flat. It held none of the softness or lyricism from his memory. She folded her arms.
Well, he hadn’t expected her to welcome him with open arms. But he hadn’t anticipated her leaving him out in the rain, either. “May I come in?”
“I expect since you leave at your leisure, it shouldn’t come as any surprise to me that you come in the same manner.” There was no twinkle in her eyes to suggest she found any humor in the situation. She stepped back as if she couldn’t stand to be in such close proximity to him.
That was likely the closest thing to an invitation he was going to get. Callum shook off his coat and stepped across the threshold. He wiped his boots on the rug in front of the door and then stepped past Katie, at once enveloped in the subtle scent of rosewater. The memories hit him with the force of an Atlantic windstorm. But he doubted he’d get anywhere by appealing to the past. Better to keep his focus on the future.
He followed her to a dim room in outmoded fashion, where little of the gray day’s light held sway. The room was tidy, though whoever had dusted had done a haphazard job at best. The hearth was dark—no great surprise, given the lingering chill in the room. Katie made no move toward the sofa or the adjacent chairs, nor did she invite him to sit. A gray tail flicked out from one corner of the sofa. A cat?
“Do ye mind if I sit?” Callum asked.
She clasped her hands together, squeezing until the blood leached from her hands. “I don’t think you will be staying long enough for either of us to take a seat.”
He took a step toward her. “Katie, please. Hear me out.”
“Tell me why you are here.” She swallowed tightly and cast an anxious look toward the door, as if it were not merely his presence that unsettled her.
He cleared his throat. “Four years and a half ago I wronged you deeply.”
She said nothing, just stood there, her mouth drawn into a thin line.
This was even more difficult than he’d imagined. “Did ye read any of my letters?”
“The first note you left told me all I needed to know.”
As he’d feared, she hadn’t read a single one. “What I did to you was unforgiveable. I had a falling-out with my father. So much happened at once—with you, with my uncle. I feared I was becoming like the very man I hated. I couldn’t stay, couldn’t bear to be near my father.”
“Or me, apparently.” She clamped her lips shut, as if to punish herself for speaking to him at all.
He shook his head, trying to put it into words. “Not you, not exactly.” He twisted the brim of his hat around in his hands. “It was more that ye were tied to him—ye were who he wanted for me, and I wanted to rid myself of anything that bore a connection to him.” Callum felt as though a large stone rested upon his chest.
She gave him a forced smile. “Well, if that was your intent, I believe you did so quite successfully.”
The stone grew to the size of a large boulder. What if she refused to give him another chance? “What I did was abominable, I ken. It was a mistake, Katie. An enormous one. But one I’d like to rectify.”
“You left me after our wedding night without any explanation beyond a brief note. I . . . I was—” She hesitated and seemed to turn several words over in her mind before she said, “Humiliated. I’ve no desire to mend things between us. It’s been more than four years, and you haven’t seen fit to make amends until now? I couldn’t possibly ever trust you again.”
“Before you say no—”
“Would you like it in writing? I find that letters have a convenient sort of finality.”
Her tone was icy. He’d known, of course, that she’d be angry, but the pain of it was sharper than he’d expected. He took a step toward her, and her arms tightened across her chest, his very presence seeming to set her on edge.
Callum was desperate to break through her glacial armor and the caustic wit she used as a weapon. “Where is your hairbrush?” he asked on a whim, letting a half smile quirk his mouth up.
Her cool demeanor slipped momentarily, and confusion puckered her brow.
“You once pointed a hairbrush at me and warned me not to cross you.” He moved another step closer and took a firm stance, feet apart. “I stand ready for ye to mete out my punishment.”
“I’m not a girl of nineteen anymore, Callum.”
A slow grin crept over his face. “I see that.”
High color rose in her cheeks. “Don’t think you can charm your way back into my good graces.” She turned her back and began pacing the room, her skirts swishing around her in a flurry of restlessness.
“You find me charming, then?” He cocked a brow at her.
She whirled back around to face him. “Stop.” She lifted her hand and smoothed her brow, appearing exasperated. “Please, stop. You’ve no right to flirt so shamelessly when you haven’t deigned to live in the same country as me for the past four years.”
Her rebuke gave Callum pause. There was merit in what she said—he had no right to flirt. He admired her resolve, her unwillingness to yield, to cede him even an inch. He deserved no less. And it only made him respect her more.
His smirk disappeared, and he placed one hand in the pocket of his coat. “How long did ye stay in Scotland?” he asked.
“Long enough to realize the man I married was a complete and utter”—she narrowed her eyes at him—“eejit.”
Idiot.
He laughed. He couldn’t help it. This was the part of Katie that had so attracted him in the first place. “That I am. Katie, please. Come back with me to Scotland. I’m here to make things right, if ye’ll let me.”
“And if I don’t?”
His heart pulsed in his chest at the very thought, though he’d known the possibility loomed large. “Then, I’d at least like to assure myself that ye are properly cared for. I could provide some funds for ye to fix up this cottage.”
“I’ve gotten along very well in your absence,” she said, her back stiffening as if he’d hurt her pride by even suggesting otherwise.
“I can see that,” he said softly. “But I feel I owe ye something.”
“There is nothing I want or need from you besides your assurance that you’ll not impose yourself on me any further.”
His heart began to sink into the black pit that had become his chest. “I see. Ye are sure there isn’t anything I can—?”
“Very sure,” she said quickly, glancing toward the door once more. “I assume you can find your way out—”
Her words were cut off by the bang of the door and a yell. A young girl barreled into the room, flying toward Katie. Her stockings had a tear in the knee and were smeared with mud. In one swift motion Katie picked her up and settled the child on her hip. Every inch of Katie radiated tension. She sent a panicked glance toward Callum.
“Mama! Mama! I found a bird’s nest with pretty blue eggs!” the girl crowed.
Callum’s world shifted, as if he were watching the whole thing from a distance when, in reality, he was standing only a few feet away. His mind struggled to fathom what he’d seen and heard and arrange the jumbled pieces in a way that made sense.
A short, plump woman came running in behind the girl, hand on her chest and breathing hard. “I’m sorry, my lady. She got away from me. She’s that quick.”
Katie said something in return, but Callum didn’t hear it. He stared at the young girl, trying to take in every detail about her at once. Damp brown curls tied back in a ribbon. A lightly freckled button nose. Bright, intelligent eyes that looked at Katie with expectation. She placed her chubby hands on Katie’s cheeks, forcing Katie’s attention toward her. “The eggs were blue, Mama!”
Mama.
Which meant . . .
Shock, doubt, and disbelief clouded Callum’s ability to think clearly.
His gaze snapped to Katie’s. A world of fear lived in her eyes.
It was then that he knew.
His hands went numb. He felt as though he’d fallen from a horse.
“Were they? I’d very much like to see them.” Katie’s voice was barely above a whisper, and her eyes darted back toward Callum. She set the child down, flustered. “But I am in the middle of a conversation right now.”
The little girl followed her mother’s gaze to where Callum stood, noticing him for the first time. Their eyes met, and he found he still couldn’t breathe, his throat so tight it seemed his lungs might collapse.
“Good day,” she said with a little wave of her hand. “I’m Charlotte. Who are you?”
He faltered, for every answer that came to mind seemed inadequate. “I am—” He swallowed hard and ran a hand through his hair.
“This is . . .” Katie turned away, trying to shield Charlotte from him. At last she cleared her throat, stalling before settling upon, “Mr. Callum. Why don’t you go with Harriet. She’ll give you a biscuit, and I’ll come see the blue eggs as soon as the rain lets up.”
“Do you have gingersnaps, Harriet? Those are my fav’ite.”
“Yes, dear one, I do. I made some while you were out with Archie.” The woman held out a hand for Charlotte, then glared at Callum as she led her to the door.
Charlotte turned back. “Mama, have you seen Cleo? She be missing again! That’s how I found the blue eggs. I lookeded for her up in a tree.”
Katie shook her head. “No, I haven’t. But I promise to help you look as soon as I am finished here.”
Callum’s pulse slowed to a thud. “Is Cleo gray, Charlotte?” he asked, his voice shaking.
She turned to him and nodded. “And she has one white sock.”
He motioned with a finger for her to come closer, and when she did, he bent down on one knee and quietly pointed under the sofa. Charlotte ducked down to look. She popped back up and grinned, a mouthful of pearly white teeth on display. “Cleo!” she exclaimed, diving under the sofa. She came up with her arms full of a yowling cat. “Cleo is not a good lis’ner,” she explained. “I always telled her not to run away, but she doesn’t obey.”
Callum nodded solemnly, an ache growing in his chest with each passing second. He wanted to memorize every perfect detail about her. But she was already being herded toward the door.
“Yes, take Cleo with you,” Katie said.
“Come, Cleo. Harriet made us biscuits,” Charlotte told the cat. She held the creature awkwardly around its middle. The cat’s head bounced against her chest as she walked, paws flailing and squirming to get free. She turned back and gave a little wave. “Thank you, Mr. Callum.”
Callum stared at her as she disappeared through the door.
A daughter.
He had a daughter.