Heart in the Highlands Page 3

  Jack led the horse along and kept up a steady stream of conversation. Kate’s mind was too focused on what she’d left behind and what awaited her ahead to hear a word of what he said.

  At last the fog cleared and the drizzle slowed and then ceased, giving Kate a clear look at her surroundings. The view was so spectacular it knocked the breath from her lungs. The sky remained a subtle gray, and the long grasses were a wash of greens, but it was the majestic purple that blanketed the hills that made her itch to take a paintbrush in her hands and try to recreate the vision before her.

  She took in a deep breath, the smell of Scotland enveloping her. The musky scent of heather with its soft floral undertones, the gentle wind carrying the fragrance of the rain-soaked earth.

  Perhaps . . . perhaps she could come to love Scotland. Kate tore her attention away from the beauty, chastising herself. She must be wise. Scotland would wait, but her wedding would not. If she was to marry the Marquess of Rowand tomorrow, she intended to learn all she could about him.

  Kate looked to Jack and leaned forward a bit. “And what do you know about the Duke of Edinbane?” She’d start with her betrothed’s father. Perhaps the lad would be forthcoming enough that asking more directly about her husband-to-be would prove unnecessary.

  He made a little noise in the back of his throat. “He’s tae be feared, that one. Everyone in town acts different when he’s aroond. Never chuffed with anything.”

  “Chuffed?” she echoed.

  “Hard tae please.”

  Kate’s hands tightened on the reins. What had she gotten herself into? She half-considered turning the horse around and riding straight back toward Grandfather. No, she wouldn’t allow herself to believe the worst. This Jack was likely an exaggerator. A wealthy and powerful duke would intimidate anyone.

  Still holding the lead line, he looked back at her. “One time he nearly—umph!” Jack went sprawling down a small embankment. Kate adjusted her skirts and slid down from the horse as quickly as she could. She carefully picked her way down to where he’d fallen.

  “Jack, are you hurt?” Kate knelt down and rested a hand on his shoulder.

  His face contorted in pain. “Aaaaaye.” He heaved out the word, desperately trying to hold back tears. “Blast this marshy bog. ’Tis my ankle. I turned it.”

  After what she’d already been through, Kate couldn’t imagine why she’d expected this last leg of the journey to go smoothly. Sighing resolutely, she met Jack’s eyes. “You’re in no condition to walk. Let me help you up. It looks as though you may have to take a turn riding.”

  She helped him stand and awkwardly mount the horse, grunts of effort and heavy hisses through his teeth a testament to the boy’s pain. Once seated, Jack closed his eyes, his face pale. The poor boy.

  Kate glanced down at herself, giving him time to catch his breath. Not only was she soaking wet, but two knee-sized mud spots now marred the front of her caped redingote. Heavens, she must look a sight. Not exactly how she had envisioned meeting her betrothed, but there was nothing for it. “Now, where to? How much farther is Castleton Manor?”

  Jack pointed the way. “A coople ah miles at most. But we should stop at the Stewarts’, maybe half a mile ahead. ’Tis on the way. They’ll have a horse ye can ride.”

  Since Kate highly doubted her ability to trudge two more miles in her sodden clothes and soaking half boots without turning her own ankle, she voiced no protest.

  They made slow progress. The plow horse seemed in no hurry, and Kate took tentative steps as they broached the swell of a hill. A small cottage came into view halfway down the slope. Smoke curled up from the chimney, little puffs of white against the gunmetal sky.

  “That’s it,” Jack said. He shook his head. “Ewan is sure tae mock me when he sees ye guiding my horse.”

  Kate chuckled. “I have no doubt you will bear the indignity with the utmost poise.”

  Jack muttered something under his breath.

  Kate guided the horse to a low wattle fence not far from the cottage door. “I won’t be long.”

  Right before she knocked on the door, it swung wide open. Kate took a step backward. A large masculine figure filled the doorframe. The surprise on his face mirrored her own. He stepped out of the darkened cottage and into the day’s remaining light, closing the door behind him.

  “Mr. Stewart?” she asked.

  “Nae.” The word was drawn out, almost a question.

  At first glance he appeared muddy and disheveled, his once-white shirt plastered to his chest. The wet garment emphasized the width of his shoulders, the musculature of his arms. A man who worked the land. But it didn’t take her long to notice the slight curl of his damp brown hair, his smoky-gray eyes. A color that would be difficult to get just right, were she to try to paint them. There was a rugged charm to this handsome man . . . who likely thought her a dimwitted fool as she stood there, staring.

  She blinked, trying to clear her muddled mind. “I’m sorry; it’s only that I’m in need of some assistance.” She gestured back to where Jack sat on the plow horse. “We were on our way to Castleton Manor, and—”

  The man looked at her sharply. “Are ye Lady Katherine?”

  Her eyes widened. “I am.” It was likely most of the locals knew of her coming but highly unlikely anyone would recognize her on sight. Especially looking as bedraggled as she did.

  The man stilled, an intense look of concentration overtaking his features as he studied her so unabashedly that Kate began to blush.

  He cleared his throat. “Lady Katherine,” he finally said and bowed. “Ye must excuse me.” His soft Scottish lilt washed over her like warm treacle over a scone. “I’m afraid it has caught me quite off guard meeting ye like this.” He straightened his stance. “I am Callum Darrington, Marquess of Rowand and, if I do not err, your intended.”

  Her jaw slowly dropped open before she vaguely remembered to lift her sodden skirts and curtsy.

  So this was the man who was to be her husband.

  Chapter Three

  Callum wasn’t quite sure what he’d imagined when he’d pictured his future bride, but it wasn’t the woman standing before him. His first impression of her was that she looked incredibly young. Though she was thin—her shoulders narrow, her face angular—her bearing was patently refined. His gaze drifted downward to her sodden gown. There certainly wasn’t much to her figure.

  “You are Lord Rowand?” she asked in her English accent. He jerked his eyes up at the soft, almost lyrical quality of her voice.

  She removed her wet and misshapen bonnet, giving him a better look at her. Expressive blue eyes and milky-white skin gave her a look of fresh-faced innocence. A few soft pieces of brown hair framed her face, the rest a wet and tangled mess. Soaked as she was, thin as she was, Lady Katherine was still undeniably pretty.

  Not that it mattered.

  “Guilty,” he said gruffly. He cast his eyes about and got straight to the point. “But where is your carriage, your trunks?”

  She gave a breathy huff. “The carriage is in worse condition than I am, if you can believe it.”

  Despite his misgivings, he softened a little. “Given the state of the roads, I surely can.”

  “I didn’t have the heart to force my maid to continue on. I left her back at the inn.” She stared at him for a moment, head angled.

  He ran a hand through his hair, wishing he were more presentable.

  “I went on ahead with Jack in the hope of meeting you before . . .” She glanced down, suddenly shy.

  He was struck with amusement. Perhaps she had no more interest in this marriage than he did. “Before we make lifelong vows tae one another?” he supplied with a wry grin.

  She met his gaze and laughed. A dimple made its appearance, softening the lines of her face. “Yes, precisely.”

  They stood staring at one anothe
r, the crackle of expectancy filling the air between them. Callum hadn’t expected Lady Katherine to be so enchanting. He hadn’t expected to like her at all.

  He took a slight step back and raised his chin toward Jack. “What happened to Jack here? How is it that ye ended up walking while he is seated atop that filthy old nag?”

  She turned back toward Jack. “Oh yes. He turned his ankle, I’m afraid.”

  “The ground here is treacherous after a heavy smur.”

  “Smur?”

  He smiled and made a small noise at the back of his throat. “Rain. Welcome tae Scotland.”

  “It has been quite a welcome. But at least I am here.” She shrugged her shoulders. Against his will, Callum was impressed by her good-natured perspective, given all she’d been through.

  “We shall do our best tae remedy your poor first impression. But first, let me see to Jack.” Callum examined Jack’s ankle to assure himself the boy wasn’t seriously injured. With a brief word of thanks, he sent the lad back to the inn, confident Auld Boy would see him safely home in due time.

  Callum spoke over his shoulder to Lady Katherine. “My horse is over here.” He led her toward the cowshed around the back of the cottage. Once his horse was readied, he unfastened the shed door and led Bayard out.

  He held his hand out for his intended. “I think ye’ll find Bayard a rather marked improvement over the nag Jack offered ye,” he said.

  Lady Katherine approached warily. She glanced at Bayard, then back at Callum. “Are we to ride bareback? Is this commonplace here in the Highlands?”

  “We do use saddles, even all the way up here in the Highlands,” he said dryly, fighting a smile. “But riding with two in a saddle is rather uncomfortable. We’ll ride bareback oot of necessity, not custom. ’Tis not far.”

  “Well, I must say that is a relief.” She blew out a breath. “How am I to mount without a stirrup?”

  He came up behind her. “May I?” She gave a stiff nod. A small jolt of attraction shot through Callum as his large hands spanned her small waist.

  He brushed it aside and set her atop his horse sidesaddle. Pulling at the bridle, he led Bayard over to the fence, and with a quick step onto the fence railing, Callum seated himself behind Lady Katherine. He anchored his legs around her to ensure she wouldn’t fall, then reached past her waist to take hold of the bridle. His blood warmed with her so close. Her slight build seemed to belie the profound effect she had on him.

  He shook away the cotton filling his head. “And now I think we’d best be getting you . . . home.” The way she tensed said she felt the weight of the word, same as he.

  He allowed Bayard a walk, nothing more. Lady Katherine remained quiet, her body rigid in front of him. Was it him? Or the novelty of riding without a saddle? He didn’t know her well enough to venture a guess. “I hope Jack’s ankle isn’t seriously hurt,” he said, aiming to distract himself from such pointless thoughts.

  Her arrow-straight spine softened. “His tongue certainly isn’t,” she said, and he could hear the smile in her voice.

  “His mother is deaf, and the village joke speculates such was God’s way of making sure she didnae go mad.”

  She laughed with him and relaxed against him a bit more. He felt himself softening toward her. Rather suddenly, she quieted, clearing her throat. “Will you think me very forward if I ask you a few questions?”

  Callum couldn’t help but tease her a bit. “Dinnae be shy. It might be your one chance before we’re leg-shackled.”

  She gave a breathy, nervous sort of laugh. “I know you are in jest, but it’s true, isn’t it? I imagine you have a great many questions for me as well.”

  “Aye, I do.” A great many.

  “Let’s take turns, then,” she said. “Do you mind if I begin?”

  “Fire at will. But fire rapidly, Lady Katherine. That is Castleton Manor up in the distance.” He released her waist briefly to point at the magnificent edifice his grandfather had commissioned—gleaming white stone, gabled rooftops, and stately pillars.

  Her head turned in the direction he pointed. She sat unmoving for several long seconds, taking in what would shortly be her new home before she unleashed her first question. “If that is Castleton Manor, do you mind me asking what you were doing in a farmer’s hut, looking like a—”

  Some primitive, protective instinct bristled against her thoughtless words. “A common laborer?” he supplied. She’d probably resent his lowly relations.

  “Well, yes.” She turned toward him, her blue eyes offering a silent apology.

  The tightness in his shoulders eased a bit. “If ye must ken, I was helping one of the tenants with their sheep when the dam broke.” He decided not to mention the fact that those tenants were his aunt and uncle, for that explanation would dominate the whole of their conversation. They had already reached the gravel drive that led to Castleton Manor’s imposing entrance.

  “Oh.” She was silent for a moment. “That’s very good of you.”

  Her answer took him off guard. Was her response genuine? “Now, I believe it is my turn for a question,” he said.

  She twisted again, cocking her head.

  He took that as permission to continue. “How do ye take your tea?”

  “How do I take my tea?” she echoed. “Of all the questions you might ask, that is what you most want to know?”

  “Do ye take issue with my question?” he asked in a tone of mock affront.

  “No, I am trying to make sense of the man who asks such a question when we are nowhere near a drawing room.” The set of her mouth was almost challenging. “If you must know, I take it with a little cream.”

  He imagined the perfectly shaped bow of her mouth as she sipped her tea. “I see,” he said, nodding thoughtfully in an effort to distract himself from that unsolicited thought.

  She craned her head around farther, her nose wrinkled in confusion. “What, exactly, do you see?”

  He softened his hold on Bayard’s bridle and slowed the horse’s walk. “There is much tae learn from how a person takes their tea. Some women are so austere they take their tea plain and scalding hot. Others add endless amounts of sugar and cream, then dip scones in their concoction. Still others are so indecisive they do it differently every time.” Her dark-winged eyebrows had risen steadily during his explanation. “Ye, Lady Katherine, seem tae be an unfussy sort of woman.”

  “And is that the sort of woman of which you approve?” Her eyes were deep-blue pools of anticipation.

  He inclined his head. “Oh, very much.” He shouldn’t flirt, he knew. But, heaven help him, she was so very likable.

  Bayard halted at the front of the drive, saving him from his own stupidity. “Here we are,” he said. He got down and turned and reached for her. She went into his arms without hesitation.

  “Thank you, Lord Rowand,” she said in her melodious voice.

  He didn’t move to go inside. “Given the circumstances, I think ye’d best call me Callum.”

  She smiled, her dimple peeping through again. “And you may call me Kate.”

  “Katie,” he said, liking the feel of it on his tongue. “In Scotland ye’ll be Katie.”

  After seeing Lady Katherine safely into his mother’s hands—thankfully, his father was nowhere to be seen—Callum wasted no time in ridding himself of his offensive-smelling clothes and settling into the warm bath Benson had waiting.

  He closed his eyes and saw Lady Katherine behind his lids. He tried to be honest with himself. Was he still desperately hoping for a way out of this marriage now that he’d met her? Hardly. He’d imagined a vain and stuffy Englishwoman like those he’d been introduced to in London a thousand times. But she was no frivolous debutante. She’d ridden through unending rain, walked through mud, and looked after both her maid and young Jack. Katherine—Katie—was unexpected, to say the least. Though
she’d been chosen by his father, Callum had to admit she would likely meet with Uncle Blair’s approval as well.

  She certainly gave Callum pause.

  He got to his feet suddenly, the water splashing up over the sides of the bath. He couldn’t allow himself to be distracted. He’d flirted with her far too much. And there was still time, still a chance he might find some way out of his impending vows. Better to keep a safe distance between them.

  Yet, even after reminding himself to keep her at bay, she remained firmly lodged in his thoughts as he toweled off and changed clothes.

  Half an hour later he slipped downstairs and found himself alone. Given that Katie was without her trunks or maid, they’d likely be holding dinner while arrangements were made for an interim wardrobe.

  Anxious to see if the rain had stopped for good, he moved to the Palladian window in the large drawing room. No hint of rain for now. But he couldn’t forget the damage it had done. Uncle Blair’s furrowed brow and the firm set of his upper lip wouldn’t leave Callum’s mind. He stepped into his father’s study. Though dark hadn’t fully fallen, the misty gloaming made it necessary for him to light a candle.

  He perused the shelves, looking for the catalogue that would give him a better idea of Blair’s losses. What he found wasn’t encouraging. The price of Shetland sheep had risen over the past two years. If left to his own devices, it would take Uncle Blair well over five years before he could replace today’s losses. And that was only if all went well in the meantime, which was no sure thing for a tenant farmer in Scotland. To make matters worse, Blair was already in debt to Callum’s father.

  Callum closed the catalogue and walked to the window. The last vestiges of light gave way to a lavender-tinted evening sky. He sighed, grateful Benson wasn’t here to see him run a hand through his hair and muss it.

  “Your attentions are misplaced, son. You are not a steward. Let Davies do his work.” The duke’s voice came from behind him, over near the doorway.