Heart in the Highlands Page 4

  Callum turned. “Uncle Blair lost half of his flock today. Just because I am not a steward doesn’t mean I do not care what happens to the tenants, particularly when the tenants are my family.”

  The slightest crack in his father’s grave exterior manifested itself in an upward tick of his brow. “They aren’t family,” his father said in his gruffest tone. “I’ll not have you acknowledge them as such.”

  “Aye, they are,” Callum countered.

  The duke went still.

  Callum had thought that as he grew older, his father’s power over him, the man’s ability to control every aspect of his life, would diminish. But there had long been a pattern that had proved just the opposite.

  Like when his father had discovered that Callum had befriended another Scottish lad at Eton. He’d been warned in a letter to sever the acquaintance, but so far from home, Callum had believed himself safe from his father’s meddling. Until the day he’d learned that his friend had been sent packing, without Callum having a single clue as to the reason for his disappearance. The headmaster’s explanation? The boy had been deemed “unfit” for Eton.

  Then, like now, his father’s iron fist seemed to strangle Callum to the point of madness.

  But it was amidst that boiling anger, that suffocating helplessness, that a pinprick of light appeared. The bargaining chip he’d been hoping for. An opportunity to use what his father wanted to Callum’s own advantage. With the wedding tomorrow, now was the perfect time.

  Katie’s pretty face flashed through his mind. Callum filled his lungs, letting the idea take root, looking at it from all angles before he spoke.

  “You may never see them as family, but I do.” He spoke in a crisp English accent, for once having no intention of riling his father further. “I want to ensure they are looked after. More than looked after—taken care of. You,” he continued, despite the skeptical look on the duke’s face, “are hoping for a union between Lady Katherine and myself.” He paused, allowing his words to sink in. His chest expanded with a strange sense of power. “I think it is possible for both of us to get what we want, don’t you?”

  “Are you threatening me?” The candle flickered, the shadows playing against his father’s craggy face.

  Callum straightened. “I wouldn’t call it that, exactly.” He set his feet apart, widening his stance. “I am merely attempting to align our interests.”

  “You would embarrass your family, tarnish your inheritance, your very status, over an obsession with your mother’s . . . relations?” The duke nearly spat the last word.

  “Let me speak clearly so there can be no misunderstanding. I cannot change how you feel about the Stewarts, but you will act as if you care. You will see Blair’s flock replaced—from your own pocket—or I will not marry Lady Katherine.” The ultimatum was freeing.

  “You wouldn’t dare refuse.” His father seethed.

  Callum raised his chin a notch. There was no pleasing this man, so he slid into his comfortable Scottish brogue. “Aye, I would. Arranged marriages are no longer legal, ye ken. Ye cannae force me.”

  The mottled color overtaking his father’s face said it all. His bearlike hands twitched at his sides. He stiffened, the very idea of acquiescing to another’s demands seemingly more than he could stomach. But at last he yielded. “Very well,” he ground out.

  “I want your word.”

  “I said yes. That is good enough.”

  It was far more than the man had ever conceded before. A pulse of victory rushed through Callum’s veins, heady and freeing. He would still be cautious. He’d check with Davies in the morning to ensure that his father intended to do what he said. But an enormous weight slid off Callum’s shoulders. He could go into this marriage as his own man, on his own terms.

  Lady Katherine hadn’t been his choice. Yet, perhaps now, she could be.

  “Jest thes way,” the soft-spoken duchess said as she held the door open for Kate. It was hard to believe the woman had a grown son. She looked exceptionally young and could still be touted as a beauty. She didn’t speak or move quite like a woman of gentle birth, however. Kate’s head was filled to the brim with questions about this family she was to marry into.

  “Do you know when my maid and all of my . . . things might arrive?” Kate asked, hoping she didn’t sound too demanding. But poor Helen—the woman had been quite overwhelmed.

  The duchess turned to face Kate. “I’ll send some men doon for yer maid an yer trunks at first lecht.” The woman was kind and capable, but her Scottish brogue was so thick Kate couldn’t understand above half of what she said. Kate was beginning to realize she’d need to learn a whole new language here in the Highlands.

  “Thank you, kindly, Your Grace.”

  “Flora will see tae your bath while I try tae find somethin’ suitable for ye tae wear.” With that, the duchess bustled out of the room, leaving Kate to herself.

  Crossing to the large mirror that adorned the far wall, Kate took in the sight of herself—hair wet and stringy, her face smudged with dirt, her mud-stained overcoat. This was the state in which she’d become acquainted with her husband-to-be! It didn’t bear thinking of.

  She glanced around the room. Eggshell-blue walls made the space feel light and airy, and the canopied four-poster bed looked positively heavenly. Dusk obscured the view out the large oriel window on the far wall, where a writing desk sat perfectly situated for composing early-morning letters. Lovely delft tiles framed the elegant fireplace, and best of all, a large fire popped in the grate. Kate moved over to stand beside it and held out her hands, grateful for the warmth against the chill of her wet things.

  She turned around to allow her backside its share of warmth. The firelight generously bathed the room in soft colors, and she followed its gentle dance until her gaze came to rest on a door. Not the door she’d entered through but a smaller one, papered so as to blend in with the wall, its gilded knob the only hint of the door’s existence. Could that be the door that connected her room to Callum’s?

  That thought alone was enough to send a blush from the tips of her toes all the way up to her hairline. She closed her eyes and heard the sound of her name on his tongue again. In Scotland ye’ll be Katie.

  Perhaps Scotland would not be quite as bad as she’d feared.

  She slowly undid the buttons on her redingote as she revisited her first meeting with her betrothed. His dry sense of humor brought a smile to her face and lessened the pit that had settled in her stomach over the duration of her journey. Though she’d sensed some reserve in him, he wasn’t overly stuffy or high-handed. And those mesmerizing gray eyes of his nearly had her under his spell. Perhaps Grandfather was right. Perhaps this could be more than an arranged marriage.

  But the thought of Grandfather touched a tender spot in her heart. Had his cough grown worse? Was he already confined to his bed? She ached for news of him, but it would be at least several more weeks before she received a letter.

  A rap on the door brought her back to herself. Two footmen entered first, carrying a large copper hip tub. A line of maids followed, each with buckets of steaming water. In no time at all the tub was full. Flora, one of the young maids, remained behind to help Kate undress and bathe.

  The water’s heat soothed away the chill on her skin, the strain of a week’s worth of travel. Kate hoped Helen was being cared for half so well. She closed her eyes and lost herself in Flora’s ministrations while questions about what awaited her below dominated her thoughts.

  A few minutes later Flora cleared her throat. “Are ye finished, my lady?”

  “Oh yes. Of course.” She’d lost track of time. The family was probably holding dinner for her. She’d best get moving. Kate set the French-milled soap on the small stand beside the tub and let Flora help her into a fire-warmed robe.

  The dress that had been laid out for her was an old, outmoded gown in pristine co
ndition. “Her Grace is sorry she hasnae anything in the latest fashions that’ll fit ye,” Flora said. “She was about yer size before giving birth, so she thought this might work.”

  The dress looked to be of traditional Highland fashion, with an emerald-green skirt that had very little body. The bodice was long-sleeved, white, and low-cut. Kate donned a chemise, and Flora produced an antiquated corset for her to wear. It felt as uncomfortable as it looked, constricting her waist and making it hard to draw a full breath.

  Flora helped her into the gown, the soft fabric rustling as it slipped over her head. Next, she pulled out a box of pins and began to methodically pin the bodice to Kate’s corset. Kate remained perfectly still, not wanting to risk being poked. Indeed, she had never been more grateful for the simple high-waisted dresses that were modish now.

  “There we are,” Flora said. “Now, if ye’ll take a seat, I can do something with yer hair.”

  Kate chanced a glance in the mirror and stared, mouth open. Somehow, the corset and dress managed to make her—her!—look generously endowed.

  As if she weren’t already apprehensive enough about the evening ahead. “Flora, I must have a shawl of some sort. I can hardly go downstairs without—”

  “Och, I forgot the plaid! I’ll be ri’ back.” The maid returned with it in hand and draped it over Kate’s shoulders. The deep crimson color of the plaid extinguished any hopes Kate might have had of not drawing attention to her lack of a proper wardrobe.

  Hardly recognizing herself, she took a seat and let Flora style her hair.

  When Kate emerged from her room, she looked around self-consciously before making her way to the stairs. Harkness, the butler she’d been briefly introduced to when she’d arrived, greeted her as she reached the bottom. “Lady Katherine, the family awaits you in the green salon.” The man’s accent was undeniably English. This household was full of surprises.

  Her stomach tightened as the butler motioned toward the door. It was a strange thing, to feel so nervous. She’d already met Callum. But somehow this meeting felt weightier, more real. After all, the duke and duchess would be looking on.

  She took a calming breath and followed Harkness in. “Lady Katherine,” he announced. Her courage faltered as a whole host of eyes turned in her direction. Foolishly, she’d believed she would be dining with only her family-to-be. Instead a roomful of strangers took her measure.

  “A Scottish plaid?” she heard someone whisper.

  “He’ll never—”

  Her gaze was immediately drawn toward a man off to her left, with his bearish features and shock of white hair. Though she could not have said why, she knew him to be the Duke of Edinbane, even without an introduction. He wore an austere, imposing look. She felt stripped bare as he scrutinized her, seeming to be estimating her value.

  Perhaps young Jack hadn’t exaggerated after all.

  The duke’s gaze came to rest on the brightly colored plaid settled around her shoulders. His eyes narrowed. “What is this?” His voice was low but not so low she couldn’t hear the disdain in his tone. She shrank back in confusion.

  The duchess touched his arm. “’Tis all I had that would fit her. Her trunks have nae yet arrived.”

  “Her ensemble was not intended to offend you, Father. Not everything is,” Callum said.

  The duke let out a low growl. “Lady Katherine,” he said finally, inclining his head.

  Despite the pounding of her heart, Kate curtsied and held out her hand, which he encased in his two larger ones, his grip unforgiving. “I am sorry to hear about your grandfather’s poor health,” he said finally.

  A lump rose in her throat. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

  “You arrived not a moment too soon.” The duke’s voice was brittle, with nary a hint of his son’s soft Scottish brogue.

  “Indeed not, sir.” She looked around, hoping for some reassurance.

  As though he’d heard her thoughts, Callum came to stand beside her, meeting her glance with a wide smile. He bowed, and she took the brief moment to observe him. He was dreadfully handsome in a fitted superfine jacket and deep-blue waistcoat—looking every inch the future duke.

  “Och, Lady Katherine,” the duchess said with a timid smile. “Yer a beauty, even in that auld frock.”

  Kate bowed her head. “Thank you, Your Grace. I’m grateful for your gener-osity. Such conditions were not how I imagined making your acquaintance, I assure you.”

  “Think naethin’ of it. I cannae—”

  “Dinner has waited long enough, I think,” the duke interrupted and offered his arm, leaving the duchess little choice but to take it. The other guests followed suit, and Callum stepped forward, offering his arm to Kate. She didn’t look at him, but as her hand settled in the crook of his elbow, she could feel a distinct awareness between them, a hum of attraction that was impossible to ignore.

  His gaze swept over her appreciatively. “I think I finally ken why tartans were outlawed for so long.” He winked at her, and a rising heat scorched her cheeks as he helped her into her chair.

  She sighed with relief as he took the seat next to hers. A decadent meal was served amidst lively conversation. Her future father-in-law kept a firm hold on the discussion around the table, his many guests only too anxious to defer to him. Occasionally, the duke deigned to ask Kate a question. Between bites she answered as well as she could, but inevitably her response was diverted back to a topic the duke controlled. Her estimation of Jack’s opinion grew.

  During the duke’s long monologues, she took pains to observe Callum. He was attentive and answered when spoken to, but there seemed to be a latent intensity about him, as if he’d rather pace around the table than sit as one of its occupants. Certainly not the flirtatious man who had escorted her into dinner.

  But every time she began to believe him a somber dinner companion, he would look up and give her a disarming smile. As often as not an untamed wave of his dark-brown hair fell over his forehead, and he impatiently brushed it back, only adding to his charm. And then there was his Scottish brogue—that came and went like a passing breeze. How difficult he was to make sense of.

  Kate soon grew too tired to try. As the meal dragged on, she found her eyes drooping. She stifled her sigh of relief when the ladies were excused to the drawing room.

  Callum stood as well and cleared his throat, garnering his father’s attention. “I think I’d best escort Lady Katherine up to her rooms.” His gaze met hers as he extended his arm. “She has had an exhausting journey and is in need of a good night’s rest.”

  “As you will,” the duke said. “Goodnight, Lady Katherine.”

  The duchess bid her goodnight as well, and Kate thanked them both and voiced the expected niceties to the other guests, her stomach awash with nerves. Even amongst so many people she felt quite alone.

  At long last, Callum escorted her to the stairs. He stopped at the bottom, taking her hand from his arm and turning to face her. There was a surprising vulnerability in his expression. “I apologize for my father. He—”

  “You needn’t,” she interrupted rather more forcefully than she’d intended. “Apologize for him, I mean.” In truth, Kate felt a swell of appreciation for Callum’s kindness. It felt like a ray of light in the encroaching lonesomeness. “I’m grateful.”

  “Grateful?” His brows pinched together in confusion.

  “Yes, I . . .” Now, with him staring at her, it felt too brazen, too desperate to put into words. But still she pressed on. “I’m grateful to you . . . for marrying me. For giving me a roof over my head.” It wasn’t coming out right at all. “I only mean to say I suspect you didn’t have much choice in the matter either.”

  He didn’t reply one way or another, only gave a stiff bow. “Goodnight, Katie. Until tomorrow.”

  Tomorrow.

  Kate’s heart thumped in her chest. Suddenly sleep was th
e last thing on her mind.

  Once in her room, she blew out a breath of relief when she saw her trunks arranged against the far wall. She hadn’t expected them until tomorrow morning. Hopefully that meant Helen had arrived in one piece and was downstairs eating her own dinner.

  Kate crossed the room and opened her blue trunk. The contents had shifted a little during the long journey northward, but her things seemed unharmed. She retrieved her sketchbook and some charcoal. She took a seat close to the fire, biting her lip as she tried to conjure the moment she’d first laid eyes on Callum. And then she began to draw.

  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?