Heart in the Highlands Read online

  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 for
ced 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.”

  Chapter Five

  The rest of the day passed in a whirlwind. A host of guests joined them for a banquet that seemed to go on forever. There were endless introductions, and there was course after course of food and far too little fresh air. To make things worse, an uncomfortable strain surfaced every time Callum came in close proximity to his father.

  The minutes both dragged by and jolted forward. But not a single one passed during which Kate’s pulse didn’t gallop with trepidation at the thought of what awaited her that night.

  When Callum took her hand and indicated their intention to leave, her knees nearly gave way as she stood. Every eye turned in their direction, and Kate could feel the weight of expectation. Did they think her a good match for Callum? Or was she seen as an imposter, a foreigner, amongst so many Scots?

  Kate grew a little faint, her head spinning, her stomach aflutter. Fortunately, Callum had a strong grip, and with no indication of any extra effort on his part, he escorted her to the stairs. The case clock that stood against the wall in the entry struck ten.

  When they reached her room, she turned to face Callum, the door at her back. Breathe, she reminded herself. The air felt thin. Kate couldn’t say a word. Her body was alight with nerves that ricocheted around inside her like a firecracker gone off in a lidded kettle. She reached behind her back to open the door, but her clammy palms and trembling fingers wouldn’t cooperate.

  Callum leaned against the wall beside her, one arm crossed over the other, and stared at her, the hint of a smile ticking in his cheek. “Do ye need me to get the door?” he teased and then gently reached out and moved her aside. “Allow me.” With one deft movement he pulled down on the doorhandle and pushed the door wide open.

  She stared at him, wide-eyed. Surely . . . surely he wasn’t planning to come in with her now . . .

  As if he’d read her mind, he said, “I’ll be back in half an hour. Does that give ye enough time?”

  She dipped her chin in the slightest nod.

  “I promise to come unarmed, if that’s your concern.” He held up his hands to show he held no weapon, and this time he didn’t suppress his smile.

  Teasing again. His absolute irreverence gave her the boost of courage she needed. Kate stepped into her bedroom and spun back to face him. “Don’t count on the same from me,” she said with half a smile and firmly closed the door.

  She rang the bellpull, and Helen soon arrived. The maid took out the pins in Kate’s hair one by one, without saying a word. She seemed to sense Kate was in no mood for chatting, and for that, Kate was grateful. The routine task was familiar and brought Kate an odd sort of comfort, though it couldn’t quiet the buzz of her thoughts. She touched a finger to her wedding ring, remembering the dizzying spiral of warmth Callum had ignited when he’d pressed a kiss to that very spot after the ceremony. A drove of butterflies erupted in her stomach, for there was certainly more kissing to come.

  Don’t think of it, she scolded herself. Not now.

  She looked up and met Helen’s eyes in the mirror as the woman plaited her hair. Her maid gave her a mournful, sympathetic look, which only served to heighten Kate’s nerves. “Oh, for goodness’ sake, Helen, it’s not as though I’m a lamb going to slaughter.”

  Helen shook her head. “Poor dear,” she muttered to herself as she unlaced Kate’s stays.

  Kate sighed and looked heavenward. She would receive no comfort from this quarter.

  After finishing with the stays, Helen drew out Kate’s night rail. Kate remembered choosing it as part of her wedding trousseau, but now that it was time to wear it, it only heightened her nervousness. It was a white gauzy, lacy thing, and Kate shivered as Helen pulled it over her chemise. Next came her sultana robe, a sky-blue silk trimmed in delicate lace. Helen crossed it over Kate’s chest and pulled the collar as high as it would go. She cinched it tight, tying it in a fierce knot, as if it were some sort of armor and Kate was going into battle.

  When at last Helen stepped back, she looked Kate over from top to bottom until finally she gave a resigned nod. She cleared her throat. “Courage, my lady,” she said and then turned on her heel and left the room.

  Hardly comforting.

  Kate took a seat at the vanity and picked up the small bouquet given her by the kind young woman in the pews. Struck with the sudden recollection of her promise, she went to her trunk in the far corner of the room and retrieved her Bible. With the inkwell provided at the small desk, she took the quill and on the front page wrote Callum’s name and her own and then the date of marriage. She carefully spread the flowers out and closed the thick book, pressing the flowers between the pages. Now to make sure the flowers were undisturbed. She went back to the trunk and placed her Bible under the multitude of sketchbooks she’d packed. Those should be heavy enough to hold the flowers in place as they dried. Pleased, she returned to the vanity and began to run the brush through the loose hair at the end of her braid, needing something to do lest her nerves get the better of her. How long had it been? Twenty minutes? Thirty?

  She had just set her brush down when a brisk tap sounded, and the door that connected her room to Callum’s creaked open. Kate very nearly knocked her brush to the floor. She caught the handle right before it went over the edge.

  “Is that your weapon of choice, then?” Callum asked, nodding toward the viselike grip she had around the brush handle.

  Her pent-up tension released in a wave of laughter. “Yes.” She turned and pointed the brush at him, still smiling. “And now you know not to cross me.”

  Her smile faded, and her mouth parted a little as she took in the sight of him. Callum wore a dark-green dressing robe, casually tied. Underneath he still wore his shirt and trousers, but his neck cloth and waistcoat were gone, along with his boots.

  “Aye, I do,” he agreed. His voice had a distracted tenor, and it didn’t take long for her to realize she was not the only one staring. Callum’s eyes were fixed upon her in rapt attention, not in a rakish sort of way but the way in which one might look upon a great painting . . . in wonderment and admiration.

  Unaccustomed to such adulation, Kate felt her pulse quicken in a sort of dreadful anticipation. She set the brush back down and made to stand, willing away the flush that left her a little breathless.

  “Don’t get up just yet. I wanted to speak with you about something.”

  At his words, her pulse slowed, thudding along with an almost painful throb, exhausted from the fits and bursts it had been subjected to all day. But she merely nodded and settled back in her seat, adjusting her robe as she regained her composure.

  Callum pulled over the spindle-legged chair from the desk and set it down beside her. For the first time, she noticed the small two-handled silver dish in his hand.

  “Oh, is that . . . ?”

  He gave her a half smile. “This is a quaich.” He pronounced it quake. He set it between them on her dressing table.

  “It’s tradition in Scotland that we drink a wee dram of whisky together, to bless our marriage. Usually ’tis done right after the ceremony, with everyone looking on.” He let out a deep breath. “But as my father is opposed to all things Scottish, we’ll do it just the two of us.” His face darkened, and the terse clip of his voice hinted at some underlying tension.

  She knew there were plenty who considered the Scots to be a backward and intractable people, but this made no sense. “Opposed to all things Scottish? Is your father not Scottish himself?” As she said the words aloud, she remembered the duke’s clipped English accent, not all that different from her own.

  “Nae, he’s very English.”

  “But he’s a Scottish duke. I don’t understand.”