Heart in the Highlands Page 6

  Callum peered at her as if trying to decide how much to tell her. “I’m sure a history lesson is not how you envisioned spending your wedding night, but I suppose there are a few things you should know. I’ll be brief.” He leaned forward and set his elbows on his knees, his eyes growing stormy.

  Kate instinctively leaned toward him.

  “My grandfather came over from England as part of the effort to quell the Jacobite uprising. His show of valor at Culloden earned him King George’s gratitude and the dukedom of Edinbane. He brought his very English wife and young son—my father—and built Castleton Manor while he imprisoned Jacobite supporters and enforced new laws aimed at undermining the clans.”

  He paused his speech, interlocking his fingers. “My father was raised by a man who dedicated his life to subjugating the Scottish people.” His last words were stiff and solemn.

  “But your mother . . . isn’t she . . . ?” Kate would have wagered her entire dowry that Callum’s mother was Scottish.

  “My father’s first two wives were English, born and bred. But both died without producing an heir, and my father married my mother, who did provide an heir—me—seven months after they’d wed.”

  Kate sat without moving, taking in every detail. She didn’t pry further, sensing Callum would speak more freely if not compelled. But a quiver of fear moved through her, and she couldn’t help but wonder if he resented her for being English. No doubt his father had arranged the marriage, giving Callum little choice in the matter.

  “Blair, the one who gave us the quaich today,” he said, reclaiming her attention.

  She nodded.

  “He is my uncle, my mother’s brother. Blair and his family—the Stewarts—that is where you found me yesterday. I was helping them with their sheep.”

  “I see.” Everything fell into place. The contentious scenes last night at dinner and this morning in the chapel. The overbearing tension between the duke and duchess. And Callum divided between his proud and titled English father and humble Scottish mother. But Scotland had clearly taken root in him, no matter his father’s prejudices. Where she fit into all of it, Kate hadn’t the faintest idea.

  Callum picked up the quaich and held it out to her. “And now that ye’ve learned the oddities of the family you married into, let us drink to our union.” He left no room for further discussion, and Kate supposed there might be a better time to satisfy her curiosity. Surely Callum would not be so charming toward her if he disliked her.

  She took the quaich from him, holding it with both hands. “I’ve never had whisky before,” she admitted, and her hands trembled.

  “Take a wee sip.” Callum glanced over at the bed. “It’ll help ye relax a bit, which wouldn’t be the worst thing for either of us.”

  “I’m not nervous,” she burst out rather more loudly than she’d intended.

  Callum smiled and said, “’Tis good to know my wife does not have a gift for lying.”

  At that, she inhaled deeply and brought the quaich to her lips. The malt- and-honey-flavored liquid at first seemed benign, but the minute it went down her throat it burned. She began to cough and sputter. Callum took the cup while she patted her chest. “I don’t believe I am Scottish enough to drink whisky,” she rasped, eyes watering.

  He laughed, a rich, deep-chested sound that brought a smile to her face. “Ah, but ye will be.”

  The pronouncement caught her by surprise, yet a billowy warmth seemed to expand inside her at his words. Callum didn’t seem the type to give false praise. And she sensed he meant the words as a token of admiration.

  “Now it is my turn.” He held the quaich up the way one would toast with a wine glass. “To our marriage. May it be long and prosperous.” He tipped his head back and swallowed. “So now we are blessed,” he said and began to place the quaich back on her dressing table.

  “Not quite.” Surprised at her own boldness, Kate reached for the quaich, her fingers brushing his as she took it from him once more. She lifted it in a toast as he had. “And may your wife learn to drink whisky like a proper Scot.” She took a tiny sip and this time managed to choke down her cough.

  “Hear! Hear!” he said and laughed, and this time the sound was heartier and more carefree. It brought her pleasure to make him laugh so.

  But the sound on his lips soon faded. “Ah, Katie. Ye’ve taken me by surprise.”

  With that one simple phrase, the humor of the moment vanished, and the air between them grew charged, like the unsettled feeling in the air before a summer storm.

  Kate’s heart began to beat unreasonably fast. “I hope you mean that as a compliment.”

  Callum leaned forward and gently tugged at the ribbon secured at the end of her braid. Freed of its tie, her hair slowly unraveled from its plait, laying in loose waves over her shoulder. He took hold of a loose strand of her hair, rubbing it between his fingers, his gaze on hers. Surely he could hear the thundering of her pulse. His other hand came to rest under her chin. “Aye, ’twas a compliment,” he finally said and pressed a brief and gentle kiss to her lips.

  Without being aware of it, she’d brought one of her own hands to rest upon his chest. The air in her lungs didn’t seem to know whether to go in or out. “In that case, my lord, I think I should like another,” she said far too breathlessly. When had she grown so bold?

  One of his hands moved to the curve of her neck, where his palm brushed her bare skin, sending cascades of pleasure through her. “If I must,” he whispered. He kissed her again, more insistently this time, and a buzzing warmth filled her from head to toe.

  Kate leaned forward and began to kiss him back, running a hand through the hair at the base of his neck. It was as thick and soft as she’d imagined. He reached a gentle hand around her back, and his touch raised gooseflesh on her skin.

  She pulled back, her heart racing, her breath ragged. She’d expected to do her duty, but she hadn’t expected this warmth, this . . . wanting. It was all happening so fast—she felt weak and trembly yet incredibly alive. “Callum?” she whispered.

  “Aye?” Callum’s gray gaze was a heavy, tangible thing, striking a strange vulnerability in her that made her feel tender and raw.

  “I’m still a bit nervous. Perhaps I should have another drink of whisky.”

  He gave a soft chuckle, which slowly faded into silence. “Nae. There’ll be nae need for that.” His eyes drifted from her eyes to her lips as he sat statue still for several long seconds. “I promise to take things slowly.”

  Then he reached for her, his movements measured and patient. He cupped the sides of her face and pressed a kiss to her forehead, to each of her eyelids. The warmth of his breath brushed her skin as he kissed her cheeks and her nose. Then he claimed her mouth, his kisses tender and soft. Her nerves melted away, and she had the distinct sensation of falling, of tumbling headfirst into something more wonderful than she’d ever known.

  “Och, Katie,” Callum murmured. “Ye are a fine surprise indeed.”

  Chapter Six

  It was the movement, more than the sound, that woke Callum. He blinked into the darkness, trying to orient himself. It was his wedding night. The warmth at his side, Katie. Her shoulders shuddered on a soft sob. She was crying, he realized, still trying to blink himself awake. But why? Had he hurt her somehow?

  Before he could reach out and take her in his arms, she eased away from him, turning into the pillow to muffle her crying. Some instinct stilled him before he spoke her name. He didn’t move, hardly even breathed, sensing she very much wanted a moment of privacy.

  The quiet sound was not one of pain but of loneliness, a sound so forlorn it made his heart twinge. After several long minutes, Katie’s crying quieted. She sucked in deep breaths and finally, finally, her breathing settled into the rhythmic sound of slumber.

  Callum eased out the breath he felt he’d been holding since he’d woken. Sleep was far away, and his mind was ravaged by guilt and worry over the woman next to him. She’d seemed so peaceful as she’d drifted off to sleep in his arms. What had woken her and caused her tears? He could ask her in the morning, of course, but he had no desire to confront her when their relationship was so new and fragile. Besides, she’d seemed quite determined to keep whatever heartache had beset her to herself.

  He stared at the outline of her shoulder in the darkness, and when she shivered, he pulled the cover up over her before he drifted off to sleep some minutes later.

  Callum woke again as the first fingers of light began to poke through the heavy blue drapes. Beside him, Katie’s hair spilled across the pillow, her breaths slow and rhythmic. Somehow, in the hours after he’d fallen back asleep, she’d ended up in his arms again, curled against his chest. There was no evidence of last night’s tears. She was lovely, with her creamy skin and sooty eyelashes, the perfect bow of her upper lip. He liked seeing her this way, her features soft and untroubled. In fact, he couldn’t seem to look away. He stayed where he was for another few minutes, wanting to linger, to forget the rest of the world.

  How strange it was that they were now husband and wife. Their union hadn’t been what he’d anticipated. Katie had trusted Callum completely. The kind of trust he’d believed he would only earn over time. Much as he’d appreciated it, it had frightened him a little to be offered so much when he’d done so little to merit it.

  Yet she hadn’t trusted him with her tears.

  He veered away from that disquieting realization, turning his thoughts toward Blair’s lost sheep and the agreement he’d made with his father. Soon his brain was humming with contemplations and concerns that refused to be put off.

  He gently pulled his arm from beneath Katie’s head. She sighed deeply and nestled into the pillow but didn’t wake. Given all she’d been through the last few days, she’d likely sleep until noon. He studied her features a little longer—her winged brows, the fine bones of her cheeks. Who was this woman, with her silken hair and tantalizing dimples? With kisses one minute and tears the next? One night together didn’t change the fact that they were still practically strangers.

  Without making a sound, he shifted off the bed and put on his robe. Katie still hadn’t stirred. She—his wife—was the result of the bargain he’d struck with his father, and he couldn’t help but think he’d gotten the better end of the deal. Now all that remained was to see it through. If everything was taken care of to his satisfaction, Callum might return in time to kiss her awake. To discover what had so upset her in the night. After a long moment he turned away and crossed through the door that led to his own room.

  There was no sense in waiting for his valet. His father planned to take some of the wedding guests out shooting this morning, and Callum hoped to catch him before he left. He dressed himself and headed downstairs.

  The morning room, where the duke usually took his breakfast, was empty and dark, hardly the kind of environment that would foster a friendly conversation. With the servants overburdened by seeing to so many guests, Callum took the task of warming the room upon himself. He stepped over to the fireplace and dropped to his haunches. Using the shovel, he brushed away the ashes from the banked coals. Once he fed the coals some kindling, the fire burst to life, a blaze of flames hungry for fuel. He added several logs, making sure they caught fire, and then replaced the shovel.

  The creak of wood floors sounded overhead, indicating that some of the guests were starting to rise. A young maid—one whose name he couldn’t recollect—came running into the room and nearly bowled him over. She stopped just short of him, her eyes as wild as a skittish colt.

  Callum gave her a smile. “I’ve taken care of the fire. Now all that remains is to see that the duke has his breakfast.” The man was always in a better mood when he had food in front of him.

  The girl swallowed. “Yes, my lord,” she said and bobbed a brief curtsy before hurrying off in search of one of the footmen.

  Callum headed to the study. The drapes were already open, letting in the early-morning light. He made his way to the ledgers and began to thumb through them, flipping to the page that had open lines for new entries. He did a rough calculation in his mind, hoping to give his father an estimate of the sum that would be required to replace Blair’s lost sheep.

  Upon his return to the morning room, Callum’s father had already taken a seat in the oversized green wingback chair and was buttering toast from the tray on the table to his left. He glanced up at his son and then returned his attention to his breakfast. “I thought you’d stay abed awhile longer. You know your duty, after all.” His gaze flicked up to Callum. “An heir.”

  Callum’s jaw ticked. With one casual phrase his father had reduced the night Callum had shared with Katie to nothing more than an act of breeding. His father had a way of debasing the most beautiful things, like a disease that withered a rose on its stem. Callum blew out a breath.

  He fought to keep his voice even. “I came to discuss the replacement of Blair’s flock. I’ve done some calculations—”

  “That wasn’t necessary.” The duke bit into his toast and chased it down with a large swig of coffee.

  “I want it taken care of immediately, before the tups are brought in. October is almost upon us, which means we haven’t much time.” The last thing he wanted this morning was an argument.

  The duke reached for his rasher of bacon, carrying on with his breakfast as if Callum hadn’t spoken.

  Somehow his indifference nettled Callum more than usual. He blew out a breath. “Would you rather I take the matter to Davies? I spoke with him yesterday. He can approve the funds for the purchase if ye’d rather not concern yourself.”

  His father wiped his mouth and looked up. “I’ve already spoken to Davies this morning.”

  Callum’s brows lifted. That was unexpected, to say the least.

  “We’ll not be replacing any of Blair’s flock,” he said, taking another drink of coffee. “Yet.”

  Callum’s heart dropped. Surely, he’d misheard. He stepped forward, the tone of his voice frosty. “I recall with absolute clarity the agreement we made the day before last.”

  “As do I.” The duke cut into his egg, still not meeting Callum’s eyes. “Which is why, if you’d looked over the agreement I had Davies draw up with more care, you’d know that I will replace his flock, as soon as he repays what he owes me for the dikes I had built last year.”

  Callum’s hand twitched with the desire to overturn his father’s tray. There he sat, casually eating his breakfast, while Blair worried over how he would feed his family through the winter.

  “You lied,” he spat, cursing himself for not reading the agreement more cautiously. “You never intended to replace his flocks. You knew, with his losses, he’d never be able to repay you.”

  The duke finally looked up. “Careful, boy.” He pointed the knife in his hand toward Callum. “You are perilously close to showing disrespect.”

  “Excuse my clumsiness.” Callum bowed his head in mock deference. “I had hoped to make my contempt for you perfectly clear.”

  The duke pushed his tray back and got to his feet. “You have far too much of your mother in you.”

  Callum’s temper flared. “Better than having too much of my father, who cannot manage to honor his word. If ye think I’ll allow your deceit to pass—”

  The duke stood at his full height. “You have little leverage at this point.”

  Pressure built in Callum’s chest, a need for release so powerful he didn’t trust himself to move, to even breathe. He’d known to be careful when making this arrangement, but he’d never guessed his father might resort to such trickery.

  Numbness coursed through him, a sort of helplessness that seemed to hold him captive. He’d been deceived. Taken for a fool. His own father had manipulated him into a marriage he had never wanted, and now . . . now it was too late.

  Callum tried desperately to see past his own anger, to launch an assault of his own. But it was no use: he’d been trapped. “Very well. I will see the debt repaid.”

  The duke’s lip curled up in a sinister smile, and he lowered his voice. “Ah. Such a simple solution. But then how will you learn the lesson I am trying to teach? A true man—a duke—would never have allowed himself to be taken advantage of.”

  The man was mad—obsessed with power and control. And Callum wouldn’t stand for it any longer. “Your power is not absolute. I have funds of my own, and you cannot stop me from helping the Stewarts.”

  His father didn’t blink. “I can, and easily, at that. If you dare go against my word, I will see them turned out. They will not be welcomed as tenants anywhere in Scotland. I’ll make sure of it.”

  Callum stiffened at the duke’s ultimatum. He knew his father too well to doubt the man meant what he said. He stared, seeing only a stranger. Surely such a monster could not be his sire. The man hadn’t a shred of humanity. His very nature seemed bent on cruelty. Callum’s limbs trembled with anger, like the ground under rolling thunder. What could he do against a man with such a Machiavellian mind?

  “What? No quick retort?” the duke mocked. “How disappointing.”

  Callum clenched his jaw. His mind continued working, sorting through the dwindling options available to him. As the seconds ticked by, the strain between him and his father grew.

  “Now that the matter with the Stewarts is settled, you can work on producing a worthy heir.” His father jerked his head toward the door. “Back upstairs with you.”

  “The devil I will.” Every one of Callum’s muscles writhed with tension.

  The duke’s lip curled up in a sinister sneer, and Callum gritted his teeth, staring down at his boots. “It’s fortunate I followed my instinct and chose an Englishwoman for you. She, at least, can help breed out the Scots in the line.”

  At that, Callum’s head snapped up. His blood boiled, his veins near to bursting at the sudden flare of heat. Was that really why his father had chosen Katie? “You are a pathetic snake. A poisonous, vile man who preys on others. Do you see anyone around you as anything other than a pawn to be moved at your pleasure?”