Chapter 24
Chapter
Twenty-Four
Callum kneels beside me, watching raptly for my reaction. “Feel how soft.”
But all I feel is my pulse hammering—in my throat, my fingertips, my everywhere—each beat a thunderous whump-whoosh I’m sure he can hear.
Any other guy, and I’d think he was making a pass. But Callum just looks…earnest. He really does want me to feel this heather.
So I force myself to focus and tune into the ground beneath me. I shift my weight, rocking back and forth, wriggling side to side. And then I laugh. Because it is soft.
I look at Callum to tell him so, but the way his eyes shoot up to my face—just a beat too late—makes me realize that, yeah. Maybe he was making a bit of a pass.
My gaze skitters away, like oil off a hot pan. A really hot pan.
Focus. We were talking about heather.
“It is soft,” I say, “but you’re right, I can’t imagine it’s soft enough for Campbell beds.”
“I suppose your mother would be the one knowing.”
I run my hands over the heather, idly feeling the scratch of it along my palms. “It’s weird to think she lived in that place. Lived with Hamish.” I shudder.
He drops, stretching out beside me. “Indeed she did.”
I keep forgetting. Callum knew my mother when she was my age. Maybe even talked to her. Maybe even…liked her?
My insides revolt.
Nope. Not going there.
I clear my throat. “What was she like when she was younger?”
“You mean last month?” He winks.
“Right,” I say, “it was last month for you.”
“Janet certainly enjoyed life in the big house, but she didnae enjoy the affections of the laird. If you ken my meaning.”
I do get his meaning. And it’s a bit of a relief. That she was married to such an old man disturbs me. Hearing that it disturbed her too makes me feel a little sorry for young Janet.
“You mean she didn’t want to…” I fix my eyes on the clouds, wracking my brain for a historically appropriate way to phrase it.
But Callum gets my drift. “Aye. She didn’t want to. Or so we gathered.”
The we part of that gives me pause. The laird’s wife not sharing her husband’s bed would’ve been the talk of the servants. Before social media and twenty-four-hour news, it would’ve been the talk of everybody.
“Why did Donag hate her so much? I mean, I get that my mother is no picnic. But why did Donag hate her so much she’d want to send her to the future?”
“It’s to do with Donag’s husband, Gregor. He and your mum—”
I roll my eyes. He and my mom. Naturally.
“I have an idea where this is going.”
“I’m afraid so. Not long after she was married, Janet had reason to come by the cottage—”
“Wait.” An irrational surge of jealousy twists my belly. My mother at nineteen must’ve been gorgeous. Hell, she’s twice my age and still gorgeous. And I know how she operates. If it’s male and breathing, she’ll toy with it.
I roll to my side, facing him, forcing my voice to stay even. “She came to see you at the cottage?”
“Me?” He scoffed. “’Twasn’t me she took a fancy to. Not once she set eyes on Gregor MacGregor. Donag’s husband.”
I recoil at that. “Ew. But he was—what?—in his thirties?”
“That’s often how it’s done.” He shakes his head, bemused, as if we’re discussing the peculiar habit of some rare species.
“And, aye, Gregor was older, but he wasnae old, not in the way the laird is. Gregor worked a plow all his life, and, well, the man was big. Like a giant. The first time Janet saw him, I’d swear her eyes popped wide as trenchers. She took up with him not long after.”
“While he was married to Donag?” I practically shout the words. I know my mother lacks a strong moral compass, but this is appalling.
Callum shrugs it off like he’s seen it all. Which he probably has. “Campbells believe they own everything, even people—particularly when it comes to clan MacGregor. Janet was no different. She wanted Gregor, and so she had him. Because she could.”
His eyes go distant. “I don’t believe Gregor saw it as any great hardship. She’s quite bonnie, your mother.”
My stomach churns. I mutter some response and roll onto my back, cringing. This is insane. Jealous of my mother. Over something that happened centuries ago.
But I should’ve known. Of course Callum found her attractive. Every man does. Janet could act like the meanest, coldest, most selfish and harebrained person of all time and men would probably ogle her more than ever.
I feel the tenderest touch along my jaw.
Callum is guiding my chin to look at him. He’s rolled onto his side now, lying even closer to me in the heather. “What’s this storm breaking across your lovely face?”
“I’m not surprised you thought she was so pretty.
” The words are quick and pragmatic, making me sound like I’m apologizing on his behalf.
“She’s always stealing attention. Stealing the show.
Stealing everything, really. It’s no shock she graduated to stealing husbands.
She’s stolen hearts. Minds. And the thing is, people let her.
Nobody’s ever given me nearly so much attention and energy as the world gives my mother. ”
“Heed me, Rose.” The firm command in Callum’s voice takes me aback.
“Janet never stole a thing from me. Not my attention. Nor my regard. If I’ve not spoken my feelings plainly, it’s been out of respect for you.
She is your mother, aye? But…how to say it?
Janet might’ve been an old crone for all I knew, because when I looked at her, all I saw was her mean and miserly heart.
She was a child, whining and moping till she got what she wanted, no matter who she needed to take it from. ”
“So you weren’t attracted to her?”
A huge laugh cracks from him. “Sweet Jesus and all the saints. Me? Keen for Janet? I’d sooner kiss a nettle.”
Then, suddenly, his eyes spark with mischief. “Ah. I see what needs doing, then.”
Propping himself on an elbow, he leans in.
“She was a manipulative shrew, concerned with naught but herself. A she-devil, I tell you. Who wouldnae blink before stabbing her own child in the back.” As he winds up, it’s like his sheer distaste for my mother is filling him with some giddy, lighter-than-air gas, lifting his body from the heather, bringing him closer to me.
“And aye,” he declares voice ringing with mock conviction, “she did. She stabbed you in the back. Because she’s a selfish, uncharitable dragon of a… of a…”
I press a hand to his chest, my teary laughter cutting off his words. And once I’ve started giggling, I can’t stop.
Emotion spills out, unspooling something deep inside me. I’ve carried this knot in my gut for so long—self-doubt, loneliness, resentment, guilt—but Callum’s words slice right through it.
Just like that.
It’s such a relief. The ultimate reality check assuring me that everything I’ve felt all this time has been valid. More than valid, it’s what any reasonable person would feel.
“Shrewish she-devil dragon lady pretty much covers it.” I wipe my face as I catch my breath. “Thank you. Really.”
He flops back. “I’ll let you know when I come up with a way to end that.”
“Please do.”
“Until then—” He rolls to face me again, utterly somber once more. “Dinnae ever doubt that you’re held in the highest regard. Because you are. I hold you in the highest regard, Rosie.”
My throat clamps shut. At some point, my laughing tears become actual crying. I nod, silent but sure. And Callum understands.
He always does.
We lie there for a while, not speaking. But it’s not an anxious quiet. Callum is close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from his body, steady and real. Yet what I feel in this moment isn’t desire. Not exactly.
It’s comfort. It’s peace, and reassurance, and the quiet relief of being seen.
At home, things are flying at me. Chores, schoolwork, responsibilities. There’s never time to pause, to really consider my situation. Even if there were, I wouldn’t let myself. That kind of thinking would only feel like self-pity. And what good would that do?
But here, with Callum, I let myself go there.
Staring at the clouds, I ask, “Why am I not enough for her? We could have a great life. Upstate New York is beautiful.”
He doesn’t say anything to this. He wouldn’t. Callum isn’t the kind of person who needs to hear himself speak. His patience and attentiveness soothe me.
I roll onto my side to face him again, and this time I get comfortable, curling my legs and tucking my hands under my head like I’m a kid readying for a nap. Making myself vulnerable in a way I haven’t dared since childhood.
“We have a roof over our heads,” I say, and at first it’s like hearing someone else speak, so unfamiliar is this freedom to express what I think. What makes me sad or happy.
“We’re warm, fed. You can’t begin to imagine, Callum. How easy it is. Clean water at the touch of a finger—hot water. Hot showers. Television—oh wow—how I could use a good TV binge right about now.” I note his confusion and wave it away. “Long story. I’ll get back to that.”
There’s so much to explain. So much Callum doesn’t understand.
So how come he gets me so well?
“But first, my mother.” I scrub my face and draw in a shuddering breath. “In a weird way, it was better when I thought she was just some sort of narcissistic egomaniac. But I guess she just didn’t love me enough to be content.”
A thousand questions flare through my mind like fireworks. I start with the biggest one of all. “Has she ever loved anybody? Did she love him? Gregor, I mean.”
“Janet?” He chuffs a laugh. “Who’s to say? The woman’s as deep as a puddle and twice as bothersome.” He shrugs. “Doesn’t mean she can’t love, though. I imagine she does love you, in her way.” He shakes his head as he studies me. “How could she not?”
The matter-of-fact way he addresses my lovability makes my breath hitch. I try to find the words to reply, but thankfully Callum continues. “Rosie, you could seek the wisest sage on the highest mountain, and still not have your answer. All I can tell you is what I saw.”
“What did you see? Like, what happened to Gregor?”