Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
C allum
“If you dinnae stop storming through our halls,” Freya says, “I’m going to pad the floors and walls.”
“What are you on about?” I run a hand over my beard, turning and pacing back toward Freya.
She’s changed into a flowy black dress for dinner. The gold bangles on her wrists jangle as she gestures at me. “You! This! You're pacing this hall like a caged tiger. What’s wrong with you?”
“It’s five fifteen,” I grumble, glancing at the clock on the wall for what feels like the hundredth time.
“So?” Freya throws a hand on her hip.
“She’s late. ”
“Late for what?”
“Tea. I told her five sharp.”
Freya rolls her eyes at me, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. “You’ve got it bad, haven’t you? Fifteen minutes without her and our dainty little island flower has brought the mighty Callum Burnes to his knees.”
I scowl at her. “Dinnae be ridiculous. You know how I feel about my tea.”
“How you feel about your tea?” She tries to cover her giggle with her black fingernails. “Or your wee Fi?”
My voice thunders through the hall. “Freya?—”
Never put off by my anger, she moves in, teasingly tapping a finger against my chest. “Are you sure it’s the hungriness that has you storming about and not the sexual frustration?”
I huff out a frustrated breath.
She laughs.
“That was NOT from sexual frustration.” I continue pacing, brushing past her as I go.
“Get back here,” she demands. “This will make you happy.”
“What?” I turn to watch her roll back the top of the antique desk she’s bought for the hall. Gilded frames of black-and-white portraits of the island hang on the wall above the piece.
“I’ve got something for you to sign.” She holds a stack of papers between her fingers, a devious smile on her face.
“Good.” I go over to her. She sets the papers on the desktop and hands me a pen.
She points to a few lines. “Sign here. And here.”
As I swirl my signature across the page, I breathe easier. This document gives me some semblance of control. Since Fiona arrived at my doorstep, I’ve been out of sorts. This feeling is unlike anything I have felt before, and I find it unnerving.
It's like having a tumbler of fine whisky right before you, yet being unable to take a sip.
“Feel better?” she asks.
“A bit.”
She tucks the papers safely into the desk, rolling the top back down. “Why don’t you go talk to her? Maybe she’ll arrive faster if she knows someone eagerly awaits her. More bees with honey and all that.”
“I don’t need your advice,” I snap.
I know she is right even as the words leave my mouth.
She says, “When did that ever stop me from giving it to you? How about this for advice: be nice.”
“I’m—nice.”
“And a little patience would go a long way,” she says. “You’ve only just sprung this idea on her this morning. Give it some time.”
“We’ll see.” Before she can give more unsolicited sisterly advice, I brush past her.
With a determined stride, I approach the sitting room where Fiona is supposed to join us for tea. As soon as I enter, I find it no longer empty as it was when I checked at five. My eyes meet hers, and the energy between us is so intense that I’m momentarily taken aback.
She wears a pale blue dress that looks lovely with her complexion.
Freya follows behind me. “Och! Fiona. Hello.” Freya slips into her favored butter leather armchair by the window.
Fiona stands to greet us. “Sorry for being late,” she says sweetly, an innocence in her voice that sends a jolt of desire straight to my core. “I got a little tied up with unpacking.”
“Sit. Sit.” I clear my throat, trying to soften the angriness from my voice. “Do you have everything you need? Is the room to your liking?”
Her eyes light up as she sits on the small, patterned sofa. “Yes. Thank you. It’s a beautiful room. Someone must have known how much I love pink.”
“‘Tis a coincidence,” I lie, sitting on the matching sofa across from her.
The day I decided Fiona would be coming here, Freya, my personal decorator, was given a clear outline of Fiona’s likes and dislikes. The bed is covered with a handmade quilt, the curtains are lace, and the walls are painted a soft, dusty rose. My only rule for Freya?
Spare no expense.
“Still. Thank you for making me feel at home.” The smile drops from Fiona’s face. “Until we get this matter settled, that is.”
“The matter of you becoming my wife?” I clarify .
I’m unable to tear my eyes away from her pink lips. I've only had a few kisses, and I crave more.I busy myself handing out plates for the casual dinner chef has spread over the large round coffee table we surround and help myself to a warm, flaky pie.
"So, tell us about yourself, Fiona," Freya prompts, pouring tea for the three of us. “It’s been years since I lived on the island. You were only a wee thing when I moved here for university.”
Fiona shyly sips from her delicate, porcelain cup before answering. "Well, as you know, I’m the youngest of a pack of brothers. Grew up next to Bayne and his clan. I studied ecology in school. I worked under the professor. Remember him?”
“Och, God, yes! He filled in for Ms. Peters when she fell ill. Taught our Forensics course. He’s the one who got me invested in criminal law.” Freya wrinkles her nose. “But the man always smelled of cabbage."
“Yes!” Fiona giggles. “I grow it for his soup. He says it keeps his brain sharp.”
Freya plops a sugar cube in my cup. “To sweeten you up,” she says. “Our Callum will be needing the recipe from the professor. Won’t you, Callum?” She gives a good-natured laugh and pats my knee. “Only teasing ‘cause he calls me the brains of our duo.”
I stir in the unwanted sugar. “I’ll be the first to admit Freya’s cleverer than me.”
Freya laughs. “Aye, only more clever ‘cause I’m a woman. Yer clever enough yourself, brother. ”
Always the hostess, Freya pulls Fiona into the conversation. “What do you like to do for fun?” Freya asks, sliding a meat pie onto Fiona’s plate.
Starving, I gobble mine down with one hand, licking the crumbs from my fingers while Fiona delicately slices hers with a fork and knife. “I've always loved gardening and cooking,” she says before taking a dainty bite and chewing thoughtfully.
Freya wrinkles her nose. “That’s work, sweet girl! You’ve only just graduated from university. Surely yer off clubbing with your friends, hitting the city on the weekends?”
Knowing the wildest Fiona’s ever gotten is drinking apple martinis with her episodes of American reality television, I snort into my tea, excusing myself with a dabbing of my napkin. “Sorry.”
I watch Freya play with her food, pinching at her pie crust as if she’s full or bored. Fiona meticulously eats every bite with the utmost politeness but does not waste a crumb. As do all children who were raised in poverty.
Fiona shoots me a look. “I stay in, mostly.”
Freya shakes her head, long blonde hair swishing. “That won’t do. I’m taking you out. First thing, once I get these renovations done, we’re going down to the High Street to go drinking at O’Malley’s?—”
“Over my dead body,” I rumble. “You’ll be doing no such thing. Fiona has a wedding to plan.”
"She can do both. Besides. What do you think we’re going to be doing for her hen night? Staying in? Drinking tea and knitting?” Freya picks at the crust of her uneaten pie. “I dinnae think so. ”
“There’s no need for a hen night.”
“Especially since there won’t be a wedding,” Fiona whispers.
“Either way, let’s plan on a girls’ night out. Shall we? Drinks and dancing. You’ll love the girls from my firm.”
Imagining Fiona at a club, wearing a short skirt and dancing around other men, I’m reaching my boiling point. “Freya?—”
Fiona interrupts, her soft voice diffusing the situation as she changes the subject. “I’m not one for going out. Really. But thank you for the offer. I tell you what, I have fallen into a side hobby I think you’d enjoy, Freya.”
“Pray tell!”
Fiona describes a craft she’s learning: making metal stamps for wax seals, the kind you put on the back of envelopes. I find myself leaning forward in interest as she speaks, studying her delicate features and listening to the way her voice lilts.
Never thought I’d be so interested in crafting but when it comes from her pretty lips I’m intrigued.
“Do you have a name for this house?” Fiona asks me.
“No,” I say.
Fiona smiles. “A grand house like this. It’s worthy of a name. And a seal to match. If you dinnae mind me saying.”
“Mind?” Freya laughs. “This will be your house just as much as ours. And wouldn’t a seal be a lovely way to seal your wedding invitations?”She puts a gentle hand over Fiona’s. “When yer ready, love. ”
Fiona goes quiet, clamming up as she does when the wedding matter is discussed.
“Isn’t that right, Callum?” I feel the pointy toe of Freya’s shoe kicking me under the table. She gives me a pointed look, directing me to say something nice.
“Yeah. If you’d like a seal, we’ll have one.” I take a big gulp of tea. “Anything you’d like.”
"What about you, Callum?" Freya asks with a knowing look in her eye. “We’re all from the island, but we ran in different circles. Tell Fiona something about yourself.”
As always, Freya’s nosing into my life. She’s had a personal mission to force me to “connect” on a deeper level, to “share” my feelings and other fluffy stuff I loathe. The only way I need to connect with my bride-to-be is physically. I know how to make her cave to my ways, to crave and need me.
"I think we all know enough about me," I say with a dismissive wave.
"Aye. But not everyone knows how you came to be the lord of this castle," Freya says teasingly. “That’s a story worth telling.”
I shift uncomfortably in my seat. I prefer to talk about something else. "I'm sure Fiona doesn't want to hear about that," I say gruffly.
To my annoyance, Freya’s piqued her interest. Fiona speaks up. " I'd love to hear." I stare at her momentarily, deciding whether to give in to her request.“Please,” Fiona adds softly.
It’s my undoing. If only she knew I’d do anything for her, she may be more eager to marry me .
“You know we had an issue with the Hoax. How they tried to use our island as a stop on their people-trafficking route.”
“Yes,” she nods. “I remember. All of us girls on the island were terrified. But we knew the Kings would protect us.”
“Aye, we will.” Pride wells up in my chest at her words, hearing the trust in her tone.
Nearly a decade ago, Cailean Bayne—goes by Bayne—and I put aside our families’ differences. We buried the century-old grudge, a dispute over a piece of land, and came together to form the Kings Mafia. Buying an old, gray stone cathedral on the island, Bayne and our men restored it, calling it the Bayne-Burnes house or the Kings Castle.
Our men unified in that building, pledging undying loyalty to one another and swearing to protect the more vulnerable people of our island.
“Tell the story,” Freya nudges.
I say, “After Clive Smith turned on us and introduced the Hoax to our island, Bayne and I decided the Kings needed a place in Glasgow to gather men, make a stand, and observe the comings and goings of the gang. With Kitt just moving here from the States and settling on the island, I didn’t think it’d be fair to upheave her. And I knew I had Freya here. We decided I would be the one to come.”
“And I’m so thankful ye did. I love this city, but having no family around was a bit lonely. I took him around and showed him the real estate. I tried to hook you up with my realtor friend, didn’t I, Callum? But he wasn’t having it. It seems he’s only got eyes for one?—”
“Anyway,” I cut her off, finishing the story I didn’t want to tell in the first place. “I wanted something more modest but Freya already had her heart set on this place.” Freya and I share a look. “She brought me here last, knowing I’d fall for the view of the sea, same as we had at home.”
“The owner was a sweet, older woman. Mary Allan. She didn’t have the money or the means to keep it up, and it’d fallen into disrepair. Tons of entrepreneurs had their eyes on the place, wanting to capitalize on their income and turn it into condos. The idea broke her heart. She’d raised children here and couldn’t stomach the idea of the house without a family.”
“That’s how she said it,” I add, remembering Mary’s words. “‘My house will be brokenhearted with no family to love it.’”
Freya’s eyes twinkle at the memory. “Callum made an offer on the spot. Well above what she was asking. Then, I offered her the studio to live in.”
“Did she take you up on the offer of the studio?” Fiona asks.
“No. She went to live with her sister but promised to visit when the house is finished.” I don’t tell the women I text Mary daily pictures of the renovations.
Fiona says, “That's so beautiful, you two. How much you loved this house, and you were willing to go above and beyond for it. It's a perfect match for you and Freya." She gives me a pointed look as if to say that my spinster sister and I are destined to live our days here together but alone.
I return her pointed look. “Aye. I promised Mary Allan I’d fill this house with children.”
Fiona looks away with a blush.
“I’m sure Mary would love to be invited to the wedding,” Freya adds, gently elbowing my side. Another kick nudges my shin, and her message is clear.
Shut up before you scare her off, you big lug.
I drain the rest of my tea, the wedding heavy on my mind, knowing I still have to get the bride to agree to marry me.
It’s proving more difficult than I thought.