Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
C allum
Once we started up, there was no stopping us. It was like a dyke being opened and the flood crashing in, sweeping away an entire city. Our bodies took over, destroying any coldness or space between us.
Physically, we are a perfect match. Our appetites match one another’s, as does our stamina. I could never be with anyone else after her. They wouldnae compare. Just another reason that I will have her as my bride.
Sure, she agreed to stay and get to know me. Her one non-negotiable term?
Soil for her raised garden beds.
She will be mine. I’m sure of it. But now, I’m not steamrolling her. I’m working. Hard. Fighting to earn her hand .
I’m doing as Freya says, showing my “sweet” side, which means I bring Fiona tea in bed—milk, two sugars, and by milk, she means a quarter cup—I rub her shoulders after a day of gardening, and I listen when she speaks.
It turns out that hearing what a woman says is an entirely different thing from actually listening to her.
Listening means I’m trying to understand her point of view. In the past, I’ve been able to repeat back word for word what a woman had said to me. Now, with Freya’s encouragement, I’ve learned to listen to Fiona.
In life, Fiona’s teaching me I can always take what I want and that I have to work for it. Thus, she’s teaching me patience. Only outside the bedroom, though. All things sex, she’s eager to learn, to please, to be pleasured.
She never turns me down.
I won’t let her work, but she finds her ways to try and earn her keep. I caught her dusting once, put her right over my knee, and spanked her shapely bottom, turning it that pretty blushing pink color she’s so fond of.
Afterward, she turned her attention to making metal stamps for wax seals.
She carves the wood herself, using several sizes of sharp blades set into metal handles, making little pictures of unique places on our island. The cliffs rise behind the part of the shore where we have bonfires. There’s the research center, the low building that burned down last year, the place where she’d studied the habits of cod for so long. Even the codfish himself, which she’s somehow managed to make look beautiful, has a starry design decorating the area behind the fish.
Then, she takes the wood prototype and visits the small shop of a metalsmith she’s made friends with. He takes his time casting her wood into metal and adding a red rubber-wrapped handle for her stamp. She returns a week or two later to collect it.
My guards follow her on all her outings, keeping a distance so she and Freya or any islander friends visiting her can feel free while staying safe on Buchanan Street, Glasgow’s main pedestrianized shopping area and her preferred shopping site.
Thus far, we’ve managed to hold off any curious questions from the island by saying I’m staying here to keep Freya company, which is true. Her da’s been making weekly phone calls, checking in, and staying sober. After hearing how happy she is when they speak, he's been okay with her being here. He’s proud that she stood up to me, denying my forced marriage.
My eyes on the island have confirmed as much.
Our weeks have fallen into an easy rhythm.
Freya might be right; we don’t need a false contract. Fiona is coming around all on her own.
It’s a busy time for Freya at work, but she and Fiona always make time for their Friday night LNO, or lasses’ night in, where they do beauty masks on their faces and such sticky nonsense. Then, the three of us settle in with popcorn, and they laugh at my face while we watch a romantic comedy film.
Then, they have their fortnightly Saturday night GNO with the women from the law firm and any islanders who want to visit. It’s my night off, a quiet evening to listen to my Big Country albums, smoke cigars, and drink whisky while the girls explore the city nightlife, their bodyguards in tow.
Fiona even organized a trivia night out with her Golden Girls from the church circle. The women seem to like seeing Fiona and me together when they gather at our house and board the (guarded) buses that take them to the High Street.
Where the women party their faces off at O’Malley’s.
I’m sure the women from the island feel the heat between us when I hold her in my arms and kiss her goodbye, telling her to “Be good.” I’m sure it reminds them of their younger days, sneaking off with their lovers to kiss by the island's cliffs.
I hope they spread the word that Fiona’s in good hands when they get off that ferry, spread it like the seeds from the Strawberry Grass blooms, floating in the wind.
The weather was perfect today, and she’s been in her garden all day. We’ve got tickets to a comedy show in the city at the Playhouse, a small theater company where Bayne’s brother Eamon first began acting. I’m concerned the humor will be a bit crass for my Fiona, but I’ve chosen the tamest comedian they have.
She’s been to the Playhouse but never a comedy show. First, we’ll have dinner at a sushi bar downtown. Raw fish is another first for her.
I’ll never tire of showing her new things, watching the delight pop into her pretty eyes.
Both in and out of the bedroom.
I look at my watch. Quarter to six. It's time to drag my little gardener into the shower to prepare for our weekly Thursday evening date night out.
I walk out the oversized French doors that lead to the stone patio. “There you are.”
My heartbeat wants to simultaneously slow down and speed up at the sight of her. Slow down because I’ve found her safe and sound. But speed up because my blood rushes whenever I look at her sweet face.
Fiona kneels on the plush pink gardening mat I’ve bought her, demanding the staff bring it out for each of her weeding sessions. And that she use it. I’ll not stand aside and watch as she wears out her joints.
She looks up at me, smiling. “The garden is so lush here. I’d have thought my veggies would be half the size they grow on the island, but they’re even bigger here in Glasgow!”
“Here at my house,” I correct her.
“Your house!” she laughs. “As if the address has anything to do with it!”
“Everything grows better with me around.” Giving my crotch a naughty cupping, I look at her and laugh. “Bigger, too!”
“Stop that,” she says, blushing, always so modest. But I see the smile she tries to hide. Lifting her hand to hide her mouth, she giggles. “Lord, you are bad, aren’t you?”
“Just bad enough to make you blush, my girl.”
“Stop it.” Gripping the leafy green top of a carrot, she plucks it from the raised garden bed I’d had built for her ages ago. “Anyway, as I’ve said, the veggies are massive. Take a look! ”
She holds up an enormous carrot for my inspection.
“They’d better be,” I say. “Otherwise, Thomson’s Landscaping and Gardening will be hearing from me.”
Instead of ordering the modestly priced topsoil she’d requested, yes, I’d splurged on the very best earth for her garden. Never did I think I’d be so happy paying through the nose for cow shit, but I smiled as I signed the purchase form, knowing how happy her garden makes her.
I didn’t want her worrying her pretty ginger head over the price; she’d have told me to keep with the topsoil.
“Callum Burnes.” She eyes me with suspicion. “Have you done something to my soil?”
I sit down beside her where she kneels, my ass resting on a crate, my knees bent. Reaching out, I brush the dirt from her face with the backs of my knuckles. “You’ve got a bit of that good soil on your face. Just there.”
She grabs my hand in hers. “Tell me. Did you sprinkle a little magic in my beds?”
“I may have tampered with your garden a wee bit,” I confess. “I upgraded your soil a wee bit.”
“Thank you,” she says with a smile. Her smile quickly fades. “But I don’t like you tampering without telling me, Callum.”
“Why not?” I laugh. “Anytime I’ve tampered in your life in the past, it always worked out in your favor.”
She narrows her gaze, studying my face. “What do you mean?”
“Nothing. ”
But she presses on. “What time have you tampered with my life besides bringing me here?”
“Never! I haven’t—tampered.”
She puts a gentle hand on my knee, applying light pressure, her eyes demanding an answer. “Remember when you agreed to my terms? That I would stay and get to know you better, and you said, no secrets between us?”
“Aye.” That’s the exact point that has me feeling so guilty right now.
“If I’m to be your wife, I’ll have no secrets between us.” Her voice is soft, clear, but firm.
I’ve landed myself in a heap of manure. Haven’t I? I brush the soil from my fingers, running a hand over my beard.
“Callum?” Her voice is firm. Her gaze set.
She’s not letting this go.
Why did I say anything at all?
What good does it do, telling the truth now?
“I just mean you coming here and all…it worked out for the best, didn’t it?”
“That’s not what you meant at all. Don’t ye lie to me. Even about something small.” She goes to rise, and my hand shoots out without thinking about it, grabbing hers to help her up. She stands before me, brushing dirt from her hands and the pretty pink apron she wears to protect her clothing.
I go to wrap myself around her, but she holds me at arm's length .
“Just a tick.” A hand rests on her hip, a gesture and saying she’s picked up from Freya. “You said that it always worked out in my favor whenever you've tampered in my past. I know you brought me here to pay off my father’s debts, but I don’t think you’d consider that tampering. I think you’d call that collecting a debt that was owed to you.”
“Aye…”
Her gaze bores into mine. “So, what did you mean?”