Chapter 15
Freya had lived more of her life these past nine days than she had during the entire year.
Nine days. It had been nine days since Callum Ross arrived at Castle Cairncross. Nine short days since he’d come marching up her front drive as if her castle belonged to him, and nothing had been the same since then.
Nine days, and in that time she’d witnessed a fire, lost a sister, been chased through the woods by a vengeful, torch-wielding mob, stabbed a laird, and been kissed for the first time.
And what a kiss it had been!
That one kiss had destroyed all her peace. She couldn’t say whether that made the kiss a good one or a bad one, having never been kissed before, but it had certainly been a momentous one.
She touched her fingertips to her mouth. Every time she thought about that kiss her lips tingled, as if Callum were still kissing her, their breath still mingling. It was almost as if his lips had left an indelible imprint on her own.
After such a thrilling week, one would think a lady would fall asleep the instant her head touched the pillow and that she’d remain that way throughout the night with nary a twitch, but she’d woken hours ago to a still silent castle and darkness outside her bedchamber window.
Living, as it turned out, was apt to rob a lady of her sleep.
Her mind, the troublesome thing that it was, had insisted upon reliving the events of the last nine days, both the good and the bad, and once her busy brain had started to turn, her eyes had refused to close again.
She lay on her back atop the soft, comfortable bed Mrs. Doherty, Balnagown Castle’s housekeeper, had taken her to yesterday evening, and daydreamed away the hours until the sun rose, chasing away the darkness outside her window and ushering in the cool morning light.
Last night, she’d dreamed of … nothing. Nothing of any consequence.
And if a few hazy fragments were still floating in her mind—a pair of gray eyes reflecting the moonlight, a big, rough hand toying with a lock of her hair—well, a lady couldn’t control her dreams, could she?
That was the lovely thing about dreams. One might commit all sorts of scandalous acts in a dream, and escape accountability for every single one of them.
But her dreams had fled in the morning light, as all dreams did, taking sleep with them.
She tossed the covers aside, rose from the bed, and made her way to the window.
Her bedchamber was at the back of the castle, where the land dropped down in a steep, grassy slope to a wooded valley below.
From here she could see the blue ribbon of Balnagown River winding through the hills and valleys of Easter Ross.
It was nothing like the view from her bedchamber window at home. Loch Dunvegan was magnificent, but even on those days when the water lay as still as a sheet of glass it was a fierce and dramatic sight to behold, one dominated by gray light and tempestuous waves crashing against jagged rocks.
It was breathtaking, but it had none of Balnagown Castle’s serenity.
It soothed something inside her, something so small and so deeply buried she hadn’t realized it was agitated until it ceased fluttering. What must it be like to wake every morning and find nothing but calmness outside your window?
The valley would be a lovely place to walk, especially in the spring when the green of the new season overtook the drab winter brown.
She gazed out at the slender band of blue water winding through the trees until her stomach began to grumble. There was no sense in putting it off, was there? She’d have to go downstairs eventually, if only to keep from starving.
It wasn’t that she was afraid to face Callum, of course, it was just … well, the kiss made it all a bit awkward. What did a lady say to a gentleman who’d kissed her so thoroughly?
If she knew the answer to that question, the ride from the Kyle of Lochalsh to Kildary wouldn’t have been as silent as it was. In those two and a half days of hard riding, she and Callum hadn’t exchanged more than three dozen sentences.
Perhaps less.
Neither of them had breathed a word about the kiss.
It was as if it hadn’t happened. Or it would have been, if there hadn’t been something new between them now, a heavy, pulsing awareness so tangible it was almost as if she could dig her fingers into it, clutch it in her hands.
But while she’d spent the entire two and a half days of their journey bouncing between nervousness and giddiness, Callum hadn’t seemed to even notice the tension between them.
Perhaps kisses were different for gentlemen? Yes, that must be it. He’d likely already put it out of his mind. For him, it must have been a small, insignificant thing. No doubt he’d forgotten all about it. Why, he probably kissed ladies like that all the time, and never gave it a second thought.
If he could get past it, then so could she. It was just one kiss, after all, but if it hadn’t been her first kiss, she likely would have put it out of her mind by now, too. It wasn’t as if it had meant anything to her.
Right, then. She’d just march downstairs, greet Callum as coolly as she would a distant acquaintance, and see if there was any breakfast to be had.
She turned away from the window, squaring her shoulders, but a few steps from the bedchamber door she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the looking glass above the dressing table and stopped.
She couldn’t go downstairs like this.
She was still wearing the night rail Mrs. Doherty had given her yesterday. That esteemed lady had cast a scandalized glance at the limp, creased dress she’d been wearing since she left Dunvegan, and snatched it up and made away with it.
But she hadn’t yet brought anything in its place. Aside from Cat’s cloak, which had somehow escaped Mrs. Doherty’s hawkish gaze, she didn’t have a stitch of clothing to her name.
She plopped down on the edge of the bed, the bravery of only moments ago deserting her. What if they’d all forgotten she was here? What would she do then? It would be dreadfully awkward if she appeared in the breakfast room in her filthy cloak and—
“Miss MacLeod?” A low knock sounded at the door. “Miss MacLeod, are you awake?”
She froze, darting a stricken glance at the bedchamber door. They hadn’t forgotten her, then. A wave of shyness came over her, and for one wild moment she had an absurd urge to dart into the clothes press, or scurry under the bed.
“Miss MacLeod? I’ve come to take you down to the dining room for breakfast.”
Oh, dear. Now she’d have to go down, wouldn’t she?
As if in answer, her stomach let out another urgent growl.
She rose from the bed, gathered the neckline of her night rail snugly around her neck, and tiptoed toward the door. Her hand hovered over the knob, but then she grasped it and threw it open with a touch too much force before her cowardliness could get the better of her.
“Oh!” The lady on the other side of the door took a step backward, blinking in surprise. “I see you are very much awake, after all.”
“I—yes.” For pity’s sake, why could she never act normal around strangers? “I beg your pardon.”
“Why, don’t be silly, child. You’ve no need to beg my pardon for anything.” The lady cocked her head, studying her for an instant before giving a decisive nod. “Well, well, it’s just as I suspected. You’re a wee bit out of sorts, aren’t you?”
“Perhaps a little, yes.”
“Ah, well, it’s not surprising, after such a long journey.” For her part, the lady didn’t seem at all surprised to find the laird had brought a stray young woman to their castle. Perhaps he made a habit of adopting waifs.
And kissing them.
“I’m Aila Ross.” The lady paused, then added, “Callum’s mother.”
His mother? Callum hadn’t said a word to her about his mother being here. Although now she thought of it, he hadn’t said much of anything at all about Balnagown Castle, or its inhabitants.
It was a bit odd, but Callum wasn’t a chatty sort of gentleman.
“Well, never mind. You’ll settle in soon enough. Might I come in?” Mrs. Ross held up her arm. Several day dresses, a shawl, and a few other bits and pieces were draped over it. “I’ve brought a few things for you.”
“Yes! Yes, please do come in.” Freya opened the door wider and stood back. “This is so kind of you.”
“It’s nothing at all, lass.” Mrs. Ross swept into the bedchamber and laid her bundle of clothing on the bed. “Callum said there wasn’t time for you to fetch anything from Dunvegan to bring with you.”
“Er, no.” What else had Callum told his mother about Dunvegan? Had he mentioned that she’d been driven out on the point of a pitchfork? Or close enough to it, in any case.
Aila Ross cast a measuring eye over Freya, then plucked a green day dress from the pile. “Shall we start with this?”
Freya fingered a fold of the green dress. It had been ages since she’d had a new dress, and this was a lovely spring green one, with a darker green ribbon trim at the waist and the hem of the skirt. It was a fine garment, made of soft, thick cotton. “It’s very pretty.”
Mrs. Ross held the dress up in front of her.
“Yes, I think it will do nicely. It looks as if it will fit, and the color is very nice with your green eyes and red hair.” She pressed the gown into Freya’s hands.
“The dressing room is just through there. Go ahead and change, and I’ll fasten the buttons for you. ”
Freya took the dress and did as she was bid, quickly exchanging her borrowed night rail for the borrowed gown, then reappeared in the bedchamber, awkwardly smoothing the skirts.
“Oh, yes. That will do.” Mrs. Ross beckoned her closer. “Come here, and I’ll do up your buttons for you.”
Once again, Freya did as she was told, and stood quietly as Aila Ross fastened the row of tiny buttons at the back of the dress, then turned her around with her hands on Freya’s shoulders. “There! My, don’t you look pretty. Your hair, though …” She tsked, shaking her head.