Chapter 17
Freya didn’t slam her bedchamber door.
It was a small triumph, but she’d seize it, nonetheless. There was some paltry measure of satisfaction in it, and goodness knew she had little reason to congratulate herself over this business with Callum.
A lady must take what she could get.
What a dreadful scene! How had she and Callum gone from those dizzying kisses under the willow tree only days ago to shouting at each other in the corridor where anyone who happened to be strolling nearby could have overheard them?
She sagged against the door behind her, brushing away the tears that threatened with an angry swipe of her hand.
What did Callum mean, accusing her of flirting with Gordon Corbett?
She’d enjoyed Mr. Corbett’s company this afternoon, but even if she’d wanted to flirt with him, she wouldn’t know where to begin.
She’d never flirted with a gentleman before.
But it was a week for firsts, it seemed. Flirtations, kisses, shouting matches with an enraged laird. Goodness only knew what tomorrow would bring. Perhaps she’d remain in her bedchamber until she could return to Dun—
“Miss MacLeod?” There was a soft knock on the door behind her. “Freya? It’s Aila Ross.”
Dash it. She swiped at her cheeks again, catching on her fingertips the one errant tear that had escaped. Callum Ross didn’t deserve her tears. Only a fool would weep over such an ill-tempered, scowling, high-handed scoundrel like him.
“Freya? I know you’re in there.”
She pasted a smile on her lips and opened the door. “Good afternoon, Aila. Thank you for arranging for Mr. Corbett to escort me today. He’s as charming as you promised, and quite knowledgeable about—”
“What happened between you and Callum, Freya?”
Oh, no. This just went from bad to worse, didn’t it?
It wasn’t enough that she’d kissed Callum, but now she would be obliged to confess her sins to his mother! Aila Ross was sure to blame her for all of it.
This was dreadful. How had she gotten herself into such a tangle?
“I beg your pardon for asking.” Aila stepped into the bedchamber and closed the door behind her.
“I happened to be coming out of my bedchamber, and I’m afraid I overheard you and Callum arguing.
I confess I’m quite shocked. Callum isn’t a perfect man, but he’s no rake, to steal kisses from innocent young ladies. ”
Freya held back a snort. If a gentleman who stole kisses from innocent young ladies could be called a rake, then Callum had behaved very much as a rake would.
She could hardly say so to Aila, however. There wasn’t a mother alive who wanted to believe her son was a seducer of innocents.
But she was no better than Callum. She’d behaved like a perfect fool, sighing over his pretty words and devastating kisses under the willow tree, and this is what had come of it.
All this, over a few stolen kisses! For pity’s sake, ladies kissed gentlemen every day without falling into hysterics over it.
“It, ah … it was an accident.”
Aila’s lips twitched. “Callum kissed you by accident?”
“Er, well, no. A mistake, rather. It was a mistake.” She perched on the edge of the bed, silently cursing her wobbling knees. They were always the first to go.
Aila hesitated. “It, ah—forgive me, Freya, but it was only a kiss, was it not?”
“Yes, of course! There was no, er …” There was no delicate way to finish that sentence. “It was just a kiss.”
Well, half a dozen kisses, but certainly no more than that.
But wasn’t that awful enough? She’d exchanged half a dozen kisses with a gentleman she hardly knew, and who believed her to be a flirt. Did he suppose she’d been flirting with him the entire time they’d been alone in Brodie’s cottage?
Was that why he’d kissed her?
Worse, had she been flirting with him, without realizing it? It was all so awful, the blasted tears she’d chased off earlier returned, and she covered her face with her hands.
“My dear girl.” Aila sat down beside her on the bed and laid a gentle hand on her back. “I will not make excuses for Callum’s behavior, but I will say that he’s had a difficult year, and hardly knows which way is up anymore.”
What did that mean? Oh, she didn’t want to know!
“It’s a long story, but I’m willing to tell it to you, if you’re willing to listen.”
Freya sniffled. “Yes, all right. If you think it will help.”
Very well, then. Perhaps she did want to know.
“I hardly know where to start. I suppose the only place is at the beginning.” Aila’s hand continued to move in soothing circles over Freya’s back. “Did Callum tell you he didn’t grow up at Balnagown Castle?”
“No. But isn’t Balnagown Castle the seat of Clan Ross?” She’d assumed Callum had been raised at Balnagown, but now she thought of it, he’d never said so.
He hadn’t said much of anything about his past.
“It is, yes, but there was a disagreement amongst the clan during the height of the Jacobite Rebellion, and like many clan disagreements, it became complicated. A deep rift developed between the two factions, one that has yet to fully heal.”
“I see.” It was a common story. Many of the clans had been torn apart by the Jacobite Uprising and had yet to heal the wounds that had been left behind.
“Malcolm Ross, Callum’s father, was a staunch supporter of Bonnie Prince Charlie, but there were other members of the clan who were loyal to King George II.
Malcolm was the Laird of Clan Ross in the spring of 1746.
He fought at Culloden, and many members of the clan made the decision to fight alongside their laird.
” Aila drew in a deep breath. “Not a single one of them returned to Kildary.”
Freya’s throat worked, but what did one say in response to such a tragic loss? There were no words. Instead, she reached for Aila’s hand and held it between hers.
“As you can imagine, the clan was devastated. Many of them held Malcolm responsible. They blamed me as well, and before long it became impossible for me to remain at Balnagown Castle. Callum was only an infant, and doesn’t remember that time, but the years that followed were challenging, and his memories of our struggles are quite vivid. ”
Aila didn’t elaborate further, but there was no need. It was no small thing, to be cast out by one’s clan. Great hardship must certainly have followed, and loneliness.
Pitiless, aching loneliness.
“The clan chose Alistair Niven as the new laird,” Aila went on. “He was a dear friend of Malcolm’s, and a good man.”
“Lorna Niven’s father.”
“Yes. He passed away in February. It was Alistair’s dearest wish to see the clan reunited, so when he felt his health failing, he called me and Callum back to Kildary. We returned to Balnagown Castle late last year.”
As recently as that? They’d been back for less than a year. “I daresay it’s been difficult for you.”
“It has, yes. Alistair’s dying wish was to see Callum made Laird of Clan Ross.
Alistair believed making Callum the laird would correct the wrong done to our family and hoped it would heal the rift and unite the clan.
Perhaps it will, in time, but for now, there are those who don’t approve of Alistair’s choice. It’s been difficult for Callum.”
“Ah, I see.” This explained the strangely cold reception they’d received the day they’d arrived at Balnagown Castle. That gentleman who’d greeted them—James—must be one of those who didn’t want Callum to lead the clan.
“It’s only right that Callum should become the laird, just as his father was before him, but I don’t have to tell you, Freya, that what is right and what is easy are rarely the same thing.
Those things that make sense in the abstract often become muddled in real life.
People are messy. They have a stubborn way of taking something simple and making it complicated. ”
Goodness knew that was the truth. One needn’t look any further than the villagers of Dunvegan for proof of that, but it seemed shortsighted indeed for anyone to object to Callum becoming the laird.
That is, he was a trifle brusque. There was no denying that, and perhaps a little frightening at first glance, although now she’d known him for a little while, it seemed ludicrous that she’d ever been afraid of him.
She’d been put off by his eyes at first, yes—such an unusually pale gray—but one grew accustomed to them, after a time. They were rather remarkable eyes, really, with those long, thick eyelashes.
Despite his flaws, Callum was a strong, proud, protective, and ethical man. She’d only known him for a week, but anyone could see he was a man of his word. If he hadn’t been, she wouldn’t be here now.
She’d be locked in the magistrate’s cellar in Dunvegan.
At best. At worst, her head would be mounted on a pike outside Baird’s Pub.
Good Lord, what a thought. When had she developed such a ghastly imagination?
But the point was, Callum had promised Hamish he’d keep her safe, and he’d done just as he promised, despite it proving costly for him to do so.
He was just the sort of man a clan should want as their laird.
“Callum doesn’t make it any easier on himself, of course.” Aila gave her a rueful smile. “But I don’t have to tell you that, do I? I daresay you noticed how stubborn he can be, after a week spent in his company.”
Stubborn? My, yes. He made Sorcha look accommodating, and that took some doing. She hadn’t thought there was a person in existence as stubborn as Sorcha until she’d encountered Callum Ross.
It wouldn’t do to say so to his mother, however. “He, ah, does seem accustomed to having his own way.”
Aila laughed. “How polite you are, Freya! But it’s quite all right, you know. I’m his mother, and I know he’s as stubborn as a mule.”
“I can’t argue with you there.” Freya gave her a grateful smile. “Thank you for explaining all this to me, Aila.”
“Of course, dear. Now, I’ll leave you to rest.” Aila rose from the bed, but she paused on her way to the door and took up the old, dark blue cloak Freya had left draped over a chair this morning.