Chapter 22 #2
The first steps are flawless. Jane has clearly worked hard, and despite her anxiety, she moves with surprising precision. We turn, separate, come back together, following the intricate patterns that tell the story of our clan.
— You’re doing incredibly well, I murmur during a brief close pass.
— Don’t talk, I’m counting in my head, she mutters through her smile.
We reach the most technical section—the one where we hook pinkies and spin quickly. That’s when I notice my mother edging closer, her expression unreadable. Jane’s focus wavers for just a second.
— Don’t look away, I whisper. Focus on me.
She does—but I can feel she’s lost her count.
Now comes the jump. The one she’s been dreading.
— Ready? I murmur.
— Absolutely not, she replies, but I don’t really have a choice, do I?
I place my hands at her waist, preparing to lift her. The music swells.
— Now.
I lift her, and for one perfect moment, everything works. She’s light in my arms, graceful despite her nerves. But as I lower her, her foot catches the hem of her dress. I see the panic flash across her face as she tries to recover.
— Oh no!
I try to steady her, but the momentum is too strong. We stumble—straight toward my mother, who had stepped far too close to the dance floor.
Everything slows. Jane falling. Me trying to catch her. My mother frozen in horror.
Impact.
Jane grabs onto the nearest thing—my mother’s evening gown.
The sound of tearing cuts through the silence.
My mother lets out a strangled cry as a significant portion of her dress gives way, revealing a silk petticoat no one was meant to see.
— Oh my God, Jane gasps, scrambling upright. Mrs. McGregor, I am so, so sorry—
My mother’s face settles into a glacial mask I know all too well.
— I… it was an accident, Jane stammers, cheeks blazing.
A murmur ripples through the crowd. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Heather watching with barely concealed satisfaction. Phones are subtly raised—exactly what we don’t need.
My mother clears her throat, gathering what remains of her dignity.
— I suppose, she says coldly, traditional Scottish dances are a bit too sophisticated for some people.
The remark—loud enough for nearby guests to hear—sparks a sudden, unexpected anger in me.
— Mother, I say firmly, it was an accident.
— A predictable one, she replies sharply. Perhaps with more preparation—
— Jane has trained for days for this dance, I cut in, my voice carrying further than I intended. Days learning a choreography she had never seen before, just to honor our traditions.
I step forward and wrap an arm protectively around Jane’s shoulders.
— Most people here couldn’t execute half the steps she just performed perfectly up until that final jump.
Silence falls.
I’m not known for publicly defying my mother.
— Callum, Jane murmurs, embarrassed, that’s not necessary—
— It is, I say, not taking my eyes off my mother.
No one deserves to be humiliated for trying to belong to this family.
Jane has made extraordinary efforts since she arrived.
She’s learning our customs, tolerating our eccentricities, adapting to a completely foreign environment.
The least we can do is acknowledge that.
You could hear a pin drop.
My mother looks at me like I’ve just announced I’m demolishing the castle to build an amusement park.
— That dress, she says finally, belonged to my grandmother.
— And I feel terrible about it, Jane says quickly, stepping forward. I promise I’ll have it repaired by the best tailor in Scotland. And if it can’t be fixed, I—
She falters, searching for a way to make up for the irreparable.
My grandmother steps in, saving us with impeccable timing.
— Oh, come now, Isobel, she says lightly. I remember quite well the evening you spilled an entire tray of punch on Laird McDonald’s ceremonial robe. No one is perfect—especially not during their first Scottish dance.
A few quiet laughs ripple through the crowd. My mother actually blushes.
— That was different, Maggie protests.
— How? You were shaking with nerves—just like Jane today. And I don’t recall old McDonald humiliating you in front of an audience.
She turns to the musicians and claps her hands.
— Play, gentlemen! The ball has only just begun.
As if by magic, the music resumes—this time a waltz, simpler and more forgiving. Guests disperse, the tension dissolving.
My mother retreats, defeated but far from appeased, muttering something about changing her dress.
I turn to Jane, who still looks shaken.
— I’m so sorry, she whispers, staring at the floor. I didn’t mean to cause a diplomatic incident.
— Hey, I say gently, lifting her chin. You didn’t do anything wrong. These dances are difficult even for those of us who grew up with them.
— Your mother hates me now. Even more than before.
— She’ll recover. And if she doesn’t, we’ll send Hamish to chew through her favorite dresses.
A small smile finally appears.
— Come on.
I lead her out onto the terrace.
— You defended me, she says softly once we’re outside. In front of everyone. Against your mother.
— Of course I did. You’re my wife.
The words come out with a conviction that surprises even me. The contractual nature of our marriage suddenly feels very far away.
— Technically, I’m your wife because of the contract, she reminds me.
— Technically, maybe. But right now…
The words fail me.
— Right now? she prompts.
— Right now, I’d like to dance with my wife, I say finally, offering my hand. A simple dance this time. No aerial maneuvers. What do you say?
She hesitates, then places her hand in mine. I pull her close.
— I think I’ve exhausted my dance skills for the evening. I can’t guarantee your toes will survive.
— I’m willing to take that risk.
The music drifts softly from inside, and we sway more than waltz. Jane relaxes gradually, her head eventually resting against my shoulder.
— Callum? she murmurs.
— Mm?
— Thank you. No one’s ever stood up for me like that.
Something tightens in my chest. I look down at her, fighting the sudden urge to kiss her.
— Then the people in your life were fools, I say simply.
Two hours later, the party is in full swing.
The dance incident has faded into the background, replaced by new memorable moments: Lachlan spilled whisky on the minister, Keira launched into an impromptu contemporary dance in the middle of a traditional reel, and Hamish—who somehow made it inside—ate half the floral arrangements before being escorted out.
I’m standing on the terrace, enjoying a rare moment of quiet, when I hear footsteps behind me.
— So this is where you’re hiding.
Jane joins me, two glasses of whisky in hand. She offers me one before leaning against the railing beside me.
— I’m not hiding, I say. I’m getting some air.
— Of course. And I just stepped out to admire the stars—not at all to escape your cousin Meredith, who insists on telling me the full story of all six of her deliveries.
I wince in sympathy.
— Did she tell you about the one where the baby came out—
— Yes! she cuts in with a shudder. In detail. With hand gestures. She even tried to show me pictures… I will never look at a watermelon the same way again.
We laugh together, then fall into a quiet silence, gazing out at the landscape. The night is clear, the sky scattered with brilliant stars.
— It’s beautiful, she murmurs. In Los Angeles, you never see this many stars because of the light pollution.
— One of the advantages of living in the middle of nowhere, I say. The nights are spectacular when it’s not raining.
— You really love this place, don’t you? she asks, studying me.
— It’s my home, I reply simply. These hills, this castle, this land… they’re part of me in a way I can’t really explain.
— You don’t have to. I’m starting to understand.
She looks back up at the sky.
— I didn’t think I’d get attached to this place, she admits. It was just supposed to be temporary. An escape. But now…
She trails off.
— But now? I prompt.
— Now I understand why you fight so hard to protect it. There’s something special here. Something beyond the land and the stones.
Her words echo something deep inside me.
— Exactly, I murmur. My father used to say we don’t own this land—we’re just its temporary guardians. Our duty is to preserve it for the generations that come after.
— That’s a beautiful philosophy.
— It is. Though sometimes… overwhelming. Carrying centuries of responsibility can be suffocating.
It’s not something I usually say out loud. Jane studies me carefully.
— Is that why you’re always so controlled? So methodical?
I nod, surprised by her insight.
— If I make a mistake, it’s not just my problem. It affects everyone—the family, the staff, the future of the estate.
— That sounds like a lot to carry alone, she says softly.
— I don’t really have a choice.
— Everyone has a choice, Cal. Even you.
Her hand rests lightly on mine.
The simple contact sends warmth through me. I stare at our hands, strangely captivated by the way her fingers rest against mine.
— No one calls me Cal.
I meet her gaze, and something shifts between us.
— Well… now someone does, she whispers.
And I find myself wishing she always would.
— And you? I ask, needing to break the intensity. What made you want to become an actress?
She smiles, her gaze drifting as she slips into memory.
— I always loved being someone else. As a kid, I was painfully shy. Becoming a character let me express things I never would’ve dared to say as Jane Carter.
— You? Shy? I say, amused. The woman who argued with my grandmother at breakfast about sheep self-determination?
— Hard to believe, right? she laughs. But it’s true. Acting set me free. On stage or on camera, I could be brave, eloquent, passionate—everything I wasn’t in real life.
— And now? Those qualities seem very much part of you.
She thinks for a moment.
— I guess the roles eventually rubbed off on me. Pretending to be brave long enough made me a little brave for real. Funny how sometimes playing a role helps you discover who you really are.
Her words resonate more than they should. Isn’t that exactly what’s happening to me? Playing the devoted husband… discovering something real underneath?
Our eyes lock.
For a moment charged with quiet electricity, the world fades away. Her hand is still on mine—our fingers now lightly intertwined. I’m not sure if she’s leaning closer… or if I am.
— Jane.
I say her name like a question I don’t dare ask.
— Cal, she answers, just as softly.
The moment shatters as Lachlan’s booming voice crashes onto the terrace.
— Ah! There’s the star couple! Grandmother’s looking for you everywhere. She wants to make a toast—or cut the cake—or possibly both at once. I lost track after my sixth whisky.
Jane and I spring apart. She gives me a look filled with unspoken promise—this conversation isn’t over, just postponed.
— We’re coming, Lachlan, she says with a smile. We wouldn’t want to keep Maggie waiting, would we?
— Absolutely not, my cousin agrees, swaying slightly. Last time someone made her wait, she rewrote her will and left everything to her canary.
— She doesn’t have a canary, I point out.
— Exactly! he declares triumphantly before staggering back inside.
Jane laughs softly, then turns to me.
— Shall we, Mr. McGregor?
She offers me her arm with theatrical elegance.
— With pleasure, Mrs. McGregor, I reply, taking it.
As we head back toward the ballroom, our hands brush again—and this time, I don’t pull away. Maybe it’s time to allow a little room for improvisation in my life.