Chapter 6
Callum was finding it desperately hard to concentrate on his ledgers.
The columns of numbers in front of him had become a blur, and he could time this difficulty to the moment when he had first laid eyes on Margot Tewsbury.
He had never lain awake at night thinking about Eileen, she did not fascinate him the way this stubborn Englishwoman did.
He had never felt desperate to kiss Eileen, touch her, or claim her and make her his the way he did with Margot.
Yet, there was a delicacy about her, an infinite femininity that called out to his maleness in a way that rendered him almost helpless.
He had never felt this way before, and the sensation scared him with its intensity.
He had even dreamt about Margot in the most scandalous way.
Nevertheless, he knew he had to overcome his wayward emotions in order to concentrate on the more mundane but more important matter of running his estate.
Damn! he thought savagely. She is driving me mad!
He frowned and made himself concentrate on his work through sheer willpower, and after a while he had managed to get through a reasonable amount of work.
However, just as he was making progress, Callum heard a knock at his study door. He looked up to see his steward, a white-haired elderly man called Malcolm Anderson, enter the room. The old man smiled at him, and Callum invited him to sit, then poured him a glass of ale.
“Malky,” he said pleasantly. “What can I do for you?”
Malcolm took a sip of his ale and frowned. He was on familiar terms with Callum, having known him for most of his life, so he could speak frankly.
“Lachlan Ferguson has sent word to me,” he began, frowning. “I have no idea why he wanted to speak to me and not you.”
“I do,” Callum said irritably. “He is too much of a coward. What does he want?” He went back to his paperwork.
“He wants to know why no wedding date has been set,” Malcolm replied. “Would you like to see his letter?”
Callum shook his head. “Nay, I know what he wants. He wants access to my wealth and my contacts so that he can become rich. He was furious that Eileen had to pay a dowry, even though it was a very modest one—it was only symbolic, really. He can wait. I am in no hurry, and neither is she. We ought to have some kind of courtship anyway.”
He swore as he lost his concentration and accidentally spilled ink all over the paper he was working on.
There was silence for a moment, then Callum looked up as it became drawn out and slightly uncomfortable. “Anything else, Malky?” he asked.
Malcolm shifted in his seat and cleared his throat, frowning and looking distinctly ill at ease. Callum sighed and gave up his attempt to work.
“Tell me,” he ordered.
“Well, the English lass,” he said awkwardly. “Should she not be in the servants’ quarters?”
“She is not a servant, but a lady’s companion,” Callum answered firmly. “Eileen would not stand for it, and neither will I. She has her own chamber, albeit a modest one, and that is how it will stay.”
He held Malcolm’s blue eyes with his own dark ones for a moment, until the other man looked away, shaking his head and frowning.
“Do you have a problem with that, Malky?” Callum demanded, with an edge of anger in his voice.
Malcolm sighed. “Cal, you cannot save everyone,” he claimed. “You must learn to harden your heart someday.”
Callum bristled, then jumped to his feet, his face a mask of fury. He moved around the desk and bent down so close to Malcolm that they were almost nose to nose.
“Would you walk away if you saw a hungry child begging by the roadside? Would you not give shelter to someone who was homeless? Would you beat an animal or a human just because you had the power to do so?”
Malky shook his head, looking shocked. “Of course not!” he replied indignantly. “What do you think I am?”
“I think you are a decent man, but misguided,” Callum replied.
He straightened up and put his hands on his hips.
“That young woman’s father was going to sell her to some lecherous old swine who would have done absolutely horrible things to her!
I bought her to save her from that because I did not wish to become the same kind of man as my father. ”
He paused to bang a clenched fist on the desk, causing Malcolm to jump.
“He beat and abused my mother and left her to die, even when she begged him for help.
When she fell ill, he showed absolutely no concern.
He tore me away from her on her deathbed so that I could not even spend her last moments with her.
I was seven years old, and my heart was broken. When I was only a child, he showed me nothing but contempt and beat me for the slightest infraction. Do you know what the happiest day of my life was, Malky? The day he died!
If it were not for him, my wonderful, loving mother would probably still be alive.
Harden my heart, you say? Not in a million years.
I will treat others as I would want to be treated myself, and I will never stoop so low as to deny help to someone who desperately needs it.
Margot Tewsbury stays where she is until I say otherwise, and that is my last word on the matter. Do you understand?”
Malcolm looked at Callum, whose face was red with fury, and nodded slowly. “I do,” he said. “I will send Ferguson your answer, my Laird.”
He left, and Callum strode over to the window, feeling as though he would like to smash it with his bare hands to take out his rage and frustration on something.
He thought about Margot again. His intentions had been honourable, and still were, but he knew he was lying to himself if he pretended that was the only reason he wanted to keep her in Kilmuir.
Eileen had given Margot another dress, this one a dark green that matched her eyes and made her deep red hair glow in contrast to its leafy colour.
It was nothing fancy, but Margot liked it, even though she felt awful about taking the other woman’s clothes.
When she said this to Eileen, however, she merely smiled and shook her head.
“I am fortunate to be able to help someone who needs it,” she claimed. “And you are paying me back with your company and conversation. It’s good to have another woman to talk to when you are surrounded by soldiers all the time.”
“I suppose the servants don’t count?” Margot asked.
“I am sure they are all very nice women,” Eileen acknowledged, “but they do not move in the same circles as you and I do, Margot. What would we talk about?”
Margot thought about the lively chats she had had with Catriona, but decided that it would be best to be as agreeable as possible.
“I cannot think of anything,” she replied, and they laughed.
Now, Margot was wearing her new dress, and she felt quite smart and well-groomed as she made her way into the dining room to join Callum and Eileen for dinner.
She wished she had some jewellery to wear with it, but she was not going to ask Eileen to lend her anything else: she had been generous enough already.
When one of the maidservants opened the door for her, though, she was surprised to see that Callum was sitting there alone.
He was nursing an empty whisky glass, and the expression on his face was thunderous.
He looked up as she entered, and his expression lightened, but Margot stood awkwardly for a moment, not knowing whether to stay or go.
His eyes darkened to an even deeper brown as he gazed at her, and Margot felt herself blushing furiously.
“Excuse me,” she said quietly, “I’ll have dinner sent to my room.”
She started to turn away, but Callum jumped to his feet and reached out to take her hand. “Stay,” he begged. “I hate eating alone.”
His touch was not what Margot had expected; his palms and fingertips were rough, calloused, and rasped against her own smooth skin with a sensation that sent a thrill through her.
Callum pulled out a chair for her so that she was sitting on his left-hand side at the head of the table.
At first, she could think of nothing at all to say, but Callum solved that problem at once as he poured her a glass of wine and held up his glass in a toast to her.
“Sláinte Mhath,” he said, smiling.
“Sláinte Mhath,” Margot echoed.
The words, Gaelic for “Good Health” still felt strange in her mouth, but she was becoming used to them and all the other words, habits and customs that had seemed so odd to her when she first arrived.
“How are you?” he asked. “Is everyone treating you well, Margot? I want to know if they are not.”
He was frowning, and she hastened to reassure him.
“Everyone has been very good to me,” Margot answered with a wide smile. “Especially Eileen. She has been so kind in every way. She gave me this dress.”
She looked down at the garment.
“I was just about to say how pretty you look,” Callum remarked. “The green really suits you—it matches your eyes.”
Margot’s blush, which had faded, came back with a vengeance.
“Thank you, my Laird,” she said shyly, trying desperately to keep some mental distance from this man who scandalised her so with every chance.
Callum was so close to her now that she could feel his warmth and smell the masculine musk of his skin, and the thought of the time she had kissed him leapt unbidden and uninvited into her mind.
Just then, to Margot’s infinite relief, the food arrived, and she helped herself to some haggis. Callum watched her out of the corner of his eye, marvelling at how much she enjoyed Scottish cuisine.
“You like haggis?” he asked, sipping his wine and smiling.
“I do,” Margot replied, licking her lips. “Very much indeed.”
Callum watched the movement of Margot’s tongue and shifted awkwardly in his seat as his body responded to her in the most primitive way.
“You are totally unlike any English lady I’ve ever met,” he noted, laughing. His voice felt and sounded husky, but Margot did not seem to have noticed.
“My goodness,” she said, laughing, “in England, that would be considered very insulting.”
“Really?” Callum raised his eyebrows. “Well, in Scotland, it is fascinating!” ‘And so are you,’ he thought as he watched her luscious lips moving.
They spent the rest of the evening talking comfortably, laughing at each other’s jokes and teasing each other mercilessly. They discovered a shared love of playing chess, and Callum challenged Margot to a match, which she accepted readily, as he had known she would.
“I can never resist a challenge,” she said, her eyes twinkling.
“I know!” he replied, laughing.
When they began to chat about their mutual love of the countryside, horses and riding, Margot once more lamented the loss of her mare.
“I can give you another horse,” Callum offered, “but I know it will not be the same, Margot, but you are at liberty to choose one from the stables.”
Margot was touched by Callum’s generosity.
“Thank you,” she breathed, blinking away tears that had suddenly come to her eyes. It had been a long time since anyone except her sisters had been so kind to her. “My goodness, I don’t know what to say—that is so good of you, Callum, but I cannot accept it—you have given me too much already.”
He was not offended by her refusal, since it confirmed his opinion of her: she was not greedy or grasping. He smiled, and at that moment he felt so tempted to kiss Margot that he had to pick up his wine glass and take another sip to distract himself.
When she looked at the clock on the wall, Margot could not believe how quickly the time had passed. Surely two whole hours had not flown by so fast?
“I think it’s time I retired,” she said, and fancied she saw a look of disappointment on Callum’s face before he quickly hid it.
“Thank you for a very enjoyable evening, Margot,” he replied with a soft smile.
He stood up then drew her with him before he placed a gentle kiss on her knuckles.
The touch of his lips was tender, but it sent a jolt of awareness straight through Margot, leaving her trembling inside and out.
She wanted to hate him—he had bought her, after all—but it seemed she was failing terribly.