Chapter 16
Callum watched Margot sleep. Her auburn lashes shadowing her sharp cheekbones, her tempting full lips slightly parted, her long red locks spilling over her shoulders, the pillow, and his body as he held her close.
Their legs were entwined, and he could feel her breasts pressing against his chest, making his manhood swell with desire despite having tasted her just last night.
She was so, so beautiful, and after their experience the night before he knew he could no longer marry Eileen Ferguson—or any other woman for that matter—because he loved Margot Tewsbury with every fibre of his being.
Margot opened her eyes slowly, wondering where she was for a moment, then she breathed in the scent and warmth of Callum’s skin and looked into his dark eyes, and she knew. She was really and truly in heaven on earth.
“Did you sleep well?” he asked.
Callum’s voice was hoarse and husky from sleep, but Margot loved the sound of it even more than she usually did.
“I did,” she answered. “I don’t think I have ever slept better.”
“Neither have I.” Callum smiled and kissed Margot softly.
“You know that if I could keep you here all day, lass, I would do so—and enjoy it very much, but sadly, I have many things to do today. I must speak to Eileen—after what has happened between us, I cannot in good conscience go on with the marriage.”
“I understand,” Margot said, nodding.
The fact that he was calling off the marriage with Eileen had filled her heart with joy, but only for a moment.
Then she realised that it might make no difference at all to her circumstances.
After all, Callum had not asked her to marry him or told her that he loved her.
In fact, she was still at his mercy as his property.
Yes, they had enjoyed one blissful encounter together, but what did that mean? It might be the only time, and if it was—what then? Would he cast her aside? She had no idea, but the thought of it terrified her.
Callum gave her one last longing gaze, then sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood up, and Margot feasted her eyes once more on the magnificent body of the man she loved.
She could feel herself melting with desire as she gazed at his firm buttocks, the powerful muscles of his thighs and calves, and the tiny rippling muscles of his abdomen.
He pulled on a loose pair of breeches, and Margot watched him as he donned the rest of his clothes.
When he was fully dressed, Callum took out a letter from the drawer on his bedside cabinet and handed it to her. “I think it is from one of your sisters,” he said softly, before leaning over to kiss her again. “I will send word to Catriona to bring your clothes.”
Margot’s heart was beating a wild tattoo as she unsealed the letter which was written in Juliet’s handwriting. Would the news be good or terrible? Was Eliza alive? She began to read it as Callum closed the door, leaving her alone in his room.
Callum took a deep breath as he knocked before entering Eileen’s room. He was dreading what he had to do, but it had to be done. She looked up and greeted him with a tight smile, but there was something about the expression that bothered him. It seemed as though Eileen already knew why he had come.
A maid was attending to her hair as he greeted her then sat down by the fire to wait. In spite of its cosy heat, Callum felt cold with dread. He could feel Eileen’s eyes on him as she looked in the mirror at his reflection, and felt as if he wanted to shout at the maid to go and leave them alone.
How would Eileen react? Would she be hurt? Angry? Disappointed? Or would she be overjoyed? In a perverse way, he thought he might be slightly offended if that was her reaction, then he laughed inwardly. A man’s pride was a foolish thing indeed!
A few moments later the maid finished fussing with her hair and Eileen dismissed her. His betrothed followed the young woman to the door and locked it firmly behind her, then she came to sit down beside Callum.
“I know why you are here,” she said at once. “To break our engagement because you love Margot.”
Callum breathed a sigh of relief and nodded. “You knew,” he replied gently. “But you love someone else too.”
“I do,” Eileen admitted. “Did Margot tell you?”
“No.” He shook his head. “I could see it quite plainly every time you looked at Ronan, and he looked at you.”
“And I could see the same connection between you and Margot,” Eileen admitted, smiling. “It seems we are equally transparent, my Laird. Lost causes, both of us.”
He laughed. “Indeed.” Then his expression sobered. “I was worried about your reputation, that breaking off our betrothal would diminish you in the eyes of society.”
“Society be damned!” Eileen growled. “I care nothing about the opinion of people whose admiration depends on the amount of wealth a person has. I love a man who works hard for a living, and I am proud of that—proud of him because he is the best man I know.
And if I have to live in a cottage and work as a lady’s maid or a governess, then so be it. I am not naive, Callum. I know that such a life would be hard, but I can do without ballgowns, jewels, and servants. If I have Ronan’s love, I can endure anything.”
For the first time, Callum looked at Eileen with admiration. He had never thought she was capable of this depth of feeling.
“I feel the same about Margot,” he said, smiling.
“She is fierce, and sometimes I think her tongue is her best weapon because she can make me laugh and tear me to shreds with a sentence or two. But I love her, Eileen… More than I can say.” He hesitated for a moment, then said, “We must find a way to break things off without anyone’s reputation being ruined. ”
“I care nothing about that,” Eileen repeated firmly, “but to keep my brother happy and to make sure he does not take out his wrath on anyone else, I agree. We will find a way, but Callum, let me reassure you that I like you as a companion, or perhaps the brother I should have had. I hope we stay friends.”
Callum smiled, reached out, and squeezed Eileen’s hand. “Aye, I would like that.”
The moment was cut short by a clattering of hooves across the cobbles of the courtyard. They were louder and faster than usual, and Eileen walked over to look out of the window, curious to see who was in such a hurry.
Suddenly, she gasped and took a step back, the expression on her face a mixture of horror and fear. “It’s my brother!” she cried. “Lachlan. Oh, god, no!”
Callum looked over her shoulder at the gleaming carriage, which bore the Ferguson family crest, and grimaced.
He hated Lachlan Ferguson. The last time he had visited the castle Callum had dismissed him without seeing him, both because he was too busy and because he could not stand the man.
As well as that, he had a nasty habit of showing up without giving notice or making an appointment, as he was doing now.
At that moment one of the guards arrived to inform him of Laird Ferguson’s arrival.
“Tell him to wait in the courtyard,” Callum ordered. His voice was low, almost a growl, his effort to pace the panic that bubbled in his chest visible.
Eileen gave him a look that was half-smile, half-frown. “He will not like that,” she said, with a bitter smile.
Callum smiled wickedly. “I know.”
They went downstairs slowly. Callum briefly contemplated going to change his clothes for something more formal but decided against it, since it was too much of an effort to pander to someone he despised.
However, he knew he would have to be civil, since the news he and Eileen were about to break to Ferguson would be decidedly unwelcome.
“I may have to be a little more polite than I want to be,” he said with a resigned sigh.
Eileen did not have an opportunity to reply as they emerged into the courtyard. Her brother hastily leapt out of the carriage as soon as he caught sight of them, his face thunderous, his eyes blazing with rage.
Lachlan Ferguson was not an ugly man to look at, indeed, many would have called him handsome. He was tall, although not as tall as Callum—but few men were—and as fair as his sister, with pale grey eyes and regular features.
No, his ugliness came from inside; it showed in the aura of anger and spite he projected, the disdain with which he treated his servants and the smarmy subservience he showed to those he thought might grant him favours or benefit him financially.
He was a widower whose wife had died in childbirth, and both Eileen and Callum knew what a miserable life she had led. She had passed on five years before, but Lachlan Ferguson had not been able to find any other woman to marry him since because his reputation for cruelty and spite preceded him.
This gave Callum another reason to hate him, since he knew what it felt like to be abused and ridiculed.
Now he strode over to confront Callum, coming so close to him that there were barely six inches of space between them.
If he had expected Callum to step back, however, he was disappointed.
Callum stood firm and looked down at Ferguson, obliging him to tilt his head back, something he was not accustomed to doing, judging from his reaction.
Usually, when he spoke to other men, it was the other way around, but Callum could not be intimidated in this way, since he had such a formidable presence.
Ferguson’s face was red with fury, and he poked his finger into Callum’s chest and spat, “Callum Mackintosh! Why am I still waiting for you to wed my sister? I have heard nothing from you—you have not even had the courtesy to call on me, and no wedding date has been set. Explain yourself!”
Callum was sorely tempted to pick the other man up by the front of his jacket and throw him with all his strength onto the hard flagstones of the courtyard then pummel him till he was unconscious.
He restrained himself, however, and said with polite sarcasm, “Good morning, My Laird. I trust you are well. Would you like some tea?”
The look Lachlan gave him would have felled a lesser man, but Callum held Ferguson’s eyes with his own until he dropped his gaze.
“I am well. Tea is welcome.”
There was no polite enquiry after Lachlan’s health, no greeting for his sister, and no gratitude for the hospitality. However, Callum ignored the deliberate snubs and escorted his uninvited guest into the parlour.
He would somehow have to force himself to be polite, Callum told himself. He might be able to achieve what he wanted by intimidation, but that would hurt Eileen, and he had no intention of doing that.
Callum gritted his teeth as he walked into the room and ushered first Eileen, then Lachlan Ferguson into a seat as a proper host was obliged to, then he caught Eileen’s eye; she looked terrified. As he passed her chair he gave her shoulder a reassuring pat and sat down.
It was now or never.