Chapter 23 #2
“She is, indeed. She and the laird look well together, do they not? They’ll make a wonderful laird and lady.”
Laird and … lady? “I beg your pardon?”
The way Mr. Corbett had said it, it almost sounded as if—
“The laird, and Miss Niven. They complement each other, with their dark complexions. They’ll have handsome children—er, pardon the indelicacy, Miss MacLeod.”
Children? Callum, and Miss Niven?
Through the open doorway of the drawing room, Callum offered Miss Niven his arm, and the lady took it with another one of those brilliant smiles. “Are they … is there … do they intend to …” Dear God, she couldn’t get the words out. “Are they betrothed?”
“No. Not yet. Not officially, that is, but from what I understand the matter has been decided. I believe they’re waiting for Lorna’s mourning period to end.
Her father, the late laird, passed away just eight months ago.
It’s a pity he didn’t live to see them wed, as he was very much in favor of the match. ”
Freya hardly heard him. Her head was swimming, and there was a deafening buzz in her ears, as if a thousand bees had just descended on her.
Betrothed. Callum was betrothed, or nearly so.
And he’d never said a word about it. Not on the long, silent journey from Dunvegan to Kyleakin. Not in the four days they’d stayed alone in Brodie’s cottage, not even when they’d been wagering secrets.
While she’d been telling him all about her fears and confessing to truths she hadn’t even confessed to her sisters, all that while he’d known he was betrothed, and he never said a single word about it.
Not when he was kissing her. No, certainly not then.
Not when they’d been alone in the garden on the night before the storm, or in the countless hours he’d sat beside her during her recovery. He’d had dozens of chances to confess the truth of his circumstances to her, yet he’d remained silent.
Dear God, what a fool she was! How had she not realized it sooner?
It made sense for the new laird to marry the daughter of the previous laird, didn’t it? Lorna was a beauty, with her lovely skin and that mane of thick dark hair, and much beloved by the entire clan.
Why wouldn’t Callum want to marry her? Any man would.
There wasn’t a lady alive who’d make a more fitting mistress for Balnagown Castle than Lorna Niven. It was as if she’d been born to it.
A fairy-tale mistress for a fairy-tale castle.
It was perfectly obvious, looking at them now. How could she not have seen it?
She hadn’t wanted to see it, because she was in l—
“Are you unwell, Miss MacLeod? You’ve gone quite white.” Mr. Corbett tightened his grip on her arm. “I hope you haven’t pushed yourself to do too much after such a recent injury.”
She pressed her hand to her stomach. All at once the gown that had been perfect only half an hour before was too tight, too confining. It was digging into her flesh, squeezing her ribs and pressing them into her lungs until she couldn’t catch her breath.
“You are unwell.” Mr. Corbett’s brows drew together with concern. “Please allow me to escort you to a chair, Miss MacLeod.”
“No! I mean, no thank you, Mr. Corbett. I, ah, I’m afraid I have pushed myself too hard. I believe I’ll retire to my bedchamber.”
“Yes, of course. I’ll take you up at once.”
“No, there’s no need. You’re very kind, but I can make my way up by myself.
” She’d go up the back staircase. That way she wouldn’t have to pass Callum and Miss Niven, who were still lingering at the bottom of the stairs.
Callum was leaning toward her, a smile on his lips, and Lorna was gazing up at him as if … as if she …
“Please, Miss MacLeod, allow me to take you—”
“No indeed, Mr. Corbett. The dinner bell has just rung, and I wouldn’t dream of making you late to dinner.” She didn’t wait for his reply, but crossed the drawing room, her legs wobbling underneath her green silk skirts.
For an instant she almost imagined Callum’s dark gaze was following her, the heat of it heavy on the back of her neck, but she kept her steps measured, her head high and her spine straight until she reached the door at the other end of the drawing room.
But once she was through it, her composure deserted her.
She flew down the corridor and up the staircase. She made it all the way to the third floor and halfway down the corridor that led to her bedchamber before the tears started falling.
When she gained her room she dropped into the chair before the looking glass.
It was a common story, really. A man who is promised to another lady trifles with an innocent and breaks her heart.
There was a word for men like that.
Scoundrel, rogue, rake, blackguard.
And yet … perhaps she was too credulous, too na?ve, but she couldn’t make herself believe Callum was any of those things.
Or perhaps she was a pathetic fool, like so many pathetic fools before her who fell so deeply in love with a wicked rogue she could no longer tell the difference between lies and the truth.
In the end, it made little difference.
She didn’t move for some time, just stared at her reflection in the looking glass until, one by one, she began pulling the pins from her hair. She was still struggling with them when there was a quiet knock on her bedchamber door.
Her hands froze, her wide-eyed gaze meeting her reflection in the looking glass.
She might have known it wouldn’t be that easy to escape.
But it couldn’t be Callum. He’d been far too taken up with Lorna to notice—
“Freya. It’s Aila.”
She didn’t want to see anyone, not even Aila, and for one shameful instant she considered not answering, but it wouldn’t do her any good to cower in her bedchamber.
She wanted to go home. Home to her sisters, and her roof and her lopsided turret.
The time had come for her to leave Balnagown Castle.
“Freya? Are you unwell? Open the door, dear.”
She brushed her tears away, rose to her feet, and went to the door, opening it to Aila. “I’m not unwell, but I … I need your help, Aila.”
“What’s happened?” Aila hurried into the bedchamber, closed the door behind her, and seized Freya’s hands. “My goodness, you’re as pale as a ghost, Freya.”
“I—I …” Oh, God, how would she ever explain herself? The last thing she wanted was to confess to Aila that she’d fallen in love with Callum only to discover that he’d betrayed her, and Lorna, as well.
Yet what choice did she have? “I’ve made a rather grave mistake, Aila.”
“Mistake?” Aila searched her face. “I don’t understand. Whatever do you mean?”
“I wasn’t aware … that is, Callum didn’t inform me that he was …”
Dear God, she couldn’t say it.
“Yes? Callum didn’t inform you that he was what? You’re scaring me, Freya.”
She sucked in a breath that didn’t seem to reach her lungs, and choked out, “He didn’t inform me he was betrothed to Lorna Niven.”
Aila stared at her, as if she couldn’t make sense of what she’d heard, but then she dropped onto the edge of the bed without a word, and just like that, any hope Freya had that there’d been some mistake—that Callum hadn’t lied to her—died a quick death.
Every word of it was true. She could see it on Aila’s face.
Yet Aila’s next words contradicted it. “They are not betrothed. Not yet.”
Not yet? Would they be betrothed soon, then? Was he … oh, no.
Was that why he’d called the clan together for tonight’s grand dinner? So that he and Lorna could announce their betrothal? Could Callum be so cruel as to kiss her with such unbridled passion this afternoon, only to announce his betrothal to another lady only hours later?
Had she mistaken his character so completely?
“There is no understanding between Callum and Lorna, only an expectation.”
Expectation, understanding, what did it matter? “A gentleman who expects to be soon betrothed has no more business kissing another lady than one who is already betrothed.”
“You’re quite right, of course, but … well, it’s rather complicated.” Aila patted the empty space beside her on the bed. “Sit down, Freya, and I’ll do my best to explain it to you.”
Did she even want an explanation? It would be better for her to simply wash her hands of this business, but she let out a sigh and joined Aila on the bed.
“The arrangement between Callum and Lorna is of a rather particular nature.”
A particular nature? A betrothal was a betrothal, and a lie of omission was still a lie. There was nothing complicated about that.
“I see you’re not persuaded.” Aila sighed. “I don’t defend Callum. It was wrong of him not to make his circumstances clear from the start, but what I mean for you to understand, Freya, is that the expected betrothal between them is one of necessity, and not necessarily one of inclination.”
“You can’t mean that Callum doesn’t wish to marry Lorna?” Or was it Lorna, who didn’t wish to marry Callum?
“That is precisely what I mean. He does not wish to marry her.”
But why wouldn’t he wish it? Lorna was everything a gentleman could want in a bride.
Freya stared down at her hands, her heart sinking. “I can’t think of a single reason he could object to her.”
“Can you not, Freya? I can. It may be that he simply doesn’t love her.”
Her ridiculous heart took up a wild rhythm at Aila’s words. “Has he said so?”
Aila hesitated. “It’s not for me to speak to you about the state of Callum’s heart. It’s up to him to do that. As for Lorna, she is a dear, lovely young lady. I’m tremendously fond of her, but she has a mind of her own, just as Callum does. I’m not at all certain that she’s in favor of the match.”
Nonsense. Why, there wasn’t a lady in Scotland who’d decline to marry Callum Ross! It was true he wasn’t charming—not like Lorna, who certainly was—but he was strong, and kind, and protective and gentle at once, and—
And she was a very great fool.
She buried her face in her hands. Dear God, what a tangle.
“Oh, dear. I’m sorry, Freya. I’m doing a dreadful job of explaining this. Let me start again. You remember I told you Alistair Niven’s dying wish was to see Callum made laird of Clan Ross.”
“Yes. You said he hoped it would help unite the clan.”
“That’s right. But Alistair was a father, as well, and Lorna his much-beloved only child.” Aila took her hand. “Callum was made laird under the condition that he’d marry Lorna Niven and make her mistress of Balnagown Castle.”
She stared at Aila, her chest so tight she could scarcely draw a breath.
But why should it be? None of this was at all surprising. It made sense for the only daughter of the deceased laird to wed the man who would next lead the clan.
And it wasn’t as if there could be any objection to Lorna Niven. She was a lovely, accomplished young lady, and according to Mr. Corbett, a kind one.
“I—I see.” Her voice was oddly hollow.
In the end, it didn’t make any difference whether Callum and Lorna’s betrothal was one of necessity, or inclination.
The result would be the same, either way.
If Callum had accepted the lairdship of Clan Ross on the condition that he’d marry Lorna Niven, then he would marry her, regardless of whether he loved her or not.
Callum was a man of his word. Their marriage vows were as good as spoken.
She did not approve of him keeping his potential betrothal a secret from her, and neither did she approve of him kissing her, and er … doing other things with her without explaining his circumstances to her.
It had been very wrong of him. Very wrong, indeed, and yet …
She could understand it, too. It would have been a great deal easier if she didn’t, a great deal better if he were every bit the scoundrel who trifled with an innocent lady while betrothed to another.
Because her heart was still his, as much as it had ever been.
“I need to leave Balnagown Castle, Aila. It’s time for me to return to my family in Dunvegan.” It wasn’t as if anything had changed. She’d always intended to return to Dunvegan.
If she’d hoped that Callum would … well, it no longer mattered what she’d hoped.
Aila’s face fell. “When?”
“As soon as it can be arranged.” If she could, she’d go tonight.
Aila was quiet for a long moment, then, “Friends of mine, a Mr. and Mrs. Leland, are leaving for Plockton at first light tomorrow morning. They have a daughter there who’s just had a baby.”
Plockton? That was only a little over fifty miles from Dunvegan. If she could get as far as Plockton, it would be a simple enough matter to make her way home from there. “Would they object to a passenger?”
“No. They’d be glad of your company, and I’d feel much better knowing you were traveling with them. They’ll have two footmen and a maidservant in a second carriage. You’ll be safe with them.” Aila gave her a sad smile. “I’ve grown rather fond of you, you see, Freya.”
Tears welled in Freya’s eyes. Dear lovely Aila! “And I you, Aila. Indeed, I’ll miss you terribly.”
Aila clutched her hand. “You won’t go without speaking to Callum first, will you?”
She hesitated. Could she risk seeing Callum again?
No. If she saw him, she’d never be able to leave him. All it would take was one word, one look, one kiss, and she’d end up being the reason he broke his promise to Alistair Niven, and it would only be a matter of time before Callum grew to resent her for it.
It was better, this way. “I must, Aila. I’m sorry.”
Aila nodded and rose from the bed. “Very well. I’ll make the arrangements with the Lelands.”
So, it was decided. Tomorrow morning, before the sun crested the horizon, she’d be on her way back to Castle Cairncross, leaving Balnagown Castle and Callum Ross behind.
Her memories of them would fade, in time, just like lovely dreams did when you tried to cling to the fragments of them.
In the end, they always slipped through your fingers.