Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
He never wanted to get married.
Eleanor sat comfortably in front of the fireplace in the mess hall. The pattern on the pillow resting on her lap was just beginning to take shape as she guided the needle in and out of the thick fabric. The bright pink flowers smiled up at her as she grew more and more lost in her thoughts.
Her chest rose and fell along with the crackling of the fire as she thought of the previous night in the study and the moment they had shared in the cabin.
Bran lay peacefully at her feet, snoring softly as he twitched in his dream.
His long grey fur frizzed from the constant rain they had been getting, yet he still seemed as peaceful as could be.
Callum had been through so much in his life, much like she had. He no longer believed in marriage or love, yet she did not understand why the fact made her chest clench whenever she thought of him.
Why do I feel this way?
She sat in the unease of her own discomforting thoughts and feelings while Marion sorted a pile of fresh linen at her side. The maid seemed utterly at ease in a world of her own, blissfully unaware of anything going on around her.
“Have ye made any progress in the study, Mistress?” Marion stopped humming for just a second as she asked the question while folding a sheet. Her skilled hands worked without much thought, creating crisp lines in the folded sheets.
It amazed Eleanor just how quickly the young girl had placed the incident in the yard behind her. She carried on with her duties as if nothing had happened at all.
Just like Callum.
He, too, believed in moving forward as if nothing had happened. It was still shocking to her that his father had been killed by someone in his own clan.
“Aye, we are almost done sortin’ the ledgers.
Soon, the study will be in alphabetical order, and the Laird will be able to find anythin’ he needs,” she told a half-truth, not wanting to involve Marion in the broader scheme of things.
It was not that she felt as if she could not trust Marion, but the girl lived in a world of her own.
One slip of her tongue and the rest of the servants would know that a greater plot was afoot.
“That is wonderful that ye can help the Laird in such a manner. I am sure yer father misses ye back home. Ye must have been such a blessin’ to him when ye helped with his ledgers,” Marion continued to hum softly under her breath as she sorted one pile into the next, creating a landscape of linen on the long table beside her.
“Aye, I am sure he misses me.” Eleanor could feel the lump in her throat growing thicker again. She missed her father and Andrew dearly, yet her closeness to Callum was beginning to interfere with her ability to search for and return to them.
I do feel closer to him.
The thought caught her unawares as she stopped sewing and stared into the fire.
She had thought of him as gruff and unrefined, especially after he had snapped at her at the stables, yet their conversation in the study had shown her a gentler side of his character.
He was not all bark and bite, but deeper and far more complex than she had ever imagined.
There was a wounded aspect to his character that intrigued her and drew her in.
Her pulse quickened at the thought of being drawn in closer.
The kiss had made her feel things that she had not even imagined could exist. Things that she had only ever dreamed of while reading her novels.
His lips had seared hers, leaving an indelible mark, while the tips of his fingers had massaged her thighs.
Lifting a hand, she placed it against her lips, recalling the feeling that had ignited a long-forgotten fire within her soul.
The doors to the mess hall suddenly clanked open, making Eleanor jump as she quickly returned her focus to the pillow on her lap.
What was I thinkin’?
Her fingers trembled slightly as she looked up to see Callum and Iain crossing the hall. They were deep in discussion, yet she still felt as if she had been caught red-handed.
The men did not seem to notice them as they walked to one end of the hall and stopped, taking their seats.
Marion, on the other hand, seemed acutely aware of their presence as her humming suddenly stopped. She continued folding the linen, yet her arms had stiffened considerably.
Perhaps she is nae as immune as I thought she was.
Eleanor glanced up at Iain, but her eyes quickly moved to Callum, who had placed a scroll flat on the table. They both pored over whatever was in the scroll. Eleanor could not help but watch his every move as his arms flexed when he straightened them, revealing each ripple in his muscles.
She could feel her breath catching again as he gestured to something on the map, and the opening in his shirt revealed a small section of bare chest. What would it feel like to place her hands on that chest?
To run the tips of her fingers over the carved muscles and explore every defined contour and crevice.
What am I thinkin’?
Heat suddenly shot up the back of her neck as Callum looked up and met her gaze. She quickly looked down again, busying herself with embroidered flowers. She felt utterly mortified that she had been thinking of him in such a manner, and even more so that he had caught her staring.
Her breaths became ragged along with her pulse until she eased each one with deliberate calm. There was no possible way that anyone knew what she had been thinking. Looking up, she realized with a start that Marion was blushing as she stared at her.
The maid quickly looked away and busied herself once again with the piles of linen.
Saints preserve me.
The final shreds of her pride withered away as Eleanor shook her head.
It would be useless to try to dispute the fact with Marion when Eleanor knew very well that it would only make matters worse.
A young girl with dreams in her head would not easily be persuaded.
She quickly reminded herself that she was jumping to conclusions again and tried to empty her thoughts.
The moment, however, was short-lived when Callum came striding toward her. She had not even noticed the chair scraping over the floor when she had been caught up in her own thoughts. Her heart began to beat furiously again as she wondered what he needed.
Stopping just a few steps away from her, Callum narrowed his eyes. “I have been lookin’ for ye all mornin’. Have ye been restin’ yer old bones by the fire all day?” he said gruffly.
Eleanor took offense immediately and lowered her hands to her lap as she lifted her chin defiantly.
“Well, I have been here all mornin’, me Laird.
Did ye nae say that I was nae a prisoner in yer castle?
Ye cannae expect me to be at yer beck and call all day every day.
And I will have ye ken that I am nae a bairn, I am two-and-twenty.
” Her pulse raced frantically as she stood her ground.
Raising a single eyebrow, Callum shot her a puzzled look. “I was talkin’ to Bran. We were supposed to go huntin’ this mornin’.” He gestured to her feet.
Good Lord.
Eleanor felt shame washing over her as she looked at the slumbering dog on the rug beneath her feet. She had been so nervous in his presence that she had snapped at him in the same manner that he had apologized to her for doing.
Sensing his master’s presence, Bran stretched his long, gray legs as he came up and yawned, taking full advantage of his nap as he shook out his shaggy coat.
“Away with ye then, ye lazy beast.” Callum smiled as the dog wandered happily to his side and accepted a gentle pet on the head.
The man must think I am a dobber.
Eleanor sat in silence, wanting the moment to be over. It was hard for her to remain composed when Marion seemed to be losing the battle to hide her amused expression.
Glancing in her direction, Callum simply nodded before walking off with his dog at his side.
Letting out a sigh, Eleanor shook her head. It was one thing to think inappropriate thoughts of the man, but another matter entirely to make a fool of herself in his presence.
Marion’s face was bright red by the time the men left them alone in the hall. Yet Eleanor could not help but notice that her own cheeks were ablaze, as if they had been set on fire.
Steel met steel with a metallic clank that sliced through the air, adding a deadly stillness to the night sky overhead.
The sun had just set, and Callum could feel the strain on his muscles as he gritted his teeth.
Yet the physical exertion from practice was all that could keep his mind from wandering back to Eleanor.
Iain did not hold back as he came at Callum with full force, brandishing his blade above his head as he let out a fierce cry of war.
Their blades met again as Callum easily stopped the blow, pushing Iain back and almost making him slip in the mud.
“Have ye had enough?” Callum practically growled as he watched his man-at-arms regain his footing.
“Aye, I think we had better stop. The ground is wet and doesnae allow for sure footin’,” he said almost breathlessly as he sheathed his sword and caught his breath.
Raising his brows, Callum buried his blade in the soft ground at his feet before leaning on the hilt. “An experienced soldier such as yerself should already ken how to move in the mud.”
Glaring back, Iain narrowed his eyes. “And a seasoned laird such as yerself should ken that accidents can happen on the slippery moors. I will be forgiven if I accidentally run me blade through an enemy. But impalin’ yer laird by accident isnae celebrated.”
Callum huffed this time as he smirked. “Ye are certainly sure of yerself if ye think ye can impale me by accident.”
“As sure as ye are that I willnae be able to,” Iain simply shook his head, worn out by the hours of rigorous practice.
“A laird should always be sure of himself, no matter what the situation is,” Callum replied.
Tilting one corner of his mouth up, Iain gave a half-smile. “As sure as ye are of yer plan with the mistress?”
Callum paused for a moment as he gave the question some thought. “All I need to do is keep me head on me shoulders for another six days. And then Eleanor will leave once she kens that her brother is dead.”
“Is he dead?” Iain asked with a concerned frown.
The sound of laughter drew their attention to the side as a group of maids passed by the courtyard with baskets of freshly dried linen. They were all chatting among themselves as their day came to an end.
Lifting a hand to the back of his neck, Iain paid close attention to them all, yet his face fell after a moment or two as he looked at his boots.
Is he disappointed?
Callum looked back at the group of maids and noticed Marion was absent. Most of the other maids were present, yet Marion must have still been with Eleanor. “Are ye lookin’ for someone?” he finally asked when Iain’s gaze drifted back to the group of women.
Shaking his head quickly, Iain turned back to their conversation. “It is nae safe for the maids to be out this late, they should have someone with them after sunset.”
Lifting his brows even further, Callum glanced up at the guards who had been placed around the castle walls.
Their security had been doubled in the past three weeks, and not so much as a stone had been left unsupervised.
“And would ye be the one to guard the maids when the sun goes down?” his voice held a note of teasing.
Color climbed up the back of Iain’s neck, and even in the dim light of the courtyard, Callum could see that the man was embarrassed. “Nae, I just meant that the laundry should be taken in earlier.”
Callum shook his head. “Will ye tell the lass how ye feel already?”
“Which lass? I mean, I daenae ken what ye are sayin’,” he corrected quickly.
Rolling his eyes, Callum let out a heavy sigh. “Ye and yer feelings will be the death of me,” he muttered under his breath. He wanted to shake the man and tell him to stop being so foolish, yet he himself did not believe in love.
Iain bristled slightly as he came up straight and continued to glare at Callum. “I daenae have any feelings for any of the maids, but ye are one to talk, me Laird. I have seen the way that ye keep lookin’ at Miss Whitacker. Ye can hardly keep yer eyes from her whenever she enters a room.”
His reply made Callum stiffen in return as he pushed himself up from the sword and stood up straight. “Now ye are really losin’ yer mind. Did the final blow of me blade render ye senseless?”
Laughter pealed from Iain’s throat this time as he almost doubled over. “It would seem that I was the one who struck a nerve, me Laird. Would it be the worst thing in the world? The two of ye are well suited to one another, and I have seen the way she glances in yer direction too.”
Thinking back to their kiss, Callum recalled the way she had kissed him back and the way she had responded to his touch.
She had not been an unwilling participant in the matter.
Yet he had wondered if she had wanted more.
Her thighs had parted willingly for him when he had wrapped her legs around his waist.
I cannae have that.
His thoughts turned toward the study and how they had agreed that love was something for fools. It never led to any good.
“Aye, it would be the worst thing in the world,” he grumbled and pulled up his sword, creating a loud sucking sound from the mud.
Iain held up his hands in mock surrender. “I didnae mean offense, I was just sayin’ what I saw.”
“Then unsee it, because ye daenae ken what ye are sayin’.” He wiped the side of his blade on his breeches and strode past Iain, determined to put the conversation behind him.
It was bad enough that he found himself thinking of Eleanor when he was meant to be focused, but even worse when others were giving their opinions. It was only six days until their supposed wedding, and then things would return to normal.
She would leave and never look back again. Neither the kiss, nor the attraction, nor anything else that happened would matter when she was gone.