Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
The afternoon sun hung low over the castle grounds, casting long golden shadows across the courtyard.
Eleanor carried a basket of freshly gathered herbs against her hip as she crossed the bailey, trying her best to appear as though she belonged there.
Which, unfortunately, was proving rather difficult.
She wanted to be as inconspicuous as possible, given her standing among the clan.
She had spent the morning attempting to help in the kitchens. The result had been a tray of burnt bannocks and one very exasperated cook who had all but chased her out with a wooden spoon.
Determined not to be entirely useless, she had next offered to help one of the women card wool. The woman had politely informed her that she was holding the tools backwards. Twice.
Now she was returning from the herb garden, hoping that at least the plants could not judge her.
“Careful.” The deep voice behind her nearly made her jump out of her skin.
Eleanor spun around to find Callum leaning against the stone wall beside the stable doors, his arms folded across his broad chest. There was amusement dancing in his blue eyes.
“Of what?” She asked breathlessly, as she adjusted the basket on her hip.
“The basket.” He nodded down to her hip.
She frowned and readjusted her position again.
“The handle, it is about to break,” she said nonchalantly, making her irritation rise.
Lifting her chin defiantly in the air, she cocked her head to the side. “I think I would know if…”
As if summoned by his words, the handle snapped. The basket tumbled from her grasp, spilling herbs across the ground.
Callum chuckled to himself, but made no move to help her.
Eleanor stared at him in horror, her mouth agape. “Daenae laugh at me.”
Her anger only made him chuckle deeper as he shook his head. “Ye spent an entire week attempting to conquer this castle, lass, and thus far ye have managed to lose a battle against bannocks, wool, a lamb, and now rosemary.”
“It isnae my fault that the baskets in yer castle are nae sturdy.” She bent down in a huff and began to gather the scattered herbs.
“Aye, naturally it is the basket’s fault,” Callum continued to tease her.
Muttering under her breath, she gathered the herbs into bunches and stuffed them back into the basket, smashing some of the stems as she worked. To her great surprise, Callum hunkered down beside her and began to help her.
“I am serious,” she muttered. “Everyone here knows exactly what they are doing. They know one another's names, histories, and habits. They know where everything belongs... Including where to find the good baskets or how to work the wool.”
“And ye daenae ken where the good baskets are kept?” Callum asked her gently.
“Nae, I daenae ken where the good baskets are kept. I found this one by the kitchen doors. It was more than likely placed there because the handle was broken.” She attempted to keep her voice even as she tried to hide the fact that her feelings had been hurt.
The admission escaped before she could stop it.
What was I thinkin’?
She reminded herself that she should have stayed in the study and continued working on finding Andrew, but instead, she had ventured beyond her comfort zone and was now crouched in the dirt.
For a moment, Callum's teasing expression softened as his hand brushed against hers over a fresh stalk of rosemary.
Eleanor carefully tucked a handful of rosemary back into the basket, making as if she had not noticed the subtle contact that had sent a jolt up her arm. Too much had happened between them already, and she was not willing to admit that he affected her whenever she was near.
“I feel like a guest who has overstayed her welcome.” She finally sat back on her haunches and looked at him, needing something else to do other than feel sorry for herself.
Callum was quiet as he reached down and picked up a sprig of thyme and held it up. “What is this?” He twirled the stem between his fingers and thumb.
“Thyme,” Eleanor answered with a heavy sigh. It was a good thing that she knew a thing or two about running her father’s house, or she would have been completely in the dark about what the names of the herbs actually were.
He nodded thoughtfully before pointing to another sprig on the ground. “And that?”
“Rosemary…” She said with an air of uncertainty, not because she did not know, but because she was not certain of what he was doing.
“And that?” He moved his finger over to the side and gestured to a yellow flower.
She glanced down. “That would be a weed that I picked by accident.”
“Aye.” He nodded thoughtfully before picking it up and tossing it over his shoulder. “See? Ye are learning.”
Eleanor rolled her eyes. “That is hardly the same thing.”
“It is exactly the same thing.” Callum locked eyes with her over the basket, making heat rise to her cheeks.
She looked at him skeptically.
Callum sat back on his heels. “When I was ten years old, I fell into the loch trying to impress me father.”
A laugh escaped her. ‘Ye did?” She searched his face, recalling the stories of her father that he had told her in the cabin before… She quickly shook off the thought and focused on what he was saying.
“Aye, I never felt like more of a disappointment than that day.”
“And did he rescue you?” She finished picking up the last of the herbs and placed them in the basket.
“He laughed first, and then one of the men who was with him dove in to save me. At least I lived,” he said solemnly with just a hint of a smile dancing around his lips.
Eleanor smiled despite herself.
Callum pointed toward the castle. “Every soul in there learned how to belong by making a fool of themselves. They will not tell ye so if ye ask, but all of us have had to learn our place one way or another.”
“I somehow doubt that ye ever made a fool of yerself worse than I did in the kitchens this mornin’.” She said doubtfully.
“Cook accidentally once used salt instead of sugar to make her famous cakes,” he said matter-of-factly.
Eleanor blinked. “Truly?”
“As true as the fact that I used to be a bairn when I was first born.” He nodded.
The image was so unexpected that she burst out laughing. Callum, as a baby, certainly was not something that she had pictured.
Callum grinned. “There she is.”
“There is who?” She looked at him in confusion.
“That laugh,” he said seriously.
Her laughter faded, and for a brief moment, neither of them spoke.
The courtyard suddenly felt very small, and far too quiet for her liking.
What did it mean when he made comments like that?
He had never said anything about what had happened in the cabin between them, but it constantly played on her mind.
Were they still just pretending to be betrothed, or had something more suddenly begun to happen between them?
Her cheeks flushed again with color as heat crept up the back of her neck.
All of the confusion was making her slightly dizzy.
Callum's gaze remained fixed on her face. “Ye spend so much time worrying about fitting in here.” He suddenly spoke again. “The truth is, Eleanor, most of the castle already likes ye. Ye have come in and won the hearts of many. Marion and even Iain seem to care a great deal about ye.
And ye?
She almost wanted to ask, but looked away. “They daenae…”
“They do,” he insisted.
Turing her head back to him, she took a deep breath. She had desperately wanted to ask him how he felt about her, but she could not seem to muster the courage. “How do ye ken that they care about me?”
“Because they keep talking about ye,” he said simply.
Her eyes widened. “They do?” She felt a fluttering in the pit of her stomach.
“Aye, Iain tells me that Marion speaks of nothin’ else but ye whenever they are together.”
“What do they say?” She finished gathering the herbs and stood, dusting off her knees and her skirts.
“The mistress who attempted to save a lamb, but nearly died.” His tone was teasing again.
“Oh, wonderful,” she rolled her eyes and hoisted the basket onto her hip, taking care not to drop it again.
Getting to his feet, Callum dusted his hands together with a wide grin. “Or the woman who spends most of her time in the study.”
“Callum…” She said his name through a sigh as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
“The woman who nearly declared war on a basket,” he continued, unperturbed by her protests.
Using one arm to grip the basket, she swatted at him and missed when he quickly jumped out of the way.
He caught her wrist before she could pull away. Neither of them moved, while a smile lingered at the corner of his mouth. “Ye belong here more than ye think, lass.” The teasing was gone, and the sincerity in his eyes caught her completely off guard.
For one dangerous heartbeat, Eleanor found herself unable to look away.
Then suddenly, almost as quickly as he had gripped her wrist, Callum released her again and took a step back.
“I should be goin’ now, lass, but remember, as long as ye are a guest here at the castle, ye will always belong…
” His words trailed off, and then almost as quickly as he had appeared before, he turned away and made his way back to the castle.
Eleanor stood there with the basket poised on her hip, uncertain of what to think.
He was cool and distant one moment and then open and honest the next.
She could hardly believe that they had shared such an intimate moment without him reacting to it again.
Had it meant more to her than it had to him?
She sighed heavily and began to walk back to the kitchen, where she hoped that her work could broker a peace offering with the cook. She had not intended to try to help in the kitchens, but the study had felt stifling at times.
There was so much that she still needed to uncover where Andrew was concerned, but she did not even know where to begin.
Pausing on her way to the kitchen, she looked up at the castle windows and sighed.
She was not certain if what Callum had said was true, but if it was, then Marion was her only friend in the world.
Her relationship with Callum was far too complicated for her to consider him a friend, or even more than someone she had struck a bargain with.
What am I to him?
The thought made her more restless than she cared to admit. There was so much going on that she barely knew whether what she was doing was making a difference. She was no closer to finding her brother, nor was she any closer to understanding who Callum truly was as a person.
He was a wounded man, that was for certain, but what that entailed was another matter entirely, and she did not have the time, nor the strength, to try and figure it out. It was all far too complicated.