This Callum, the one who’d reappeared three days ago, had all the soft edges ground away. He was strong, determined, and evidently willing to charge at one of the most powerful men in Scotland because of a self-made belief that Dunncraigh had done wrong. Ian had bent with the wind, making the best of any situation, seeking diplomacy and logic over any sense of personal affront he might have had. Not so, Callum. After only three days she already knew it—he would not bend. And part of her, the part that had once wished he would see her as more than his adventuring friend, worried that he would break. Or rather, that the much more experienced and patient Duke of Dunncraigh would break him rather than wait for whatever damage he feared Callum might do to their joint business.
She stayed in the garden all afternoon, brushing away Duffy’s attempts to lead her in for luncheon and Mary’s offering of a heavier shawl to protect her against the wind. In truth, today was lovely, with fat, unhurried clouds breaking up the sky’s deep blue, and a breeze just strong enough to keep the birch leaves dancing.
Clarity continued to elude her, and so she finally made her way through the back entrance of the house to find Duffy ordering the dining room to be opened and the table set for dinner. “My lady,” he said, bowing. “May I have some tea brought for ye?”
“No, no. Thank you. Where is Margaret?”
“Lady Mags is in the library with Agnes, where they’re searching for books about wolves, I believe.”
“Oh, dear. Nothing horribly bloodthirsty, I hope.”
He smiled. “I did see Agnes hiding someaught behind the geography books.”
“Excellent. A bit of curiosity is healthy, but I certainlydon’t want her to have nightmares. And… Lord Geiry?”
“He went oot to the church nae more than ten minutes ago, m’lady.” The butler’s expression sobered again. “I reckon he wanted to see hisbràthair.”
“Of course.” The St. Andrews parish church lay on the grounds of the Geiry estate, less than a quarter mile from the house. She and Ian had married there, and uncounted generations of MacCreath lords lay beneath the stately oaks on the east side of the old stone building.
For weeks after the funeral she hadn’t been able to go back there herself, despite the urging of her father and Margaret’s obvious curiosity. It seemed so… final. Irreversible. Then when she’d laid her father to rest at the Inverness Cathedral, she’d felt surrounded by inevitability, and intentionally going to view it had made things even worse. But doing so alone… She took a quick breath.
“Excuse me, then. I shan’t keep you from your duties.”
“Of course, m’lady. Lord Geiry requested dinner to be served at seven o’clock.”
“Thank you.”
She wandered off in the direction of the stairs until Duffy exited the hallway. Then, still breathing harder than she liked, Rebecca slipped out the front door and hurried down the road toward the quaint church. However angry she might be at him, and he at her, Callum shouldn’t have to go see Ian alone.
At the low stone wall that divided the cemetery from the meadow beyond, she stopped. Some of the old MacCreaths lay beneath grand, angel- or lion-draped monoliths, but for Ian she’d had a plain marble slab commissioned, one that only spoke of him as a husband and father and of his honorable nature. Had it been enough? It had seemed fitting at the time, but it shouldhave been his successor who approved the design. Callum, of course, had been in America, while cousin James Sturgeon hadn’t felt comfortable taking on the duty when he hadn’t yet been declared the heir.
Well, Callum could commission another one if he didn’t approve. Squaring her shoulders, she stepped through the low, wooden gate. Close by the wall on one side she spied him, and she stopped to lean against the trunk of one of the ancient oaks. She was here to offer any comfort if needed, she reminded herself. If he didn’t appear to need any, she could just slip away and he would never know she’d intruded.
“Ye damned fool,” Callum said quietly, and it took a second or two for her to realize he was speaking to Ian, rather than to her. “I warned ye. Iwarnedye about tangling yerself up with that devil. But ye have to think the best of everyone ye meet. Except for me, of course.” Picking up a small rock, he threw it at the headstone. It smacked dead center, then ricocheted off into the bushes beneath the church’s closest window.
“I dunnae ken why ye wrote me, or what ye wanted of me,” Callum went on, squatting at the foot of the stone-covered grave, “but I’m here now. I mean to make him pay for what he did to ye and yer lass and yer bairn. I gave my word. As for what comes after that, I reckon that’s up to me.” He straightened. “If ye have any objection, ye’d best let me know it now, Ian. I’m nae likely to ask ye again later.”
For a long moment he stood there, as if waiting. All Rebecca could hear was the birds, and the light breeze ruffling the leaves. Down in the village beyond the church the blacksmith was working, the clang of his hammer sharp despite the distance.
“Well then,” Callum finally said, inclining his head. “I’ll take that as ye being in agreement with me. Ye restnow. I’m nae certain we’ll meet again, but know that I’ll do what needs to be done. Whatever the cost. I’ll nae disappoint ye again. I swear it.”
Rebecca ducked behind the tree as he turned and walked past her through the gate and up the path leading back to Geiry Hall. That had been close. As for what Callum had been referring to, what he’d thought Ian might object to, she didn’t know, though after that kiss the other day she could hazard a guess.Heavens.
“Ye shouldnae be out here alone, lass,” he called after a moment, not slowing his pace. “It’ll be dark soon.”
Oh, blast it all. Belatedly she straightened, brushing bark and dirt from her shawl. “I only wanted to make certain you weren’t in distress,” she returned, trying not to rush her steps and not managing it well. “I wasn’t eavesdropping.”
“I’m in distress that my brother died when he didnae have to,” he said, finally relenting enough to slow his ground-eating pace. “And I ken that ye reckon I’m being emotional because I only learned about this six weeks ago. That’s only partly true, Rebecca, because in all honesty I’m nae surprised it happened. I mostly hoped I’d turn out to be wrong about all this.”
“You still m—”
“Aye, I still could be wrong,” he broke in, finishing her thought as she drew even with him. “Come with me to the loch tomorrow morning. Show me where it happened. Do ye still have the phaeton?”
“It’s behind the stable. I didn’t want to sell it, or to have anyone else use it.”
He nodded, then offered his arm. He did remember how to be a gentleman, then; he simply chose not to be one for the majority of the time. “I’ll take a gander at it, as well.”
“You know that won’t be enough to convince me ofanything.” She tensed, waiting for him to counter with the statement that she was the one who needed to convince him of Dunncraigh’s and Donnach’s innocence. “What if I said I didn’t want to be any part of this?”
