Chapter Fifteen
Callum had managed to find an hour to himself. The peace it brought him was in stark contrast to the chaos going on inside the castle. The wedding preparations were in full flow and everywhere he turned someone was asking him something.
He didn’t care about whether the flowers would wilt if they were picked too early, nor what color they were. He didn’t care about the amount of grain being brought out of the winter store to provide the feast. He didn’t even care about his future bride.
He had tried. He had done his best to make conversation with her but she had made it abundantly clear she wanted absolutely nothing to do with him.
The very first time they’d met, she had whispered in his ear, “I want to make it very clear that I have no desire to marry a MacCleod.”
“Point taken,” he replied, looking around the great hall at all the happy diners. Everyone was enjoying the meal apart from him.
“If I had my way I would marry the man I love,” she continued. “A man with MacKay blood running through his veins.”
“I get it.”
“I hate you.”
It was fair to say their initial encounter did not go as well as Callum’s parents might have hoped.
Standing next to the shore of the loch, the only sound was that of the water gently lapping at the heather covered grass. Across the water two curlews were coming into land. The sun had not long risen and streaks of orange and red coated the far mountainsides. The tops were sprinkled with the first snows of the winter. It would not be long before a white blanket covered most of the MacCleod lands.
Mild autumns always led to severe winters. Callum found himself thinking about the amount of food in the castle stores, making rough calculations about how much was going to waste. First the feast to celebrate the betrothal and now more for the wedding feast. Would there be enough for the winter?
What he wanted to do was go back inside and call off this farce. She did not want to marry him. She had made clear there was a man she loved back at MacKay castle and if only she had an excuse to cancel the ceremony she would take it without a moment’s hesitation.
He could give her an excuse. He could tell her about Kerry, tell her that he too was in love with another woman.
He had thought about raising the issue but decided against it. The wheels were in motion. The wedding was going to happen. If she backed out his father would likely banish him for all time.
Besides, he thought as he skimmed a stone across the water, he hadn’t heard a thing from Kerry since she left. No doubt she was already back home in her own time. Would she look him up in her history books? Find out what had happened to him?
If she did she would see that he married Nessa MacKay like he was supposed to. There would be no mention of his inability to summon up any positive feelings about the wedding. How he’d watch her berating the kitchen girls for burning her toast, yelling at them until they cried. How she’d demanded, and been given, better accommodation at the castle, thicker blankets, a bigger bed, more servants. She seemed determined to make as many enemies as possible but no matter what she did, his parents turned a blind eye. Even when she kicked the farrier’s cat from the battlements for hissing at her, Alan MacCleod just turned away and said nothing.
“Did you not see that?” Callum said to him. “You would still have me marry her?” The cat limped away, mewling piteously.
“You have to marry her to align the clans,” his father replied through gritted teeth, walking away without another word.
Callum felt something by his ankle. Looking down he saw the bundle of fur purring and rubbing against his leg. “Good morning Roughshod,” he said, reaching down to stroke the cat’s head. “Glad to see your leg’s on the mend.”
The cat yawned loudly before darting its head to the left. Catching sight of a field mouse it stalked off leaving Callum to turn back to the loch. He felt more affection for Roughshod than he did for Nessa MacKay. She also didn’t hiss at him as often.
A horn blew out in the castle, the sound echoing loudly around the valley. With a sigh Callum turned and headed back. The sound of his doom. Someone was looking for him. He doubted it would be anything good.
As he walked back up he thought about the men out on patrol. They had gone without him. He hadn’t expected that. On the morning they were due to leave he had climbed out of bed before light and made his way to the stables only to find the horses were gone, the men were gone, and any hope he had of maintaining the life he desired was gone.
The laird had sent them without him, insisted they go according to his mother despite their vocal protests. “It was patrol or be banished,” she said to him when he found her in the solar. “They had no choice. You are soon to be wed. This is not the time to go out and get a sword to the gut.”
On the way back up to the castle he kicked a stone as hard as he could. It struck the castle wall and bounced back with surprising force, catching him on the forehead.
“Violence often has unpredictable results,” a voice said from the castle gates.
“Nice to have some sympathy,” Callum replied, wiping the blood away from his eyes. “How are you Fingal?”
“Abbot Fingal now.”
“Abbot? Which bunch of fools put you in charge?”
“The monks of Crossraguel have better judgment than you, Callum. In many things.”
