by Meara Platt
“And I ye,” the older woman returned. “But don’t ye worry about me. I still have Mac, for all the good he is at times.”
The man in question stood at her side and rolled his eyes. As the hired man clapped Damaris on the shoulder, he said, “O’Donough is a good man. I wouldna steer ye wrong, ye ken?”
Damaris nodded, as Gen interjected, “And dinna worry aboot yer parents. I’ll write t’ them after the babe is born. There’s no need t’ worry them while ye’re near yer lyin’ in.”
Damaris wasn’t sure if her parents would care that she’d given birth to their grandchild. After all, she’d written to her mother only twice since she’d arrived at Haltwhistle. Once, to let her know she’d arrived, and another to let her know she was doing well, and because she’d been feeling a bit homesick.
Neither time had she received a reply.
“Are ye ready, Sassenach?”
She turned to look at Callum, who was waiting patiently for her to say her farewells. The coachman was seated and ready to depart, while Gavin, Jamie and the Solomon brothers were mounted, their horses urgently pawing at the ground, impatient to return home. Callum’s horse was tied to the back since it was apparent he intended to ride inside the carriage with her.
While she still wasn’t sure what to think about that, she drew a deep breath and settled a hand on his arm. “I suppose I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”
After he’d helped her inside the carriage, climbing in after her to sit on the opposite seat, they set into motion. Damaris had a momentary attack of panic in which she wanted to toss herself out the door, but she refrained. Instead, she clasped her hands in her lap and watched the evening countryside go past her window. In just a few miles she would no longer be in England, the country of her birth, but in a foreign land with people she didn’t even know, who had a completely different way of life. While Callum was proper with certain aspects of his manners, there was a gruffness to him that was undeniable. He might be a guest of the Regency for a short while as it amused Prinny to entertain a Scot, but she doubted Callum would ever be permanently accepted within the ton.
But instead of dwelling on things that would never matter, she turned to her companion and asked, “How long will it take to reach Castle O’Donough?”
He had adopted a casual pose, and now he shrugged. “Aboot a fortnight, if the weather holds. But I’ve had it take nearly a month t’ reach home during the rainy season.”
A month? Damaris prayed that wouldn’t be the case. It had taken nearly a week and a half to travel from London to Haltwhistle and that had been nothing short of torture. She couldn’t imagine being trapped within a carriage for that long. With him.
Of course, thoughts of their singular night together had risen to the surface of her mind, ever since he’d said that he would marry her in name only. While she didn’t want to wed him, or anyone else, at the moment, picturing him with another woman didn’t entirely set well with her. She certainly wouldn’t go so far as to say it was jealousy rearing its ugly head, for the laird of the Clan O’Donough was nothing but a current irritation — no matter how handsome he might appear in his tartan kilt and loosely buttoned shirt.
Damaris turned her head toward the window once again, thankful when the lure of the pleasantly sprung carriage lulled her into a deep sleep.
Callum watched Damaris as she slept, still finding it hard to fathom the events that had brought them together, that one fateful night would have led to this very moment. Never before had he believed in the legend of a soul mate, or the alignment of the stars, but he had to admit that there was a higher power at work here when it came to his attraction to Damaris. And the fact she had gotten with child after only one interlude when she’d been a maiden — well, it was enough to make any skeptic a believer in something more ethereal.
Whatever it was that had brought Callum and Damaris together, he was thankful for it. Some people might claim he had found the “one,” and maybe they would be right. His eyes caressed her face and he didn’t think he would ever tire of that soft curve of her cheek, full pink lips that were made for a man’s kiss, or the long flutter of her eyelashes that covered deep, blue eyes. And that honey-blonde hair… He closed his eyes, yearning to run his hands through that silky length once again, to touch her soft skin, and taste her sweetness as she reached the brink of her pleasure.
He shifted in his seat and was glad that Damaris was unaware of his sudden discomfort, especially since he’d promised her that he would keep his hands to himself — even if she did agree to marry him. What a foolish suggestion that had been! Once the vows were exchanged and she carried the name Murray, mistress of Castle O’Donough, no way would he be able to keep from taking her to his bed and consummating their union. He didn’t know what he’d been thinking at the time, except that he didn’t want to lose her. And he knew that if faced with the same decision, he would claim the same, even if he went mad because of it.
He just had to pray that it would never come to that, that he could entice her to want him as much as he wanted her, because he wouldn’t stop trying until Damaris Honeywell was his in every way.
There had been no sharp ruts in the road to disturb her slumber, only the slight shudder as the horses came to a stop that woke Damaris from her dreams. She yawned until her jaw cracked and then glanced across the expanse of the interior to see Callum’s dark, amused gaze on her face.
Warmth crept into her cheeks, but she only asked, “Why have we stopped?”
“T’ give the horses a rest, and t’ get something t’ eat.”
Blinking, Damaris glanced outside and realized that she’d slept the entire night through. Dawn was just starting to streak the horizon with its myriad of colors. She swallowed. “Where are we?”
“It’s a wee village called Ecclefechan.”
She swallowed over the sudden lump in her throat. “We’re in Scotland?”
“Aye.” He gave her a scandalous wink. “We drove right by Gretna an’ I dinna call a halt so the smithy could marry us over the anvil.”
Damaris didn’t dare say that she’d always been a bit curious about the famed village where more than one English elopement had taken place. He might take that as encouragement for them to say their own vows. Nor did she say she was somewhat saddened that she’d missed the border into Scotland.
“Shall we break our fast, Miss Honeywell?”
Damaris allowed him to assist her to the ground, and then jumped as a small foot kicked her in the ribcage. She gasped and put a hand to her stomach.
“What is it?” Callum queried, concern instantly lighting his features.
“I think he’s letting me know he’s hungry.” Damaris laughed.
The wide grin Callum bestowed on her was breathtaking in its intensity. “Then let’s no’ disappoint the bairn.”
As he led her inside the modest interior of the taproom, they were greeted with the jubilant tunes of a Gaelic song. “’…I held the gate till you I met, Syne I began to wander: I tint my whistle and my sang, I tint my peace and pleasure; But your green graff, now Luckie Laing, Wad airt me to my treasure…’”
While she was surprised such merriment was taking place among the scattering of patrons this early in the morning, she couldn’t help asking Callum, “What are they singing?”
He tilted his head closer to her ear. “It’s called, ‘The Lass o’ Ecclefechan.’”
“Another ditty by Robert Burns, I assume?” she teased.
Callum winked at her. “But o’ course. Who else?”
After a rather entertaining meal by the locals, during which they made a big fuss over them once they learned he was a laird, Callum and Damaris took their leave with a fanfare of well wishes. The innkeeper even added a few more tarts to their luncheon basket.
Once they had taken their leave, Damaris sat back against the cushioned velvet seat of the coach and sighed. “So far Scottish hospitality has been very impressive.”
Callum couldn’t help
but snort. “Surely ye didna think we were all uncouth barbarians?” When she merely bit her lip, however adoringly it might have been, he threw back his head and laughed richly. “I suppose I ought t’ appreciate yer honesty, Sassenach.”
She crossed her arms and lifted her dainty, English brows. “’Tis no worse than you calling me, ‘Sassenach,’” she returned. “I do have a name, you know.”
He placed a hand over his heart and did his best to appear contrite, although the twitch of his lips likely betrayed his sincerity. “Forgive me, Miss Honeywell. I didna mean t’ give offense t’ such a comely lass.”
As suspected, she rolled her eyes. “Following such an eloquent apology, how can I possibly remain upset?”
After a moment, the carriage erupted into laughter, the easy teasing banter between them better than the finest Scottish whisky in Callum’s mind. Not only was Miss Honeywell beautiful on the outside but he was quickly coming to find that her character was just as equally lovely.
Thus, for the next few days, the smooth conversation continued. They talked about everything from current events and beyond, but mostly it was tales from their childhood. She seemed to thoroughly enjoy his rebellious antics with his brothers, but she did offer her own stories from time to time. He was quickly starting to realize that although Damaris had been rather sheltered as most English ladies were, she spoke with passion and excitement when she discussed a subject that intrigued her. In those moments, with her eyes shining brightly, and a slight color illuminating her face, he yearned to kiss her, but he knew when to keep his distance.
And so far, while Damaris had bid him good evening at her door the nights they had stopped to rest during their journey, he was starting to notice a slight hesitation in her gaze, as if she might soon consider inviting him into her chamber before they even reached Castle O’Donough.
And that would be a very good night, indeed.
Damaris paced the length of her rooms at an inn in Killicrankie, home to one of the battles of the Jacobite Rebellion. Callum had told her when they arrived that they were about two-thirds of the way to Inverness, and this was the last stop before they started their sojourn over the Highlands where their journey would become slower and the options to stop became fewer and farther between. But Callum had assured her that she would be so focused on the scenery that the distance would soon dissipate.
“The blue sky where the creags meet the heavens are like no other, the colors along the valley a mixture o’ emerald, amber, and fire. It’s like no place ye’ve ever seen before.”
She had to admit that he’d painted a marvelous picture, and while she was weary and ready for their travels to be at an end, she couldn’t help but get caught up in the obvious love and pride he took in his homeland. Even his brothers and the Solomons seemed to be anxious to get back to more familiar territory, and although they had ridden near the coach throughout their travels, they didn’t remain with her and Callum for long. They apparently had some sort of unspoken agreement that she wasn’t privy to, so they usually retired early or sought out other entertainment.
At least she’d had the chance to get to know Callum a bit better, and when he spoke about his ancestral home, his actions and his face became animated. She was also starting to understand that being Laird O’Donough was quite an honor, for the closer they drew to Inverness, the respect on the villagers’ faces became more apparent. Men patted him on the shoulder as they walked past, or bowed in reverence.
She’d be lying if she claimed she wasn’t becoming just as fascinated with the man.
Even now, as she paced the wooden floor in her nightdress, she kept glancing toward the closed door and wondering if she shouldn’t be so bold as to knock on his room across the hall. And it wasn’t the first time she’d considered something so forward. Then again, it wasn’t as if she’d have to worry about becoming pregnant.
She touched her stomach with the palm of her hand, something that was becoming more of a habit these days as the movement from the babe became stronger. It seemed that every time she dressed her stays became a bit more snug across the mid-section. Even her bodice was starting to feel the effects of pregnancy. Either way, if she waited much longer she wouldn’t feel comfortable trying to seduce Callum into her bed. But even then she wondered if any…vigorous activity would injure the baby.
With a shake of her head, she turned for the bed and forced herself to slip under the covers. She would make herself go to sleep if she had to lie there for hours to do so.
An indeterminate time later, Damaris sat straight up in bed. A loud ruckus from outside her door had her frowning in concern. Perhaps there had been a disagreement from some of the patrons downstairs? She’d worked with Gen at The Blue Duck long enough to know that when there was ale involved, brains were sometimes left by the wayside.
She slipped her arms in her robe and padded across to the door. She opened it to find Callum sitting on the floor in a drunken heap, the scent of brandy wafting off of him in waves, a Scottish serving maid bent over him and laughing, her…wares about to spill out of her gown.
Damaris wanted to shut the door, to remind herself that whatever Callum did wasn’t her business, but she found herself saying sharply, “What’s going on here?”
Callum turned his head, as if seeking out her voice, squinting when he caught sight of her form. “Ah, Sasshenach. I’m sworry…I dinna mean t’ wake ye. I was just havin’ a pint wit’ my boysh and…” He frowned. “Shomehow I ended up here with…” He paused and looked at the maid. “Wha’ was yer name, lassh?”
“It’d be Trudy,” she returned with a giggle girlish enough to make Damaris’s hands clench. She took a step forward.
“I appreciate your assistance, Trudy, but I can take care of my husband from here.”
The moment the words left her mouth, Damaris froze. And she wasn’t the only one. Callum seemed to sober up for a heartbeat, and Trudy’s face turned white. “Yer his wife?” she spat.
Seeing as how the lie was already spoken and she would look like a complete idiot if she recanted it now, Damaris straightened her posture and said clearly, “That’s right.”
She thought that would have been the end of it, but Trudy glanced at the room Damaris had just come out of, and then across the hall to Callum’s room. “Then why do ye take separate rooms?”
Damaris came up with the first excuse she could think of. “I was angry at him for getting drunk, so I told him he had to choose the brandy or me.” She crossed her arms. “I can see he hasn’t learned his lesson.”
She locked eyes with Callum as Trudy chuckled. “Ye sound like my ma and da.” With a wink, she added, “They fought like cats and dogs, they did, but they had twelve bairns.” She glanced at Damaris’s swollen stomach. “I can see ye make up th’ same way.”
Damaris was sure that her face was ten different shades of red by the time Trudy finished speaking if the crooked grin on Callum’s face was anything to go by. Somehow, he managed to get to his feet on his own and amble over to her. He threw an arm around her shoulders and kissed her soundly on the cheek. “I say Trudy’sh got a point there, my love. How aboot ye let me share yer bed tonight?”
Damaris was quite sure he would pass out the moment he stepped over the threshold. But either way, he was certainly in no condition to… perform. “Only if you don’t snore,” she chided.
He tapped her nose with his finger. “Ye’re adorable, Damarish Murray.”
A warmth rushed through Damaris at the sound of her altered name, however slurred it might have been coming from the man at her side.
She turned to the maid. “Thank you again, Trudy.” With that, she turned her back on the woman and shut the door.
When she turned around, Callum put one hand on the doorframe near her head and the other one around her waist, effectively trapping her. “So are ye ready t’ be my wife then, Miss Honeywell?”
Damaris tried to calm her racing heart and steady her breathing. With Callum this close, so ta
ll and intimidating and utterly…male, she yearned to throw caution to the wind, but since this was no time to think about something so serious, she placed a hand on his chest. She thought to gently push him away, but her hand lingered over his warm, firm chest. “I think you should get some sleep.”
He slowly looked her up and down, causing her blood to race like liquid fire. “But what if I dinna want t’ sleep just now?”
She gasped when the hand at her waist moved upward along her ribcage, stopping just short of skimming the underside of her sensitive breast. It was as if every nerve ending was screaming for his touch, and she didn’t know if it was because she was carrying a child — or just because she wanted him that desperately.
But once she gave in, she would no longer hold the power to keep him at bay. He would be able to coerce her to do his bidding with a simple flick of his wrist, and she wasn’t quite ready to surrender her soul to him just yet.
“We have a lengthy travel ahead of us, Laird O’Donough.” She used his formal title in an effort to keep that distance between them. “You need your rest.” She paused and played her final hand by laying a hand on her stomach. “As do I.”
Callum hung his head. “Ye win, Sassenach.” And when he reluctantly pushed away from her, she noticed that his words weren’t as slurred as they had been a moment before, as if her denial had sobered him.
It was only after he’d taken off his boots and tossed his shirt over a chair that her eyes widened and she realized that he fully intended to stay the night in her room. “What are—?”
“Dinna fash.” He lay down on the coverlet and covered his face with his arm, thankfully still clad in his kilt. “Ye’re right that I’m no’ in any shape t’ be loving ye properly. Yer virtue is safe t’ see another day.”
Damaris wasn’t sure if she would call it “virtue” any longer, considering that ship had long sailed, but when his breathing became deep and even, she realized that he was going to be true to his word.