Callum’s Vow: The Victorian Highlanders

by St. Clair, Ellie

  As had the obviousness that she had already been with someone else. Callum was incensed, more than anything, by the fact that the thought of her with a lover lit a fire of possessiveness within him. He had no idea who the woman was, for goodness sake. What — and why — should it matter to him where she had been or with whom?

  The best course now was to take care to stay away from her on this voyage. He could avoid her for ten days, and all would be fine. He didn’t think he could sacrifice his late night walks, but he suspected she would no longer be taking midnight strolls after tonight. What had she been thinking, walking around half-dressed? She was covered but certainly suggestive. She was lucky it was he who she had run into and not someone who would have taken more advantage of a beautiful woman on a lonely deck.

  He sighed, realizing that any hope he previously had of sleep was now surely gone.

  For every time he closed his eyes, one image invaded — her face.

  5

  Victoria spent the next day exploring the ship. She had dressed in another simple gown, this one a pale blue with a high neck, tight bodice and sleeves, and a narrow skirt adorned with pleats. She typically avoided pastels, but this one was actually quite pretty. When the fabric swished around her ankles, she was reminded of the daytime sky stretching above her head toward the new world. As she prepared for breakfast, she told herself she was taking extra care because she had additional time, not because she had any desire to look her best for anyone on the ship. Most certainly not the handsome yet ornery man from the night before.

  She kept an eye out for him through the day, but he was nowhere to be found. This time, she planned her words out in advance. She wasn’t quite so angry as she had been at the time, but she meant to tell him in the most crisp, polite way possible her thoughts on his assumptions. That anyone would think her an elitist made her cringe.

  Breakfast in the morning had been a small affair. Victoria had sat, smiling, as Martha rambled on. Between breakfast and dinner, Victoria decided to undertake a self-guided tour of the upper decks of the ship. Martha accompanied her for a time, strolling along the rail, before her face began turning a bit green.

  “Martha?” Victoria asked, worried at the sudden change in her complexion. “Are you quite all right?”

  “I am not so sure,” Martha replied, beginning to breath heavily. “Perhaps if I just sat down…” Before she could finish her sentence, Martha threw the ample top half of her body over the rail, losing the breakfast she had just consumed.

  “Perhaps you should lie down,” Victoria suggested as she gave Martha a few pats on the back in an attempt at soothing her. “You may have a touch of seasickness.”

  “Perhaps you are right,” said Martha as she gripped the railing so hard her knuckles turned white. “But I mustn’t leave you unaccompanied…”

  As the older woman wobbled, Victoria consoled her, sympathy filling her. Hopefully it would not be a particularly long voyage. “It will be fine, Martha. I shall stay within the public rooms or my own cabin. I’ll not wander far.”

  Once Victoria settled Martha in her cabin, she continued her search of the ship, telling herself that her objective was exploration and nothing more. She met Harry for dinner and they were seated at a round table of eight with a family of four and a young couple, the woman heavy with child.

  The dining room, adorned with portraits of British royalty and magnificent paintings, was filled with Englishmen and women from cities and towns throughout the country. Everyone Victoria met seemed to have a title, or a relation with a title, information they nearly immediately imparted with the apparent expectation that she be rather impressed.

  She had heard of a few names through the odd social event she had attended in London, but she tried to avoid those at all costs. Partially because dancing was not exactly what she would call a strength of hers. She loved it immensely, but most of her dancing was in the privacy of her own rooms as she had more enthusiasm than she did grace. In fact, she lacked most of the ladylike decorum expected of her. Which was most likely due to her mother keeping her distance and the governesses coming and going so frequently that they didn’t put much effort into teaching her polite graces. Victoria was fortunate that she received an education at all — most of it was acquired through study of others, more than anything else.

  Harry barely touched his food at dinner and began to look a little queasy himself. Ironically, it was now Victoria taking care of the Gambles. She accompanied Harry to his room to join Martha. She knew she should return to her own cabin, but the thought of remaining alone all evening was not a welcome one. She decided to give up on the search for the Scotsman — one she had finally admitted to herself that she was undertaking — and retreated to the ship’s small library to finish off her novel in silence.

  It was comfortable here, with the oak bookshelves stretching from floor to ceiling, filled with volumes of mismatched shapes and sizes. She chose a plush sofa in the corner, and sank into it, crossing one leg over the other. She tossed her bonnet beside her and soon lost herself in sixteenth century England.

  She was turning the last few pages when she felt a presence hovering over her. She looked up to see a young Englishman. She guessed he was in his early thirties, well-dressed with dark hair that shone near black with the oil holding it in place. Victoria hid her smile at his moustache, which looked as if it had been painted on.

  “Allow me to introduce myself,” he said, grabbing her hand with a slight bow overtop of it. “William Crawford. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

  “Victoria Brighton,” she said, attempting to inject some enthusiasm into her voice when she had been quite eager to finish the novel. How someone could see but a few pages left in a book and interrupt, she would never know. Her stepfather had an annoying habit of continually doing so. “How do you do?”

  “Very well. I saw you in the dining room this afternoon, and I said to myself, ‘William, you must meet that beautiful young woman. ’ And here we are.”

  “Here we are,” she replied with a forced smile. “It is lovely to have met you.”

  She turned her head down to the book — honestly, did he not see how close she was to finishing? — and hoped he would take the hint.

  He did not.

  He sat down next to her and began chattering away. He rambled on about himself — his background, his family connections. He had fought in South Africa and, from the way he told it, was responsible for saving the entire British army. Splendid. She tried to listen to him talk, she really did, as he seemed the decent sort, but he was so boastful that he bored her. He babbled on and on, as Victoria’s eyes glazed over and her mind wandered.

  Suddenly, movement at the door captured her attention and she bolted upright in shock. There he was, the man she’d tried so hard to find. Framed in the doorway, light spilled in behind him, leaving his face in shadow until he finally turned and caught her eye. He looked Victoria up and down before his gaze traveled over to the man next to her.

  Belatedly, Victoria realized what the scene in front of him must look like. As she had read earlier, she had curled her legs up underneath her bottom, and had rested her elbow on a cushion. Her position of comfort had been taken up long before this William Crawford had arrived, but William had pulled up a chair close to hers and was talking so animatedly that the pair of them must look rather close.

  Shockingly, the Englishman didn’t even notice the man in the door. How one could miss a presence like this Scot, Victoria was unsure.

  She would certainly never make that mistake.

  Her face flushed with embarrassment and as she swung her legs down and started to rise, the man turned and walked away.

  “Is everything all right?” William asked.

  “Yes, it’s fine, but I… I must go.”

  Victoria’s feet hit the floor, and she nearly pitched forward. She hadn’t realized that while she had been curled upon the seat, immersed in her book, her feet underneath her had co
mpletely fallen asleep. Lurching like a drunkard through the library, Victoria left her book and bonnet behind as she stumbled off down the hall, chasing after the broad-shouldered man.

  “Excuse me! Sir!” she called.

  His shoulders stiffened, and he turned, watching her foolishly chase him down.

  “Aye?” He raised one eyebrow and Victoria forgot everything she was going to say at that quirk of an eyebrow – she had forgotten just how handsome he was.

  “I must speak with you,” she managed, to which he tilted his head.

  “I didn’t realize we had anything to discuss, as you made clear last night.”

  “You misunderstood. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to be with you — that is, standing with you.” She shook her head, clearing the cobwebs as the blood began to rush back into her feet, and she tried not to let the pain travel to her face. “It’s simply, I felt that, holding each other so closely when we don’t actually even know one another was slightly… inappropriate? Not proper? I am unsure of what I’m trying to say, however I did not want you to think…”

  “I do not think anything, milady. It does not matter. Did you say anything of the incident to your gentleman friend?”

  “My friend? Oh, him? I do not know him. He introduced himself and sat down just this moment. And I’m actually not a lady. That is, to say, I’m a lady, but not a real Lady. Which by that, I mean a titled lady. You do understand me, do you not?”

  She paused to take a breath. This was not going as she had planned, but she forged on anyway.

  “What I wanted to say to you was that I thought you were very rude last night. You know nothing at all about me, yet you assumed…”

  “I assumed you would not want to be found in a passionate embrace with a steerage passenger in the middle of the night on an empty deck. Was I wrong?”

  “Yes! Well no, you weren’t wrong. But it was not… you’re in steerage? You do not look like you would be in steerage.”

  He raised an eyebrow again. “And what, may I ask, is a steerage passenger supposed to look like?”

  Her cheeks warmed once more. At this rate, he would think her cheeks were perpetually pink. Damn the man. “Well, no, that is not quite what I meant, however from your clothing, you look… I mean I would assume…”

  “That I’m better than steerage?”

  “No, I just mean… ack!”

  Frustrated and unable to formulate her thoughts into words, Victoria couldn’t tolerate talking to this pigheaded man anymore. She brushed by him, and stormed down to her cabin. It wasn’t until she had properly closed the door behind her that she realized she had left Mr. Mark Twain with William Crawford in the library. She groaned and went back to find out if the grass was really greener on the other side for the Prince and the Pauper.

  6

  Callum watched the Englishwoman stalk down the hall. Her shoulders were set back, her hands clenched in little fists. He’d never set out to make a woman angry, but this one turned into fire when she was mad. The blush rose in her cheeks and her eyes sparked at him with such ferocity that he wondered if she was going to raise one of those small fists balled at her side and swing it at him.

  The way her anger flustered her made him smile. She seemed to have good intentions of staying upset with him, but she also appeared to be the type who would much prefer to remain joyful and at peace.

  He actually had sought her out to apologize for their encounter the night before. He normally wouldn’t come so near to taking liberties with any woman, let alone an Englishwoman. There was something about her, though, that magnetized him. When he had seen her with the dandy in the library, jealousy had flared inside his chest, and he’d had to leave before he did anything he would later regret.

  She wasn’t his, and he had no right to any opinion on her activities or her companions. But the thought of her with a man like that…

  He hadn’t expected her to chase after him, though he couldn’t say he was disappointed that she had.

  She had been right about one thing. Steerage was an odd place for Callum to find himself. His family had always been one of the most respected in the Highlands. For centuries, the McDougalls had been strong, a clan the others came to for help during battles and grievances. They had survived the Jacobite uprisings and evolved with the introduction of agriculture through all of Great Britain.

  But then potato crops became diseased. Their people were going hungry. The McDougalls had tried everything to help their clan stay on the land and survive, but slowly many of their people gave up and moved to the cities, some — including Gregor — making their way to the new world, where they were promised their own land and freedom.

  So here Callum was after encouragement from his father to find his way.

  When Callum reached steerage below, children were playing a game of knucklebones at the bottom of the steps. One of the older boys was arguing with a smaller lad.

  “You did not pick up the seventh one!”

  “I did too! Right before the ball hit!”

  “You did not!”

  “Lads!” Callum interrupted, clapping his hands together in the air. “Now, whatever is the matter? Tell me one at a time. You first.” He pointed to the small boy.

  They each gave their argument, and eventually he told them to replay the hand and he would be the judge. Sure enough, the boy picked up his knuckles in time, and so the game continued.

  The children had an abundance of energy from spending their days in the cramped quarters. Callum laughed with them, and soon had them occupied in a variety of games he had learned back in Scotland. He even snuck them up on deck for some fresh air. When they returned belowdecks, their mothers were more than pleased to find them sufficiently tired for the afternoon.

  Re-energized, Callum went to find Jack to see if the big man wanted to play a card game of their own.

  * * *

  Determined to put Callum out of her mind, Victoria spent the next day continuing her exploration of the ship, while intermittently checking on the Gambles. They were both still shut in their cabin, violently affected with seasickness. Martha was bemoaning the fact that Sarah had put so much trust in her, and here she was, allowing Victoria to roam the ship alone as they traveled across the Atlantic. However, it seemed that many of the passengers were in a similar condition, ailing from the rocking ship, as the dining room was sparsely populated that afternoon. The ocean swells were larger than usual, according to the sailors.

  Dinner was beef and potatoes. Victoria was sitting with Lady Beatrix on her left and Mr. Crawford, who had made himself comfortable to her right. She had met Lady Beatrix the previous day with the Gambles, and despite her best efforts could not shake the determined Mr. Crawford, who seemed to appear everywhere Victoria turned. He was pompous, but harmless. Many of the rounded tables of eight were empty, and the chandeliers, while glamorous, looked out of place amongst the eclectic group that made up the ship’s first class travelers.

  Victoria didn’t much care for the conversation at her table. It was the typical gossip of British society, with each dinner companion trying to outdo the other in terms of who they knew, how well they knew such people, and where they happened to fall on the social ladder. Victoria pushed her food around her plate. She’d had more breakfast than usual and wasn’t very hungry. Or perhaps the conversation was making her lose her appetite.

  Lady Beatrix was dressed quite elegantly. She looked to be near seventy years, but she certainly kept up with the latest fashions. She sat near the edge of her chair, her skirt and bodice swelling with pleats and braids. Victoria was captivated by the feather on her hat that bobbed every time she opened her mouth to eat or speak, which happened quite frequently as a matter of fact. It looked like it was ready to take flight. Lady Beatrix certainly had her opinions and felt her husband, the late Marquess of Atwater, was currently sitting next to God Himself. Unfortunately, they had not been blessed with any children, and she could not bear to watch her estate fall into the
hands of a remote cousin. She was going to visit her sister in Boston, with the thought that perhaps she would move to the Americas permanently. Victoria had her doubts that Lady Beatrix would fit in well with the Americans, but one never knew.

  Lady Beatrix and Mr. Crawford were politely debating the merits of the importance of wealth versus peerage. Mr. Crawford was joining his brother in his prospering banking business. He began talking interest and percentages as Victoria’s attention wandered. She hid her musings with a smile and a nod that she had perfected while her mind was otherwise occupied. She was suddenly startled by a commotion near the front of the room that caught everyone’s attention.

  The door to the dining hall slammed open. A big, unruly man stood at the entrance. His dark hair, speckled with gray, stood out in strange angles from the side of his head, as if he had just woken up after sleeping on only one side. His pants, too tight at the waist, were ill fitting all the way down, as they sagged in strange places. His vest was an attempt at appropriateness, but it was unfortunately just one button off. Quite obviously drunk, he stumbled into the room as a couple of giggling children followed him through, ducking under his arm and into the dining hall.

  “So, this is where they’ve been hiding all the food,” he slurred. “With the upper class. Must be nice. Care to share? I could use a little extra to fill me stomach. It’s been growlin’ something fierce.”

  He grabbed a piece of beef from the sideboard and held onto it with his teeth as he began stuffing buns and a variety of food from the buffet into his pockets. Most of the first class passengers looked on, horrified, as the ship’s staff tried desperately but in vain to remove him from the hall. Victoria was captivated by the performance, but was distracted when she felt a hand on her knee. She looked down into wide, deep brown eyes set into the chubby cheeks of the little boy.