by Meara Platt
Instead of feeling flattered, Damaris felt her face warm and she took a step backward. “It’s only because I’m carrying your baby,” she pointed out. “Otherwise, I’d be just another Englishwoman to you.”
He frowned. “That’s no’ true.”
“Isn’t it?” she countered with a shake of her head. “The truth is, you don’t even know me.”
Callum wanted to deny her claim, but he found that he couldn’t. She was absolutely right. He desired Damaris for her beauty, and he even enjoyed her stubbornness, but what did he really know about her except their combined passion? What were her fears? What made her upset? Angry?
But then, wasn’t the point of bringing her to Castle O’Donough to find out those things? He had four months to convince her to marry him, but not just for the sake of the bairn. He honestly wanted to know more about this woman, to make her happy.
“Very well, Miss Honeywell,” he conceded. “Where shall we begin?”
“What do you mean?”
He shrugged. “If ye want me t’ court ye properly, ye’ve got t’ give me some place t’ start. Tell me something ye like t’ do.”
She clasped her hands before her. “I should enjoy a walk in the gardens.”
He inclined his head. “Then we shall go right after supper this evening.”
“But won’t it be dark?” she frowned.
He grinned. “We’re in the Highlands, no’ London where the smog and gas light is all ye see. The moon and stars shall guide our way.”
A slow grin spread across her face and for a moment, Callum’s heart stopped beating. “Then I shall look forward to it.”
Supper turned out to be a rather extravagant affair. In fact, other than one time with her parents, while sitting and dining with the Prince Regent, Damaris had never partaken of such a lavish meal. The formal dining room had a rather relaxed atmosphere with a large stone fireplace and dark paneling along the walls, complete with a tapestry of Bonnie Prince Charlie. She sat at the table with Callum, Gavin and Jamie, and they were served smoked salmon, fresh oysters, pheasant, and something called haggis neeps n’ tatties, which she learned was a sort of pudding with oats, spices, and minced sheep innards with turnips and potatoes on the side.
Just the thought of that had her stomach turning, but she forced herself to keep an open mind. She was in Scotland now, and she didn’t want to offend their culture with her “haughty, English ways,” as some might claim. And to be honest, after she got past the idea of eating something rather unsavory, it turned out to be quite tasty.
Not only was that a surprise, but it was also a struggle for Damaris not to spew wine across the table during most of the meal. It turned out that when the three brothers got together in a relaxed and informal atmosphere, they could be rather entertaining. And while their accents became more pronounced to the point she could hardly understand their heavy Gaelic, their facial expressions told the story for them.
She hadn’t had so much fun in months, if not her entire life. Life in England was certainly a bit more straight-laced and proper, whereas here in the Highlands, freedom was encouraged, including oneself.
“Well, I suppose I ought t’ be heading t’ bed.” Gavin rose to his feet. “I promised Angus that I’d help him with his drainage ditches.” He turned to Damaris and offered a light bow. “It’s a pleasure having ye here, Miss Honeywell.” With his face turning a darker shade of red, he excused himself.
Jamie was the next to stand. “I dinna ken how Gavin willna ever talk t’ a lady. He blushes like a green lad.” With a roll of his eyes, he bowed to Damaris and with that scandalous wink she was coming to associate with him he left the room.
That left Damaris alone with Callum.
She toyed with the end of her fork, wondering if he might recall his mention of a moonlit walk in the gardens. When the silence stretched between them and he got to his feet, her heart sank. But when he walked over to her and held out his hand, she lifted her gaze to his.
He’d worn the same, casual attire that he’d had on earlier, while she’d donned a simple light blue cotton gown. Thankfully, she’d taken to wearing the newer fashion of a higher empire style, so she shouldn’t have to let them out, unlike the dresses Gen preferred.
But now, she focused her attention on the man standing before her. “I believe I made ye a promise, and ye’ll find that I tend t’ keep them.”
Damaris slipped her hand into his. It was warm and slightly calloused, evidence of hard labor in the not too distant past. She found comfort in that fact. In that moment, she knew there was no point in fighting what would eventually happen again.
She loved Callum — there was no longer any doubt.
And with his sincere words, she was starting to believe that perhaps there could be a happily ever after for them after all.
With a small smile, she stood and threaded her arm through his.
Callum had a hard time trying to tell Damaris anything about his estate, or even answering her questions whenever she posed one, for the sight of her under the moon’s soft glow quite literally captured all his attention. Combined with the cool breeze coming off the water and stirring the light tendrils of golden hair at her nape where she had it pulled up into a simple chignon, the effect had him rather bewitched.
“These trees are quite magnificent,” she said, touching a green needle on one of the branches. “What are they?”
Callum glanced upward at the canopy above their heads. During the summer months, the trees were healthy and green, although they didn’t change much in the winter. “These are ash, planted by my ancestors, so I canna take the credit. Ye’ll find that most o’ Scotland has spruce, pine, and fir.”
“It’s still lovely, whether you were responsible for it or not,” Damaris teased with a charming smile, and Callum had to fist his hand at his side, or else pull her to him for a kiss.
He continued to follow her around the neatly trimmed hedges, but once she paused at the center of the gardens and sat on a stone bench, he remained standing. He certainly didn’t trust himself to be closer to her without giving in to his natural impulse to touch her.
She looked up at the heavens and said softly, “It really is lovely here. So peaceful.”
Callum was sure such sweeter words had never been spoken — unless they were in the heat of passion. He withheld a groan and glanced toward the skies to try to calm his raging emotions. “I told ye it’s like no other place ye’ve ever seen.”
He wanted to say more, to press her into giving him an answer about staying with him indefinitely, but since he’d promised to give her time to make her decision about becoming mistress of Castle O’Donough, that was what he would do. And unfortunately, that also meant that he was honor bound not to coerce her into an affair either.
He saw her hug herself, so he found the perfect opportunity to lead them back inside where he would head to his chamber and pour himself a much needed whisky. “Let’s get ye back inside. I dinna want t’ be the reason ye catch a chill.”
She nodded, but when she stood, she reached out and grasped his upper arm. “Callum…” It was little more than a whisper.
He swallowed thickly, but forced himself to wait.
Her blue eyes shone like twin pools of water as she said, “Stay with me tonight?”
Without a moment’s hesitation, he drew her within the circle of his arms.
Chapter Eight
For the rest of the summer into early fall Damaris spent nearly every waking moment — and night — with Callum. Of course, he was busy with the tenants during the harvest season, just as he’d said he would be, but she had built up enough of a rapport with the household staff and the wives of the farmers of Castle O’Donough, paying calls with Callum, that she was seldom left unattended.
Once it became too difficult to hide her condition, and it was common knowledge that Callum was the father, Damaris had been flooded with well wishes for a safe delivery, rather than being judged for getting with chil
d before she was wed. In fact, women who had bairns of their own were more than forthcoming with their advice, and made up special herbs and tonics for her.
But it was when the castle had settled down for the evening that Callum and Damaris found their way into each other’s embrace. While Damaris’s love only grew for Callum, she had yet to hear any confession from him. He had kept true to his word and didn’t press her with another proposal, although she had no doubt in her mind that if he asked again, she would say yes. This castle felt more like her home than all the years she’d lived in England. There was a certain fellowship among these people that she had, unfortunately, never even found with her parents.
She did, however, miss Gen dreadfully and was glad to hear that she was planning a trip to the Highlands very soon. Even Mac was to accompany her, for he was going to visit with family along the way. When Damaris had written back to inquire about who would run The Blue Duck in her absence, Gen had shocked her by saying she’d sold it, deciding that it was time to retire.
Damaris couldn’t have been more thrilled, even if it was getting rather difficult to move about these days. Her burgeoning stomach had eclipsed the sight of her feet, causing her to waddle more than actually walk. As her time grew near, she found she was starting to grow nervous about the upcoming birth, even though the local midwife was rather experienced in these matters and had assured Damaris that all would be well.
She headed to the kitchens to see if she might be of any help to the cook and the other servants with the yearly canning, but was quickly shooed away with demands that she should be resting.
Without anything else to occupy her time, Damaris decided to pen a letter to Ivy, who had become recently engaged. She had just sealed it when there was a knock at her bedchamber door. At her urging, her maid, Inys, walked in and hovered in the sitting room doorway. She was twisting her hands in front of her as if the news she was there to impart wasn’t welcome, and instantly Damaris feared something had happened to Callum.
She quickly rose to her feet and tried to calm her pounding heart. “What is it?”
“Ye have a visitor, Miss Honeywell.”
“A visitor?” Damaris frowned, but then she recalled Gen’s promise and she smiled. “It must be my cousin, Genevieve and Mac—”
But Inys was shaking her head. “No, it’s—”
A coarse, firm voice spoke up from behind her. “Her mother.”
Damaris’s mouth fell open as the viscountess stepped forward; her pinched expression unchanged from the day Damaris had left London for Haltwhistle. “Come downstairs. Your father and I wish to speak with you.”
With that, she turned and walked away.
Damaris swallowed over the sudden lump in her throat. Even though she was a grown woman, about to become a mother herself, Devona Honeywell had never failed to bring out the frightened girl in her. Her mother had never been the type to coo and coddle her only child. Damaris had learned long ago that Devona’s lying in had been difficult and she was told to not have any more children. Damaris didn’t know if that was why her parents had always seemed distant from one another, but she prayed her relationship with Callum would never turn that sour.
It was one reason why she still hadn’t told him how she felt about him.
There was still that underlying fear that their relationship would turn into that of her parents.
But pushing that toward the back of her mind, and since she didn’t wish to keep Lord and Lady Matheson waiting any longer than necessary, Damaris took a deep breath and headed downstairs.
Callum came home for luncheon, dragging his feet from exhaustion. He was dirty and sweaty from his efforts in the fields, but even through the grime and sweat, he was still anxious to see Damaris, so he temporarily ignored the guilt he felt for leaving a trail of muddy boot prints and clods of grass in his wake. He was always afraid that, as her time grew near, he wouldn’t be around when she went into labor. And if there was one thing he was going to demand as laird, it was that he was there for the entirety of the birth. He didn’t care if men weren’t generally allowed in the chamber, this father intended to be with Damaris through it all. While he couldn’t do anything but offer his support and his strength, he would give her everything that was in his power to provide.
He also realized that he should be mentioning the subject of their marriage before long, if he intended on the bairn becoming his successor, but things had been so wonderful between them the past several weeks. He almost hated to bring up the subject that would no doubt dim the happy light in her eyes.
“My laird?” He paused in the foyer and turned to the butler who’d addressed him. “The Viscount and Viscountess Matheson are in the front parlor with Miss Honeywell.”
Callum snorted. “I’d say they’ve lost their way.”
“I believe, sir…” The servant cleared his throat. “…that they are here to visit their daughter.”
Instantly, Callum stilled. In all the time he’d spent with Damaris, he’d never even thought to ask her about her parentage. Granted, she kept quiet on the subject for the most part, for it seemed to be an unpleasant subject for her to discuss, and she preferred instead to hear all about his childhood antics, so he’d never pressed her on the matter.
Now, he realized his error.
If her parents had come all this way, it could only mean that they meant to take her back to England with them once the child was born.
And that he couldn’t allow.
Damaris was his, as was the bairn she carried.
With a determination in his stride, he headed for the parlor.
Damaris sat with her hands in her lap, her posture straight, for her mother would have scolded her otherwise, and kept her head bent as she listened to her parents as they planned to “fix” her situation.
“You will see that this is for the best,” Devona said firmly. “The child will be better off without you. You’re an Englishwoman, bred for life in the ton. You don’t belong in Scotland with this…ruffian.”
At this, Damaris lifted her head. She could criticize her all they wanted, but she wouldn’t allow them to disrespect Callum. “He’s not uncouth like you imagine. He’s the laird of his clan and—”
At that moment, Callum walked into the room and her heart sped up, and then abruptly sank. While she was used to his casual working attire, her parents were not. Her mother instantly sniffed in disdain at the sight of his kilt, stained shirt, and simple leather boots.
“Yes, I see what you mean,” she murmured for Damaris’s ears only.
Without knowing what sort of snake pit he was entering, Callum offered a broad smile, the kind that caused her knees to weaken, but her parents were firmly unmoved by his welcome. “I was told we had guests. Welcome t’ Castle O’Donough, my lord, my lady.”
He offered a light bow to each of them — which was unreturned.
“We do not intend to prevail upon your hospitality for long, Laird O’Donough,” Amherst Honeywell, Viscount Matheson said evenly. “Just until the child is born.”
Damaris held her breath as Callum’s dark eyes shifted and lit on her. She wanted to tell him that she was sorry for not telling him the truth about her parents, but every time she tried to tell him that they were titled, the words seem to fall away. It was as if she’d wanted to forget that part of her existence.
She liked being simple Miss Honeywell and not the only child of Viscount Matheson, the one who had ruined herself by attending a Cyprian’s Ball and any chance she might have had at an advantageous marriage.
But, if her mother’s demands were anything to go by, she had the opportunity to redeem herself and restore her good name.
By marrying another man they had selected for her — the Earl of Dornville.
Callum returned his attention to her father, and Damaris closed her eyes. She couldn’t bear to witness what was to come. “O’ course you’re welcome. I’m sure you’re excited aboot the prospect o’ a grandchild who could inherit—”<
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“I’m afraid you misunderstand our intentions,” her father interjected almost coldly. “I don’t intend to recognize this child. It will be a Scottish bastard. Once Damaris is able to leave, she will return to England with us to marry Lord Dornville and take her place among society. The child, of course, will remain here with you.”
Callum blinked, not quite able to comprehend what he was hearing.
Was he truly being insulted in his own home? Not only that, were these people actually threatening to take Damaris away from him and — Dear God — marry her to another man?
The genteel host fell away as Callum crossed his arms. “With all due respect”—although his tone suggested otherwise—“I’m afraid I canna allow that.”
The viscount snorted. “I don’t believe that you have the authority to do anything at this point, Laird O’Donough.” As if his title was merely an honorific and not truly earned over centuries of being passed down through generations. “I’m her father, and she is under my authority.”
“But I’m t’ be her husband,” he returned smoothly.
The viscountess instantly gasped, but it was her father who replied, “Unless you have a contract of betrothal, I’m afraid such a claim won’t hold up in court.”
And this was where he was about to take one of the biggest gambles of his life. If he was wrong and Damaris didn’t return his affection… “I dinna need a contract. I have the word o’ my betrothed.” He looked to the woman who had effectively stolen his heart right out of his chest. His only regret was that he hadn’t told her before now how much she meant to him, but he hoped that his expression spoke of his emotions. “Isna that right, Damaris?”
She opened her mouth and he held his breath. But when she would have responded, the only thing that came out of her mouth was more of a groan as she clutched her stomach. “I — arghhhh…”
