Callum’s Vow: The Victorian Highlanders
Page 1
Callum’s Vow
The Victorian Highlanders
Ellie St. Clair
Contents
Author’s Note
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Epilogue
Finlay’s Duty
Chapter 1
Also by Ellie St. Clair
About the Author
♥ Copyright 2020 by Ellie St Clair - All rights reserved.
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Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher.
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Also By Ellie St. Clair
Standalone
Unmasking a Duke
Christmastide with His Countess
Her Christmas Wish
Happily Ever After
The Duke She Wished For
Someday Her Duke Will Come
Once Upon a Duke’s Dream
He’s a Duke, But I Love Him
Loved by the Viscount
Because the Earl Loved Me
Happily Ever After Box Set Books 1-3
Happily Ever After Box Set Books 4-6
Searching Hearts
Duke of Christmas
Quest of Honor
Clue of Affection
Hearts of Trust
Hope of Romance
Promise of Redemption
Searching Hearts Box Set (Books 1-5)
The Unconventional Ladies
Lady of Mystery
Lady of Fortune
Lady of Providence
Lady of Charade
Blooming Brides
A Duke for Daisy
A Marquess for Marigold
An Earl for Iris
A Viscount for Violet
The Bluestocking Scandals
Designs on a Duke
Inventing the Duke
The Victorian Highlanders
Callum’s Vow
Finlay’s Duty
Author’s Note
I began publishing my historical romance stories in 2017. However, I have been writing for as long as I can remember, never knowing the opportunities in publishing that awaited.
I first published a Regency romance (The Duke She Wished For) that I had written about a year prior to that time. It was the first Regency I had written, and I was pleasantly surprised to find that readers liked it -- and so I kept going, publishing the Regency stories I had previously written, and began to write new ones.
But in the meantime, I had a couple of other books sitting there on my computer. One was the first book I had ever written. It included all of the elements I loved in a romance, and in places that I had always wanted to write about that were near and dear to my heart. It began in London, included Highlanders, and much of it takes place right in my own backward, in what is now Canada (but was at the time called the Northwest Territories). The problem was, the book didn't neatly fall into any category. It wasn't a western. It wasn't completely a Highlander book, and it took place in the Victorian era (the 1880s), but not completely in England. But it was the story that had grown with me over the years, the culmination of all that I loved. So what to do with it?
Following some advice, I published it, but under a different name. And I loved the book so much that I kept writing the rest of the series I had always wanted to write, about the McDougall family (books 2-5 primarily take place in Scotland).
Fast forward to this year and my decision to republish them, but as myself. First, however, they needed a little polishing.
I began reading through the first book, and oh my goodness, I could barely read it. I suppose writing is an art like anything else, and there's only one way to get better -- to practice, which I certainly had been doing! I questioned again whether to keep going, but I still loved the characters, loved the story, and so I persisted. I ended up nearly completely re-writing the book, though the original story remains.
So here it is for you -- Callum's Vow.
Please note — it was first published as Hearts of Starlight and The Scot’s Vow under the name Audrey Adair. It is something a little different from me, and I hope you love it.
Prologue
July 10, 1866 ~ Aldourie, Scotland
Shrieks of laughter filled the air as Callum and Gregor tumbled over the crest of the brilliant green hill, rolling faster and faster as their feet came from under them and they raced to the bottom. Callum could hear his small black puppy barking excitedly as he chased them, followed by the little, yet mighty, feet of his brothers, sister and their friends — but they would never catch him and his cousin, who were older and faster than them all. Callum laughed when he heard Peggy curse at one of his brothers, but then he forgot all behind him when they reached the bottom.
He and Gregor crashed into one another, with the rest of them soon crashing into them when they finally caught up. Callum could only laugh as he lay at the bottom of the heap of children in the grassy knoll, as it seemed the hills, the plains and the clear blue of the skies met in a piece of paradise.
The plains stretched before them, dotted with sheep all the way down to the east shore of Loch Ness. Callum had heard the tales that a monster lived in the bottom of the loch, though he was beginning to doubt the legend, for surely they would have seen it by now, after their repeated attempts to find her during their summer swims.
Callum rolled out from the bottom of the pile as his sister Margaret elbowed him hard in the stomach.
“Oof! Peggy, get your little bony body off me!” he said, as she giggled.
Her foot caught their cousin Gregor in the face when she tried to slide off the pile.
“Come and catch me!” she yelled into the wind, already running as fast as her tiny bare feet could carry her. Her dark brown curls stretched out behind her, blowing in the wind. Just four years old, she was the baby of the bunch, and more of a terror to her parents than all the rest of them had been.
Callum was six years older than Margaret, five years older than Roderick, three years older than Adam, and a year older than Finlay, who was of the opinion that they were much too old to go tumbling about in the woods, as he told them all with his chest puffed out. Callum was fine with that. He would rather play with Gregor. Finlay was much too stuffy to have fun with running through the bushes and trees.
Gregor, their cousin, was the same age a
s Callum. He had been raised with the rest of the McDougall clan after his parents were killed in a fire. He’d been staying with the McDougalls at the time, which had saved his life. Four years later, Callum could still hear Gregor’s sobs that night as he lay in the bed next to him. He never said a thing, as Gregor would be mortified to know he’d heard him.
But on this summer day made for trampling the fields, they didn’t think of that. They ran to the main keep, catching Peggy and running through the chicken coop, scaring the birds and making feathers fly.
They ducked a swat from one of their father’s farmhands and kept moving like a pack of dogs, sweeping over the bailey.
That night, exhausted, Gregor and Callum lay outside, trying to count the stars, content in their friendship and life on the Highlands.
1
June 21, 1882 ~ London, England
One foot dangled inside the windowsill in the relative safety of the bedroom. The other desperately searched for a foothold on the lattice that climbed the house as Victoria Brighton precariously straddled the ledge.
Cursing as her skirts snagged on a nail, Victoria looked below her. It was a pretty view, the ivy-strewn lattice affixed to the red brick house. But she would be much happier looking at it from over her shoulder.
“Blast,” she muttered, her voice low to avoid being heard by anyone who happened to be outside.
Her foot found the lattice, and she began inching her way down from her second story window. It was fortunate she didn’t sleep on the third floor.
Her foot slipped a few times on the tangle of vines covering the crisscrossed wood as she made the slow climb down. She almost lost her grip as her hand slipped through the lattice. Thankfully, her gloves protected her from some nasty scrapes as she scrabbled against the rough brick wall and regained her hold. Despite the late-spring chill clinging in the air, anxious perspiration dripped down her spine.
What Victoria lacked in coordination, she made up for with determination. By the time she reached the ground her arms were beginning to ache from the weight of her very average-sized frame.
As she reached down to retrieve the valise that she’d sent flying out the window minutes earlier, Victoria heard the din of merriment around the corner. Laughter floated through the air, as the voices of her wedding guests were full of gossip and excitement, lips loosened by too many glasses of punch and champagne.
The wedding in question was one that Victoria was determined would never take place. It would not be a fairy tale of her choosing, but one that would mean a happy ending for her stepfather and the groom-to-be. She was seen as a bank account more than a bride, and she refused to spend the rest of her life married to a man who made her skin crawl in all varieties of unpleasant ways.
She didn’t think any of the guests would be disappointed. Rather, this would provide fodder for their gossip for months. How a girl from a common family — though an heiress to a formidable fortune, mind you — could leave the Duke of Lansing practically at the altar! Never mind that he had nothing to his name, had destroyed his estate with his greedy ways, and his wife had suspiciously died. He was a duke.
Victoria refused to become his second wife, and she would certainly not be making the duke a widower twice over.
She was, as always, running late. She didn’t know how it had happened, as she thought she had timed everything perfectly. Feigning a stomach illness, she had blamed the richness of the food and her nervousness for the day at hand. No one had questioned her, nor had they really cared. The sky was just beginning to darken, and she knew she had to get moving if she was going to make the last train to Liverpool.
Victoria had to ensure her timing was just right. She had to keep perfectly to her schedule of reaching the train station, arriving in Liverpool, and making her way to the docks to board the Parisian. Her hope was that once the others — particularly her stepfather and the duke — realized she was gone in the morning, there wouldn’t be enough time to catch her before the ship launched. She had told her maid, Mary, not to wake her until late as she needed much rest before her wedding day. It pained Victoria that Mary, as sweet and gentle as she was, might be blamed, but Victoria consoled herself with the thought that she was also saving Mary from a life serving in the household of the duke. Victoria had left her with a note outlining how to explain her disappearance, including an escape plan for herself and information on where Victoria had arranged another placement for Mary as a lady’s maid at a home just a day’s ride away.
Victoria crept around the back of the house to find the alley clear. Dark tendrils had slipped out of their pins and were tumbling down the side of her face after her foray out the window. She tried to shove the pins back in and re-settled her hat before heading to the street to find a hackney. The streets were fairly quiet at this hour, the streetlamps not yet lit, but guiding the way to the main road.
Victoria could move at a fairly good pace in her simple gown, but she didn’t want to attract much attention. She was hoping she had luck on her side.
A few turns later, she finally saw a gentleman disembarking from a Hansom cab up ahead, and she raced to catch it before it continued on. Any questions the driver had about a lone female out at this hour were forgotten when she pulled out her purse, and they were soon on their way to the train station, where Victoria would board for Liverpool.
She had matched an unadorned hat to her plain dress and hoped that with her hair pinned and tucked up underneath it, she would look forgettable enough that no one would remember seeing her if questioned later on.
While Victoria had been short-sighted in imagining how far her stepfather would go to achieve his own political goals, her aunt had not been. Her father’s sister, Sarah, had a better sense of a person upon first impression. Months before, soon after the death of Victoria’s mother, Aunt Sarah’s letters became urgent.
Victoria recalled the last letter she had received, delivered to her by Marion, her lone friend and one of London’s librarians.
My dearest Victoria,
The letter had begun, like all of them did. Victoria eagerly skimmed the lines of the page for her aunt’s tales of adventure in the western wilds on the other side of the Atlantic.
It gives me great pain that I am so far from you, at a time when you could use someone to watch over you. It will not be long now until you are able to claim your inheritance, and I am worried about the lengths your stepfather will take in order to secure the funds for himself.
This month I have no stories for you, my dear. Instead, I simply repeat my plea. Leave England. Escape your stepfather. I will arrange everything for you, should you only say the word.
Victoria had taken a breath, grateful that she arranged her correspondence this way, for her stepfather opened all letters that arrived at their own townhouse. Surely Sarah was being overly cautious? After all, in less than a year she would be able to claim her inheritance and her freedom.
Or so she had believed, until the night she had overheard a conversation between her stepfather, Edward Travers, III, and the Duke of Lansing. She had been in her stepfather’s study, looking for a letter opener to reveal Aunt Sarah’s subsequent correspondence. Victoria didn’t enjoy spending time in the office. Its polished wood and brass accents were cold, and the lack of decoration on the dark walls left an austere feeling to the hollow room. The window overlooked the unkempt gardens, left unattended by her stepfather’s dwindling staff.
After finally locating the opener in Edward’s massive desk, Victoria was in the middle of slicing through the seal when she heard his footsteps in the hall.
A terrible liar even with preparation, Victoria had wanted to avoid any questions regarding her whereabouts in the office, and she certainly must hide the contents of the envelope. Without thinking, she followed through on her first instinct, diving behind the settee in the corner of the room, narrowly missing landing on the letter opener that flew from her hand. She snatched it up and tucked it under her skirts as she folded herself
into the cramped corner.
When Edward entered the office, he wasn’t alone, but accompanied by his newfound acquaintance, the Duke of Lansing — a strange friendship, to be sure. Victoria didn’t know why they had aligned themselves together so often as of late, but she had not been overly concerned, having no particular interest in her stepfather’s business.
“Travers, this had best happen quickly.” The duke addressed Edward with disdain in his voice. The Travers family had quickly become rich through ownership of a popular London newspaper. His father, Edward Travers II, had been a strong advocate against the Scottish protests, and his paper was widely read throughout England. When his father passed and Edward the III took over, the paper had quickly descended into rubbish. Edward published stories that the bureaucracy would enjoy, not taking into account that the vast majority of its readers were common folk. The newspaper was dying a slow death. As readers fell, so did Edward’s fortunes. He tried to keep up appearances, but it was becoming difficult. The dust that currently tickled Victoria’s nose reminded her of the shortage of household staff.