Callum’s Vow: The Victorian Highlanders
Page 5
“Excuse me, miss,” he said, pointing at her plate, “but are you going to eat that?”
He was adorable, about four years old, covered in the dirt that came from poking into places one might only find in a game of hide-and-seek. Victoria picked the bun off her plate and handed it to him.
“Here,” she said with a smile at his politeness in the strange circumstances. “Keep it to yourself.”
She looked up to see Lady Beatrix’s eyes widen in disapproval. The woman sniffed and scoffed, “Well, I never. This is most unseemly.”
The head steward was pleading feverishly with the big man to leave the dining hall, but the disheveled passenger carried on as if he had not heard a word.
Just then, another figure filled the doorway. Victoria drew a quick intake of breath. It was him, again. Of course.
He had his jacket on today, which fit tight and narrow from his broad shoulders to his slim hips. His trousers stretched over the muscular thighs that filled them. She wasn’t sure if she preferred him in dark close quarters or in the faraway light. Either way, she was frozen in place as she stared.
* * *
Callum surveyed the room, his eyes landing and lingering on her. He registered Mr. Crawford again at her side, the sideboard of food, her full plate in front of her, and the astonished looks of the first class passengers. He raised his eyebrows at her then walked over to the big man.
“Jack,” he said, placing a hand around this biceps, “time to go.”
“Young man,” said Lady Beatrix, her voice shrill as it cut through the now near-silent air of the dining room, “we have paid a great deal for this space where we do not have to endure such disruptions. You understand that, do you not? Please stay in your quarters and keep your friend with you.”
“Aye, milady,” Callum answered, with an exaggerated bow, inwardly cursing the propriety of the upper class English, who seemed to formulate the total of the first class dining room. It was a type of segregation in itself. And of course, she — the girl haunting his thoughts — was here to witness this as one of them.
“Come on, Jack.”
Callum hauled Jack, his pockets and his mouth satisfactorily filled, out of the room, their boots echoing on the floorboards and resounding through the dining hall, now silent but for the slight drone of the powerful engines far below.
7
Victoria’s cheeks burned from the brief encounter with the Highlander. He had given her every reason to loathe him. And yet…
Everything about the man lit a fire in her. His eyes, which seemed to look right into her soul, were framed by chiseled cheekbones, and his prominent nose somehow fit his face just perfectly. He was handsome, yet he had a soft look to him, as if he laughed easily and often. Although certainly not around her.
As he had looked upon them with his proud, arrogant stance, Victoria sensed that he wasn’t intimidated by much. She didn’t know why he was with the drunken man, but she wanted to know more. As the conversation began to buzz around her, she was once again lost in her thoughts, but this time she didn’t bother to put up a front. Soon she was simply ignored by her table companions.
When appropriate to do so, she excused herself from the dining room and took to the deck. The afternoon brought sunshine, and Victoria spent much of it leaning at the rail, overlooking the large expanse of blue sea. It was both exhilarating and terrifying to see stretches of ocean with no land in sight. She tried not to think of the worst that could happen but focused instead on the best — safely sailing to a land of freedom from all that had held her down. Sarah had told her of the town. Qu'Appelle, it was called. Funny name for a town, but Sarah had explained it was based on a legend from the Cree people of the nearby lakes. While land-locked, the town just beyond the end of the train line was surrounded by lakes, which were bordered by greenery the likes of which Sarah said she had never seen before. The town itself was small, but growing. It was a hub for fur traders and provided nearly every service one could need.
Victoria wondered what she could offer the town. She didn’t have many skills of any importance, as pointed out by her stepfather often enough. Sure, she could darn a sock and hem trouser legs, but not with any satisfying ease. She could write tales and stories, but didn’t see any need for that in a burgeoning western town. She could ride horses but didn’t see how that would help with any type of work. Perhaps Sarah could offer a suggestion so she could make herself useful. What she did know was that she must provide for herself, not just take advantage of Sarah’s generous spirit.
Later that evening Victoria checked in on the Gambles, who seemed marginally improved as they were able to manage a couple of weak smiles for her and assert that yes, they were feeling much better. Victoria attempted to coax them to eat and drink something, but they both claimed their stomachs were still disagreeing with that advice, continuing to roll despite the fact the sea had somewhat quieted. Victoria saw to their needs and told them of a day filled with reading, napping, and wave watching, for once in her life leaving out the more entertaining points of the story.
Victoria took her own tea and bread to her room to read in the quiet. She had moved on to Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice. Elizabeth had just arrived at the Bingley residence to care for her sister, who had caught a cold. She had read the book before, and hadn’t loved it. Now it was all the rage in England, and she thought perhaps she had missed something. The story was entertaining, but Victoria was of the opinion that Elizabeth and Jane should set their aspirations higher than finding the perfect husband.
As she read into the late evening hours, she became aware of the far-off hint of music intermingled with the engine thrum. While Victoria had never been much for playing music — her fingers always seemed to slip to the wrong notes — she appreciated all of the qualities of a fine melody and the emotion that accompanied it.
Once again, she left her cabin after appropriate hours, this time not seeking solitude but instead drawn toward the noise, which was coming from below. Tonight, she was still properly dressed, at least, in a navy blue skirt and high-necked white blouse — all buttons properly fastened. She found the winding staircase and slowly tiptoed down the steps. Reaching the bottom, she made her way toward the end of the hall.
The corridor was tighter on this level of the ship. She peeked through the door into the huge room. It was full of bunks and people, all seemingly enjoying themselves despite the cramped conditions. Unlike upstairs, the walls were bare and the beds all bunks. The music came from instruments with voices of the dancers and the stamping of feet providing accompaniment.
In the corner was the man — the tall, dark Scotsman who wouldn’t leave her thoughts. He was playing the fiddle with two other musicians while people danced, dresses and the odd kilt swirling, women clapping, and children squealing in delight. Red cheeks, perspiration, and laughter rang out through the room. Others who didn’t join in the dancing simply sat and listened, swaying in time to the music, rocking their babies, or singing along. It was comfortable, warm, and fun. It wasn’t the dancing she was used to, and Victoria longed to join in. The Highlander looked at ease, quite in contrast to any of her previous encounters with him. He smiled at his companions as his foot merrily kept time with the tune.
Then his mouth opened and song poured out. His voice was rich and warm, and sent shivers down her spine. The two other men joined in harmony, and pretty soon, the room was full of a meld of lilting Scottish voices.
An older woman noticed Victoria watching near the door, and motioned her in to join. Victoria shook her head, but the woman kept waving her hand with insistence, so Victoria slowly stepped into the room, hugging the wall and then skirting around the beds, joining the woman, who grabbed her hand, smiled, and pulled her down onto the bunk beside her.
“Come now, lass, I see the way you’ve been nodding to the music,” she said in Victoria’s ear. “Enjoy yourself, for the moment at least. You’re a pretty one — ye’ll be sought after soon enough.”
She sat with the women, swaying in time with the music. It wasn’t long before the young men began approaching her, begging for her to come dance. She turned down the first couple of invitations, not wanting to draw attention, but when the third man, a boy really, came up, she couldn’t resist his youthful impish grin. She took his hand, watched for a moment, then followed his lead. They joined the sway of dancers and soon he was swinging her around as their footsteps quickened. It was the kind of dance she enjoyed — few steps but plenty of impromptu twirls and dips.
She was extremely grateful she had neglected to wear her corset since arriving on the ship. Her natural curves diminished the need for it, but back in England, the maids had always insisted on lacing her up until she couldn’t breathe. Without a lady’s maid, she found it too difficult to do herself, and frankly, Victoria didn’t see the need for it. It did cause her dresses to fit a tad snug, but there was nothing she could do about that at this point. More than anything now, she could breathe. And eat. It was glorious.
Four dances and two partners later, her heart was beating rapidly, her hair had escaped its knot to trail down the side of her face, and she was having much more fun than she had ever had at a ball in London.
When the song finished, the music abruptly came to a halt instead of launching into another song. Everyone turned to look at the musicians. Victoria’s breath caught when she saw her Highlander’s eyes fixed directly upon her. The instrument looking tiny in his large hands as he lowered it, and then began walking, pushing through the dancers as all in the room followed him with their eyes. He stopped directly in front of Victoria. Eyes wide, she pushed her hair off her face and gazed up at him, refusing to let him cow her.
“What are ye doing down here, lass?” he asked gruffly.
“Dancing,” she replied, holding her nose high in the air, ire filling her that he would embarrass her like this when she had done nothing wrong. “Just like everyone else.”
“Well, there’s a difference between you and everyone else. Look around. You don’t belong here. Ye paid to be separate from us. Remember?”
“I have never said anything like that!” she sputtered. “It was Lady Beatrix who said those things to you. I certainly do not agree with the woman!”
“Yes, but you said nothing,” he replied, his tone sour, his hands on his hips. “You’re an English lady, as you continue to remind me. You keep finding yourself where you don’t belong, lass — or, pardon me, milady. Time to go now.”
Victoria turned and looked around the room. Everyone was staring, some in sympathy, others in anger, still others in confusion. She had ruined the party. Well technically, he had. She had just danced. Until now, she had just been one of them, a fellow passenger. Branded a “first-class” passenger, she ducked her head, and, blinking back tears she made her way through the silent, staring crowd, out the door and up the stairs, humiliation trailing in her wake.
* * *
Callum pushed hair back from his sweaty forehead. He was upset, but with himself more than anything. He knew there was no reason he should react so horribly to the Englishwoman. It really wasn’t like him. He was always known for being friendly, amiable, easygoing. With her, he reminded himself of his brother Finlay, distant and calculating. But something about her caused a reaction in him that he couldn’t properly explain.
Although that wasn’t wholly true. He recognized a piece of his reaction — desire. Which would never do. He didn’t want to want an English lady — titled or not, for that’s what he saw her as. She had sat in the dining hall, so prim and proper, eyes wide through the woman’s insults, yet did nothing. Said nothing. Still, he really should apologize for blaming her, but what was the point?
Seeing her with her English gentleman in first class twice now, then dancing with another young man in steerage had caused a fury of jealousy to ball in his stomach. She had looked so content and beautiful tonight, her skirts flying, her cheeks pink, and her smile wide. She had captivated all of the men in her presence, and he was embarrassed that he seemed to be following suit. Seeing her in the arms of another took him to the point of snapping, leading him to his temper in a childish manner.
He had barely spoken with Jack since the incident in first class. When Jack had climbed the staircase the day before in a drunken stupor, they had thought he would just wander the deck. But when some of the children came down to report Jack’s antics, Callum had felt compelled to go rescue him as he was the closest thing to a friend that Jack had on this voyage.
Callum sighed as some of the other passengers looked at him with resentment for making the beautiful woman leave. He turned his fiddle in his hands, realizing he’d ruined the evening. And it had been fun while it lasted, a reprieve for everyone and a taste of home. His father had taught him how to play the fiddle. Music was always abundant in the McDougall household. Together with his siblings, they made quite the racket, though one that was praised by many. Thinking of it, he smiled to himself. He missed his family but knew they would be fine. No matter where they were, the McDougalls were always there for one another. Which was why he was traveling across the world for his cousin Gregor.
Thinking of his family, he realized they would likely be ashamed of the way he’d been behaving toward the young woman. His mother would make him apologize. Sighing, he resolutely decided that next time he saw the lady, apologizing was what he would do.
* * *
Victoria stared out the porthole of her room, watching the sun glint off the rolling waves. It had been two days since the night she went down to steerage, and she was determined not to allow one man’s testiness to ruin her mood. She resolved to remain cheerful throughout the ship and pleasant to all of her new acquaintances — from the Gambles in their first class cabin to the people she’d met that night in steerage.
To him, though, all she felt now was anger. How could he humiliate her like that? She was not a woman easily embarrassed, but that had crossed the line.
Victoria was also aware that she must try to keep a low profile to avoid gossip and rumors. The last thing she needed was someone writing a letter home to England about a certain Englishwoman on the Parisian. The less information about her that reached England and potentially the ears of the duke and her stepfather, the better.
Coming out of her daydreams, Victoria checked the time and instantly snapped back to the moment. She was late, again. Promptness was not exactly one of her strengths, and she had received more than a few cold stares when she rushed in late to take her place in the dining hall. Judgement in first class, an outcast in steerage. Would she ever stop making a spectacle of herself?
Victoria shut her cabin door, whirled around and took off at a run down the hallway, hoping to make dinner on time today to avoid any notice. Boots echoing off the floor, she turned the corner and ran into a wall — again. The same arm reached down to catch her before she hit the floor.
“Ye’ve got to slow down, lass.” His voice rumbled in her ear.
“Excuse me?” Victoria snapped at him, the flames rising through her cheeks at the shock of the impact, the anger that rose to the surface, and the mysterious feeling she was trying so hard to ignore that ran through her body while the massive Highlander so effortlessly held her close.
“Are you doing this on purpose? Following me to chastise me once more? Please, just let me go,” she said, meeting his eyes, which reminded her of the depths of the ocean alongside the ship. “In fact, I must be going or I will be late for dinner.”
“Don’t let me keep you,” he said gruffly. “And say, lassie, steal away a roll or two, will ye? My stomach’s been rumbling something fierce since we came aboard this ship, and it isn’t from the rolling of the sea. A grown man must have more
to eat than a buttered piece of bread to help him sleep through the night.”
She raised her eyebrows and stepped back, wondering where this surprising levity was coming from.
“Look…” he sighed. For the first time she noticed the laugh lines around his eyes, and the dimple that appeared when his lips curled upward. “I’d like to apologize to ye for the other night. I … I overreacted.”
“Oh.” She looked up, unsure of how to respond to an apology from him. She hadn’t been prepared for it. “Well … thank you. I don’t agree with Lady Beatrix—”
“Does not matter, lass,” he said, cutting her off, his voice emotionless. “’Tis what it is. Stay up here in first class, avoid the rest of us like you should, and all will be fine.”
“You think you know me,” she said in an even tone, keeping her voice light but firm as she held his stare. “But keep your apologies. I don’t need them. In truth, you know nothing about me, who I am, where I come from, where I’m going, or what I think. So do not make assumptions about who I am or what I think unless you know what you are talking about.”
Pleased with her speech, she whirled away, back in the direction she had come from then. When she reached the end of the corridor, she realized her mistake and reluctantly turned back toward the dining room, brushing past him and his now amused grin.
“Arrogant Scot,” she muttered, just loud enough for him to hear as she continued down the hall.
* * *
Callum smiled at the back of the spirited Englishwoman before returning to steerage.
He couldn’t help it — he liked her. He could tell he frustrated her, but he had to admit that he enjoyed watching her temper flare, pink fill her cheeks and her small hands clench as though she wanted to hit him. He could sense her own struggle of whether or not she should give in to the pull that seemed to flow between them. He understood as he felt the same way.