by Emma Prince
“What did ye do to earn money, then?”
“I was a barista.”
“What is a…barista?” The word felt strange in his mouth.
Her lips curved up again. “It’s someone who serves drinks.”
He frowned. “Like a serving wench in an alehouse?” For some reason he didn’t like the image that rose to his mind of her pouring ale in a dank, smoky tavern surrounded by men with roaming hands.
“Not exactly,” she replied. “The drinks are made out of a kind of bean.”
“Drinks made of beans?”
At his disbelieving tone, she laughed. The sound, sudden and sweet, made his ribs compress against his lungs.
“Suffice it to say, I wasn’t an ale wench, but it wasn’t the best of jobs, either. It paid the bills—barely—but I never liked it much. I was kind of just…coasting. Not living up to my potential, according to Hannah and Allie.”
At the mention of her sisters, Caroline fell into somber silence, which Callum didn’t wish to disturb. They continued to work side by side, yet Callum felt acutely aware of Caroline’s every motion, every shift and breath.
“I can’t believe you have this little oasis of crazy chaos in the middle of these stone walls,” she said eventually, leaning back on her heels to rest for a moment. “It’s so lovely in here.”
He lifted an eyebrow at her. “The garden isnae for pleasure, ye ken. It’s a defense against sieges.”
“What do you mean?”
He used his trowel to motion toward the beds Tilly used for the kitchen. “If an enemy set upon us, they could seal us in, preventing us from getting fresh water or supplies for months—years, even.”
Caroline’s eyes widened. “Years?”
“Aye. They could starve us out, wait until every last one of us was dead before claiming the castle for themselves. That is why we have a well within the castle walls. And this garden protects us from the threat of starvation.”
“Has that happened recently? A siege, I mean?”
“No’ in my lifetime, thank God,” he replied, “but when my father first became Laird, it did.”
Her riveted, concerned gaze made him hurry to add, “Luckily, no one starved, in part because the Campbells couldnae continue the siege, but this garden kept the castle’s inhabitants well fed for several months.”
She glanced admiringly around the garden, but then gave him a sideways look. “Hmm. I’m glad it ended well, but I’m not sure I agree that this garden is purely for defensive purposes.” She pointed at the climbing rose that had nigh taken over the keep on this side. “You can’t tell me that is for protection.”
To his surprise, he felt a rueful smile lifting his mouth. “Fair enough. My mother planted it many years past for its beauty alone.” Though she had died nearly ten years ago, a dull ache at her loss warred with the warmth in his chest at the fond memory of her.
Caroline must have sensed his mood, for she remained silent for a long moment. “A garden is never only one thing,” she murmured.
He considered that as he eyed the climbing rose. He’d always been more like his father, seeing the practical uses of things rather than their aesthetic value. Yet his mother had once delighted in this corner of the castle not for its utilitarian purpose, but for the pleasure it gave.
“I suppose even in a garden designed for sustenance, the nose can also delight in fragrance, and the eye can find pleasing beauty as well,” he conceded.
He turned to find her staring at naught, her eyes distant and glazed with tears.
“Beauty for beauty’s sake,” she said, her voice squeezing with emotion. “My parents always said that.”
“Caroline?”
Without thinking, he moved closer, until his spread knees nearly bracketed her. He quickly swiped the dirt from his hands onto his trews, then reached for her face, cupping one cheek in his palm.
He tilted her face so that he could read her eyes. They were pinched with pain and filled with tears. “What’s wrong, lass?” he murmured, his brows knitting.
“It’s—” She swallowed hard, shaking her head. A single tear slipped down one cheek, and she swiped at it with the back of her hand. But she left a smudge of dirt where she’d touched her skin.
Gently, he raised the edge of the plaid hanging over his shoulder and brushed it against her cheek. “Whatever it is, tell me so that I may ken what to do to make it right.”
A sad smile touched her lips, but she shook her head again. “There is nothing to be done. They’re gone.”
Another tear trailed down her cheek. He knew what it meant to lose one’s parents. Aye, he couldn’t take away her pain, but he didn’t like to see her cry, either. He used his thumb to wipe away the tear, smoothing it over her velvety skin.
“Come now,” he murmured. “Would they want ye salting this perfectly fine soil with yer tears?”
A weak, wobbling laugh rose in her throat, and the sound once again shot straight through his chest like an arrow.
“No,” she conceded.
She stilled then, her gaze locking with his. Callum realized he was still touching her. He held her face cupped in one hand, his thumb slowly swishing over her creamy cheekbone.
A slow breath slipped from between her lips as her eyes roamed over his face, settling on his mouth.
His own breath froze in his lungs. Bloody hell and damnation. He was about to kiss her. And he couldn’t stop himself. Like a moth to flame, he moved closer until he could feel the heat of her mouth only a hair’s breadth away.
“Laird!”
At the sound of Eagan’s voice in the garden’s entryway, Callum jerked back as if he’d been burned.
Caroline exhaled sharply, blinking as if waking from a dream.
Rising abruptly to his feet, Callum spun to find Eagan standing inside the gate. From his pinched mouth and the steady, cool gaze he was giving Callum, Eagan had seen enough to know what had almost just happened.
“Laird, several missives require yer attention,” Eagan said stiffly. “And Bron is asking about a change in the guards’ rotation on the south wall.”
“Aye,” he said, dragging a hand over his face. “I’ll speak with Bron first, then I’ll meet ye in the solar.”
He turned back to her and their gazes tangled.
“Forgive me,” he murmured.
“There’s nothing to forgive.”
Though a blush sat on her cheeks and her voice was breathy with surprise, the earnestness in her eyes told him that she meant the words. Still, he felt like a damned arse for almost kissing her and then leaving her so suddenly.
But he couldn’t turn his back on his responsibilities. He followed Eagan out of the garden, steeling himself against the mad urge to go back where Caroline sat amongst the weeds and dirt and flowers and claim her lips with his.
Chapter Ten
Caroline wiped the sweat from her brow with one arm. She fleetingly imagined dumping the bucket of cool water she held over her head instead of onto the raised beds before her.
Even though she’d selected a lightweight gown of buttery yellow, the day was warm and sunny, and she’d been hauling water most of the morning. But she didn’t mind—the beds she’d so arduously cleared needed the water more than she did.
Amazingly, it hadn’t rained for a full week—not since the day Callum had almost kissed her here in the garden. The memory stirred a warmth in the pit of her stomach that had nothing to do with the sun overhead.
Unrest had hounded her this past week. The almost-kiss had left her breathless and wanting—and impatient to find out what his lips would feel like against hers. She hadn’t meant to get emotional in front of him, but he’d been surprisingly tender, and then—
And then Eagan had shown up, and Callum couldn’t get away fast enough. From the way he’d kept his distance since then, he either felt guilty for nearly kissing her, or he wasn’t interested.
But no, she’d seen desire burning in his amber eyes that day. Yet something
was keeping him away. He had usually eaten breakfast and gone to either his solar or the yard to train with his men by the time she entered the great hall every morning, and he often quickly ate the evening meal alone on the raised dais before retiring for the night.
She wouldn’t have minded if he’d made another move on her. Once word arrived in a little over a week that King James had been born, she’d be headed to Leannan Falls—and hopefully her own time. So what was the harm in making out with a gorgeous Highland Laird while she waited? Yet they’d exchanged nothing but a few words in the last week, none of them about the almost-kiss.
With no other outlet for her restlessness, Caroline had thrown herself into tending the garden. It had taken several days of hard work just to clear the beds, tidy up the orchard, and prune the climbing rose back a bit.
When that was done, she’d feared she would have nothing to do but sit in her chamber thinking about her sisters and Callum and how the hell she’d gotten here, but luckily Tilly had been willing to let Caroline take over the gathering of vegetables, fruits, and herbs for the kitchen.
They’d set up a routine of sorts. Tilly would leave a basket outside the door leading to the back of the kitchen each morning, and Caroline would fill it with everything that was ripe and ready to be picked from the garden.
When Tilly was done overseeing the morning meal, she’d collect the basket and incorporate whatever Caroline had harvested into the rest of the day’s food. And Caroline would spend her time watering, plucking the stray weed, or smoothing the pathways between the beds with a rake. Tilly was grateful not to have to bend on achy knees over the garden each day, and Caroline was glad to have something to keep her busy, something that gave her a sense of purpose during her time here.
Truth be told, it had been a while since she’d felt so useful. Sure, people back home liked to have their coffee made just so every morning, and she was a good barista, but this was bigger than that. She was using her love of nature and what she’d learned about plants to grow things and feed people.
And she’d given the residents of Kinmuir Castle their garden back. Margaret and some of the other girls from the kitchens had begun visiting the garden, shyly smelling the climbing roses and gathering petals for sachets and soap.
A boy of perhaps ten who worked in the castle stables had even approached and somberly asked Caroline’s permission to pick a few of the wild bluebells and white clover she’d intentionally left in one of the beds. He wished to give them to a lass he fancied. Of course she’d agreed, trying not to grin as he’d hurried away with his little bundle of flowers in search of his sweetheart.
So although she was currently hot and a little sore from all her efforts this past week, it was more than worth it. Now if only she could occupy her mind as well as she’d occupied her body, then she might finally be able to banish Callum and that damn almost-kiss from her thoughts.
She emptied the last of the water onto the tender shoots of parsnip and carrot greens, then headed through the garden gate toward the well on the other side of the yard, the bucket swinging loosely in her hand. But just as she reached the well, a loud groan and squeal of metal had her head snapping up.
The guards on the wall above the castle’s entrance were ratcheting up the portcullis and opening the gates. Confused, Caroline glanced around. Her gaze landed on the stables tucked against the wall. The wooden doors were open and a few stable lads were leading saddled horses out into the yard.
Just then, the keep’s doors opened as well, and a half-dozen MacMoran men poured out. Followed by Callum.
Caroline froze, her stomach pinching at the sight of him. As usual, he wore fitted trews tucked into tall leather riding boots. But thanks to the warmth of the day, he had on only a loose white linen tunic. The sleeves were rolled back to reveal bronzed forearms corded with muscle and lightly dusted with dark hair.
As he strode toward the stables, his amber eyes locked on her, and her insides did another somersault. He slowed, letting the others stream past her toward the waiting horses.
“Ye could ask one of the lads to help ye carry water, ye ken,” he said, frowning at the bucket in her hand.
She couldn’t help feeling a little defensive at that. She’d been working hard this past week, and all he had to say was that she could get a stable boy to help her?
“I don’t mind,” she said coolly, setting the bucket at her feet.
He remained silent for a moment, his gaze traveling over her face. “Ye are on everyone’s lips of late.”
“What?” she squeaked, completely caught off-guard. Unbidden, her eyes locked on his mouth. Her mind instantly went back to that moment when he’d been close enough to kiss her.
“They cannae stop speaking of what ye’ve accomplished in the garden,” he went on. “Yer hard work has been much praised.”
Had he read her mind when she’d bristled a moment before? While she fumbled for words, he added, “I am grateful for all ye’ve done, but I dinnae like the thought of ye coarsening yer hands or straining yer back carrying water when one of the lads could aid ye.”
“Oh. Well. Um, thank you,” she managed, feeling a blush surface on her cheeks. Apparently despite his distance over the last week, he’d noticed her efforts and was concerned for her comfort. That sent an unexpected flutter coursing through her.
“Where are you going?” she blurted as he began to turn away. She waved at the open gate and his waiting horse. “Not another skirmish with the MacBeans, I hope.”
“Nay,” he said, fixing her with eyes that reminded her of warm honey. “Only to repair a few thatch roofs and check on the eastern border.”
“Ah.” She gazed past him out the open gates. It had been a joy to be surrounded by plants this past week, yet the sweeping expanse of grassy hills and the darker forests beyond drew her like a magnet. The castle was big, but not big enough for someone who was used to spending every weekend roaming in forests and mountains without roads, telephone poles, or buildings in sight. “That must be…nice.”
“Ye arenae thinking of making a break for it, are ye, lass?” His low, teasing voice was close, and she realized with a start he’d drawn nearer as she’d been gazing out the gates. “Because I will catch ye.”
She huffed a breath that was part-laugh, part-nervous exhalation at the way her skin tingled at his words.
“No,” she replied, glancing sideways at him. “I promised I wouldn’t try to escape again, and I’m good for my word. I’m just going a bit stir-crazy, that’s all.”
His brows drew together at her choice of words, but apparently the meaning came across, for he followed her gaze through the gate. He seemed to consider something for a long moment, a frown on his features.
“Ye wouldnae be interested in coming along, would ye?”
“What?”
“Ye’ve earned my people’s respect this past sennight,” he replied evenly. “Ye’ve worked tirelessly for their benefit. Yet it seems ye arenae used to being confined inside stone walls. Would ye like to join us on our ride?”
Caroline felt her eyes widen and her mouth fall open. “Oh, yes!”
He fixed her with a stern look. “We arenae going anywhere near Loch Darraig, ye ken, so dinnae start plotting another wee swim. And I willnae give ye yer own horse in case ye get some mad idea about trying to bolt off again.”
“Of course,” she said quickly. “I don’t really know how to ride anyway. But I would love to go with you.”
“Just to see a wee bit of the countryside.”
“Yes.”
“And get some fresh air.”
“Exactly.”
Apparently satisfied by her answers, his guarded look eased slightly. “Verra well.” He turned to his waiting men, who sat atop their horses curiously watching their Laird. “The lass is coming along. She’ll ride with me.”
Callum ignored the surprised murmurs from the warriors, instead swinging onto his horse’s back and extending a hand toward her. He lifted
her easily onto the saddle in front of him, settling her across his lap.
As he nudged the horse into motion and they passed through the gates, a surge of excitement rose in her throat and made her breath catch—though how much was from the sprawling wilderness in front of her and how much was from Callum’s powerful arms looping around her to hold the reins, she couldn’t say.
Chapter Eleven
Callum jumped down the last few rungs of the wooden ladder and landed agilely beside the humble cottage.
Caroline watched from the shade of a copse of trees nearby as he clasped forearms with the elderly man whose roof Callum and the other MacMoran men had just repaired.
That morning, they’d ridden east across lush hills and past sparkling lochs as Caroline clung to Callum, learning the rhythm of the horse’s strides in his arms. When they’d reached the base of a ridge of towering, craggy mountains that left Caroline in awe, they’d turned southward to trail along the MacMoran border.
As the mountains tapered back to hills in the southeast corner of Callum’s land, they’d turned toward the castle once more, but instead of going directly back, they’d made several stops at remote, humble cottages like the one they were at now.
Most were inhabited by older clanspeople who didn’t have children or neighbors to help them, though they’d also stopped at a hut where a young widow and her two small children lived. Bron, in particular, had gone out of his way to help the woman by chopping firewood, hauling water, and shoveling out the stalls in her small stable, all while wearing a blush at the other men’s gentle teasing.
Callum had insisted that Caroline needn’t help when the men repaired thatch roofs or mucked out stalls, but she’d made each of the widow’s two young daughters a garland of wildflowers to wear in their hair as she’d watched the MacMoran men work.
All those they visited seemed genuinely moved and humbled to receive their Laird’s attention and help, yet none were stunned at his unexpected arrival. Caroline suspected that was because the MacMorans were used to seeing their Laird roll up his sleeves and work along with everyone else who was able. Warm respect expanded inside her until she felt ready to burst as Callum accepted the old man’s thanks and grasped his forearm once again.
