As Tara was led away on unsteady legs, leaning on Reverend Shaw, she turned back around, and Callum was sure he saw a plea in her brown eyes. Tara’s distress was a knife in his guts, and he felt hopeless to his core.
‘We will tend her now, Laird Ross,’ said Mistress Shaw.
‘Aye, well, I suppose I must be going,’ he replied.
‘The Reverend Shaw and I hope to see you back in the kirk very soon, aye, very soon indeed,’ said Mistress Shaw, her words heavy with meaning. ‘The poor wee lass. If only she had a saviour to swoop in and deliver her from her suffering.’
As Callum watched the few mourners walk away like a murder of crows in their black mourning dress, a worm of an idea wriggled in his mind. Tara was alone and unprotected. She had no way of surviving in the Highlands. She could fall prey to all manner of beasts – redcoats always sniffing around from the fort, Orla’s lecherous brother, that Lieutenant, when he returned, with his airs and graces. Callum pitied Tara her fate, but more than this, he began to have the misguided notion that he could free her from it.
Chapter Thirteen
Callum rode into Penhallion Castle, the grand home of Laird Jasper Cullan, in the sure knowledge that he would soon be the object of ridicule. He handed off his horse to a boy and strode inside. He was always welcome in Bryce’s home, though it could sometimes be an uncomfortable experience to visit due to Bryce constantly being at war with his father. Today was one such day, for he could hear voices raised in anger well before he entered the great hall.
‘You need to nurture some patience,’ shouted Bryce.
‘And you need to explore the boundaries of propriety and at least meet the lass. It is your duty, and mark me, I shall see it done by year’s end or else you are out, lad.’
Callum strode in, smoothing down his hair, but they did not seem to notice him.
‘I stopped being a lad when I ploughed my first farmer’s daughter many moons ago,’ said Bruce.
‘Aye, and you are still ploughing the same furrow, are you not, like a rabid dog, always sniffing up skirts?’ countered Jasper Cullan, an elegant man who was currently an alarming shade of puce.
Callum coughed loudly, and they both turned in exasperation, then raised their eyebrows in surprise.
‘Good God, what happened to you?’ said Bryce taking in his appearance. ‘Were you beset by a pack of fops on the road? Did they make you swap clothes with them?’
‘I am clean and tidy, is all,’ said Callum.
‘I think he looks very well, for a change,’ said Jasper, rising on stiff bones to inspect him. ‘Cleaned yourself up, eh? It wouldn’t be on account of a woman, would it?’ he said, leering a little.
‘Isn’t it always?’ countered Callum with a smile, for he liked and respected Jasper Cullan.
‘Well, good for you, lad,’ said Jasper, favouring him with a sound thump on the back. ‘Instruct this one here on how to attract a good, honest lass, will you? He seems woefully useless in finding a match.’
‘That’s because I don’t want one,’ said Bryce.
‘You don’t know what you want, you young bucks. Always whoring and drinking, and never a mind to duty. We have much to discuss about an alliance with the Hexams.’
‘Well, that sounds delightful,’ interrupted Bryce. ‘But I think my friend here needs my counsel, Father, so leave us be, will you.’
‘Alright. I will take my leave.’ Jasper winked. ‘Good luck to you, Callum, in your wooing of the lady.’
Once Jasper had shuffled off, Callum turned to Bryce. ‘What’s this alliance with the Hexams?’
‘It concerns Jane Hexam and the fact that my father thinks I might take a shine to the lass. As if she could tempt me.’
‘But the lass is comely enough, though she is a quiet wee thing and could do better than you for a husband, to be sure.’
‘Aye. Now don’t deflect me, Callum. What woman is this on account of, as if I really need to ask?’
‘I have come to tell you that I am going to ask for Tara’s hand.’
Bryce put his hands on his hips and planted his feet, a sure sign battle was about to commence. ‘God love us, have you taken leave of your senses?’
‘Try as I might, I cannot let it go. I have to ask her. I pity her reduced circumstances. Tara came here with high hopes for her future, and they have been dashed.’
‘Ah, pity, is it? An excellent reason to wed.’