‘Tis not just that.’
‘No, I am well aware that it is due to a surfeit of lust, my friend, and that you can work off in any number of establishments. A quick tumble will ease that ache, but instead, you must race to the altar the minute you see golden hair and brown eyes.’
Callum smirked. ‘Aye, but you have to own they are bonnie brown eyes.’
‘I have always thought that I knew you well, Callum. God knows, we have been friends since we were snotty wee lads together skinning out knees and getting into fights over nought. But I cannot fathom what it is about this English lass that holds you so fast.’
‘You will mock me if I say it aloud, Bryce.’
‘No. I want to understand what love feels like, for it has always eluded me.’
‘Alright. Tara is heart-stoppingly beautiful, yet she is humble and cannot abide flattery. She loves where she should not, and with all her heart.’
‘Aye, she even now she mourns that uncle of hers, and he was not the best of men,’ said Bryce.
‘And she has courage, the quiet kind that keeps striving, no matter what. Yet she would call herself weak. I need her softness and gentleness to ease my grim nature, even when the beast in me would devour her with desire. I am rough, dark and unfeeling. And she is soft, light and feels too much.’
‘So, it is not just her beauty that pulls you in?’ said Bryce.
‘No, ‘tis deeper, Bryce. And it hurts deeper too. I love her, and I know it as a certainty. I carry it like a rock in my heart, bruising it as I move. It will not fade, no matter what she does to me.’
Bryce sighed. ‘I almost envy you, my friend - the certainty, that is. I face a future where I must wed some lass or other and take her to bed. She will not want me, nor I her, and yet we must breed like rabbits and live out our lives together.’
‘Since when did lasses not want you?’’ said Callum with a grin.
‘Aye, there is that, I suppose. But that is my dilemma. How can I ever settle for just one? Are you sure it is not just lust, Callum, for lust fades, my friend, and then all you will have is an English wife who is a stranger to you?’
‘She will warm to me in time, I am sure.’
‘Are you so determined to have her then?’
Tara Hennaut would salve his loneliness, longing and despair. She could breathe life into Raigmoor and his future. Callum had thought of nothing else since her uncle’s funeral.
‘I must have her. I am smitten, Bryce. Will she have me, do you think?’
‘Tara Hennaut is penniless and entirely reliant on the charity of the Shaws. One step away from an almshouse, in fact. And her uncle’s debts to carry on her back too. There are a rough bunch of creditors baying at her door. Of course, she will have you, but the question is whether she should.’
Callum bridled. ‘What do you mean by that?’
Bryce raked his hand through his hair. ‘These past few weeks, I thought you had slayed this infatuation. I prayed for it, in fact. The truth is, I have nothing against the lass, but I am not convinced she will make you happy, and I say this as your true friend, Callum.’
‘I thank you for your counsel, but I intend to ask Tara to be my wife, for I cannot do otherwise.’
Chapter Fourteen
Mistress Shaw hurried into the kitchen where Tara had been put to work, darning a hole in the Reverend Shaw’s plaid. She never seemed to have an idle moment since coming to the Shaws for sanctuary, an arrangement upon which Mistress Shaw had been most insistent. The Reverend’s wife was forever finding work for ‘idle hands,’ as she put it, and the Reverend himself, though kind and attentive, was always hovering over Tara, consoling her for her loss.
Solitude would be luxury, allowing her to think straight and decide what to do about her dire situation. She could not stay at the Shaw’s forever, and it was an unbearable thought anyway. Maybe she could get a place as a housekeeper or a governess to a wealthy family. There was no alternative, for Mistress Shaw and the Reverend had declared that she was bankrupt with not a penny to her name.
Mistress Shaw bustled in. The keys she always had about her waist jangled and set Tara’s nerves on edge. The woman was up to something, for she was smiling – a rare thing indeed. In fact, she looked delighted.
‘You have a visitor,’ she declared. ‘A gentleman caller, no less.’
Tara did not ask who it was, just to rile the woman. Instead, she bent her head and carried on with her darning.
‘Tis Laird Callum Ross, no less,’ continued Mistress Shaw. ‘He was all impatience to see you, but I have left him waiting in the parlour. I wonder why he has come?’ she said, narrowing her eyes.
‘I cannot imagine, and I don’t want to see him,’ replied Tara, as her stomach tightened with dread and her mind raced with possibilities. Torn between wanting to see a somewhat friendly face and wanting to run from the man, she avoided Mistress Shaw’s gaze so as not to give away her turmoil.