‘You are a shameless flirt and a whore, Tara Hennaut. Go to your chamber and think on your folly, for there will be hell to pay when the Reverend comes home.’
***
Callum gave his horse its head as he thundered home. His temper hung by a thread, and he feared it would break, flattening all before it. Rejection – hot and sharp as an adder’s bite - pierced his hopeful adoration, making his veins throb with anger.
Tomorrow, Bryce would ride over to Raigmoor, and he would have to confess how a mere slip of a lass had brought his pride crashing to its knees. How was he to do it? How could he bear the humiliation of such a rejection, for surely Mistress Shaw would shout it all over Inverness?
Callum stormed into Raigmoor and walked its gloomy corridors, but he could not ease the ache in his heart, the sickness in his stomach and the blinding rage at his situation. He ended up on the battlements, with the wind scouring his face, looking out at the mountains – grey, jagged shadows against a pink sky.
The worst was that his craven infatuation had only deepened since seeing Tara again. She had looked so unbearably lovely as she had torn his heart asunder. Why could he not revile and despise the lass? By some twisted design of hers, the fact that she did not want him only made his longing more painful.
There was nothing to be done. Like all other burdens in life, this would have to be borne.
Chapter Fifteen
The road back from Inverness was dark, wet and treacherous, but Callum did not race the setting sun to reach home before dark. Raigmoor’s vast emptiness seemed to echo off its walls these days, mocking him. For a week now, he had tried to heed Bryce’s advice about Tara, for he knew it was well meant.
‘Forget her. ‘Tis done. Find another.’
Mercifully, his friend had not dwelt on his failed proposal beyond those few words, perhaps knowing just how deep the wound went. Talking of it would only cause it to fester and spread. And his other advice, to ‘find solace in whisky and women,’ had helped, well, the whisky part at least.
Callum came to a crossroads. The left fork headed to Raigmoor, past Braecaple and uncomfortable memories. The right fork led to an establishment well-known but seldom patronised by Callum. The moors spreading before him were as cold as his heart, and with a great need to expel foul humours and ease his misery, Callum clicked his tongue at his horse and turned it right.
The Hollow Oak inn lurked just off the road in a stand of trees, eager to entrap travellers and those who liked to sin discreetly away from prying eyes. Light spilt from its windows into the night, suggesting warmth and comfort. It offered ale, questionable food and a bed for the night, with or without company.
Callum strode in with a heavy heart, and its owner rushed over.
‘Don’t see you in here much, Laird Ross. Come for your yearly debauch, have you?’ said Cora Adler, the whorehouse madam. She had a shock of red hair and eyes hungry for coin, and something about her had always repelled him.
He sighed and said nothing. It had been a mistake to come.
‘I suppose some men have to work up a head of steam before seeking out a lass for comfort,’ she purred, stroking a hand down his arm.
‘Don’t bait me, woman. I am in no mood for it,’ growled Callum.
Her voice took on a wheedling tone. ‘I am but teasing, Laird Ross. You know me. Are you in the mood for a lass, then?’
‘Aye.’
‘Well, you will have a wait, for we are very busy this night and ‘tis turning to a foul one to be sure,’ she said as the sound of heavy rain hissing against the roof almost overshadowed raucous laughter coming from above.
‘I am soaked through and in no mood to wait,’ said Callum.
‘Eager, are we? Well, never fear. I have just the lass for a fine, strong man like yourself. I have been saving her for a special gentleman, for she is as fresh and innocent as a newborn lamb.'
‘I very much doubt that.’
‘No, I am in earnest, and she is so bonnie and clean that she is a delight. And seeing as you will be her first, you can pay extra,’ said the woman, grabbing his sporran to feel its weight.
Callum slapped Cora’s hand away. ‘I’ve no wish to deflower virgins, woman. I need a lass who knows how to ease the ache in my loins.’
‘Tis not just in the loins, given the scowl on your face,’ she replied.
Callum rolled his eyes. ‘Just get someone who knows what she is about, woman.’
‘Aye. If you like. But all my ladies of pleasure are entertaining at present. You can wait for one of them, but then my new lass will end up with someone rough, not gentle, like you. My girls say you are kind and bring them pleasure when you lie with them, not like some of the old goats that come here. Do the lass a service, and be her first. Gently open her flower of womanhood.’
Callum curled his lip in disdain. ‘This was a mistake.’