Tara scoured the room for some insight into the man she had just become tied to for life. Callum’s chamber was sparse, with only a small fire in the hearth and a few candles battling the growing darkness outside. The bed she sat upon was high and huge, covered in furs. Tara ran her hand down one of them to comfort herself. The silky feel of it calmed her racing heart a little. The chamber had scant adornment and was big and echoing, with dark shadows crawling over the walls from the candlelight - like claws reaching for flesh to tear.
It had been hours since that Cora woman had come and bargained with Callum over her worth. Tara’s face burned at the memory of all those stares and whispers from the folk of Clan Ross as they observed her humiliation unfold in the yard. Once she had nodded a hesitant ‘yes’ to Callum’s hasty proposal, he had smiled and given her the briefest of kisses, before sending a servant off to fetch a priest.
Then it had all been a rush of servants setting her a bath and scrubbing her clean of the taint of the whorehouse. The warm water had been a welcome ease to the ache in her muscles from being tense for too long, but she was also well aware that they were making her pretty for the pleasure of her husband-to-be. Now here she sat, in her wedding dress. Heaven knows where Callum had obtained one so quickly.
It was pretty enough, and the old Tara would have delighted in its opulent lilac silk, its bodice beaded with tiny pearls, and the froth of delicate white lacework flaring from its sleeves. But she was not a fine lady meeting her ardent gentleman suitor. No, she was a sacrificial lamb, bought and paid for, going to the slaughter. She was the bride of a man her uncle had once described as a dumb beast of burden.
Uncle Ralph had been spiteful in that regard, for Callum was much more than that. He was kind, brave, and generous with his heart, and he had been gentle at times. He was her only salvation from a life of lewdness and ruin, and she might even own that she enjoyed the way he looked - his tall manliness, intense grey eyes and oak-like strength. Yet Callum Ross was still a stranger, and part of Tara was terrified that he always would be.
Thank goodness Callum had gone off to ensure Raigmoor was made safe for the night. That old servant Greaves had rushed in to alert Callum to reivers on their land just moments after the priest had declared them man and wife. So Callum had kissed her rather abruptly and rushed off, promising to return as soon as may be. His absence had been a blessed reprieve at first and given Tara a chance to catch her breath and gain some composure. But now, in the solitude, the enormity of what she had just done crashed in on her. She became increasingly nervous as reality dawned - she was in a wild place, married to a wild man.
He had been gone for hours, during which she had nothing to do but pace the chamber and try and come to terms with her situation. Callum Ross was her husband. What a strange thought. He was a contradiction. He was kindness and gentleness married with brute strength and what seemed to be a shocking temper. When she was in his arms, Tara had felt safe and comforted before Uncle Ralph had shamed her over it. And she had to own that his touch had left her fearfully aroused and terrified of where that might lead. She had almost succumbed to Callum last time his mouth had been on hers, and the man he was that night had seemed almost predatory, his desire far too raw for comfort or safety.
Now she was to spend the night in Callum’s bed, in this icy, charmless place.
Which Callum would come knocking? The kindly one, who made her feel safe, or the frightening, lustful stranger.
Chapter Seventeen
Callum paused outside his chamber for a moment, smoothing down his hair. His hands were still wet from washing, and his face too. He rubbed his forearm over his face and smoothed his kilt and jacket. It would not do to go into his wedding night looking like the worst kind of ruffian. Riding around the glens for hours with his clansmen in roaring wind and a fever of impatience was not how he had imagined his wedding night.
Wedding night. The thought brought a savage pulse of desire to his loins. Tara Hennaut was his now to cherish, protect and lay abed with. He had come to her rescue, and now his reward lay just the other side of the door. He could hold Tara, touch her, uncover her nakedness for his pleasure. But would she want him to?
The thought that she might not was like an angry bear reaching for his pride and slamming it into the dirt. Surely she must want him, for at their last encounter her gasps, breathless little moans and clinging fingers had given him every reason to think she did.
Callum sucked a huge breath into his lungs and rushed inside. He smiled when he saw Tara sitting on his bed, and his heart clenched a little. She seemed so small and lonely in the dark chamber, a picture of beautiful fragility in her lilac dress. He resolved to thank the servant who had been sent off in great haste to Inverness to choose it.
His smile faded when Tara’s fingers clenched into its silken folds, and his eyes veered to the plate of uneaten food on the table.
‘Was the food not to your liking, Mistress Ross?’ he said, smiling at her new title.
‘I had no appetite,’ she said, shivering a little. ‘I am a little tired, I think.’
‘Would you like a wee dram to warm you, lass?’ he offered as he bent to put more wood on the fire. For some reason, Callum could not meet her eye.
‘I…I am not supposed to drink hard liquor.’
‘Who says?’
‘My Uncle said it was the sign of a ruined character in a woman and one who had lost her morals.’
‘Yet he imbibed enough himself, the hypocrite,’thought Callum, but it would not do to hurt Tara by saying so. ‘Well, you are my wife now, and I have your keeping, and I say you can.’ She met his eyes and smiled a little.
Callum poured some whisky into two cups and offered her one. Tara sipped it, and her face twisted. ‘It burns,’ she cried.
‘Aye, that is the good part,’ said Callum cheerfully. ‘It will warm you up.’ He paused, trying to calm his racing heart. ‘Or maybe I could do that too.’
Tara’s eyes slid from his down to her skirts, and a most becoming blush spread over her cheeks and chest. ‘You are my husband, so I suppose you may do as you wish,’ she said quietly.
Heat spread low in Callum’s belly and not from the whisky. He must stem the tide of lust swelling inside lest he unleash it on her. ‘Forgive me for abandoning you so suddenly,’ he said. ‘It was a fool’s errand, for those bastards who have been stealing my cattle were long gone by the time we got there. The only trace they left was a farm afire and a family homeless.’
‘Oh, I hope no one came to harm, Callum.’
‘No deaths or injuries, just lives ruined and sheep stolen. But I will catch up with them, sooner or later, and then injuries will follow for the villains who prey on my clansmen.’
Tara’s eyes grew round and fearful. ‘What will you do to them?’ she said.
‘They will get what they deserve.’