‘Oh, there is Mr Penry. I must speak to him. Please excuse me,’ she said, hurrying away.
Callum watched Tara rush away and greet the notary warmly and turned back to Orla. They exchanged pleasantries for some time, but Orla’s words began to wash over him.
‘Callum, what is the matter. You are not paying attention to me at all. What is amiss.’
Bryce’s cousin, Orla, had always seen right through him. He kicked at the stone cobbles at his feet. ‘Orla, I fear my wife is in low spirits, being shut up in Raigmoor, and she has few friends hereabouts. Perhaps you can visit with her, for a woman needs the counsel of other women.’
Orla frowned. ‘Low spirits?’ said Orla brightly. ‘But she is newlywed, so how…’ she trailed off, and Callum’s face burst into flames. Damn him for saying anything, but it was too late to take it back.
‘Tara does not find…erm…marriage easy, if you take my meaning. And she has no female relatives to confide in, or anyone, in fact. So she needs a friend.’
‘I see.’
Callum sighed and looked at his feet again. ‘If you do not want to visit, I will not press you on it. We will manage.’
‘No, Callum, stop scowling. I will be happy to come, and I have already bullied an invitation out of Tara. So I will ride over as soon as may be.’
‘Are you sure you can, with that fat belly, Orla?’
She slapped him on the cheek. ‘The day I stop riding is the day I stop breathing, you wretch. Enough teasing or I shall not come at all.’ She glanced across the square in search of Wolfric. ‘Oh, who is that with your wife?’ she said.
Callum followed her gaze to where Tara stood. She was no longer talking to Mr Penry.
‘That is Lieutenant Forster from Fort George,’ he said in a voice like steel.
‘I see. He seems most attentive, does he not?’ said Orla.
‘Aye, he is.’ Callum had to uncurl his fingers from the tight fists that had formed, digging his nails into his palms like little blades. He tried to hide the pound of blood in his ears, the drum of his heart and the raging jealousy trying to scream its way out.
‘Don’t, Callum,’ said Orla.
Could she read his mind and know that he wanted to knock Forster to the ground and pummel his face until it was pulp?
Ever intuitive, Orla said, ‘Oh, Wolfric is beckoning. I must let you retrieve your wife.’ She put a hand on his arm. ‘I will visit Tara as soon as my queasiness allows, and until then, you would do well to keep your temper in check.’
As Orla hurried away, Callum stood rooted to the spot, watching Tara and the Lieutenant together. The bastard had his back to him, his face looming over Tara’s as though they might kiss at any moment. But her face was stricken and angry, defiant almost. What secrets could be passing between them? Callum wanted to intrude, to tear her away, but he feared what he would hear if he got close.
Tara suddenly glanced at him, said something to Forster and hurried back across the square. She looked discomforted, her cheeks pink and her chest heaving. Was she thrilled or dismayed to see her erstwhile admirer again? A punch of jealousy so vicious almost floored Callum at the thought, and he could not bring himself to ask her anything.
‘If you have finished conversing with redcoats, we should go,’ he snapped. Tara nodded, casting one last glance across the square and followed obediently.
Chapter Nineteen
The ride home to Raigmoor was a bitter one. Tara got nothing but brooding silence from Callum until they were halfway home, and he stopped at a pretty spot alongside a river.
‘We will rest the horses awhile,’ he said curtly before stalking off. He plucked a handful of grass and began tearing at it, flicking pieces to the ground.
Tara walked toward the river, sensing a storm about to break. Since coming into Scotland, she had learnt to keep her distance from men when their blood was up. She stared out at the green water as it gurgled past, heading south under an arched bridge in the distance. It could have been a beautiful day, with warm spring sunlight bouncing off the water, the steady chirp of birds in the trees and the whisper of long grass waving in a gentle breeze. But it was not.
Tara shrugged off her plaid, letting the breeze cool her neck and chest. Whenever she thought of her exchange with Lieutenant Forster, shame would spread over her, mingled with anger. Their encounter had not been pleasant after he interrupted her conversation with Mr Penry, sending the bespectacled little man hurrying away. Tara shut her eyes as his words intruded.
‘I heard you had wed and not too well. Is that him?’ Forster jerking his head in Callum’s direction with a sneer, and Callum watching her like a hawk, yet he had not intervened.
‘Yes, that is him. His name is Laird Callum Ross, and he is good to me.’
‘Laird is it? By all that is holy, Tara, I am gone six weeks, and now I return to see you are so much less than you were before. The title of Laird does not make that lout a gentleman.’
‘Nor are you, for if you were, you would congratulate me on my marriage, Lieutenant.’