Ralph Hennaut looked him up and down with barely concealed impatience. ‘Ah yes, of course. How good to see you again,’ he said, yet his voice gave no indication of pleasure, and he did not offer his name as a gentleman should. Tara’s heart clenched for Callum Ross. He had been kind to help them and had received scant thanks for it. It fell to her to make amends.
‘This is my uncle, Mr Ralph Hennaut,’ she said.
‘Mr Ross.’ Her uncle gave Callum a curt nod.
‘Actually, it is Laird Ross,’ interjected Callum’s companion, a tall, blonde fellow with the cocksure manner of the extremely handsome.
‘Laird?’ said Ralph, his eyes widening.
‘Aye,’ said Callum. ‘And this is my good friend, Bryce Cullan.’
The Cullan fellow smirked at them all. ‘The good Reverend and Mistress Shaw, I know well,’ he said.
‘Yet, we rarely see you in the kirk, Bryce Cullan, nor you, Laird Ross,’ said Mistress Shaw sternly.
‘An oversight on my part, Mistress Shaw, which we must put to rights as soon as possible,’ said the Cullan fellow. ‘Now, who are these fine people, Callum? Might I beg an introduction?’ said Bryce Cullan.
Callum stared into her eyes. ‘I did not catch your name on the road, lass,’ he said. Before she could answer, the Reverend Shaw made hurried introductions but was suddenly distracted as he turned to wave at an acquaintance walking by. He then made his excuses and rushed off, and with one last sneer of distaste, his wife followed.
An awkward silence followed between the four of them as her uncle extracted his pocket watch and eyed it. ‘Ah, so it is Laird, is it?’ he said to Callum.
‘Aye. I bide up at Raigmoor Castle,’ replied Callum as Tara tried to hide her surprise, for he was no better dressed than last they had met.
‘And where is that?’ barked Ralph Hennaut, put on the back foot.
‘Oh, a good ride away to the north. ‘Tis wild land, but fruitful, and truly beautiful on a fine summer’s day.’
His face took on a soft, wistful look as his grey eyes held hers. Tara noticed Bryce Cullan looking between the two of them intently. Mortified, she lowered her eyes.
‘Summer’s day indeed,’ said Uncle Ralph. ‘We are a long way from that. I think sunshine is a rare thing in Scotland, Laird Ross. I am forever greeted with grey skies when I wake each morning, and the rain is relentless.’ His complaining washed over Tara, and as for Callum Ross, he offered nothing in return. Indeed, he seemed to have turned mute, eyes boring into her most uncomfortably.
‘Aye, Scottish weather can be brutal on strangers from southern climes,’ said Callum’s companion. ‘But the Highlands has a wild beauty, and its rough charm has a way of worming its way into your heart, given time.’ He glanced at his friend. ‘A body just needs to open the mind and see the joy to be gleaned from its wildness.’
‘Indeed, I will own that the countryside is magnificent. Wouldn’t you agree, niece?’ said Uncle Ralph turning to her.
‘Yes, Uncle, the country is indeed wild but stirring,’ she replied. Sudden laughter burst from a nearby tavern door, and two lewd women stumbled out, the worse for drink.
‘Though the company hereabouts is a little low for my liking,’ said Uncle Ralph, with a quick glance at Callum, who did not seem to notice.
‘Aye, market day in Inverness is certainly diverting,’ said Bryce Cullan, with a wide grin, which was enough to give any young woman an attack of the vapours.
‘On quieter days, there are excellent walks along the river where you can spot sea otters and seals, and there is much company to be had at the assembly rooms, I gather.’
The words came out of Callum’s mouth in a rush and were aimed in Tara’s direction. They were startling, as the man had so far preferred staring to talking, unlike his friend, who seemed amicable enough.
Tara just nodded in response, and Callum looked away. How strange he was. She was used to manners like Bryce Cullan’s, for in Truro, she had come across many like him - self-assured, charming, at ease. But Callum Ross was another matter entirely, and his quiet staring made Tara squirm like a worm in the hot sun. Yet, for some perverse reason, she wanted him to speak to her again, but now he seemed to have lapsed into uneasy silence to the point of rudeness as his friend rattled on.
‘From whence do you hail, Mr Hennaut? I cannot quite place the accent,’ Bryce Cullan continued to speak in a breezy way.
‘Truro.’
‘Cornwall. Well, you have come a long way, indeed. And what brings you to Inverness?’ said Bryce.
‘I have come to claim an estate left to me by my recently deceased cousin.’
‘Condolences,’ said Bryce Cullan. Callum Ross merely nodded along with this sentiment.
‘Perhaps you know of my cousin - Mr Walter Hennaut of Braecaple,’ said Ralph, glancing at his watch again.