Chapter Twenty-Three
Several weeks passed, spring blossomed, and at last, Tara let happiness into her heart. Callum was loving and attentive, and they spent feverish nights wrapped around each other in bed. Now that he had opened the door to the passionate nature she had kept suppressed, she could not get enough of his hard body, coaxing hands and hot mouth all over her.
‘Well, Mistress. What is it to be? I can have them plucked and roasted, or there’s duck?’
Tara tried to concentrate on what the cook was telling her about the geese they could have for supper, but her mind constantly wandered to Callum. She could go out and meet him on the road home from Inverness. Aye, it would be a nice surprise. He would like that.
‘There’s turnips to roast with it, though they are not good after all that rain and bedevilled by rot, but we can make do,’ droned the cook.
Tara smiled and nodded, but she was far away. How her life had changed. She was not lonely these days, even though Callum was often gone – out scouring his land for the lawless and sinister band of cattle thieves that had become the bane of the county. As Laird of Raigmoor, he was both protector and lawmaker, so the castle seemed to be an open house of folk coming and going at all hours. Some had disputes to settle. Others wanted more land, a lien on loans due, discipline for unruly neighbours or children, or simply to air grievances about soldiers at Fort George and their heavy-handed ways of keeping the peace. Sometimes, it was a luxury just to have Callum to herself for a few hours, and she certainly made the most of it.
‘Are you ailing, Mistress? You look beset by a fever?’
‘No, I thank you. I am well.’ Tara’s face burned at the thought of what she would do with Callum when he returned.
With her newfound joy had come confidence, and Tara worked hard to make herself useful as Lady of Raigmoor. She was often to be found organising the cook or housekeeper. She enjoyed visiting the villagers who lived close by the castle and bouncing their children on her knee as she listened to their troubles. Orla visited too, whenever she could, and Tara was becoming used to her forthright manner and free opinions and beginning to think of her as a true friend. And she was in awe of how free Orla’s life was – riding and hunting still, even though she was well along in her pregnancy.
A plan formed in Tara’s mind. ‘Darkling Falls? Are they a long way off the road to Inverness?’ she asked the cook. ‘I have heard they are pretty in spring?’
‘Aye, very pretty indeed, just a mile off the road through the woods. But ‘tis a bit lonely out there, Mistress.’
‘I will take company to show me the way, and when l come back, we will decide about supper,’ she said with a smile as she rushed off to the stables.
***
Tara gave her horse its head on the narrow pathway through the forest. Her clansman, Seamus, hung behind her at a distance, no doubt judging her terrible riding skills, but she did not care. She revelled in the sunlit day and a release from Raigmoor’s darkness. The placid old mare responded to her every command, and Tara felt at one with the beast as she wandered along the narrow pathway between tall trees to her destination of Darkling Falls.
The forest opened out into a clearing filled with the sound of rushing water as it fell over a high waterfall down into the deep pool below, where it spat out white foam. Shafts of sunlight brightened the pool - copper around the edges where fallen leaves had drifted in, giving way to emerald green at the centre. Rimmed with thick reeds and bull rushes, it was alive with frogs and little fish darting in the shallows. Tara allowed herself a moment’s peace, delighting in the tireless swoop of swallows rushing back and forth, stealing midges from the pond’s surface.
‘We will stop here awhile and take some rest,’ she shouted over to Seamus.
‘Aye, Lady,’ he said, tethering his horse.
Tara dismounted and let her mare drink. She felt light-headed and hot and sat down on the cool grass as she tried to gather her thoughts. They seemed to constantly wheel around her head like the swallows above her, never settling, never at peace. But for the first time in months, Tara was thankful she had come to Scotland. She wanted Callum now, all the time. When he was gone, she longed for him to come home, but when he returned, she felt sick with excitement and shyness. Every time he looked her way, Tara quaked inside with confusion. What was this turmoil of fear and joy mingled, this strange fascination with every inch of his hard body? What did it mean, this need to know everything about him down to the smallest detail?
She suspected his lovemaking had already borne fruit, but Tara knew little of such things. Over the last few weeks, she had suffered from nausea and exhaustion, and now her belly had begun to swell, and her breasts were tender to the touch.
If Callum’s child was already growing inside her, he had to know, but only when she was sure. She hoped he would not cosset her too much and curtail her freedom. Since spring had come to the Highlands, Tara had come to love being out of doors, and the mountains seemed joyful with their mantle of wildflowers, not dark and brooding as they once seemed. Just as Callum had softened, so had Scotland.
In time, the child would make amends for how foolish she had been in rejecting Callum at first. How could she not have seen what goodness and strength lay in her husband? For the first time in many months, Tara had certainty and determination about the path she was to take and deep in her heart, she knew she was in love with Callum Ross. The thought of it thickened her throat and almost brought her to tears of joy.
Tara closed her eyes and lay back on the grass, relaxed by the sound of the trees rustling as they swayed in a gentle wind. The sunlight warmed her face, bright through her eyelids. A gentle scrape, scrape came from Seamus, where he sat under a tree, whittling a piece of wood with his knife.
Her eyelids grew heavy, and she drifted in and out of sleep. Suddenly a shadow covered her face, and the sun’s warmth disappeared. Tara opened her eyes and squinted up. A hooded face was inches from hers, a musket pointed straight at her head.
‘Come quietly, lass and make no trouble. You are to come with me for his Lordship’s pleasure. He said to bring you alive, but dead will do just as well.’
***
Callum rode into Raigmoor, eager to see Tara. Having spent all day down at the wharves in Inverness sending cargo off south, and dealing with rough sea captains and wharfmen, he craved the attention of his beautiful wife.
He handed his horse off to Colban when he came running. ‘Where is my Lady?’ said Callum.
‘Went out riding early,’ replied the lad, his face guarded. ‘Not come back yet.’
Callum glanced at the sun, low on the horizon. ‘It is getting late, and yet she is not back. Where did she go?’
The lad just shrugged, so Callum rushed inside, shouting for Greaves. When the manservant shuffled in, Callum knew something was amiss by the look on his face.