“He didn’t tell you what happened?” she protested, struggling with embarrassment. It was one thing to bestow her innocence on the man she loved. It was quite another for her wanton behavior to be the subject of public discussion.
But Callum hastened to reassure her. “Raith would never be so indiscreet about a lady, Katrine. He’s a gentleman, after all. But it wasn’t hard to guess.”
Involuntarily, Katrine’s hands rose to her flaming cheeks. She scarcely had the courage to meet Callum’s gaze. Yet he didn’t seem to be condemning her. The dancing gleam in his dark eyes held both amusement and sympathy.
When she remained silent, he gave an amiable shrug of his broad shoulders. “It was bound to happen. Indeed, I’m surprised it took this long. Raith has been acting like a cornered mountain cat since the moment he laid eyes on you. I might even go so far as to say my estimable cousin deserved to have his fur singed, for his callous treatment of you.”
“I suppose I should be grateful for your grudging support,” Katrine retorted ungraciously.
Callum sent her a charming smile that even Katrine wasn’t immune to. “Don’t flay me with your lethal tongue, my sweet. You never needed my support. I could tell from our first acquaintance you could take care of yourself.”
Without asking her leave, he sauntered into the room and settled himself on the gold damask settee, crossing one elegantly shod foot over the other and lacing his fingers over his stomach, giving Katrine the impression that he meant to remain for a while and that he planned to discuss her relationship with Raith.
“I confess to being gratified,” Callum remarked, confirming her suspicion, “that you and Raith have reached some meeting of the minds. The two of you stayed at loggerheads far longer than I expected.”
“What meeting of the minds? We are still at loggerheads, if you care to know. Raith refused to discuss my ransom.”
One black eyebrow rose. “Do you mean to tell me that my dear cousin seduced you under his own roof and refused to face the consequences?”
She felt her cheeks grow warm at his frankness. “No,” Katrine admitted in a small voice. “Raith…agreed to provide for any ‘issue’ I might have. And,” she added in a lower voice still, “in all fairness, he didn’t seduce me precisely. I—it just happened.”
There was a moment’s pause while Callum studied her. She could feel his dark gaze resting on her. “If you were anyone but who you are, Raith would marry you.”
She gave him a quick glance, her expression hopeful. “Do you truly think so?” Under normal circumstances, Callum wasn’t the person she would have chosen for a confidant, but he might be able to help her understand Raith. At least he seemed willing to lend a sympathetic ear. “Just how well do you know Raith?”
“Well enough. We were raised almost like brothers. I shared his tutors and attended university with him. The old laird took the notion I was a clever lad and saw to it that I had a gentleman’s education.”
It was Katrine’s turn to raise an eyebrow. Callum had said he was a natural child. His present admission that he had been raised nearly as one of the family, coupled with his resemblance to Raith, made her wonder if the two men actually had a closer relationship than cousins. Yet good manners wouldn’t allow her to come right out and ask Callum if the old laird was his father.
Her unspoken question must have shown on her face, though, for Callum smiled, a smile that held by far the deepest cynicism she had seen in him. “No, the laird of Ardgour was not my sire, although many was the time I wished he had been. My mother was a poor Scotch lass who had the vast misfortune to fall in love with an Englishman. A nobleman, to be exact. A fine Sassenach lord who already had a wife.”
He put only the slightest of inflections on the word wife, but despite the lightness with which he had spoken, despite the provocative good humor he showed to the world, Katrine suspected Callum MacLean was nursing his own brand of bitterness. A bitterness much like Raith’s, and perhaps quite as fierce.
Reminded that she had fallen in love with a Highlander who despised her, Katrine gave a sigh. Did all the MacLean men bear such hatred for the English? Her spirits sinking again, she wandered around the room, running an idle finger over the mantel, then sank down into the wing chair beside the fireplace, fixing Callum with a troubled gaze.
“You said if I were anyone else… Which do you suppose Raith dislikes most about me, my English blood or my Campbell ancestry?”
“The Campbell part, I daresay. Raith was weaned on tales of Campbell treachery—but the tales aren’t greatly exaggerated. If you know anything at all about the history of your clan, you know every Campbell chief who ever lived has been given to plotting. They’ve never balked at fawning and pandering to kings and noblemen in positions of power, or using unscrupulous means to gain their ends. That was how one of your Argyll earls obtained letters of commission to pursue Clan MacLean with fire and sword.”
Rather calmly Katrine listened to Callum disparage the chiefs of her clan, not uttering a word of protest. Surprisingly he didn’t raise her hackles the way Raith always did when he talked about the past. But then Raith made any discussion of the Campbells sound like an accusation, a personal indictment of her, whereas Callum seemed merely to be stating facts. And, if she were honest, she had to admit there was a great deal of truth in what he said. The past Earls and Dukes of Argyll had ever been known for their ability to foment strife and discord, and they usually managed to side with the men in power.
“I daresay,” Callum continued, “we’ve good reason to accuse your chiefs of guile and cunning. When MacLean of Duart was dispossessed of estates sixty years ago, Duart Castle was forfeited to the crown, but somehow it wound up in Argyll’s hands—and so did countless other MacLean lands and possessions.”
Duart Castle was on the Isle of Mull, Katrine remembered, across from the seaport of Oban, where she had disembarked.
“And then there was Culloden,” Callum said softly. “Every true Scotsman felt betrayed by the Campbells during the risings when they sided with the English. Can you blame Raith for feeling any different?”
Katrine didn’t answer; there was nothing she could say, for she understood very well Raith’s feelings on that score.
When she remained silent, Callum cocked his head at her, his gaze curiously gentle. “After the Forty-five Raith had the very devil of a time recovering the estate of Ardgour from the brink of ruin. Perhaps that’s why he feels personally responsible for aiding the Duart MacLeans—because he managed to save his inheritance when the men of Duart have so little…not even the land they were born to.”
Katrine looked down at her hands, feeling somewhat ashamed. She’d railed at Raith frequently for being so adamantly narrow-minded in his opposition to the duke, but she’d never truly considered his side of the matter. Nor had she ever tried to help him achieve his ends. What he wanted seemed reasonable enough, now that she thought objectively about it—affordable rents that wouldn’t leave the Duart MacLeans facing starvation. Perhaps if she spoke to her uncle herself, or pleaded the MacLeans’ case before the duke…
But even if she could convince them of the justice of the MacLeans’ cause, even if Raith could manage to overlook her Campbell blood, that was no guarantee he would wed her.
She regarded Callum somberly. “Raith told me once that he…that there would be no more children here as long as he was laird. I don’t think that bodes well for my chances of marrying him, do you?”
Callum returned her gaze steadily. “As to that, I can’t fault him for not wanting to suffer such an ordeal ever again. Morag was required to…dismember his son in order to try and save Ellen. Suffice it to say that wasn’t a pretty sight.”