Page 12 of The Heather Wife
Calum leaned against the stone wall, arms folded across his chest, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth. Let her try and win them over with her Highland airs and bonnie face. Let her suffer the same coldness she’d shown his people—now her people too.
He’d warned her this union would mean nothing.
She’d still come.
Still stood beside him in the kirk, pledged herself before God and kin. He knew she hadn’t a choice—but she’d walkedinto his keep all the same, and Calum had decided to lay the fault of the entire mess of their betrothal and marriage at Sorcha’s feet, whether it was fair or not.
And now she bore it all in silence.
But something coiled low in his gut as he watched her. She wasn’t soft, as he’d expected. No tears. No pleas. No wounded glances sent his way.
He’d seen that look before—on the faces of warriors.
She was stubborn—quiet as snowfall, but sharp as wind off the northern peaks. Unyielding. Unforgiving. Dangerous.
He hated that about her.
Later, he found Elspeth near the solar, curled like a kitten upon the bench, hands tucked beneath her chin, lips parted in a dainty pout.
He had known Elspeth since they were bairns. And he knew well the kind of woman she was.
Clever. Calculating. Coy. She always got her way.
He’d once admired it—respected it, even. She wasn’t strong, or highborn. But she’d learned to use what she had—her smallness, her fae-like beauty, her softness—as a blade. A dagger sheathed in silk. A weapon all its own.
“Calum,” she cooed, her voice high and sugar-sweet, like honey poured too thick. “Ye promised ye’d walk with me after the nooning meal.”
“I said I’d try,” he muttered, stepping past her.
She followed, all fluttering lashes and soft steps. “She’s cruel to me,” she whispered. “I’ve done naught but try to be kind. And still she treats me like the enemy.”
He cast her a glance. “Is that so?”
“I only wish to help her feel welcome.” Her eyes glimmered—tears, mayhap. Or something else. “But she’s so cold. So proud. I think… I think she hates me.”
Calum’s mouth curved. “Can’t imagine why.”
Elspeth blinked. “Ye don’t think she’s… jealous? Of us?”
He laughed—a low, mirthless sound. “She doesna care enough to be jealous.”
But the words left a strange weight behind them.
He tried not to think of the hopeful look she’d worn the day they first met—before the vows, before he’d told her Elspeth held his heart.
He tried not to think of her hands that morning—raw and reddened from lifting stores. Of the way she’d never once asked for help. Or the steel in her gaze as she walked through a keep full of knives, chin high, spine straight.
“She’ll leave, eventually,” Elspeth breathed, moving closer. “I’ll make sure of it. Then we can be together, as we were meant.”
He looked away.
Would she?
***
That eve, his father summoned him to the great hall. The old man sat near the hearth, one leg stretched stiff before him, tankard in hand.
“Ye’ve made a fool o’ yerself, lad.”
