Chapter 26
Chapter
Twenty-Six
The moment I touch the ladder, I freeze. The wood feels brittle, like it might crumble beneath my fingers. “This thing’s about to collapse.”
“Then you’re lucky.”
I shoot him an incredulous look. “How do you figure?”
He steps closer, voice soft but certain. “Because I’m here to catch you.” His raised brows suggest this should be obvious.
But that sort of thing isn’t obvious. Not to me.
I let the words settle between us. They sounded playful enough, but the glint in his eyes tells me they were anything but meaningless.
“Go on,” he murmurs, more serious now. He reaches around to unclasp and remove my cloak, heavy with damp, and hangs it from a hook beside a nearby stall. “I’d not let you were it not safe.”
Then he steps right up behind me, close enough that the heat of him presses against my back. His hand finds my waist, firm and steady. He leans in, his breath warm against my neck. “I’ve got you.”
The thing is, I believe him.
Somehow I’m able to put one hand up, then a foot, then another hand, but just as I reach the top and am feeling pretty good about myself, I get tangled in my stupid dress.
Mumbling an excuse, I try to kick my legs free, but there’s so much fabric and it’s so heavy.
I’m starting to panic…then Callum’s hands are on my hips.
“Don’t.” I shoot a look down at him, and nerves jangle up the backs of my legs when I see how far the ground is. “You’ll fall.”
“No one’s falling.”
“How are you holding on?”
With an encouraging smile, he bobs an elbow, showing how he’s hooked it around the ladder to steady himself. “Ready?” he asks, and before I can answer, he hoists me up and over the edge. By the time I roll to my feet, he’s right beside me, standing slightly hunched beneath the low, pitched ceiling.
“Thanks,” I manage. Heat lingers where he touched me, his handprints seared onto my body. I’m buzzing, like my blood is fizzing with carbonation, like maybe I am falling, only it has nothing to do with gravity.
Needing a moment to gather myself, I pretend to be fascinated with the surroundings.
Then I am fascinated by the surroundings.
This is Callum’s world.
A quiet, hidden place. His nest. His refuge. It’s mesmerizingly simple. There’s a thin mattress whose lumps suggest it’s stuffed with hay—or heather, I realize with a pang. Two blankets are stretched over it, and they’re rumpled, like he was just lying down.
The thought hums through me. I can’t help myself from picturing it: that big body, stretched out right there, inches from where I am now.
I look away. My gaze lands on his sword, carefully laid out, parallel to the mattress. There’s his sporran. A water skin. And beside that, a linen square with a hunk of bread and some cheese.
I must make a pathetic noise, because Callum laughs.
“Fancy a bit of cheese, do you?” He plops onto his bed like it’s no big deal—because it isn’t, this is no big deal—and he scoops up the napkin and holds the whole thing out to me. “Come on then. I can see you’re fair famished. Please, take it.”
His expression is grimly serious. If I ran into this guy in a dark alley in New York, I’d be terrified…if not for the piece of hay sticking adorably from his hair.
I take the bread and sit on the mattress beside him. “Thanks, I was starving.”
The words are barely out before I’ve snarfed the wad of bread and cheese so quickly, it’s stuck like a lump in my throat. Just as well. I lost the capacity for speech the moment I perched next to him on his mattress.
“Oh, Rosie-love, had I known, I’d have saved you more.” He hands me his water skin, which I chug from until I need to catch my breath after.
I wipe my grinning mouth. “No, that was perfect. Thank you.” Never have I known such simple contentment. To be so hungry and then finally get fed is practically a miracle.
“Why were you nae at supper? I waited in the kitchens for you.”
“You waited for me?” The words slip out before I can stop them, making my cheeks burn.
He doesn’t notice, just shrugs and says, “I sat with Aoife for a wee while, but I reckoned if you weren’t coming, why sit there when I can sit here? The only reason I go to the kitchens is to see you.”
There’s a flutter in my chest as I realize I’ve not been running into Callum because our schedules match. I’ve been running into Callum because of Callum.
I can barely look at him. I frown and focus my attention on his belongings instead, such as they are. But they’re all he needs. His sword. Some bread and cheese at the end of the day. He’d like his family name back. Other than that, Callum seems at peace. As if his fulfillment comes from inside.
Unlike Hamish.
Thinking of Hamish makes my jaw clench. He’s the sort of person who’ll never be satisfied. What’ll happen the next time he corners me? One of these days, it won’t end well.
Callum’s gentle fingertip under my chin turns me to face him. “What’s fashing you?” He sounds on alert, as if he might hop up this moment, grab his sword, and slay a dragon for me.
The thought that I’m not alone—that this person is here and will stand by my side—disarms me, and I let my anger become fear. Vulnerability. A tear spills onto my cheek and I quickly scrub it away. “Sorry. I’m being stupid. I’m just tired. I’ll be better now that I’ve eaten.”
“This is more than hunger.” He waits for me to say more, and when I don’t, he stretches onto his back and laces his hands over his belly. “I’ll wait.” He lifts his head, eyes steady. “And I’m a verra patient man.”
I have to laugh, and with a shake of my head, I wipe my face again. “I believe you. But really, it’s no big deal. I was taking care of the chickens when Hamish—”
The shift is instant. Callum bolts upright, and the look on his face is dangerous. “What did the bastard do?”
It scares me. Not because I think Callum might hurt me. But because I know he’d hurt Hamish. I can’t have him endangering himself.
“Seriously, Callum. It’s no big deal. Hamish came around and was acting like an ass. I flashed him this”—I pull the witch’s stone from my pocket—“and he backed off. End of story.”
Unlike Hamish, Callum doesn’t recoil. He leans in, studying the stone, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. His fingers hover over it before he finally murmurs, almost reverently, “Rosie-love…do you ken what this is?”
“Hamish told me. It really freaked him out. He said it’s a gleh…gluh…”
“Gloine nan Druidh.” Gingerly, he takes it and holds it up to catch the moonlight. “A hag stone. ’Tis precious indeed. They say ’twill guard its owner from magic.”
I expect him to simply pass it back, and I go still when he takes my hand instead, placing the stone in my palm and gently wrapping my fingers around it. Keeping my hand cradled in his, he says, “They say a witch’s stone appears only to the most special among us.”
“I…I’ve found the same one twice now.”
A slow smile spreads across his face. “I kent you were extraordinary the moment you landed in my arms.”
Extraordinary. I’ve never been called such a thing. I forgot the word even existed.
Just when I think he might do something like, I don’t know, kiss me, Callum nods briskly. “That settles it. You need a way to protect yourself. Hamish willnae like that you’ve found this. You’ll be safe for a time, but you need a weapon. A wee dirk, mayhap.”
His mind is on weapons, not kissing. I knew the sexual tension was all in my head.
It takes a half second for me to catch up and ask, “You mean a knife?”
“Aye. A blade suitable for a lady.”
And now my mind is on weapons, too. A blade. Suitable for a lady.
This living-in-the-past thing must be getting to my head, because it’s a revelation. I give him an amazed nod. “I do, Callum. I need a blade.”
His hand is still wrapped around mine, and now he’s brought his other hand to cradle it completely. He’s leaning closer. The air is charged.
Oh yes, I was right. Every nerve ending comes alive.
Now. Now is when he’ll kiss me.
Then my stomach grumbles—no, it doesn’t just grumble, it roars. Callum barks a laugh, and we pull apart as I slap a hand to my belly, heat flooding my face.
“Och, lass, what sort of devil have you hidden in there?”
“Sorry. I think I’m still hungry.”
“You think it?”
I let myself meet his gaze. “All right, I know. I am hungry. I love cheese and bread. And the potatoes, and the turnips. And eggs. And it’s been so great to be able to cook—thank you for that.
Aoife would’ve never let me touch her stove if it weren’t for you.
But all that beige stuff, it’s not enough.
I would kill for some fiber. A crispy salad.
Or something juicy, that crunches when I chew. ”
“Ah, I ken your meaning. Like a radish.”
I can’t stop the automatic curl of distaste on my lips. “I guess maybe kind of like that?”
There’s a glint in his eyes that says he was teasing about the radish. He looks into the distance with elaborate concentration. “I believe the lady craves something sweeter. An apple, perhaps?”
“Yes, exactly like that. Apples.” Simply hearing the word makes me shiver.
Servants sometimes get to eat dried apples made from the half-rotted ones, but I crave a fresh, crisp bite.
“You have no idea how good the apples are in upstate New York. It was apple season when I left. They get so sweet and juicy.” I shut my eyes, humming with longing.
But they fly open when he snatches my hand again. He’s beaming with excitement as he plucks what looks like a burlap satchel from among his things. “Come with me.”
I don’t ask questions. That Rose is gone. I’ve discovered my inner Rosie, and she doesn’t fret over implications or consequences.
When we reach the bottom of the ladder, he sweeps my cloak back over my shoulders. Folding my hand in his, he pulls me running into the night.