Chapter 23
“Tell me if ye need anythin’,” Hudson said as he lingered near the door.
He and Rhea had taken Callum up to his chambers to rest the moment he collapsed, but Rhea hadn’t stopped fretting over him for a single moment.
“Do ye think he’ll be all right?” she asked. “What if… what if somethin’ happened to him?”
“He’s only drunk, Rhea,” Hudson assured her. “Daenae fash.”
“How much did he have to drink?” Surely, it couldn’t have been that much. They hadn’t stayed at the feast for that long. “I daenae think he had enough to faint!”
“He’s asleep,” Hudson said. “I’ve seen him like this before. Now, I didnae think he would drink this much tonight, but it isnae the first time somethin’ like this happened.”
“When was the last time ye saw him like this?”
Hudson seemed to consider for a moment. “I daenae remember. It must have been a long time ago.”
“Precisely,” Rhea huffed. “So why should I think that everythin’ is all right now?”
“Because the healer said so,” Hudson reminded her. “He’ll be fine. Ye’ll stay with him, will ye nae?”
“Of course,” Rhea said.
She had no intention of leaving Callum out of her sight, not even for a moment. She wanted to make sure that nothing bad had happened to him.
She wasn’t as convinced as everyone else that this was simply a case of drunkenness, of having a little more alcohol than he should have. One moment, he had been standing; the next, he had been on the floor, completely unmoving.
This was something else; she was convinced of it. Who was to say that someone hadn’t managed to slip in through the castle’s defenses to attack him with poison?
But the healer had indeed examined him and had confirmed that he was simply drunk and that he only needed some water and a few hours of sleep.
“Get some sleep, Rhea,” Hudson urged. “I will keep everyone entertained for ye.”
“I’m sure that willnae be too difficult for ye.”
“I cannae say the same about ye and sleepin’, unfortunately. I mean it, Rhea. Get some sleep.” With that, he left the room.
Rhea crossed the sitting room to the bedroom, where Callum lay unconscious. He was still in his ceremonial clothes, their rich, deep red almost black under the soft light of the few candles that remained lit.
Rhea refrained from undressing him, at least at first, thinking that she would wake him. But then, she decided otherwise, for he looked too uncomfortable.
First, she grabbed his jacket and tried to pull it off him. But he was like a rock, heavy and making no effort to help. It took her several attempts to pull off his jacket, huffing and panting through it.
By the time she managed to pull the damn thing off, she was sweaty, and her hair was falling right out of her pins, tumbling down her neck to her shoulders.
It was then that she decided she wouldn’t fight too much with the rest of his garments. Instead of trying to undress him fully, she undid the buttons of his shirt and pushed the fabric back, then unlaced his boots and set them near the door.
“There,” she said, mostly to herself, as she wiped her palms on her petticoats. “Now ye’re comfortable.”
Callum let out a loud snore that startled her. It was a good sign, though. If he could snore like that, it meant he was still breathing. And if he was still breathing, that was all that mattered to her.
She removed her petticoats and draped them over the back of a nearby chair.
Then, she slid into bed and pulled him into her arms, just as she had done a few nights prior, when he had had the nightmare.
She doubted he would have any nightmares that night, drunk as he was.
With a little luck, his sleep would be restful, and for once, he would find some peace.
She didn’t know how many hours had passed when she opened her eyes again, or when she had fallen asleep. Light streamed through the window, soft and pale, and she could only assume it was the early hours of the morning, right after dawn.
Callum was still asleep in her arms, though he had stopped snoring. The frown he usually sported on his face had faded, leaving nothing but calm behind.
Rhea loved seeing him like this. She loved waking up next to him and knowing there was a soft side to him in sleep, one that he never let anyone else see.
To everyone else, Callum was the laird of the clan, the leader, the man on whom they could rely. But to her, he was nothing but Callum, nothing but her husband. She never once needed him to be anything more than that.
Ever so gently, she began to stroke his hair, combing her fingers through the dark strands. She hadn’t noticed it much before, but now, in the dim light, she could see that his temples had started to turn gray.
It was no wonder, what with all the stress he had to endure in the past months. Though he was no older than thirty-one, he only looked his age in sleep, when his worries and troubles finally left him.
It was only a few moments later that he woke, his eyes fluttering open with difficulty. He squinted at first, his face contorting with annoyance and pain, but when he saw her, his features softened once more.
“Rhea?” he asked, then looked around him, clearly disoriented. “What… what happened? Where… Why are we nae at the feast?”
Callum couldn’t remember a time in his life when he had been more confused than now, for they should have both been at the feast. His ears strained for any sign of music or laughter, but he could hear none, and judging by the light streaming in through the windows, it was early in the day.
But which day?
The last thing he remembered was the feast, when the early evening light still lingered but was much warmer, much more golden.
How had he come up to his chambers? He didn’t remember that at all, nor what had happened at the feast. Had he truly drunk so much that he had not only blacked out, but had also forgotten the earlier part of the evening when he was only tipsy?
It made no sense to him. Nothing like this had ever happened to him before.
“Ye’re awake,” Rhea said, and the relief in her voice made him think that something had happened. “How are ye feelin’? How is yer head?”
“Me head?” he asked.
As if on cue, a sharp, piercing pain speared through his head. He grimaced, his hand flying up to his temple, then his forehead, where he felt a bump.
“What is this?”
He made to sit, only for a wave of nausea to hit him. Rhea pushed him back down on the bed, her concerned face hovering above him.
His confusion grew, but there was one thing that kept niggling at his mind, one thought that he couldn’t push back no matter how much he tried.
This is Barclay’s doin’. I daenae ken how, but I ken it’s all his plan.
“There was… an incident,” Rhea began hesitantly.
That was not helpful at all.
Callum didn’t argue with her, though, nor did he demand answers. He was in too much pain for that, his head pounding from more than just the injury he seemed to have sustained.
It was like an extremely bad hangover, the kind he had not had in years. He was no longer the kind of man who would drink himself to oblivion. Such things were left to his younger self, who had seldom drunk this much anyway.
“Ye got very drunk last night, Callum,” Rhea said, confirming that it had indeed been a whole night since the feast. “And in a very short time. And then, we were dancin’ and—”
“I was dancin’?” Callum asked, frowning.
He didn’t remember the last time he had danced. Of course, he had learned as a child, as everyone of his station did, but he had never found much use or desire for it.
“Aye.” Rhea nodded, her frown mirroring his. “Why? Do ye find it strange?”
“A little,” he admitted. “And then what happened?”
“Well, ye fell.”
“I fell.”
“Aye. It was a very bad fall.”
“How exactly did I fall?”
“Awkwardly.”
It was not the answer Callum had been waiting for.
Rhea stared at him, gnawing on her bottom lip nervously, but if there was anyone nervous in the room, it was him. He had made a fool of himself. It didn’t matter why or how. All that mattered was that everyone had seen him dead drunk, and who knew what they thought of him now?
But he knew he hadn’t drunk that much. If he had been the only one so affected by it, it couldn’t have been anything in the wine either.
Unless it had been in his cup.
But who would have access to it? The servants? Are they capable of such a thing?
He had been under the impression that everyone working for him was loyal to him and the clan. Why would anyone help Laird Barclay take over? Why would anyone want to embarrass him like that or, even worse, have him killed?
Could he have died from this? Should he have died from this?
Perhaps his death had been the original plan all along, and he simply hadn’t consumed enough poison for that to happen.
For a long while, Callum remained silent, staring at the far wall. Rhea continued to stroke his hair ever so gently, her fingers grazing his scalp.
“What are ye thinkin’?” she asked, her voice just as gentle as her fingers.
It took him a long moment to respond. He didn’t want to tell her the truth. He didn’t want to disappoint her. But he would be disappointing her even more if he kept this truth from her.
Turning in her arms to face her fully, he said, “I need to go after him, Rhea. I need to go after Laird Barclay.”
Rhea paled right before his eyes, the color draining from her cheeks. She averted her gaze, and he could have sworn that he saw the sheen of tears that she desperately tried not to shed.
“I ken,” she said. “I ken that.”
God, her voice… I can hardly bear it.
“I will go after the month we agreed on has ended,” he added quickly, hoping that would be some consolation for her. “Ye have me word, Rhea. I willnae go back on our agreement.”
Rhea nodded wordlessly.
What was there for her to say, after all? They both knew he was right; he had to go after Laird Barclay. And since she had agreed so easily, then she also must have suspected it was more than a simple case of drunkenness.
Someone was behind this. There was a traitor among them, and Callum would make sure to find him. He would also kill Laird Barclay before he could cause any more problems to him and his people.
And most importantly, to Rhea.
“I will come back,” he murmured, just in case she had forgotten his promise. “I will survive this, and I will come back victorious. There is nay other option.”
Rhea didn’t speak, nor did she look at him, as if the mere act was too painful. Callum could understand it. If it was her leaving and not him, he didn’t know how he could bear it.
She reached for his cheek, cupping it in her soft palm. She tilted his head toward her and kissed him deeply, passionately, pouring everything she couldn’t say to him into that kiss. Everything he didn’t think he could bear to hear.
“Make me yers,” she whispered against his lips. “Please, Callum. I want… I want somethin’… anythin’.”
And Callum, naturally, was helpless against her request.