Chapter 11
POV: Sorsha
“Probably a bit of both. I have some savings,” Callum clarified with a grin.
“But there’s no need to be so extravagant. You already paid for me.”
He exhaled sharply, his jaw tightening as though I’d struck him. The grin vanished, replaced by a look that was equal parts wounded and frustrated. His eyes, normally so steady, darkened as he searched mine, lips pressed into a hard line before he finally spoke.
“I didn’t buy you, Sorsha,” he said, his voice low but firm. “I paid off your family. There’s a difference.”
The words hung between us, heavy and raw, his expression daring me to challenge them.
“Fine.” Curiosity pushed me on. “How much did you give them?”
His shoulders stiffened, and for a moment, his eyes slid away, lingering on the cobblestones in thought before settling back on me, his expression blank.
“Enough,” he said at last. “More than they deserved. That’s all you need to know.”
His hand clutched mine, guiding me forward as if the conversation had reached its end. But I was patient. I would find out eventually. Still, the fact that he’d spent two crowns on a set of rings was unfathomable to me.
Rings weren’t usable; they were decorations.
The next place we entered was a general store, and Callum led me through the aisles until we reached a display of beauty products. My eyes were immediately drawn to a brush with a mother-of-pearl inlay.
I lifted it, marveling at its smooth handle, but when I saw the price—ten pennies—I set it back quickly and scanned the shelf for something cheaper.
Callum’s hand closed around my wrist. “Get that one if you like it.”
“No, I don’t,” I lied outright. Somehow, I had to curb his spending spree.
He bent forward, plucking the brush from the shelf himself. His voice was quiet, but his eyes pinned me in place. “Don’t lie to me, Sorsha. Ever.”
I huffed, my frustration bubbling over. “You’re spending money needlessly. I mean, the rings are just a decoration—”
“No, they aren’t,” he cut me off. His voice was firmer now, final. “They are a symbol. A promise.”
I looked up at his serious face, words drying on my tongue. My chest tightened. I didn’t know what to say, only that this couldn’t last; the bottom would drop out sooner or later.
He moved along the shelf, examining every hairpin on display. Holding two in his broad palm, he asked, “Which one do you like?”
I nearly shook my head, ready to refuse, when a thought struck me.
Maybe he was embarrassed that I used a twig.
Truthfully, I’d searched for a long time to find one straight enough and the right size, stripping the bark until it was smooth.
But at the end of the day, it was still unmistakably homemade.
One hairpin gleamed with mother-of-pearl, shiny and bright — he’d clearly chosen it because of the brush. The other was simpler, a straight pin topped with a butterfly, almost playful. I touched that one and nodded.
“That one,” I said softly.
He closed his fist around both.
“I only need one pin,” I protested, a little desperate.
His gaze flicked to me, calm but unyielding. “I’m buying both.”
My stomach fluttered. To him, it was a small indulgence. To me, it felt like riches.
He paid at the counter, and I understood that my upbringing had a lot to do with how I reacted, but I couldn’t stop myself. When my father beat me up that one time so I couldn’t work, I hadn’t been able to scrounge for food and almost starved.
I will never forget how I felt, and I vowed I would never starve like that again. I had a stash of pennies hidden inside the hollow bridle rosette that dangled from Mabel’s cheekpiece, the pretty decoration no one ever paid attention to.
I remembered the first time I pushed those coins inside, my hands trembling, heart hammering, terrified someone might hear the faint clink. That tiny hoard was my secret lifeline, proof I would never be completely powerless again.
Completely lost in thought, I followed Callum out of the store and walked straight into his back when he stopped short.
“Sorry,” I mumbled.
“We need to talk,” he said, steering me across the square to a vendor with tables and benches set out on the sidewalk. “Sit.”
I sat, wondering if this was it, if he was already tired of me. A woman sidled up, her eyes raking over Callum, and I almost grabbed his hand to prove he was mine, but that might not be the case after he said his piece.
Totally annoyed with this possessive feeling that was wildly out of place, I purposely looked the other way.
Callum must have noticed, surprising me yet again. “Would you like a cider, wife?”
The woman blinked, her smile faltering, then sniffed, turning her disdain on me. Granted, my hair still hadn’t been properly combed, but you couldn’t tell when it was pinned up.
“Yes, please,” I said quickly, though I’d never tasted cider before.
“Two ciders and today’s stew,” Callum ordered.
She nodded and flounced away.
“Are we eating again?” I asked, still full.
“The sun is about to go down, and the inn we’re staying at is bound to be chock full,” he explained.
“Okay.”
He looked at me steadily, lips parting once, twice, as though he meant to say something but thought better of it.
The two ciders arrived, and I ventured, “Did I annoy you?”
“No,” he spluttered, shifting in his seat. His hand tightened around the mug in front of him. “It’s just… you think I’m wasting money.”
I blinked, not sure where he was going with this.
He exhaled, gaze fixed on me. “I don’t mind spending it on you. Not because I’m embarrassed to have you beside me, quite the contrary. I want to spoil you and give you all the things you never had.”
His jaw worked as though more words fought to get out, but they stuck in his throat. Finally, he looked away again, muttering, “That’s all.”
I shook my head. “What if you fall ill and can’t work? What will you eat then? The rings?”
He burst out laughing, the sound deep and unguarded. “No, we’d sell them. But it will never come to that.”
Then he leaned forward, eyes narrowing with just a hint of reproach. “You mean, what will we eat then?”
I shrugged noncommittally, unwilling to answer. I still wasn’t sure of him, and it was always safer to be prepared for the worst.
The stew was served, and though it smelled rich and hearty, I only managed half before sliding the bowl toward Callum. “Don’t let it go to waste. I can’t manage another bite.”
Without a word, he finished it off, his spoon scraping against the bowl. The silence that followed wasn’t comfortable anymore. I understood what he was saying, but every fibre of my being abhorred waste.
I hadn’t meant to sour the meal, but someone had to think further ahead than my father and Ryan ever did. You couldn’t just live in the moment. Not if you wanted to survive.