Chapter 16
POV: Sorsha
Callum’s honesty and explanation went a long way in establishing some trust. But what I liked most was that he wasn’t perfect; he had a flaw.
“Try one of the dates, they’re delicious,” he said, polishing off another.
I shook my head vehemently.
“Why not?”
I sighed. “Because they’re this horrible brown color, and if you glance too quick, they look like cockroaches.”
Callum laughed outright, a sound that rumbled deep in his chest—beautiful, though it clearly hurt him.
“Cockroaches, really?”
“Well, I’m not starving now, so I don’t have to eat food that looks unappealing. Also… can I grow vegetables in the garden?”
“Mabel will eat them.”
“You’re right,” I nodded, shooting Mabel a look.
I popped an apricot into my mouth and stood, brushing off my dress. An urge to move—space enough to think without interruption. To assimilate. To dissect.
I stretched my hands toward Callum. “Come on, I’ll help you up.”
“You’re too much of a lightweight to manage that.”
“I’m stronger than you think,” I countered, cocking my head.
“Okay, let’s see,” he agreed.
He took my hands, and I curled my fingers around his wrists and pulled with all my might. But instead of him rising, I stumbled forward and landed squarely across his chest—my lips smashing into his.
Very aware of his wounds, I tried to roll off, but his arms wrapped around me, and his mouth pressed firmly against mine.
I froze, not knowing what to do. His lips brushed first the bottom, then the top, coaxing. When my mouth parted, his tongue slipped inside.
Gods… so this was kissing. It wasn’t unpleasant—just strange. Nerve-racking. My heart beat so fast I thought he might feel it.
He ended with a peck and murmured, “You taste just like an apricot.”
Sitting up, I shot back, “Well, now that I know what a cockroach tastes like, I’m glad I didn’t try one.”
I skipped to Mabel’s side and held out a date for her, which she gulped down.
“Do we have water?” I asked, pretending nothing had happened.
“In the satchel. Small canteen.”
I dug it out, took a sip, and poured some into my hand for Mabel.
“We still have three hours of walking left, so don’t finish it,” Callum cautioned.
True, we’d barely cleared the city gates.
He grabbed the reins—and then dropped a kiss on my forehead, so sudden I froze.
“Your face doesn’t look so good; it must have hurt when we…” I trailed off, heat rising to my cheeks.
He flushed just as red, and a giggle escaped me.
“You’re blushing,” I teased.
“So are you.”
“Are you embarrassed?”
“Not for kissing you.”
“Then why?”
“I didn’t even realize I was. Why are you blushing?”
“Because you kissed me,” I admitted simply.
His eyes softened, the heat in them shifting from embarrassment to something warmer, steadier. He reached for my hand, threading his fingers through mine, rough calluses against my skin.
“Then I’ll keep doing it,” he murmured, voice low, almost a promise.
The words fluttered through me like wings, and I had no idea how to answer—only that I didn’t want to pull my hand away.
“Why did you buy coal in Mount Pinnacle when you can buy it in Bridgeford?” I asked, changing the subject.
I already suspected why, but I wanted it confirmed.
“First, answer a question for me.”
“Okay.”
“Did Edith give you a hard time?”
I was right. Callum was very protective, and it made me feel… loved. No, not loved—cared for. Couldn’t be love already.
“I can handle Edith, but she wanted twenty pennies for a brush and five ribbons worth three pennies. That’s why I didn’t buy anything.”
“Ah, you’re quite tough.”
“I am, and you better remember it.”
I yawned, a little tired from the lack of sleep.
“There’s space for you, if you want to sit on the cart,” he offered immediately.
“No, I’m fine. So, you bought coal in Mount Pinnacle to teach Edith a lesson?”
“Her father will feel it when he does his books.”
“That won’t bother her,” I scoffed.
“Maybe not this month…” he trailed off and flashed a grin which looked slightly comical with his black eye and bruises.
Although when I looked carefully, his eye wasn’t nearly as swollen as it had been, nor as purple. The bruise on his chin had also faded to a bluish yellow.
The Doctor had said he heals quickly; did that have something to do with the rage he felt?
Callum was sweet and kind, but when he asked me to make tea, he’d been a little scary. The sharpness of his tone had intimidated me.
Not even my father spoke like that; he could sound pleasant, even charming, while meaning the opposite.
But now that I knew why, I could use that as an indicator. If the rage took him, I would see it in an instant. I could step back, keep out of his way until he calmed.
Then my gaze dropped to his hand, still threaded through mine. It was twice my size, strong enough that one careless swing could end me. I was not ready to die, but maybe there was a way to deal with him—one he hadn’t discovered.
He’d offered me so much money, and I knew where he kept my papers—in a tin in the kitchen. That meant I had an escape, an out at any time.
But I didn’t want to. I’d been fantasizing about him for years. Now that I knew about his problem, I felt on steadier ground.
I stumbled over a stone, only then realizing we were just outside Bridgeford.
“Okay?” Callum asked.
“I’m fine,” I answered.
He hauled out the documents and presented them to the guard on duty, who barely glanced at them before handing them back.
Once we got home and led Mabel through the side gate, Callum unhitched her, and I stared at the sacks filling the cart. With his injuries, there was no way he could unload them all on his own.
Pulling one off the cart, I bent and hefted it up—only for it to be ripped straight out of my arms.
“What are you doing?” he asked, a frown forming.
I looked up at him, uncertain if he was angry, and instinctively took a step back.
“I’m not angry,” he said quickly, his voice gentler. “But I don’t expect you to unload these heavy sacks. I’ll do that. Maybe you could fill up Mabel’s water trough?”
I nodded and watched in amazement as he grabbed the sacks by the neck, one in each hand, as though they weighed nothing and stacked them in his storeroom.
He hefted the barrel with ease, and then there were only a few smaller hemp sacks left, the type that stored food. I didn’t even know when he ordered this.
I filled a bucket with water and glanced around the enclosed yard. It wasn’t just enclosed; a high wooden fence made sure no one could peek in. Even the gate was built from solid planks.
“Why is the back yard so secluded?” I asked.
Callum turned to me. “Because my father taught me to spar here, and he didn’t want prying eyes.”
Oh. Of course. He had said the men in his family had that problem, which included his father. And then it struck me — had Callum’s father killed his mother the way my father had killed mine?
“Did your father hurt your mother?” I asked in a low voice.
Callum seemed to sag at my question, as though I had struck him with the worst news imaginable.
“I think my father killed my mother, too,” I added.