Chapter 29 #3
"That tells me nothing," Claire pressed.
His jaw tightened visibly. For a terrifying moment, she truly thought he might ignore her again, but instead, he walked slowly back toward the crackling fire. The dancing flames painted sharp, sinister shadows across the pale scar running down his face.
"Tell me something, Lady Claire," Callum prompted quietly.
She said nothing, waiting for his trap to spring.
"When ye arrived at Rosewood..." His dark eyes met hers with piercing intensity. "...did Finn ever tell ye how he became Laird?"
Claire blinked in surprise. "He inherited the title," she answered.
An entirely humorless smile crossed Callum's face. "Did he?"
"He told me his father died," Claire defended firmly.
"He did," Callum agreed, crouching low beside the fire and feeding another dead branch into the flames. "And after his father died..." He watched the dry wood catch fire. "...what happened next?"
Claire hesitated, a seed of doubt planting itself in her mind. "I... I dinnae ken."
"Nay," his voice remained perfectly calm. "I imagine he omitted that part."
One of the other men shifted uneasily by the fire. "Callum..." he started.
The leader silenced the warning with a single, sharp glance. "When men die," Callum continued quietly, returning his attention to Claire, "someone always profits."
Claire's stomach tightened with unease. "What are ye saying?" she asked cautiously.
"I am asking what kind of man inherits the entire glen, while another loses absolutely everything," Callum challenged her softly.
She stared at him, her mind racing. Finn had never spoken much about the dark years immediately following his father's death. He had only mentioned that there had been terrible famine, brutal war, and entirely too much loss. Callum looked almost disappointed by her ignorance.
"He never told ye," he realized.
"Told me what?" Claire pressed, her heart beating faster.
His dark eyes completely hardened into chips of ice. "That there was another clan."
Claire's breath caught in her throat. "What clan?" she asked.
He held her gaze with absolute, unyielding intensity. "The one that ceased to exist."
A deafening silence settled over the entire camp, and even the quiet laughter among the other men had completely faded away.
Claire searched his scarred face, fully expecting to find blind anger or burning hatred.
Instead, she found something far more unsettling: a profound, ancient grief that had remained entirely unhealed.
"Ye speak as though Finn destroyed them," Claire whispered in horror.
Callum's expression became entirely unreadable. "I speak as a man who buried his own father in the mud," he answered.
The fire cracked loudly between them. Claire thought of Finn. She thought of the agonizing way he had looked at her after closing the carriage door, and of the quiet, heavy sorrow he carried behind every single difficult decision he made.
Absolutely nothing about the gentle man she knew resembled the ruthless monster Callum was describing. Yet... why had Finn never spoken of this dark history? Why had he never once mentioned destroying another clan? Or had she simply never thought to ask him the right questions?
Callum rose abruptly to his feet, seemingly finished with the conversation. "We ride before dawn," he announced to his men.
Without offering her another word, he disappeared back into the freezing mist beyond the fire. Claire watched him go, her mind frantically turning over every single word he had spoken. Somewhere deep in the darkness, a lone owl called out. She drew a slow, shuddering breath.
There has to be more to this bloody story. There simply has to be.
The camp was silent. Men sat quietly around the dying fire, eating meager rations, while guards kept watch beyond the trees.
Claire remained where they left her, her wrists tightly bound, ignoring the discomfort from the coarse ropes.
Her focus was on Callum, who stood apart from his men, staring into the darkness as if it held answers only he could see.
"Ye have scarcely spoken a word since we stopped," Claire noted aloud.
He did not turn around. "I have nothing left to say."
Claire studied the rigid set of his broad shoulders. "I daenae believe that."
A long, heavy silence stretched between them before he finally looked over his shoulder. "Ye have courage," he observed quietly.
"I have been told I can be rather stubborn," she replied.
"Aye," his gaze lingered heavily on her face. "I have noticed."
He walked slowly back toward the fire, stopping just beyond its warming glow. For a moment, neither of them spoke, allowing the flames to crackle softly between them.
"Why are ye doing this?" Claire demanded, breaking the tense silence.
Callum's expression did not change a fraction. "I have already answered that."
"Nay, ye havenae," Claire argued. "Ye have spoken in riddles and half-truths." She lifted her chin defiantly. "If ye have risked so much to take me, then surely ye are nae afraid to tell me why."