Page 19 of Laird of Wrath

“See?” he asked with a pleased smile. “Precision.”

Rhea doubted she could shoot an arrow with so much precision, but she didn’t protest when he handed her the other bow.

“I’m sure ye’ll be better than him, me Lady!” Hudson called from the other side of the training yard. “It was a lucky shot!”

Callum said nothing. He only glared at Hudson. But that alone would have brought a lesser man to tears.

With a small bow of his head, Hudson walked over to the sword rack and hung his. “All right, all right,” he said, raising his hands placatingly. “I get it. I’ll go.”

“Did ye do that so we could be alone?” Rhea asked, and Callum nodded.

She couldn’t help but chuckle. Still, the gesture made warmth bloom in her chest.

She would never have thought Callum romantic, and she supposed training with him wasn’t the most romantic thing in the world. But for him, it seemed like it was.

Silently, he handed her an arrow and came to stand behind her, guiding her to the right spot. His hands were on her waist, holding her securely, and she could feel the touch of each finger, hyperaware of his presence behind her, of his hands on her body.

She could feel his breath on the back of her neck, heating her skin. She could feel his chest every time he drew breath,expanding to brush against her back. She could feel the strength of his palms where they had wrapped around her ribs, holding her steady and making her feel unmoored at the same time.

It would take so little for him to lean in and press a kiss to her neck. Rhea imagined it, his mouth lowering to her skin, the heat of it reminding her of a sensual caress.

She was alight with need, every part of her aching to be touched, to be kissed, to be held by this man she had denied only days ago.

Why did I tell him to wait?

It seemed silly now, but she had already asked for a whole month to get to know him—and she didn’t count the five days they had missed while she waited for him.

Rhea tried to bring her focus back to the bow in her hand, which was easier when Callum stepped back from her, giving her space to try it on her own. She focused on the target before her, on that tiny dot right in the middle, and pulled back the string, just as Callum had shown her. Only for the string to snap.

She let out a cry, half in surprise and half in pain. Callum was next to her within moments, but it was mostly the shock that had startled her, rather than the small cut on her hand.

“Are ye all right?” Callum asked, his voice uncharacteristically high, just as it had been when he had thought there was something wrong with Sienna.

It was a strange thought that he could be as concerned for her as he was for his sister, and it warmed something deep inside her, closing some of the distance that had grown between them while he had been away.

Blood welled up on her hand where the string had cut her, the sting of it radiating across her palm, but it was far from serious. The cut was shallow; she knew it would heal in a few days. Still, Callum had paled a little, though she doubted it was the sight of blood that had affected him so.

He had seen so much of it in his lifetime. He had seen so much pain, so much blood, so much death that a simple cut like this surely couldn’t rattle him.

He is only rattled because it’s me.

Rhea didn’t really know what to do with that thought. On the one hand, she was glad to know that her husband worried so much for her safety. On the other, she would never have expected it from him, not when he had done his best to keep his distance—at least emotionally—from her.

Perhaps it is unfair to expect him to show emotions. He is a laird. He’s been hardened by war. Askin’ him to be emotional may be quite… unfair to him.

But if that were true, did it also mean that she would have to spend the entirety of her marriage with a man who couldn’t articulate a single emotion?

“Rhea?” Callum asked, pulling her out of her thoughts. “Are ye all right?”

Rhea hummed softly in question, then nodded. “Aye, aye… I’m fine. It’s only a scratch.”

“I should take ye to the healer.” Callum placed his hand on the small of her back to guide her. But she had no intention of going to the healer.

“Ach, Callum, I’m fine,” she insisted. “Look, it already stopped bleedin’.”

She held up her hand to show him that the cut was shallow and that whatever blood had been smeared there had now stopped trickling.

Callum tenderly took her hand in his, cradling it in his palm, his warmth seeping into her. His calloused fingers were rough against her soft skin, but the feel of them on her, even if he was only cradling her hand, was enough to drive her mad with lust.