Page 42 of Laird of Wrath

“A necklace?”

“Or a dress or a bracelet or… hell, ye could even get her a kitten. Lasses love kittens, and there’s plenty of them out there for free.”

Callum couldn’t resist the urge to roll his eyes. “I’m nae gettin’ her a kitten.”

“Why nae?”

“Because… it’s a cheap gift.”

“It’s a free gift.”

“That’s even worse!”

“Ach, I always get a lassie a kitten if I want her to like me,” Hudson admitted.

“And do they?” Callum asked.

“Aye.”

“How many kittens have ye given?”

“One.”

He cannae be serious.

“Why do I sit here and listen to ye?” Callum scoffed, dropping his face in his hand.

“Because ye have nay one else to talk to about this,” Hudson pointed out, seemingly perfectly aware of the fact that his advice was useless, no matter how much he meant to do good. “Ask Sienna if ye daenae like what I have to say.”

“Sienna will agree with Rhea,” Callum grunted.

“Aye.” Hudson nodded. “And I’ll agree with ye. This is how these things go.”

For a while, Callum remained silent, slowly swirling his whisky in his cup. A gift wasn’t a bad idea, he figured. Not a kitten, surely, and perhaps not a necklace either. Rhea had little need for such things, though perhaps he was underestimating the emotional value of such a gift.

But he couldn’t help but think she would prefer if he gifted her something more important. A gesture rather than an item, something that would show her he was ready to listen.

But am I ready to listen? Can I open up to her the way she wants me to?

There really was only one way to find out: plunging himself into the deep straight from the start.

Going slow didn’t work with him. He was an all-or-nothing kind of man, and he needed to be that man, enduring the worst of it so he could quickly get to the better parts of himself.

A plan was already forming in his mind. He only had to wait until morning.

The previous night had left Callum thinking his plan was a great idea, but now, standing in front of the gates with two horses and waiting for Rhea to come down, he wasn’t so certain.

He had been so ready to take Rhea out on a ride, to open up to her like she had asked, but now he hesitated.

From the moment he had entered her room, she had been in a bad mood, and he was certain that he was the cause of it. But the more frustrated she was with him, the more frustrated he got, until the two of them were stuck in a loop of anger, feeding off each other.

He had to keep reminding himself to remain calm, that he had brought this upon himself by trying to distract her with that kiss and then acting like nothing had happened—like the kiss hadn’t mattered, like their conversation about the war hadn’t mattered.

It had all mattered to her, and he had dismissed it so easily.

When he heard footsteps behind him, he turned to see Rhea approach, wearing a plain riding dress and boots. A cloak was draped over her shoulders, older and a little worn, fraying at the edges, its brown color meant to blend in with the forest. It also matched her eyes, which now shone under the morning sun, the light making them look impossibly deep.

“Are ye ready?” Callum asked gruffly.