Page 43 of Laird of Wrath

Rhea nodded. “Aye, of course. Let us head out.”

Once again, Callum offered her his hand to help her up into the saddle, but she ignored it, choosing to mount the horse on her own. She clearly didn’t need his help. He had known that from the last time they had ventured together out of the castle and she had decided to race him unprompted, showing off her riding skills.

Once they were both on their horses, he led them past the walls and out into the wilderness.

Rhea drew her horse level with him—a beautiful mare, deep chestnut in color, her black mane fluttering in the wind. His mount was larger, a black horse with a white marking on the top of its head called Slàinte. Callum had kept and trained him ever since he was born. He bucked when Callum steered him a little too harshly.

“Easy now, lad,” Callum soothed, petting his neck. “Easy, Slàinte.”

“Slàinte?” Rhea asked. “Is that his name?”

“Aye.”

“Ye named yer horse Slàinte?”

“Aye. Why? Do ye have a problem with it?”

Rhea stared at him and the horse in silence for a few moments before bursting into laughter. It seemed she had difficulty believing that he had picked such a name for the horse, and her mirth both confused him and amused him a little.

“Ye just daenae seem like the kind of person who would name his horse somethin’ like that,” she said with a small shrug.

“Is that so?” Callum asked. “What do ye think I should have named it, then?”

“I daenae ken. Dubh, maybe,” she suggested with another shrug of her shoulder. “Somethin’ dark and mysterious.”

Callum couldn’t help but smirk. “Is it because ye think I’m dark and mysterious?”

Rhea’s smile quickly disappeared, though whether that was because she wasn’t impressed by his teasing or because she was desperately trying to stop herself from smiling, he didn’t know.

“It’s becauseyethink ye’re dark and mysterious,” she replied.

Now Callum’s smile faded quickly. “I daenae think that,” he grumbled.

“Ach, there it is,” Rhea teased. “Ye’re pretendin’ to be dark and mysterious again. Ye always mumble and grumble.”

“This is how I talk,” Callum protested, though he kept his tone as flat as he could, trying not to give in to the irritation bubbling up his chest. Rhea was only teasing him, he reminded himself.

And he had every right to tease her back.

“And what does it say about ye, since ye married me?”

She rolled her eyes at him, reaching out with her foot to kick him, only to miss, as she was too far away.

“Well, I didnae have a choice, did I?” she pointed out. “Nae quite fair of ye to ask that question.”

It was something that Callum had given much thought over the course of their marriage—at least as long as he had been in the castle and not away, fighting a war, where his mind was preoccupied with other, more important things.

Would Rhea have chosen him, had she not been forced to marry him?

“Are ye complainin’, then?” he asked. “That ye wedded me.”

“Complainin’?” Rhea glanced over at him briefly before shaking her head. “Nay.”

It was a relief to hear that, to know that she didn’t regret this marriage, that she didn’t want to get out of it, that she wasn’t desperate for an escape. It settled something deep inside him, a fear, an ache that he had been carrying for the past year, ever since they had faced each other at the altar.

For a while, they rode in silence, nothing but the breeze, the rustle of the leaves, and the clip-clop of horses’ hooves accompanying them. The wind was crisp, cold, and refreshing, making Callum’s cloak fly behind him.

The path was so well-trodden that it was a smooth ride. Plus, Callum knew the path like the back of his hand. Rhea didn’t seem to have an issue with it either, and he couldn’t help but wonder how many times she had taken it in the past months, who she had been with, and where she had gone.