Page 57 of Laird of Wrath

But Callum had seen it all, and it had followed him into the castle, into a time of peace. And how could it not? How could one leave such brutality behind simply because the war had been won?

The ghosts of the dead would always follow him, haunt him. Those he had lost would not simply go away.

“It’s common… among soldiers,” he continued when she said nothing. “Many of me soldiers had these nightmares night after night. The camp… it was full of screaming men. War has… It has affected them, Rhea. It has affected all of us. It’s a disease, this thing. It settles in yer lungs, eats them away little by little until ye feel like ye cannae breathe, like there is nay air left in the whole world for ye.”

Rhea let out a heavy sigh, reaching up her hand to cup his cheek and turn his gaze toward her. Callum didn’t fight it. He met her gaze, and the grief she saw in his eyes was almost enough to undo her.

“I’m sorry, Callum,” she murmured. “I’m sorry ye had to go through somethin’ like that.”

Callum nodded, his hand coming to rest over hers on his cheek. “Sometimes it feels like I’m still there. And other times, it feels like I’m dreamin’ while I’m awake. Nothin'… nothin' feels real. It’s as if the world stopped on the battlefield, and I’m… I’m outside of it now, lookin’ in.”

For a short while, they only stared at each other. Rhea couldn’t help but feel that he was searching for something inside her. Understanding, perhaps. A sign that she knew what he was trying to describe.

Then, he let out a short, bitter laugh and said, “I’m nae makin’ any sense, am I? Daenae fash, these arenae but the ramblings of a fool.”

“Listen to me,” Rhea said firmly. “Ye’re anythin’ but a fool. What ye went through, Callum… nay one who hasnae lived it can imagine it. It was terrible and life-alterin’ and… and unfair. Nay one should have to go through it. But ye did it all for yer clan and yer people, and that makes ye ahero, nae a fool.”

Callum pulled away from her, staring at the far wall of the room. She feared that she was fighting a losing battle, but this time, he didn’t ask her to leave again. He only fell quiet, as if he was lost in another memory.

“I sent so many men to their deaths,” he rasped, breaking the silence. “Good men. I brought them there, to that battlefield, andthey all died because of me. I see them dying, Rhea. Every night, I see them dying in me sleep. Me soldiers, me friends… they’re all out there, their bodies buried away from home. How am I supposed to live, kennin’ this?”

There were a hundred things Rhea could have told him then. A hundred empty reassurances. A hundred empty promises that she could give him, but none of them mattered.

Why would they? There was nothing she could say that would ease his pain, nothing that would change what had happened to him. All she could do was hold him, and so she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close.

At first, he stiffened and even tried to pull away, but he soon settled in her arms and let out a long sigh, his shoulders dropping.

It wasn’t much, but it was all she could give.

Ever so slowly, Callum began to relax further, the tension leaving his body. Even his pulse slowed, his heart beating steadily against her as she held him in her arms.

They stayed like that for a long time, so long that Rhea was certain he had fallen back asleep, so she leaned closer to press a kiss to the top of his head.

But Callum wasn’t asleep. He was wide awake. He lifted his head to look at her, their gazes meeting in the dim candlelight.

Without a word, Rhea leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his lips, one that lingered, trying to give him some more comfort.

It seemed to work, for Callum melted into it, sighing against her lips, his rough edges softening ever so slightly.

He didn’t ask her to leave, nor did he move out of her arms, so she stayed there, holding him.

In the end, he fell asleep just like that, his breathing evening out, the frown on his face smoothing. Rhea soon followed him, drifting into a restful sleep.

And throughout the night, he did not wake once.

19

“Ye look more… like yerself.”

All this time, Callum had been avoiding grabbing a sword. He had been avoiding grabbing a sword, too, knowing he had spent too much time on the battlefield to return to training so soon.

The mere thought of grabbing a sword again had given him pause in the weeks he had been back home. It wasn’t exactly fear, and it wasn’t exactly anger. It was more a weight on his chest that prevented him from acting on any reason to grab a sword again.

But now he was back on the training grounds, just him and Hudson, half training and half wasting time, just because there was nothing else to do. It was a slow day, a Sunday, and the sun was shining. A warm summer day, with only a few clouds to darken the otherwise bright blue sky.

When Hudson had asked him to spar after Mass that morning, Callum had hesitated. The previous night had left him feeling a little bit better, though he doubted he would ever be back to his old self. Rhea had held him in her arms all night. She had stayed with him, patient and quiet through it all, even when he had tried to push her away.

He had needed plenty of coaxing from his friend, but in the end, Hudson had managed to drag him out to the training grounds. And much to his surprise, the moment his fingers wrapped around the hilt of his sword, he found that it wasn’t so difficult to bear.