Page 58 of Laird of Wrath

“Do I?” he asked flatly.

If he were being honest, he didn’t want to discuss anything from the previous night with Hudson. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust him. Quite the opposite, in fact. But the moment he had spent with Rhea felt sacred in a way, too intimate for him to share with another, even if it was the man he trusted with his life.

“Ye certainly look more rested,” Hudson noted with a small shrug as he began to circle him.

Callum watched him, turning his head to track his movements, but he didn’t move.

“Have ye been sleepin’ better?”

“I slept better last night.” He kept his answer as vague as he could. “Didnae think it would make that much of a difference.”

“When ye havenae slept for that long, even one night makes a difference,” Hudson said. “Ask me how I ken.”

Callum knew he wasn’t the only one having trouble sleeping. Everyone who had been with him on the battlefield and had survived to tell the tale had been plagued by the same things as him: the nightmares, the sleepless nights, the weight, the nausea. Everything that came with one’s hands being stained with blood.

Drawing in a deep breath, Hudson lunged for him. It was a predictable move. Callum pivoted to face him fully, their swords meeting with a clang in the quiet of the morning. Already, sweat dripped down his brow and back, sticking his shirt to his skin. Dust rose in the air around them, disturbed by their footsteps.

Every now and then, Callum thought he could smell the metallic scent of blood in the air. Every now and then, he thought the ground darkened with it right before his eyes. But there was no blood to speak of. Their blades were dull, not meant to cause harm. And even if they weren’t, the two of them were not sparring as much as playing, idly swinging their swords and trying to get themselves comfortable with the idea of crossing blades once more.

Another war was bound to come sooner or later. Or if not another war, then at least another attack. For all Callum knew,the next attack would be on the castle. He could not afford to lose his edge with a sword.

No one could. Not him and not his men, who were still training every day. And if they were training every day, then so should he.

“It’s a good thing,” Hudson said as he took a few steps back and rolled his wrist, his sword swinging idly with the movement. “Ye need the rest, Callum.”

“Nae much rest to be had when we’re plannin’ a feast,” Callum grunted, though that was hardly his duty. Rhea and Sienna were the ones organizing it and making sure that everything was ready for the guests. He was in no way or shape involved. He did not want to be.

“Aye?” Hudson chuckled. “Are ye the one pickin’ the flowers and puttin’ up the banners?”

“Is that all ye think there is to a feast?” Callum scoffed as he raised his sword and charged at him.

He moved fast, approaching head-on, but then changed his course at the very last moment. It was a move that worked on everyone—everyone but Hudson, who had seen him use the same tactic countless times.

His friend wasn’t fooled. He quickly parried the blow, then pivoted to the side to avoid the next one, moving fast to score ahit. Callum was fighting in earnest now, if only to keep Hudson from talking about the feast and the previous night.

Hudson jumped back, but Callum was quick to follow, trying to keep him engaged rather than letting him run away. Their swords clashed again and again, Hudson parrying fervently while Callum attacked without stopping.

Within moments, they were both panting, trying to catch their breath. Still, Callum didn’t stop, not until he managed to score a hit, bringing the blade down on Hudson’s shoulder.

“Ow!” Hudson cried, tossing his sword aside to throw himself at Callum.

The force of the collision threw Callum off-balance, and the two of them tumbled to the ground, wheezing.

“Ye wee bastard!”

Callum would have laughed had he not been too preoccupied with trying to overpower Hudson, who was writhing under him in an attempt to toss him off.

It had been a long time since they had last grappled like this, perhaps since they were children, giving little thought to anything but the next moment, the next move.

Most of the time, Callum was thinking ten moves ahead, his mind always racing, always working toward the next problem.But now, nothing mattered to him but the next position of his hands, the next planting of his feet on the ground—anything that would help him push Hudson off.

He had the advantage of size, but Hudson had the advantage of cunning. He had always been riskier than Callum, always more willing to push himself and everyone around him to their limits. Once, Callum may have called him crazy. Now, he would probably call him the same, though perhaps with a little more respect.

Using all of his weight, Hudson pinned Callum to the ground, and no matter how much he writhed and bucked, Callum couldn’t push him off. In the end, he went limp, panting hard, drenched in sweat, and cursing Hudson for being a solid wall of muscle.

“Will ye get off me!” he huffed, giving him one last, half-hearted shove.

Hudson laughed in response and rose, offering him a hand, but Callum slapped it away playfully and jumped up to his feet.