Page 70 of Laird of Wrath

“Because the healer said so,” Hudson reminded her. “He’ll be fine. Ye’ll stay with him, will ye nae?”

“Of course,” Rhea said.

She had no intention of leaving Callum out of her sight, not even for a moment. She wanted to make sure that nothing bad had happened to him.

She wasn’t as convinced as everyone else that this was simply a case of drunkenness, of having a little more alcohol than he should have. One moment, he had been standing; the next, he had been on the floor, completely unmoving.

This was something else; she was convinced of it. Who was to say that someone hadn’t managed to slip in through the castle’s defenses to attack him with poison?

But the healer had indeed examined him and had confirmed that he was simply drunk and that he only needed some water and a few hours of sleep.

“Get some sleep, Rhea,” Hudson urged. “I will keep everyone entertained for ye.”

“I’m sure that willnae be too difficult for ye.”

“I cannae say the same about ye and sleepin’, unfortunately. I mean it, Rhea. Get some sleep.” With that, he left the room.

Rhea crossed the sitting room to the bedroom, where Callum lay unconscious. He was still in his ceremonial clothes, their rich, deep red almost black under the soft light of the few candles that remained lit.

Rhea refrained from undressing him, at least at first, thinking that she would wake him. But then, she decided otherwise, for he looked too uncomfortable.

First, she grabbed his jacket and tried to pull it off him. But he was like a rock, heavy and making no effort to help. It took her several attempts to pull off his jacket, huffing and panting through it.

By the time she managed to pull the damn thing off, she was sweaty, and her hair was falling right out of her pins, tumbling down her neck to her shoulders.

It was then that she decided she wouldn’t fight too much with the rest of his garments. Instead of trying to undress him fully, she undid the buttons of his shirt and pushed the fabric back, then unlaced his boots and set them near the door.

“There,” she said, mostly to herself, as she wiped her palms on her petticoats. “Now ye’re comfortable.”

Callum let out a loud snore that startled her. It was a good sign, though. If he could snore like that, it meant he was still breathing. And if he was still breathing, that was all that mattered to her.

She removed her petticoats and draped them over the back of a nearby chair. Then, she slid into bed and pulled him into her arms, just as she had done a few nights prior, when he had had the nightmare. She doubted he would have any nightmares that night, drunk as he was. With a little luck, his sleep would be restful, and for once, he would find some peace.

She didn’t know how many hours had passed when she opened her eyes again, or when she had fallen asleep. Light streamed through the window, soft and pale, and she could only assume it was the early hours of the morning, right after dawn.

Callum was still asleep in her arms, though he had stopped snoring. The frown he usually sported on his face had faded, leaving nothing but calm behind.

Rhea loved seeing him like this. She loved waking up next to him and knowing there was a soft side to him in sleep, one that he never let anyone else see.

To everyone else, Callum was the laird of the clan, the leader, the man on whom they could rely. But to her, he was nothing butCallum, nothing but her husband. She never once needed him to be anything more than that.

Ever so gently, she began to stroke his hair, combing her fingers through the dark strands. She hadn’t noticed it much before, but now, in the dim light, she could see that his temples had started to turn gray.

It was no wonder, what with all the stress he had to endure in the past months. Though he was no older than thirty-one, he only looked his age in sleep, when his worries and troubles finally left him.

It was only a few moments later that he woke, his eyes fluttering open with difficulty. He squinted at first, his face contorting with annoyance and pain, but when he saw her, his features softened once more.

“Rhea?” he asked, then looked around him, clearly disoriented. “What… what happened? Where… Why are we nae at the feast?”

Callum couldn’t remember a time in his life when he had been more confused than now, for they should have both been at the feast. His ears strained for any sign of music or laughter, but he could hear none, and judging by the light streaming in through the windows, it was early in the day.

But which day?

The last thing he remembered was the feast, when the early evening light still lingered but was much warmer, much more golden.

How had he come up to his chambers? He didn’t remember that at all, nor what had happened at the feast. Had he truly drunk so much that he had not only blacked out, but had also forgotten the earlier part of the evening when he was only tipsy?

It made no sense to him. Nothing like this had ever happened to him before.