Page 72 of Laird of Wrath

“What are ye thinkin’?” she asked, her voice just as gentle as her fingers.

It took him a long moment to respond. He didn’t want to tell her the truth. He didn’t want to disappoint her. But he would be disappointing her even more if he kept this truth from her.

Turning in her arms to face her fully, he said, “I need to go after him, Rhea. I need to go after Laird Barclay.”

Rhea paled right before his eyes, the color draining from her cheeks. She averted her gaze, and he could have sworn that he saw the sheen of tears that she desperately tried not to shed.

“I ken,” she said. “I ken that.”

God, her voice… I can hardly bear it.

“I will go after the month we agreed on has ended,” he added quickly, hoping that would be some consolation for her. “Ye have me word, Rhea. I willnae go back on our agreement.”

Rhea nodded wordlessly.

What was there for her to say, after all? They both knew he was right; he had to go after Laird Barclay. And since she had agreed so easily, then she also must have suspected it was more than a simple case of drunkenness.

Someone was behind this. There was a traitor among them, and Callum would make sure to find him. He would also kill Laird Barclay before he could cause any more problems to him and his people.

And most importantly, to Rhea.

“I will come back,” he murmured, just in case she had forgotten his promise. “I will survive this, and I will come back victorious. There is nay other option.”

Rhea didn’t speak, nor did she look at him, as if the mere act was too painful. Callum could understand it. If it was her leaving and not him, he didn’t know how he could bear it.

She reached for his cheek, cupping it in her soft palm. She tilted his head toward her and kissed him deeply, passionately, pouring everything she couldn’t say to him into that kiss. Everything he didn’t think he could bear to hear.

“Make me yers,” she whispered against his lips. “Please, Callum. I want… I want somethin’… anythin’.”

And Callum, naturally, was helpless against her request.

24

Rhea knew. Of course, she knew.

What other choice did Callum have other than going after Laird Barclay? If everything that had happened was truly his fault, then he wouldn’t stop, not until he had what he wanted—or until the clan was decimated, brought to its knees by the constant attacks.

It was the people for whom Rhea worried the most. The castle had its defenses. It had an army, however small, to protect it. But that fire in the village had been the first attack in what would surely be many.

There was nothing to be done about it. Callum had to go. He had to eliminate the threat before Laird Barclay managed to destroy them.

But that didn’t mean Rhea wanted to discuss it.

She didn’t want to hear about it. She didn’t want to argue. She didn’t want to do anything other than hold him and be held by him, feel his body against hers for what could be the only time. And so the kiss was her way of ending the conversation before it could even begin, forcing him to forget all about it, at least for a short while.

Callum’s lips were dry, a little chapped against her own. His short, neat beard scraped her sensitive skin as they kissed, heightening the sensations. His palms, when he cupped her cheeks to draw her closer to him, were calloused, roughened by years of training.

Everything about him was rough, rugged. Every part of him had been forged by hardship. And yet, when he touched her, when he kissed her, he was nothing but gentle, careful, treating her with what she could only describe as reverence.

There were no words exchanged between them. The only sounds in the room were their sighs, soft and tender, and the rustle of sheets as their bodies writhed on the bed. There was nothing for them to say that could speak more of their desire for each other than the slow dance of their bodies, than the brush of their lips and the exchange of breath as they kissed.

Rhea was lost in the sensations. She could not have spoken a single word if she tried.

When Callum pulled back and his hands found the laces of her petticoat, her breath caught in her throat, her eyes widening in the dim light. Her cheeks heated, the blush traveling all the waydown to her chest with every labored breath. It was as if her entire body had been plunged into liquid fire, Callum’s touch enough to incinerate her.

The first garment to go was her petticoat, falling into a pool on the floor next to the bed. Callum’s hands traced a path over her shoulders, down her arms, before they came to settle on her waist like an anchor, keeping her grounded in the moment.

When she looked up at him, she found him staring, his lips parted ever so slightly as he drew breath. There was something softer about him now, something gentle in the way he looked at her, and her heart sped up, thundering in her chest.