Page 79 of Laird of Wrath

They had come too close that night. Callum had lowered his guard, getting distracted, forgetting why he had been keeping his distance from her in the first place.

He would be leaving soon; there was no way around it. He had to go after Laird Barclay, and he couldn’t afford to be distracted by Rhea or anyone else. His first duty was to his people. If he couldn’t protect them, if he couldn’t eliminate the threat that hung over their heads, then he wasn’t worthy of being their Laird.

But now that Rhea stood before him, the temptation to stay was stronger than ever. She didn’t even have to speak. She didn’t have to ask him to stay or remind him that this was a dangerous feat, something from which he may not return. All she had to do was stand there and look at him with those wide, doe eyes, and he was ready to give in.

“Callum,” she said, inhaling sharply around his name.

Callum grunted, for lack of anything better to say. He didn’t trust himself with words. He had realized that it was better to let others do the talking while he acted.

“I’ve been lookin’ for ye,” Rhea admitted.

That surprised him. In the past few days, he had been avoiding her, but it wasn’t as if she had gone out of her way to search for him or to engage him in conversation. He had been under the impression that they were in an unspoken agreement to stay away from each other, that they had reached an understanding regarding their situation, that Rhea didn’t want to tempt him any more than he wanted to tempt himself.

“Ye have?” he forced out.

“Aye.” Rhea nodded. “I figured ye’d be out here, doin’ the rounds.”

Callum grunted in confirmation but did not say anything. It was better to let her do the talking if he could help it.

She stared at him expectantly, perhaps waiting for him to ask what it was that she wanted from him. When he did not speak, she gave an awkward chuckle and nervously brushed back a stray strand of blonde hair that had fallen over her eyes.

For a brief moment, he wished she hadn’t. There was something so charming about seeing her a little disheveled, a little rougher around the edges than she usually let people see her.

As the lady of the clan, Rhea always made sure she was as perfect, as flawless as she could be. Those small, fleeting moments when she didn’t wear that mask felt impossibly intimate to him, and he wanted nothing more than to preserve them, to hold them carefully in his mind and in his heart.

Her memory would be the only thing that would give him strength when he left for war. Her memoryandthe knowledge that failure was not an option.

“Well, I was thinkin’ that tonight marks the end of our deal,” Rhea continued, the words tumbling fast past her lips, to the point that he struggled to understand them.

It was not often that Callum saw her this nervous, and it triggered something in him—a certain overprotectiveness, a need to reassure her. And yet he didn’t speak. He only stood there and watched her in silence, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Right,” Rhea mumbled, as if to herself. “Well, I wished to tell ye that I will uphold me part of the deal.”

Callum swallowed past a dry throat. He would be lying if he said he had forgotten about their deal, that he had been so preoccupied with everything else that he didn’t know what day it was or how long had passed since they made their pact. Heremembered, and he remembered well. And now that Rhea was offering herself so freely to him, he couldn’t help it.

He watched her for a few more moments, before he leaned closer, cupped her cheek in a gentle hand, and pressed a soft kiss to her lips.

There was nothing quite like kissing her. There was nothing quite like the feel of her lips against his own, hers pillowy and soft, the kiss so tender it threatened to cut his breath short. It was almost enough to convince him that everything would be fine.

He would return to her, he told himself. He would return to her, and soon. He couldn’t leave her again for long.

When they broke apart, Rhea opened her eyes slowly, as if she was a little dazed. Her cheeks were flushed, their color a gentle pink that sent his heart racing. His thumb rubbed a small circle on her cheekbone, his eyes taking in every inch of her face as if he was desperately trying to commit it to memory.

There was so much he wanted to tell her, so much he wanted her to know, and yet none of it made it past his lips. Every word was stuck in his throat, like barbs digging into his flesh, their hooks embedding themselves into him and threatening to tear him apart.

“Then we shall spend the night together,” he said instead. “And after the cèilidh, ye will come to me chambers.”

He could have sworn that a shiver skittered down her spine. The look she gave him was heated, full of desire, and he had half a mind to skip the cèilidh entirely and drag her to his chambers instead, to do the very thing he had been dreaming of this entire time.

But that would be improper. The Laird himself, missing from the cèilidh? It was unheard of.

“Go on, then,” he said, giving her shoulder a playful push. “Go get ready for the cèilidh.”

“There is nae much to do.” He could only guess that she was trying to linger. “Everythin’ has been prepared.”

“But ye still need to dress, aye?” he asked. “I’ll find ye there. I have much to do here still.”

Rhea hesitated for a moment, then cleared her throat awkwardly and gave him a single nod. “Very well. I shall see ye at the cèilidh, then.”