Page 87 of Laird of Wrath

When he reached her, her hands were trembling, her left one still holding the bow she had used to take down the two soldiers. He slowly reached for it, taking it from her, and she relinquished it, though a little reluctantly.

“Is it… is it over?” she asked shakily.

Callum nodded once firmly. “Aye,” he said. “It is.”

With Laird Barclay dead, his men—or whatever was left of them—had surrendered. There was no point in fighting, no point in trying to take over the castle when their leader was gone.

Rhea fell into Callum’s arms, a sob escaping her lips. She didn’t sound terrified anymore, though. She sounded relieved, as if a huge burden had been lifted off her shoulders.

It was not the same for Callum. With Laird Barclay dead, there was nothing to distract him from the fact that Rhea had been hurt. She had a bruise on her jaw, blooming yellow and purple. When he pulled back from her, he could see in the dim light that there was some blood on her neck from where the blade had nicked her.

It would heal. All things considered, these were not terrible injuries. And yet his stomach tied itself into a tight knot, bile rising in the back of his throat and leaving behind its acrid taste. He could not believe that he had allowed this to happen to his wife.

He should have been more careful. He should have stayed by her side and protected her. He had been so suspicious before the cèilidh, a part of him expecting Laird Barclay to show up, and he had made sure that the castle was as well-defended as it could be. And yet he hadn’t done the one thing that mattered the most—he hadn’t kept Rhea safe.

He had failed her.

He had failed her to the point that she had to take lives, to the point that she had to shoot those arrows and stain her hands with blood. He had snatched away her innocence, and there was no getting it back.

I am a monster. All I do is hurt her.

I cannae be around her.

“Rhea, ye should… ye should see the healer,” he said.

It was the first thing that came to his mind, not only because he was truly worried about her, but also because it would give him an excuse to be away from her.

It was all over now. He didn’t have to leave. And yet he couldn’t bring himself to be near her.

Everythin’ I touch is ruined. And she… she will never be the same now. Nay matter how much time passes, she will never forget that she took two lives.

Callum knew the shock of it well, and even if Rhea seemed fine now, eventually she would be hit with the full force of what she had had to do. Nightmares would follow, then the soul-crushing guilt, the pain that came with having one’s hands stained with blood.

“I will,” Rhea assured him, her hand coming up to cradle his cheek.

With a sigh, Callum took her hand and pulled it away, and the look that she gave him was enough to shatter his heart into a million pieces. She knew what he was doing. It wasn’t the first time he had pulled away from her, after all. He had done it before, many times, always avoiding her and then falling back into the same trap of allowing himself to get too close.

But not this time. This time, he would keep his distance.

“I must… I must go and find Hudson,” he rumbled, already walking away from her. “I must check in with the council and the guards and… and make sure the prisoners…”

He didn’t know what else to say. He didn’t know what other excuse to give her, so he simply walked away, his slow footsteps soon turning into a jog as he tried to get away from her before she could stop him.

But this time, Rhea didn’t try to stop him at all. She said nothing. She didn’t go after him. He didn’t have it in his heart to turn around and look at her one more time, to see if she was simply standing there, watching him leave her.

Only when he made it into the keep, where the servants were rushing around to take care of the wounded, did he allow himself to slow down, getting lost in the chaos for a few moments.

It was the only luxury he could allow himself. Soon, he would have to be the Laird once more. He would have to find his men, receive reports, and make sure that the threat had been entirelyeliminated and that there were no men so loyal to Laird Barclay that they would try to get revenge.

But for now, he took a few seconds to breathe, even if the task seemed impossible. Leaving Rhea had left him breathless.

“Callum!”

Hudson’s voice pulled him out of his daze and back into reality. He looked up to see his friend approach him, pale-faced and covered in sweat.

“Are ye all right?” Hudson asked.

“Aye,” Callum said, clearing his throat. “The lasses?”