His hand darts out again for my shoulder, and I sidestep him. “Touch me one more time, and I’ll break your fingers.”
Callum hisses at me, “Have a care, girl. Did you nae understand? He’s the Campbell’sson.”
“Yeah, I got that the first time.”
Rage bubbles from deep inside. I am so done with this historical sexist crap. And why is Callum scoldingmeinstead of backing me up?
“I don’t care whose kid he is,” I snap. “And don’tgirlme.”
Meanwhile, the Campbell kid looks positively tickled.
“She’s a tetchy one,” he muses, studying me like I’m some exotic new specimen of female. Which, I guess, I am.
“Sorry to disappoint.” I cross my arms, locking them like armor over my chest. “Some of us don’t enjoy being pawed by strangers.”
“Pawed, is it?” He curls his lips into what he probably thinks is a sexy pout. “Mayhap you’ve not been pawed by the right stranger.”
Ew.
Finally—finally—Callum speaks up. His voice might be muted, but it’s got a sharp edge. “I think the lass is done for now, Campbell.”
The shift is instant.
Like a predator catching scent, Campbell’s amusement vanishes, his gaze strafing from me to Callum and back again. Calculating.
“One might ask why this is any of the stable lad’s concern,” he muses.
Bait.
Callum doesn’t bite. He just stands there, solid and unmoving, letting Campbell’s scrutiny wash over him.
And that’s when I see the critical difference between these two. Callum might be a servant, but whatever hardlabor he’s been forced to do has only carved him into a man. He’s been tested every day of his life.
Not Campbell Junior. Rich boy probably doesn’t get many chances to prove himself.
All humor bleeds from the guy’s face. His gaze flicks to Callum’s hand. “What have you got there?”
He saunters closer, peering at the metal rose. “Is this what we keep you for? Wasting your time on trinkets?”
Callum says nothing. He simply uses his tongs to drop the rose into the fire.
A pained gasp escapes me before I can stop it. “Why did you do that?” I demand. I’m not even sure who I’m asking.
The young Campbell’s gaze cuts to me, his expression going even colder. “Why indeed?”
Callum speaks before I can. “Your sword is finished. Done sharpened.”
The other guy blinks, momentarily thrown. Then he gives a sharp, pride-restoring nod. “Ah, my steel. Give it here.”
Callum turns to fetch it, and I amnotprepared for the view.
Bare, sculpted muscle framed between the leather collar above and thick belt below. Taut shoulders, slick with sweat, shift and flex with every movement.
If modern men only knew, they’d take up blacksmithing immediately.
My trance shatters as Callum turns around. That’s when I realize Campbell Junior was watching me that whole time.
A pause hangs between us. Callum studies Campbell. Campbell studies me.
