“I still don’t believe you,” I exclaim, but Callum’s dead-serious expression snuffs my gossipy delight. I grimace. “Oh no. This doesn’t end well, does it?”
“Nae, Rosie. It doesnae end well.”
He shoves the last of the oatcake in his mouth and brushes his fingers down the front of his shirt in that way he does, chewing as he considers.
“She caught the fancy of a Campbell cousin, but she didnae return his regard.”
When I don’t react, he repeats, “He was aCampbell.” His expression says this should explain everything.
“And?”
“And the man wanted what he wanted. When he didnae get it, he grew angry. The day came when it was time forhim to return to his own lands. But first, he thought to give Donag one last chance. He rode out to look for her and found her walking in the glen. When she refused again, he charged his horse right over her.”
I clap a hand to my mouth. “He trampled her? That’s horrific.” My mother’s ring—a Campbell ring—is a cold weight on my chest. I’m not brave enough to ask if this man was related to Janet.
Tome.
Callum nods, appreciating the depth of my reaction. “’Twas a horror indeed. It broke her back. The healer said she’d nae walk again. But you’ve met Donag.” He cracks a rueful smile. “Tenacious as a badger, that woman. She got her legs under her again, but the pain’s been dreadful since. Worse when the weather turns.”
“That happens to my Poppa.” Quickly, I add, “Not the broken back, obviously. But he’s got old injuries that get worse when it rains.”
“You still haven’t told me.” Callum plops onto a stool, resting his elbows on his knees. He looks at me with an intent focus that makes me shift uncomfortably. “Why’d you nae ask me?”
“Ask you what?”
“Ask me for help. You’re nae afraid of me, are you?”
“No, of course not.”
“Then why?” He studies me like I’m some great mystery he’s trying to solve. “Is it because I…what you said…Igirledyou?”
“You—” I stifle a giggle. He’s so serious, but his question is ridiculous. “Youwhat?”
His cheeks go red as tomatoes. “You told me not to ‘girl’you. After Hamish came. ‘Don’t girl me,’ you said. I’ll nae do it again.”
Then, shyly, he smiles. “Though ’tis a mite difficult trying to forget you’re a girl.”
It’s my turn to blush. Because the way he said that…his voice all husky and nervous.
All my shields slam into place.
He’s charming, and generally, I don’t trust charm. Charm is for bracelets and frat boys.
I think of the young Campbell and that sword fight—Hamish’s easy charm, his easy violence. “So,” I ask casually, “what’s the story with Hamish, anyway?”
“It’s as they say,” Callum replies instantly. “‘Don’t trust a man with one eyebrow.’”
A laugh bursts from me. I try to be serious, to think serious thoughts in Callum’s presence, but it never lasts. “Who says that?”
He shrugs. “It’s what’s said.”
I frown as my thoughts return to that paddock. The hiss of Callum’s breath, the flare of pain in his eyes. It’s permanently imprinted on my brain.
Somehow, Callum knows. “You’re bothered by what you saw. Between Hamish and me.”
“Yeah, well, this whole thing is hard enough. Do I also have to watch you get stabbed?” I try to keep my tone light, but it doesn’t work.
“I had no choice,” he says earnestly. “I had to fight. ’Tis part of my duty to act as sparring partner. Usually, we both carry wooden practice swords, but?—”
