by Multiple
“Quit being a coward and drink your medicine.”
He gave her a look as if she had lost her mind. Then he frowned.
“Don’t even try my patience, Callum. I’m not in the mood to deal with you after tonight. Drink it.”
She heard one of his cousins laugh, but she didn’t pay attention. She held the glass out to him. After a few moments he took the glass and drank it, all the while staring daggers at her.
When he had finished it, he handed it back to her, and she gave it to Belvidore.
“I think Callum needs to rest,” she said and received a nod from the servant.
She looked around and said, “Everyone out. Go.”
She felt someone tug on her hand. When she looked down, she found Callum’s hand on hers. The drug was already taking effect, because he could hardly keep his eyes open. He tightened his grip. “Please, donna leave me.”
Phoebe took a shaky breath and nodded. “I’ll be here when you wake.”
That seemed to pacify him because in the next instant, his eyes slid closed and his body relaxed. Everyone had filed out by the time she looked up.
“You’ll call if you need help?” Belvidore asked.
She nodded and watched as he closed the door. She settled into the chair beside his bed and prayed that Belvidore was right. Callum had risked his life to save hers. If he died, she didn’t know what she would do.
* * * *
Callum came awoke slowly, his brain groggy. For a moment, he couldn’t remember what had happened. He moved and cringed when he felt a pull in his chest. He looked down. His chest was bandaged, and then he remembered. Someone had shot at Phoebe. He moved his arm, and that is when he noticed someone held his hand.
Phoebe sat in the chair beside his bed, her hand in his. He remembered asking her to stay, that she had ordered everyone out of his room. She held his hand, and he couldn’t help himself. She had sat up all night. For him. Even his own mother had not done that, and if she had, it had been so many years ago, he couldn’t remember.
She was beautiful. Her hair was a curly mess, and the delicate skin beneath her eyes was bruised. Her lashes fluttered, and he had the joy of watching her wake.
“Good morning,” he said.
She gave him a sleepy smile in return, then her eyes widened.
“How are you feeling?”
“Fine. Great in fact.”
“I think I should get Belvidore.”
He shook his head as she tried to stand. To stop her, he gave her hand a tug. Phoebe stumbled forward and fell on the bed beside him.
“Be careful, Callum. Your injuries.”
“I’m fine.” He smiled up at her. “I’ll feel better if you’ll give me a kiss.”
She gave him an odd look, and he couldn’t blame her. Just days earlier, he had thwarted her, told her that it was best to forget about him. What she didn’t know is that as long as he lived, the memory of their night together would be imprinted on his brain.
“I think you might have hit your head. Did they test you for a concussion?”
He chuckled. “I’m fine, love.”
Her expression darkened. “Please don’t make a fool out of me, Callum.”
“What do you mean?”
“I understand that maybe you are feeling protective of me, but I’m not a woman who plays games.”
He should stop. His conscience told him he should. But everything else in his body yearned to have her touch, to sit with her in his bed as the sun rose just outside his window. She leaned in again, careful of his wounds. She looked unsure when she lowered her mouth to his. He hated the way she always seemed to watch herself around him. He didn't blame her. It didn't make him like it any better. The first taste of her affected him the way it always did. His entire body responded. His soul felt complete as if the other half of him was finally there. Before he was ready for it, she was pulling away.
Passion simmered in her eyes. "You need to get some rest."
He shook his head. He felt as if he had been asleep for centuries. "I need you, lass."
"I have a feeling Belvidore would have my head if you caught a fever."
He chuckled. "I doubt that. He thinks you keep your head about me."
One eyebrow rose. "Really. He has an odd way of showing it."
"You impressed him last night."
"I can't see how. I was screaming a lot."
"But when you needed to get things done, you did it. That gives you points with Belvidore."
She shook her head and gave him a wry smile. He needed to get some space between them. If he continued looking at her, he would definitely lose control. He needed a shower, and since Belvidore hadn't said anything to the contrary, he decided to get washed up. He rose.
"What are you doing?" she asked, alarm lacing her tone.
"I feel filthy."
She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. "Do you think you should do that?"
"Belvidore said it was okay."
Which was a bit of a fib because the trusted servant hadn't said that. But Callum knew it wouldn't be a problem.
"I don't know if that’s a good idea. I know he said that the bullet hadn't caused much damage and you took some antibiotics. Are you sure you should take the chance?"
"I need a shower, love. It’s that or you give me a sponge bath."
Unfortunately, she looked intrigued by that possibility. He groaned and rose out of bed. Sparks of pain flitted through his body but nothing that was too much to bear.
"I'll be out in a few minutes."
He gave her a quick kiss and headed to the bathroom. He knew for sure that he wouldn't use any hot water.
* * * *
Phoebe wandered around the room, unable to calm herself. If it had been the night before, she would blame her restlessness on the adrenaline. But it wasn't that. Something was under her skin, driving her to pace the room like a caged tiger. She couldn’t sit still, couldn't seem to find any kind of rest.
She looked at the pictures scattered around the room. There were a few, all of his cousins and of Callum. When he smiled, he looked so much younger. So happy.
Then she saw the sporran on his dresser.
She looked at the bathroom door then padded over to inspect the piece closer. Definitely 17th century or earlier, that was for sure. She fingered the metal, and the image of Callum dressed in just a kilt with this sporran hanging on his hips made her head swim. He would make an impressive figure walking around in traditional dress. She could just imagine him moving amongst a crowd of followers, commanding them to fight. She shook her head, smiling. Her mother had always said Phoebe daydreamed too much. And this was just another bit of proof that her mother was right. Of course, what was wrong with a dream that involved Callum Lennon walking around half naked? Any woman in her right mind would think the same way.
She heard a crash in the bathroom that had her hurrying over to the door. “Callum, are you okay?”
“Yes.”
His tone was short and rude. He wasn’t happy at the moment, and she couldn’t blame him. Still, if she knew anything about men, and there was little she did, it was that they acted like asses when they were injured. Worried he might have hurt himself but wanted to appear masculine and not ask for help, she tested the doorknob. It turned easily. Phoebe knew she probably didn’t have the right, but after caring for her husband in his illness, she knew how to handle a sick patient. Without a thought of intrusion, she opened the door.
“Just what is going on here?” she asked.
Callum turned to face her. Good lord, he was a beautiful man naked. No man she had ever known had the perfect blend of muscles and golden skin like him. Then, when she realized she was staring at his chest—at his uninjured chest—she shook her head. There should be stitches, something. There was nothing. Just hours before, she had held a cloth to his chest to stem the bleeding. It had stained her skirt, her shirt, her hands. Now, his s
kin looked as if he had never been shot.
“Phoebe.”
She finally raised her gaze to his. The guilty look in his eyes had her heart sinking. Had it been a lie? No, he had been bleeding when they brought him in earlier. He had been shot. She had even felt a couple of shots whiz past her.
“Just what the bloody hell is going on here, Callum?”
He sighed. “It’s hard to explain, love.”
“You were shot. I saw it. I felt the blood in between my fingers.”
He stepped forward, and she took a step back. He stopped.
“You will explain yourself right now. How are you uninjured?”
“It’s hard to explain.”
Anger and fear churned in her gut. She didn’t know whether to cry or scream. “You will do it, and you will do it right now.”
“I…” He shook his head. “I can’t be injured. Not for long.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
He sighed and grabbed a pair of pants to pull on. “My cousins and I, we can’t be injured for long. We can’t.”
“You aren’t making any sense, and if this was some kind of ploy to get me back in your bed, you’re mental.” The last of it came out on a sob, and that made her even madder. She hated that he knew how much this hurt her.
“You think I would resort to something like this to get you back into my bed?” his voice bounced off the walls as he shouted. Normally she would back down from the anger, but she was too irritated herself. And hurt. So hurt.
“Well, then what is it?”
“I’ve been shot, stabbed, beaten up. Nothing can happen to me. I survive always.”
“No one is immortal. You think nothing can happen to you because you’re arrogant?”
“That’s not the case.”
“Really? What else would you call it? All of you men are the same.”
Needing to get away from him, from the pain that he had caused her once again, she turned and stomped out of the bathroom. She was halfway across the room when he caught up to her. He grabbed her by the arm and swung her around.
“If you would just let me explain.”
She shook her head. She was sick of lies. All lies. Her own, his, her dead husband’s. Her family lived in a house of lies and quiet discussions, and she was sick of it. For once in her life, she wanted to trust the people she loved.
That made everything in her head stop working. She did not love Callum Lennon. Before she could understand just what her brain was telling her, Callum shook her.
“You have to listen. We’re not normal.”
“You can say that again.” She wrenched herself away from him and from emotions that were now rolling through her. How could she have fallen for a man so totally out of her class and not good for her. Again. “You are sick if you think this is the way to get a woman back in your bed.”
“I dinna do this to get you back in my bed. I don’t have to do that.”
She knew that was true, and it irritated her even more. “Then what? You tell me just what the bloody hell is going on here.”
“You want the truth, fine. I was born in the year 1730 and almost died at the Battle of Culloden.”
Chapter Nine
Phoebe swallowed the urge to scream. Or throw something. Or just storm out of the room. Her upbringing wouldn’t allow it. A Chilton did not show emotion in front of others. A Chilton stifled it until they developed ulcers. She rubbed her stomach and tried to quiet her nerves. The atmosphere in the study was almost oppressive. It reminded Phoebe of the many “discussions” she’d had with her parents.
All five cousins watched her warily, as if unsure of what she would do. What was she going to do? A man she was involved with just told her he was born in the 18th century. And apparently, the rest of the cousins believed him.
No one said a word. The only sound was the ticking of the clock on the mantle. She drew in a deep breath and folded her hands in front of her. They sat around the room, Anice with Fletcher on a chaise lounge, Angus and Logan in chairs next to each other. She and Callum were the only ones who were standing—on opposite sides of the room.
“Is someone going to explain?” she asked, her voice strained.
The other four cousins looked at Callum. His expression was stoic, and she hadn’t been able to get a word out of him after his announcement. He’d called the meeting and dragged her to the study.
“Callum?” she asked.
“Angus, explain.”
Angus picked up a big book, one she had not seen before. It was leather bound and definitely 17th or 18th century. The usually affable man looked very serious as he approached her.
“You might want to sit down. This is a very heavy book.”
She did, sitting on the leather couch, and he sat beside her. She expected Callum to object, but he said nothing.
"This is our family history.” He offered her a small smile. “It’s long and well, a little colorful."
She smiled. "I would expect nothing less from the lot of you."
He nodded. "You can read the rest of it, but here is the lineage."
He opened the book to the back page with a listing of all the families.
“You are the McLennans?”
He nodded. “We changed out last name for protection.”
There were pages of names, well documented, some of them written in old Scots, then changing as it moved forward. It went back centuries but it stopped at the generation before the Battle of Culloden.
She raised her gaze to his. "With all due respect, you could have doctored this."
Angus shook his head. "I could swear by it but that wouldn't ensure you believed us. What we can show you is this."
He motioned toward Anice, who came forward with another book. He thanked her then handed it to Phoebe. "This tells of the McLennan family. Completely impartial and published this century in fact."
"The Lost Clan," she murmured. She looked at Angus then at Callum. "If this is about you, why did you not fight it?"
"There was no way of fighting it without looking foolish,” Callum said.
“And, in academic circles, you know it isn't taken seriously. It ranks up there with crop circles, Loch Ness, and Area 51 in the states," Angus added.
She nodded, because after seeing Sir Farthington's name, she knew it was true. Her old adversary was known as a crackpot. He might have a degree, but he definitely chased phantoms and had been known for fabricating his “facts.”
"And last night?"
"McWalton," Callum said.
A chill stole through her body, and her head started spinning. "McWalton?"
Callum looked at Fletcher, who took over the explanation. "He hates us. Truly hates us. His family has for years. We were cursed by an ancestor of his for something our grandfather did. They have all sworn to ensure that we never break the curse. We have been immortal since."
She studied the cousins. "Every one of you looks about the same age."
"We are, in a way. When we reach thirty-five, we stop aging. We didn't know at first."
She nodded, trying to take it all in and trying her best not to show her panic. She knew McWalton had been up to something, but she had never even guessed this. How could she? Only a delusional person would come up with this fantasy. But they were all staring at her, their solemn expressions telling her they believed it. And, God help her, she was starting to believe them too. Had she revealed anything that would have endangered Callum?
“Why would this McWalton come after you? Shooting at you is useless, and he knows it, yes?”
Angus nodded. “Much of what he does makes no sense. He’s always been a bit erratic. Maybe he thought he could scare you off. You were out together so he might have thought you and Callum were on a date.”
She nodded, trying to hide her worry. Had she been the one who had caused McWalton to act?
"Why don't you take these books and look at
them and then we can talk?" Angus offered, apparently taking pity on her.
"Can I take them to my room?" she asked.
His lips quirked. "There's no reason you can't, not with our secrets exposed."
She smiled and pulled the two books into her arms. Lord, they were heavy. "I'll check in with you later."
With that she walked out of the room, her brain still foggy and her heart just about broken. The door shut behind her, and she found Belvidore standing there.
"You know,” she said.
He nodded. "The clan knows."
"All of you?"
He shook his head. "We are not immortal, but we wait to return home. We cannot until the curse is broken."
She turned to leave, but he stopped her.
"Dr. Chilton?"
She glanced over her shoulder at him.
"You willna reveal the laird will you?"
She wanted to get upset, but if this was true, she understood to a degree. Family secrets were something she was very good at understanding. "I'll keep his secrets."
With that she climbed the massive stairs and knew that her life would never be the same. The one thing that weighed on her mind was would she ever be able to accept the reality the Lennons lived with every day?
* * * *
The silence that descended in the study suited Callum. He didn’t like the way Phoebe had been looking at him. It wasn’t anger or pain. She didn’t even look confused or near tears. She had been studying him like he was a carnival freak.
Which he was.
“I think that went well,” Angus said.
“Yes, it went well. I don’t think she will reveal anything,” Anice offered. “She doesn’t really believe us.”
“She will,” Callum said.
Angus studied him for a second. “If you had not revealed your chest, we would not have this problem.”
“I dinna reveal my chest. She came into the bathroom when I dropped something. She thought I was hurt.”
“What was she doing there to begin with?” Angus asked.
“She wouldn’t leave,” Anice said softly, looking at Callum. “We couldn’t get her to leave, and I assume she spent last night in the chair beside your bed.”
