Callum

by Melissa Schroeder

  After he settled in the chair across from her, she closed her book and started to put it away.

  “Can I be rude and ask you what you’re reading?”

  She shrugged. “It’s just a novel.”

  She slipped it into her oversized purse as if embarrassed.

  “You act like you’ve been caught breaking the law.”

  Her gaze flew up to his and slid away. “Reading novels was not highly encouraged in my family.”

  He wanted to ask her more, but the server interrupted and asked him for his order. After they were alone, he asked, “So, you didn’t read a lot of novels as a child? No tales of Pooh for you?”

  The sad smile she gave him almost broke his heart. “No. My parents wanted me to concentrate on my studies.”

  “I’m not talking about later, but when you were in primary.”

  She shook her head. “I was never in a regular school. My parents either schooled me themselves or hired tutors.”

  He wanted to ask more again, but her expression told him he didn’t have a right. He had lost it when he’d treated her so callously. He bit back the sigh of regret as they were served their appetizers.

  “I was surprised to see you here,” he said conversationally.

  “I could tell that by your question.” Humor threaded her voice. And, unwilling to break the blank feeling, he smiled and allowed the conversation to stay light. He wanted to pretend, if only for one night, that they were a couple.

  Phoebe drew in a deep breath as she walked down the sidewalk. The chill in the air cleared her head of the atmosphere Callum had created. It had been just a bit too cozy to sit in the romantic setting in The Witchery with a handsome man like Callum. She needed the icy air to pull her out of the fantasy.

  “How did you get in to town?”

  She glanced at him. “Belvidore drove me.”

  He frowned at that. “He didn’t tell me.”

  She laughed. “Does he tell you all his movements?”

  As if on cue, the Lennon sedan rolled forward.

  “He is always on time and ready for anything, isn’t he?” she asked.

  “For as long as I can remember.”

  She smiled at him and was about to make a comment when the squeal of tires cut through the stillness of the night. Before she could comprehend what was happening, a car pulled in front of Belvidore. The passenger window slid down halfway. Then Callum grabbed her by the arms and shoved her behind him. An explosion of shots followed his action, and they were both thrown back against the fence. Her head smacked against the pavement as they fell. Bright sparks of light flashed before her eyes as she blinked. Callum was on top of her but he wasn’t moving much. A flurry of footsteps sounded beside them and someone lifted Callum away from her. She sat up and almost threw up.

  “Please, Dr. Chilton, hurry. You must come.”

  She blinked again, trying to clear the stars sparking before her eyes. Hands wrapped around her upper arms. Fear had her fighting, but soon she realized Belvidore was shaking her.

  “Come, now, we have to get to safety,” he said as he dragged her to the sedan. She stumbled behind him and then practically fell into the car. Her brain was finally working as Belvidore slammed the door. She sat up and found Callum sitting on the bench seat next to her, slumped against the window.

  “Callum?”

  His eyes were closed. He didn’t respond. She reached out and pushed aside his coat jacket. She gasped when she saw that blood was already soaking through the once pristine white shirt.

  “Take this,” Belvidore shouted. He tossed a towel over the seat. “Press down on the wound.”

  She did as he ordered even though her hands were shaking. When she looked up, Phoebe noticed that Belvidore turned on a road that took them away from town and toward the house.

  “We need to go to the hospital.”

  “No. I can take care of the laird at the house.”

  At first her brain wouldn’t function, and when it did, she was horrified. “Are you insane? Do you even know how to take care of a bullet wound?”

  “It won’t be the first time, doctor. The Lennon has been hurt more than once. Don’t worry. He’s been through worse.”

  A hand settled on top of hers, and she looked down. Callum’s ice blue eyes were barely open.

  “Listen to him, love. He’s never let me down in all the years I’ve known him.”

  His eyelids slid shut, but his hand remained on top of hers. Knowing she couldn’t stop the trusted servant from his mission, she kept her hand pressed down on Callum’s wound and prayed he would survive until they made it back to the house.

  Chapter Eight

  The front door to the mansion was already open with people pouring out of it. So many lights were lit it looked almost as if the house was on fire. People were shouting, yelling orders, but Phoebe couldn’t move. She kept her hands against Callum’s chest and she kept watching him to make sure he was still breathing.

  Phoebe barely noticed as Belvidore stopped and the door was pulled open. The rush of cold air hit her before she felt large hands wrap around her upper arms and start to pull her away.

  “No,” she shouted as panic and fear started to clog her throat. She had to keep the pressure on his chest or he would bleed out.

  “It’ll be okay, love,” Logan said as he dragged her into his arms and away from Callum. “We have him.”

  Angus was already grabbing Callum and pulling him from the back of the car.

  “Careful,” she warned, her voice catching. “He’s been shot multiple times.”

  Anice stepped in front of Phoebe and grabbed her hands.

  “Look at me,” Anice said as she squeezed Phoebe’s hands. It took her a moment or two to focus on Anice’s face. “Let’s get in. It still isn’t safe out here in the open. All of us. Callum cannot get help if we are out here.”

  Her brain was moving slowly, but it finally hit her that Anice was right. They didn’t know who the threat was or where the man who shot them was. Callum was bleeding and the sooner she got inside, the sooner she could call for help.

  She nodded and allowed Logan to pull her up the steps and into the foyer. Phoebe tried to hurry up behind the cousins, but Logan handed her off to Anice.

  “Come with me, Phoebe. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

  She shook her head, her concentration on Callum’s lifeless figure as Angus carried him up the steps to the front door. “I’m not hurt.”

  “No,” Anice said gently. “But you have Callum’s blood all over you.”

  She glanced down at her silk blouse and felt bile clog her throat. Her head started to spin. Red was splattered across her chest and stomach and all over her skirt. She looked at her hands, and the room started to spin around her.

  “No you don’t, Phoebe.” Anice’s hands tightened on her arms. “Let’s go.”

  Anice dragged her up the stairs to her room. Phoebe felt like she was floating almost, as if she weren’t even there. They were in her room before she could voice any objections. For a few moments, she stood there, unable to function. The fear of the last few moments had dissolved leaving her in a state of numbness. It was as if it were all a dream.

  “Phoebe?”

  She shook herself and tried to focus on Anice.

  “Love, we have to get you undressed.”

  Phoebe nodded, still unable to speak. Anice pulled off her clothes, discarding them with little care. Normally, Phoebe would object, but for once, she didn’t give a bloody damn.

  “Go take a shower,” Anice said, her voice still gentle as if dealing with a broken child.

  Phoebe didn’t move. She thought about it, but she couldn’t seem to get her body to respond to her thoughts.

  “Phoebe, go. Get cleaned up. Then we can check on Callum.”

  At the mention of his name, Phoebe was pulled out of the stupor that had shrouded her since they’d gotten to her room. The horrifying incident came back to her with sickening intensity. The
explosion of the gun, the screech of the tires, Callum saving her life.

  “I have to see him.” She needed to touch him, to know that he was still alive. If he wasn’t, she didn’t know what she would do.

  Anice laid her hands on Phoebe’s shoulders and gave her a little shake. “Yes. But you’re in your knickers and need to take a shower. Go, and I will take you to him when you’re cleaned up.”

  She drew in a deep breath and nodded. Still as if she were in a dream, she walked to the bathroom, closed the door then turned on the water. She sat on the edge of the tub, still numb to what had happened. As soon as the water was warm enough, she stripped out of the rest of her clothes and stepped into it. The heat of the shower had her returning to the living. Throughout the ten-minute shower, she scrubbed her skin raw, but no matter what she did, she still felt dirty. The sob caught her by surprise. Before she knew it, she was crying, crouched down in the tub, unable to stop.

  “Phoebe?” Anice said.

  Embarrassed, she pulled herself together enough to answer. “I’m fine.”

  “Are you sure? You don’t sound fine.”

  “I’ll be worse if you see me naked in the shower.”

  Anice chuckled. “Alright. I’ll be right outside.”

  She turned off the water and went through the motions of drying herself off then getting dressed in the clothes that Anice had left her. By the time she opened the door, she had prepared herself for what lay ahead. Whatever that turned out to be.

  “Okay, I’m ready.”

  Anice studied her for a second then nodded. “Let’s go.”

  It only took a few minutes to get to the family wing of the huge mansion, but it seemed like an eternity. With every step, she had to fight the urge to run down the hall.

  Anice knocked on the door. Phoebe wanted to scream, to tell her to just burst in, but her upbringing had her quelling the need. The door opened almost instantly. Logan offered her an easy smile.

  “He’s fine.”

  She shook her head and brushed past him. She didn’t need anyone sugar coating it for her. All the cousins were there, along with Belvidore, who was telling Callum he needed to drink something. The room was massive, but she barely noticed. She rushed to Belvidore’s side. Callum was bare chested, a white bandage covering his wounds. She knew he wasn’t recovered, but relief filled her when she realized that he really was not dead.

  “How is he? How did you get him patched up so fast?”

  “He’s fine, miss, and I’m an old hand at this. Most of his wounds were just bluster. Bullets passed right through. I called a doctor to get antibiotics. He needs to take this for the pain, though, and he’s being stubborn.”

  She looked down and found him watching her from half-closed eyes. “I doona need it.”

  Phoebe could see the pain in his eyes. Irritation had her grabbing the glass out of Belvidore’s hand.

  “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.