Page 32 of The Highlander's Auctioned Hellion
How could I ever find any of them appealing after seeing this god-like man?
“Are ye finished?” he asked, sounding amused.
Lydia allowed her blush to bloom, but would not be cowed by it. She let her eyes travel slowly over him once more before indicating the chair behind him.
As he lowered himself more sedately into the seat, she went to the bedside table to fetch her spectacles. She always needed them for reading, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to tend his wound without their help.
Callum was lounging in the seat like a king when she returned and pulled a footstool up beneath her so she could perch on it to examine the cut.
It was not ‘just a scratch’ but long and slicing through the skin and some of the muscle beneath. She pressed gently around the site of it, but he did not move. There was not a flicker of emotion on his face.
“You do not have to pretend it does not hurt. We are alone.”
“It doesnae hurt. I’ve had worse,” he griped.
“Is that how you got your scars?”
The Laird’s brows furrowed, his eyes darkening. “Nay,” was all he said.
“Perhaps you get in trouble every time you leave the castle,” she said lightly, reaching for the cloth to clean the wound, her heart hammering, not just from his proximity, but from the threat of what had taken place. “Should I be worried?” she asked quietly.
“It is nay for ye to worry about, lass. I willnae let them come.”
“Who?”
“Dinnae discuss things ye dinnae understand.”
Callum clenched his jaw, his tongue running away with him again.
He didn’t like sitting here in this room with his future wife tending to him.
It had been bad enough with Alexander insisting that the wound must be dressed. He’d just about tolerated the maid, but it was completely different being here with Lydia.
The vast bedroom felt tiny in the semi-darkness, the fire only just glowing beside them. She had brought over a candle to see by, the light of it reflecting in the lenses of her spectacles and illuminating the sharp planes of her beautiful face.
There was a line between her brows as she concentrated on tending to him. He could see that she was concerned, not just about the wound, but also that he would not share how he came by it.
She doesnae need to ken right now. She has only just arrived at me castle, there is enough for her mind to be occupied with, without Moira in the mix.
He hissed as she placed a warm cloth against the wound.
“Ah, I see you are not made of stone after all, Callum.”
And that was another thing. She had learned his name.
Admittedly, Callum knew it was foolish to believe he would take a wife and she would simply refer to him as her ‘Laird’ forevermore, but it all felt far too intimate.
The flickering light, the gentle caress of her fingers against his cold skin, and the embers of the fire sent a golden glow over them both.
He wanted to rise from the room and leave, but his feet remained planted to the floor.
Was this how Angus felt with Moira? Before she sent him mad.
Even after four years of exile, he could not escape the blasted witch.
It felt as if he would never be rid of her. Nothing about his current situation was his doing—it had been under the strict instructions of his brother for him to return.
Must I pay for his mistakes forever?
