Page 40 of The Speed of Lightning
Nerves spiraled in her belly. Even disheveled, he was painfully handsome. She’d longed to see him, but now that he stood before her, she wanted to both reach for him and shrink away.
At last she managed a smile. “Good eve’n, MacLean.”
He crashed into her, arms locking tight as he buried his face in her shoulder. “You scared me half out of my mind, MacSorley.”
Her chin pressed awkwardly to his hard shoulder, her arms trapped at her sides. And yet she breathed him in—solid heat,the faint spice of clove, and something deeply, unmistakably him. For all his size and forbidding strength, his embrace was unchanged: the same haven it had been when she was eight, wrapping her as safely as the softest plaid.
Still squirming with shyness, she tried to lighten the moment. “Were you in a fight?”
His cool grey eyes swept over her as he let go. “Sort of.”
Rory. Or worse—Papa. Shame rushed over her, words pouring out in a rush. “I hope you’ve not done anything rash. Calum, this whole situation—it’s my fault. Papa only raged because I disobeyed him and went to the ceilidh. I’ve told you, his mind is no’ right. He cannae help what he does.”
He tilted his head toward hers, his brow furrowing. “You’re no’ serious, are you?”
She fiddled with her sleeve. “I need to go home. The longer I stay away, the worse his agitation will grow. The worse this will all look. Can you no’ see?—”
His jaw hardened. “You’re no’ going home.”
“I am. I can handle Papa.”
“Over my dead body.”
“Calum.”
“Freya.”
“Take me home?—”
“I’d sooner crawl naked up Sgùrr na Cìche in an ice storm than return you to him. Especially injured and vulnerable.” His voice was steady, unyielding. “He attacked you, cast you out in the dark, treated you as if you were nothing. He’s a right bawbag. You’re no’ going home.”
The words struck the weak points in her armor, crushing her heart with their truth. She tried to brush them aside.
“He didnae mean?—”
Calum’s expression twisted with disbelief, as if she’d spoken madness. “Do you hear yourself? He did mean it. He meant toharm you. He meant to maim you. You did nothing to deserve it.”
“I shouldnae have made him so upset?—”
“He is your father. You are not responsible for his happiness or his temper. End of.”
“I snuck out?—”
“You did nothing to deserve this, MacSorley. Get that through your head. He had a loss of control so severe it nearly killed you. Do you understand? I sat outside this door while you hovered near death, begging God to spare you, unable to even hold your hand. You almost died—I almost lost you?—”
Her eyes grew hot and she turned away, fixing on the rosemary beside the bed spilling from a jug, her heart aching with the urge to argue.
“Ah, no. Dinnaecry. That’s not what I meant—I should have said…I’m sorry. I’ve been practicing for days what to say, and that wasnae it.”
She steadied herself, swallowing her remorse. “What did ye practice?”
Shifting in his seat, stretching his legs, crossing and uncrossing them, he seemed to be stalling. He cleared his throat. Then cleared it again. “My parents sit out under the stars whenever they appear.”
Already she was lost. “What?—”
He looked up at her with a boyish grin. “Da says they conceived me under them.”
The boldness of it sent her reeling. “Och, Calum.That’swhat you’ve been practicing?”
