Page 48 of The Speed of Lightning
She dabbed butter off her thumb with a smile that turned into a pitiful pout, brushing past his outrage. “Dinnae be so cruel, MacLean—he’s hungry.”
Calum dragged out a chair beside the cluttered table and sat. “I bought that yesterday so we’d have something laid by. We’re no’ keeping him in eggs and venison. I’ll take him to town tomorrow, see if anyone claims him.”
Bog gazed up at her with mournful brown eyes, and she found herself hoping no one would. “If no one speaks for him, may I keep him? Da never let me have a tame creature.”
Calum propped his cheek in his palm and rolled his eyes. “How am I supposed to say no? If I do, I’ll be no better than Ragnall MacSorley.”
She laughed, cracking an egg into the butter that hissed in the pan. Over her shoulder she caught Calum watching, a flicker of jealousy in his face as the hound pressed close to her knee. “Are you hungry, husband?”
The word seemed to please him. His mouth tilted at the corner. “Aye.”
Something in the exchange calmed her, and she relaxed as she spooned butter over the yolks. She glanced up at him, finding him stroking the dog’s big head. “Your mother taught me how you like your eggs years ago.”
A smile touched his lips. “Did she?”
“Aye—and how to mend, how to make a friend, even how to pluck my eyebrows. She taught me what it was to be a woman, to care, to love. I would have been lost without her. I suppose itworked out that ye sailed away in your skiff. I learned everything from her.”
His expression shifted, shadowed with shame. “I’ll fetch water.” The door banged shut behind him, and Bog sniffed at the threshold.
Regret pricked her heart. She had not meant it as reproach, yet it sounded so, and she hated that she had already marred her vows. Scooping the eggs onto chipped trenchers, she cleared the table, resolving to be more careful with her words.
Restless, she gathered his armor from the floor and set it aside. Lifting his plaid, she caught the scent of woods and clove. She drew it around her shoulders, breathing him in, wishing she could understand what made him who he was and feel it in her senses.
Bog whined at the table, and she set his trencher down, letting him lap up the eggs. Minutes slipped by, yet Calum did not return. As the dog licked the last of the yolk, her thoughts drifted—dark, unbidden—to the Wolf and the secret she carried, scorching her conscience. Heart in her throat, she hurried to the door and wrenched it open just as he stepped inside. Relief rushed through her.
“Och, I was worried something happened.”
He lifted the bucket. “The bucket sprung a leak. I patched it well enough, though I dinnae ken how long it’ll last.”
His gaze dropped to the plaid around her shoulders. “Something wrong with your own?”
“No.” The word slipped out before she thought, and he grinned. Heat rose in her cheeks as she clutched it tighter. “It smelled nice.”
Only then did she notice the chill outside and his bare chest. Flustered, she stepped back quickly to let him in.
“Och! That’s mine!” Calum shook a fist at Bog, who had clambered onto the table she’d left unguarded.
The dog licked buttery grease from Calum’s trencher, oblivious to the fact he had thieved eggs from the tànaiste of Jura. Horror swept her. “I’m sorry. It’s my fault. I shouldnae have turned my back—I’ll make you more.” She reached for the basket, but he caught her hands.
“Lass, it’s no’ your fault a starving beast barged in on our wedding night.” Behind him, Bog emit a thunderous belch.
Calum drew her into his chest, holding her fast. “Truth is, I’m weary. I’ll eat in the morning. Come—let’s go to bed.”
Self-conscious, she stiffened. Why had she lied? In going to bed this early she would be forced to lie down with him for much longer than she anticipated.
He put his hands to her cheeks, his voice low and steady. “Now don’t go springing away from me. I ken, lass. You’re no’ ready.” He bent and kissed her brow.
“B-but it’s your right. I dinnae want to displease you. I am ready for this duty.”
She waited in silence, but he only studied her, head tilting slightly as if weighing words too fragile to speak. At last his eyes dropped, though his hands never left her face. “I dinnae ken how to say something so delicate.”
She swallowed, her tongue thick, her mouth dry. “No one has ever considered putting anything delicately for my sake.”
“I dinnae wish to be your duty.”
She stared into his pebble-colored eyes, struggling to grasp his meaning. They had spoken vows only hours before that seemed to bind them wholly in honor and duty. The Storyteller’s quill hovered at her lip as she searched for words to soothe him. “But I am willing… Is it my legs?”
His gaze lingered on her. “You are still recovering.”
