Page 8 of My Scarred Laird
It wasn’t always his fault, but it happened when his hand didn’t grip the spoon tight enough, dropping it into his food, causing it to splatter all over, nor did it help that his mouth pulled down on one side, and he once drooled some soup down his tunic. Some of the women laughed and Callum had felt his face flame. He didn’t want a repeat and as often as he could, he ate in his solar. Like today, he had not the patience to deal with his clan.
He knew they respected him as the Laird, but if he wasn’t, it would be a different story.
He wished that life had been different, but it wasn’t, and he worked all the harder to gain and keep the clan’s respect.
He looked at Ewan, “Did ye find out if she kens how ta read?”
Ewan nodded, “Aye Laird. She can. She just does nae have the vellum ta write ye back.”
Callum stood, getting a small stack of vellum, a quill, and an extra jar of ink.
“Give her these. For if she needs them.”
Ewan nodded, “Aye Laird. Thank ye. I shall give them ta her straight away.”
Callum waved Ewan off and started to eat his dinner when another knock sounded at the door.
Callum gave an internal groan, “Enter.”
His housekeeper Roberta walked in, her eyes averted, “I wanted ta check if ye needed anything Laird? Ewan wasn’t certain if ye needed more ale.”
Callum shook his head, “I’m jus’ fine. Thank ye.”
The woman gave a small curtsy and walked out the door, shutting it behind her.
Callum ate in silence and read over the correspondence from one of his allies, Tague MacGregor, on his desk and felt a twitch in his eye, and watched as spots darkened the vellum in front of him and he hated knowing a headache wasn’t far behind.
It had held off all day, but now was starting to rage and he blinked, seeing spots in his vision.
His headaches were always debilitating, and he knew he would thrash about in his bed as they raged in his head. The spots grew worse, and his ears sounded as if he were underwater.
He stood, holding a shaking hand to his head, hoping and praying that the headache would subside.
He needed to get to his chambers and lie down, needing to try to sleep it off, praying that he could make it to his bed, or it would end badly.
He let out a groan as it started to throb behind his eye and the spots grew worse.
He felt sick to his stomach and when someone knocked on the door, the vibrations making his head throb, he put his hand to his head tighter, wishing the noise would stop.
It did, and then a soft knock sounded again, but he couldn’t walk to it, he could barely focus on getting to his bed.
He stumbled against the chairs by the fire and cursed when his bad leg gave out enough to bring him to his knees.
He gagged once, his stomach starting to rebel because of the pain in his head, and then stood, using the chair by the fire, needing to get to his bed.
He didn’t hear the door open and jumped when he felt a woman’s hand on his arm.
He jerked his head down and could barely see her face through the haze in his eyes.
“Come, ye need ta get ta bed.”
He nodded and winced, hating that the small gesture made his head pound even harder, and she led him over to his bed and helped him into it.
She pulled his boots free from his feet, and Callum shut his eyes, groaning as the headache took over him fully.
He gagged again, his supper threatening to reappear when he felt a cold cloth on his forehead.
He sighed in relief as the cloth helped some, and shut his eyes, knowing that while the cloth helped for now, it wouldn’t forever.
