“Aye. I remember.”
“Blake tried to kill me.”
All the humor drains from Callum’s eyes. “No. No, he didn’t.”
Fire blazes in my chest. I thought Callum might be different from the Southlands lords who never listened to, nor believed, the ladies in the palace. I was clearly wrong about him. I grit my teeth. “Yes, he did. You obviously don’t remember if you think that, but the least you could do is believe me when I tell you.”
Callum sighs heavily. “No, Princess. You’ve got me wrong. I’m not trying to dispute that he came after you. What I’m saying is he didn’t try to kill you.”
He chews his cheek, his expression troubled.
“He chased you to that clearing, far away from the other Wolves that were out last night. He got his scent on you so they wouldn’t smell you. He took part of your cloak with him, so if they caught your scent, they’d chase after him instead.”
He stares at the forest ahead, his jaw tightening.
“He wasn’t trying to kill you. He was protecting you.” He swallows, hard. “And Blake doesn’t do anything unless it’s within his own interests. So I want to know why.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Callum is quiet as he carries me through the forest.
While he was relaxed and easygoing when he awoke, his expression becomes increasingly strained as we get closer to the castle.
With every step, his jaw tightens, and his arms harden around me. His hold on my thighs gets firmer, his fingers digging into my skin through the material of my dress. A couple of times, I catch his nose wrinkling as if he smells something bad.
I sniff the air and all I can smell is the wet leaves from the forest.
I flush, wondering if the problem is me. I got hot last night as I ran from Blake, and I can’t imagine I smell particularly pleasant.
“What’s the matter?” I ask.
His eyebrows raise and I wonder if he’s surprised I noticed. “I. . . it’s just. . .” He shakes his head and gives me a small smile. “It’s just a wolf thing. Don’t worry about it.”
When we reach the grassy expanse that leads back to the castle gate, the morning is quiet. A thin layer of mist coats the loch, and the heather and fern are dull in the grey light.
Ahead, there are a few Wolves making their way back through the castle walls, laughing and joking with one another.
They’re all as naked as Callum.
“Goddess!” I turn my head, only to be confronted with Callum’s hard chest. My pulse beats a little faster, warmth blooming in my lower stomach. His grip on me almost imperceptibly tightens. “You Wolves really have no modesty, do you?”
Callum chuckles. “It’s only natural.”
“Natural, perhaps. But it’s far more acceptable to wear clothes when in other people’s company.”
“Only because that’s what your society has taught you.”
“So if I started prancing around without my clothes on, you’d be perfectly okay with that?”
A slow grin spreads across his face. “If you started prancing around with no clothes on, I think I’d like that very much, Princess.”
“Brute,” I mutter.
I expect Callum to take me back to my room, but instead, he carries me into his chambers.
There’s a fire crackling in the hearth, and in front of it stands the copper tub, filled with steaming water. I glance at it longingly as Callum places me down on his bed, then turns and walks over to his wardrobe. I stare at the ceiling, determined not to look at him.
Then I glance at Callum, even though I know I shouldn’t.
I’m not sure if I’m relieved or disappointed that he’s pulled on a pair of loose-fitting cotton breeches. He’s still topless though, his muscular back on display as he closes the wardrobe doors.
“I didn’t know you wore breeches,” I say.
“The way you were looking at me earlier. . .” He leans against the wall by the window, his eyes glinting playfully as he shakes his head. “I thought I’d better cover myself up as much as possible. I was feeling very vulnerable.”
I sit up, pulling my knees to my chest as I lean against the headboard. “And yet, you seem to be absent a shirt.”
He laughs, then shrugs. “I left my kilt in the forest. Don’t tell anyone, but these breeches are actually rather comfortable. Do I look like a gentleman?”
I laugh, too, and shake my head. “No.”
“No?”
“You look like a rake.”
He puts a hand on his chest, his eyes widening in mock indignation. “A rake? Me? Why?”
“Firstly, there is the case of the missing shirt.” My gaze drops to his chest and the ridges of his abdomen. I look at the hard V of his hips, and the line of hair trailing downward, and swallow. “Also. . . a gentlemen wouldn’t wear those breeches.”
“Why not?”
“Look how loose-fitting they are! And the material. . .” My gaze drops even further, before I hurriedly meet his eyes again, heat creeping into my cheeks. “I don’t think you’re as covered up as you think you are. Wherever did you get them from?”
“I got these from the King’s City when I was looking for my mother. A market by the docks, if I recall correctly.”
“That explains a lot.”
“Why’s that?”
“The docks are an incredibly disreputable place to go.” I raise an eyebrow. “I should have known you would find yourself there.”
A half-smile plays on his lips. “It was easier to blend in there as a wolf, that’s for sure.”
Something in the air seems to shift.
“Why did you bring me to your chambers?” I ask.
He opens his mouth as if to speak. The humor disappears from his expression and he sighs.
“I. . . the wolf hasn’t quite settled down yet,” he says. “I suppose I’m feeling a wee bit. . . protective of you, right now. I would rather that you were here.”
“Oh,” I say. “Okay.”
Some of the tension leaves his upper body, and he raises his eyebrows. “Really? That was easier than I expected.”
“I can be agreeable when I want to be.” I shrug off my torn cloak, then I take off my boots, and shuffle back on the bed. “Plus, your bed is more comfortable than mine.”
His gaze moves to my bare feet as they sink into the downy quilt, then back to my face. His jaw tightens.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Nothing.”
He takes a step toward the bed. Then he halts, his hand curling into a fist.
Gritting his teeth, he swivels on his heel and starts pacing up and down the room. The floorboards creak beneath his weight.
My brow furrows. “Whatever is the matter with you?”
“I. . . nothing. . . It’s a—”
“Do not say it’s a wolf thing. You’ve barely spoken to me all week, I was chased through the forest last night, and now you’re acting strange. Tell me what’s going on.”
He stands still and blows out hot air. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
Irritation prickles beneath my skin. “You don’t make me uncomfortable. Goddess knows that you should. You’re inappropriate, and you’re the enemy of my kingdom, and last night you turned into a wolf and slept on top of me! But you don’t. So stop acting as if I’m made of glass and you’re afraid I might shatter, and tell me what’s wrong.”