Impulsively, she set a hand on his large shoulder. He blinked in obvious surprise, but then he smiled at her, showing a mouth full of pearly white, chipped teeth. It struck her as quite the contradiction that he’d care for his teeth enough to keep them such a lovely shade of white but that they were also so chipped. “I’m sure you would not want to harm me, White, and I know you are only trying to follow orders, but I must speak to my husband. Because, you see, despite the fact that he may not wish it, heisstill my husband.”
“Oh, he wished to see ye,” the man replied. “Even if he has c-convinced himself otherwise. Just ye, though,” the man said, eyeing Frederica. “Not the other lady.” He looked askance at Frederica.
“Do you have something against me?” Frederica demanded in her usual blunt manner.
“No, no, no,” White said. “But I can only push Cal so f-far, before he’ll snap. Snap. Snap.”
“You better go home, Frederica,” Constantine said. There was no sense in angering Callum and putting White in a worse position than she absolutely needed to.
“You’re certain?”
Constantine met her friend’s concerned gaze. “Yes. I’ll send a note if I need you.”
Frederica reached out and took Constantine’s hand. “Don’t let Kilgore push you away, Constantine. I think… Well, I think perhaps you were glad to see him.”
Constantine bit her lip. She wanted to speak with her friend, but not with White standing right there. “White, please give me a moment of privacy with Lady Frederica.” When he looked hesitant to leave them, Constantine added, “You can await her departure at the bottom of the stairs in view of us.” He nodded slowly, turned, and plodded down the stairs.
Once he was out of earshot, Constantine looked at Frederica. “Of course I was glad to see him. He was my husband.” She hated the way her chest seemed to squeeze now that she was able to think about what it all meant. Callum was back. Returned from the dead. She had loved this man and hated this man. She had wed this man in what she had told herself was strictly a marriage of convenience, but when she’d thought him dead, she had felt dead. She had not told a soul in the year since he’d disappeared, but she’d not deny it to herself now.
She had thought herself so sensible offering her fortune in return for him giving her a child. A simple bargain. But nothing was ever simple when it came to matters of the heart. And her heart, she suspected, had not relinquished every last thread of the love she’d once held for Callum. Still, that did not mean she was willing to put her heart on a platter for Callum to carve up again, especially given the current circumstances.Washe truly mad? She simply could not believe it.
“You mean heisyour husband,” Frederica said softly.
“Yes, yes. Freddy, what am I to do?”
“I do believe the first step is to ascertain if he’s gone mad or not. If he has not…”
A hush fell between them, and Constantine swallowed. “I would have been wed to a man who had intentionally imprisoned Callum in an asylum for life.”
Dear God, if that were true, how would Callum ever forgive her or trust her?
There was only one way to know what she faced.
With a parting hug, she turned from Frederica and made her way to the master bedchamber,Callum’sbedchamber. She’d not been able to sleep in it so her own bedchamber was next to his. She paused in front of the door, struggling to find calmness, but it was useless. So, with a shaking hand, she opened the door and gasped at the scene before her.
Chapter Six
Callum lay naked on his bed with nothing but a coverlet flung over his groin area. That was startling enough. She’d never seen a naked man before, but even more shocking was the rush of yearning that gripped her for him, and that Peter was kneeling on the bed, near Callum’s head, tying Callum’s arms above his head.
“What are you doing?” she demanded, stepping into the room and shutting the door behind her, though God above only knew why. All of their servants were apparently gone.
“My lady!” Peter jumped up from the bed, giving her an unobstructed view of all of Callum. At his wrist, just below where the ropes were secured, were ugly, red scars. Scars that only could have been left by chains so heavy they’d cut deep into Callum’s flesh. She inhaled a sharp breath as her gaze flew over her husband’s body, and her alarm deepened. Noise erupted in the room as both Peter and the doctor demanded she leave, but she could not have answered either of them even if she wanted to—and she did not want to.
His eyes were shut, and his chest rose and fell with labored breathing. Callum’s body was a temple of muscle and a map of scars quite possibly leading her to the truth. There was not a bit of fat on him as far as she could tell, but more than that, his body was developed as if he’d been molded of hard labor and pain. Callum had always had an excellent form, and while she could not say what had been under his clothes before, he looked like a statue of the Greek god of war, not an aristocrat. She jerked her gaze upward once more to really study him slowly this time. His massive shoulders rounded with strength, and his right shoulder appeared to have a scar on it, which she could not quite make out distinctly from where she stood.
His chest had a light dusting of hair, but the hair did not disguise the scars there. Her breath caught in her throat and her stomach knotted. What had he endured where he’d been? His accusations toward Ross came to her now, and she swayed, feeling suddenly ill.
“My lady?” she heard Peter say, and absently, without taking her gaze from Callum, she waved a dismissive hand to assure him she’d not faint again, if that was his worry. She swallowed multiple times and continued her study of her husband. Sinewy slabs of muscle tapered to his trim waist and narrowed hips. His legs were long and very well-formed with solid thighs and large calves. And around his ankles—she sucked in a breath as tears filled her eyes—were the same deep, red scars that were around his wrists.
Wherever Callum had been, he’d been chained by the wrists and ankles. As she drew closer, she could see that the scars were not even, but jagged, as if he’d fought in vain to free himself. “My God,” she whispered, her hand fluttering to her chest.
“He wouldn’t want you in here,” Peter said, grasping her elbow and tugging on her.
She shrugged him off. “I am his wife.I’ll stay.”
A throat cleared from behind her, startling her, and she turned around to find a man with silver hair and silvery eyebrows. He was holding what appeared to be a bottle of medicine. “I assume you are the physician my husband asked for?”
The man nodded. “I’m Dr. Ayles,” he said, passing her to walk to the far side of Callum’s bed. He glanced from Callum to her. “Lord Kilgore specifically instructed that you were not to be admitted into his bedchamber, and—” She leveled him with a look she had practiced after she’d become fodder for gossip. She was pleased it silenced the doctor now.
