It was ironic that he had never even wanted the title, the trappings, and the responsibility that went with it because, according to his father, it had meant he could not pursue his true passion—art—and now Callum was fighting this battle to insist he was the marquess. His father had to be laughing from his grave. “Iamthe Marquess of Kilgore.” The words had not even settled into the silence before the Enforcer’s fist met Callum’s mouth once more. He began to imagine all the ways he would punish the man when he was finally able to.
“Ye are who I say ye are,” the Enforcer roared, his frustration showing. “Everyone in here is who I say they are. I’m the lord here, Mr. Selkirk,” the man snarled.
Callum finally understood. Callum being a lord threatened this man, made him feel lesser than Callum, just as it had Ross. That was the problem he’d been trying to recall! Ross had wanted Callum’s title ever since the day he’d come to live with them as a young boy after his parents had died, but Ross could never have it while Callum lived.
“Tell me ye’re Mr. Selkirk, and this will stop,” the Enforcer cajoled.
Callum couldn’t make himself give the man what he wanted, despite the fact that it would save him enormous pain, just as he had not been able to make himself simply be the son his father had wanted. His stubborn pride would likely be the death of him. “I am the Marquess of Kilgore,” he said, his voice low and throbbing in his own ears, “and no matter what you do, you’ll never get me to say otherwise. It will take more than a man the likes of you to ever break me.”
The Enforcer chuckled. “We’ll see, Mr. Selkirk. I’ve time on my side, and no one has failed to break under my…care.”
Callum ignored the boastful part and focused in on the bit about time. It was a detail, and so far, he’d gotten very few of those. He knew he was in St. Kilda, Scotland, because they’d told him so when he’d arrived. That meant he was one hundred miles from the coast of Scotland—and a lifetime from England and Constantine. Rage seared his veins, and he had to clench his teeth to contain a bellow. When the urge had passed, he asked, “How much time would you say is on your side?” His heart began to pound, anticipation to know what was in store mixing with the dread of what he would discover.
The Enforcer snorted. “Two doctors have examined ye and declared ye insane; therefore, ye are mine for the rest of yer miserable life.”
The rest of his miserable life? Good God. It was unthinkable.
His head reeled with the information that rattled around his brain. He could not stay here for the rest of his life. He had to get back to Constantine. The room seemed to sway out of focus, then come back in even as bile rose in his throat. He hadn’t been examined. He’d been glanced at by one man after being dragged to the door of this asylum. The man had waved a hand, expression bored, and simply had said, “Aye, insane. Bring him in.”
The rage inside him cleared the muddle, burning it away, and the truth came back in the most vivid, vile picture, as if he’d painted the scene of treachery inside his head for painstaking hours. Ross had betrayed him. That had to be it. Only his cousin stood to gain from Callum’s permanent disappearance. How long had Ross plotted this treachery?
Delirious laughter crawled its way up Callum’s throat and shoved itself out his mouth. He began to howl with black mirth. Tears sprang to his eyes, and his belly ached with the raucous sounds coming from him. He couldn’t stop the laughter. Perhaps he was actually insane now?
“Shut yer mouth!” the Enforcer roared, which made Callum only laugh harder as flashes of how he had come to be here at his lying, deceiving cousin’s hands came back to him with complete clarity. Ross showing up unexpectedly at Callum’s home not moments after Callum and Constantine had arrived there after their wedding. Ross claiming there was an emergency that required Callum’s immediate attention in Scotland. Callum’s reluctance to go but desire not to fail his father in death as he’d failed him during his life. Constantine standing in the doorway alone as Callum had departed with Ross.
“I said shut yer damn mouth!”
The bellowed order pierced Callum’s consciousness, but he was helpless to obey as the flashes of what had occurred days before forced him toward some point of madness. Someone kicked him in the thigh, causing searing pain to lance up his leg.
To think he’d been stabbed trying to protect Ross when their carriage had been attacked by robbers—or at least Callum had thought they were robbers at the time. Ross had seemed frozen in shock, and the three men had swarmed over Callum, one stabbing him in the leg and the other taking Callum’s crest ring right before the third man had knocked him unconscious.
He glanced toward his ring finger to ensure his memory was correct and found his ring gone. Fresh rage rolled over him for what had to be Ross’s doing. “I’m the bloody Marquess of Kilgore!” he bellowed, waving his hand around in front of his face as heat consumed him.Fever. It was likely fever. “My cousin took my crest ring, the louse! He wants my title.”
“Crest ring, ye say? The bloody Marquess of Kilgore, is it?” the Enforcer said from above him. “I’ll show ye what happens to men who won’t accept who they now are.” The Enforcer waved a hand toward one of his men. “Hold him.” Hands came to Callum’s shoulders, then a boot smacked hard into his shoulder. He groaned, and spots of silvery light dotted his vision.
“Open his mouth,” the Enforcer said. Before Callum could protest, fingers pried his jaw open so far that pain slid down both sides of his jawbone. The Enforcer shoved some concoction in his mouth that tasted of wine, saffron, and bitterness. It was swallow or choke.
The warm liquid slipped down his throat and seemed to slither into his belly, where it settled in a heated puddle. Almost immediately, his body relaxed, and he was floating.
“That,” the Enforcer said, his face appearing over Callum in a warped version of what the man really looked like, “will keep ye silent for now. Listen well while ye are good and quiet. If ye keep insisting ye’re someone ye’re not and keep being bothersome, I’ll have to give ye more treatments than were initially ordered. And that’s a trouble. Treatment is hard, and ye cannot go outside to help work until ye are cured, which makes the owner of this little asylum verra vexed. When he’s vexed, I’m vexed.”
Callum was having a hard time keeping his eyes open and listening. He no longer felt the pleasant floating sensation. No, now he was sinking, the Enforcer growing farther and farther away. But right before Callum slipped all the way under the dark surface, he heard the Enforcer say, “Wrap his hand to stop the blood.”
“Mr. Selkirk?”
It was a voice, hesitant and soft. It seemed like that of a young boy, not a man, but it was persistent. How many bloody times was that voice going to call him that? He was not Mr. Selkirk. He was Callum Fergussoune, the Marquess of Kilgore.
“Mr. Selkirk, I’m going to change your bandage. It’s soaked through with blood from your finger.”
Callum frowned and struggled to open his eyes against what felt like a heavy counterpane over his face. Finally, his lids complied, and he squinted at the dim light streaming in from the barred window. God, he was tired. Which was strange since he had just awoken. Pain hit him all at once from every direction. He gasped at the excruciating agony but shoved his hands down by his sides to sit up.
“God Almighty!” he bellowed. His mind had been slowed by whatever they’d given him but was not so slow that it numbed the fire consuming his right hand. He brought it in front of him and pushed away the hand that tried to stop him. He looked up, his gaze meeting that of the dark-haired, shaggy-headed boy crouched before him. Callum recalled the lad from the last three days in this cell as Callum had fallen in and out of wakefulness. They’d yet to properly meet.
When the boy tried to grab at Callum’s injured hand again, Callum said, “Do not.”
The boy’s dark eyes widened in fear, and when he scuttled backward, Callum regretted causing such terror. He knew terror well from the years of Ross chasing him as a child before Callum had become faster than his cousin. Callum opened his mouth to apologize, to reassure the boy he meant him no harm, but the blood-soaked bandage around Callum’s right hand commanded all his attention.
He started to unwind the sticky bandage, and as he did, he could feel the boy watching him. Callum paused and met the boy’s gaze once more, seeing the lad’s unease and feeling his own growing. “Did you see—” He had to clear his throat to continue. “Did you see what I did?”
