She made to scramble toward him to aid him, but White caught her by the arm, and Peter shook his head at her. “Don’t make him feel worse about himself,” Peter said quietly. She nodded and twisted her hands together, looking at Callum.
“Christ,” he said again. “The things I do for her.” He spoke as if she were not there. “It hurts so very much the things I have to do.” Her throat constricted at the agony in his voice. “God,” he said. “God. Forgive me.” He was looking at her, through her, but she felt sure down to her core that he was asking for her forgiveness, not God’s.
“Callum.” His name caught in her throat as she rose and went to him. “I forgive you,” she said, though she had no notion what he wanted forgiveness for. Was he speaking of the past?
He grabbed her hand then and tugged her down so that her knees hit the floor beside his, making her wince. He caught her face between his palms, then kissed her nose, her forehead, and buried his face in her hair, inhaling audibly as his arms encircled her like bands and held tight. “The things I’ve done.” He shook his head, still buried against her, slowly. “Forgive me.”
“You’re forgiven,” she whispered, desperate to make him believe it. He wasn’t here with her anymore, but it felt vitally important that he understand.
“Why did you untie me?” he demanded, swaying where he kneeled.
“Because,” she said, managing to bring her hands to his face where his whiskers scratched the delicate skin of her fingers, “I believe in you. You can conquer this with your will. You do not need to be tied up.”
“No. Tie me up. I’m not strong enough right now to resist.”
“You are strong enough to resist the opium!”
“The opium?” He stared wildly at her. “Who the devil is talking about the opium? Go away. You have to go away.”
“I’m staying. You cannot force me away, and I refuse to allow you to be tied up. You will get well. We will figure out who did this to you.” Though as the words left her mouth, she realized he was right: no one stood to gain more than Ross. In fact, no one stood to gain at all but Ross. “You will get well,” she repeated, “and then we will discuss our bargain.”
“Obstinate woman,” he muttered before his hands slid away and he fell backward toward the floor to unconsciousness.
A shudder overcame her as Peter and White moved in to aid her. When Peter was hovering by her, she turned to look at him. “Is Callum on another drug?”
“No,” Peter said quietly. “There is no other drug.”
“But that makes no sense then,” she said, glancing back down at Callum. “What was he referring to then?”
Silence greeted her question, and when she looked up, she could have sworn Peter was shaking his head at White, but when Peter saw her gazing at him, he stopped and shrugged. “Peter?” she asked questioningly.
“You will have to ask Cal,” Peter said, his tone firm and his jaw taking on a mutinous set that told her whatever Callum had been referring to, she’d not get it out of Peter, and he’d not let her get it out of White. At least not now.
Chapter Eight
It went on that way for a sennight: Callum waking, begging for opium, retching, writhing, demanding to be tied up, demanding she leave. Between his bouts of groggy wakefulness, Peter sat with her, and she learned more about his time at the asylum. Peter didn’t know his own age because he’d been so young when he was confined. Luckily or unluckily for Peter, as the youngest “patient” at the asylum, the guard known as the Enforcer had not been as hard on him as he had the others. Peter had learned quickly that the Enforcer was similar to Peter’s father in that he ruled with fear and not by earning respect—and the man knew it, which infuriated him. The Enforcer wanted respect, which was why he despised Callum so, because the other patients had respected Callum for his refusal to fear the Enforcer and his refusal to take on the identity of Mr. Selkirk.
“Callum’s finger,” she said, “will you please tell me exactly what occurred? He only told me a little in his brief moments of clarity.”
Peter hesitated for a moment, and she was certain he was going to tell her no once more, but finally he nodded and then spoke. She discovered that they had cut off part of Callum’s finger, as he’d said, when he’d refused to quit claiming to be the Marquess of Kilgore. They’d shoved the first of the opium down his throat right before they’d taken the finger, so he’d mercifully been unaware of what was occurring. When he’d awoken, he’d caused such a commotion that they gave him the drug once more. That was the beginning of Callum’s need for opium. She trembled with rage as Peter spoke, and when he fell silent, she said, “I’ll kill Ross.”
Peter surprised her by smiling. “You’re every bit as ferocious as Cal said.”
“He called me ferocious?” she asked, disconcerted at how much it pleased her that he’d spoken of her and given her what she considered a compliment.
Peter nodded. “He said the first time he saw your claws was when a woman named Lady Cavendish was cruel to you.”
“When did you have all of these conversations with Callum?” she asked, wanting to simply understand how life had been at the asylum.
“We shared a cell for a while, and so we would talk at night. Once they moved me out of his cell, though, we didn’t talk near as much. We worked during the day outside. The man who owned the asylum was called ‘laird’ of the island, or lord, and he had us working the sheep and cattle all the time, digging ditches, seeing to drainage. We were his slaves. Cal says he was paid to take us into his ‘asylum,’ which really wasn’t one. St. Kilda’s very remote—the perfect place to rid yourself of a family member or enemy you didn’t want to kill.”
“That’s horrid,” she said, to which Peter nodded. “Peter, why did they move you out of Callum’s cell?
He opened and shut his mouth several times, looking from her to Callum asleep in his bed, and back to her. “You’ll need to ask Cal, but my lady—”
“Call me Constantine,” she urged gently.
He smiled shyly at her, and her breath caught with a rush of warm feelings for the boy. “When Cal’s strength is really back, you should sleep in your own bedchamber.”
