Carrington nodded and let the boy pass. The lad didn’t touch Callum. Instead, he sidled up beside him and said, “If you kill him you may find yourself back in another asylum.”
Asylum?Constantine frowned as Callum withdrew his arm. Ross fell forward gasping, hands splayed on his knees. Constantine had the overwhelming urge to rush to Callum and kiss him, to hug him, to tell him she was glad he wasn’t dead. But she didn’t. That would be the action of a woman in love with her husband.Her husband. She was wed but not to Ross. She was still wed to Callum. Callum was alive and in front of her. She swayed where she stood, and Callum looked at her the precise moment she thought she might faint again.
“Do not tell me you’re going to swoon again.”
She wasn’t sure if it was concern or irritation she heard in his voice. Either way, the statement steadied her. She locked her knees into place. “Certainly not,” she clipped, her gaze stuck on Callum. He looked rugged and wild, and as if he barely had a leash on whatever was angering him. His jaw was tense, his eyes gray thunderclouds. She should be frightened, but she was fascinated. The many layers of her husband were apparently unending. It irritated her that she should even think upon it. “Where have you been?” she demanded, feeling as if everything they had thought about what had happened to him had to be wrong.
When he just stared at her as if she’d asked the most absurd question, anger heated her. “I suppose you think you should not have to answer to anyone, is that it?”
“Yes,” he returned, the one word hard.
“Well,” she huffed, keenly aware that they were surrounded by other people. At least all of them were friends—except for Ross, apparently, and the vicar, but he was a man of God. “I am your wife—”
“Good of you to remember,” he cut in, striding toward her and taking her by the elbow. It was like a jolt through her entire body to have him touch her. She had to bite her lip not to gasp. He was even taller than she’d remembered, his grip firmer, his smell different. Gone was the spice of cologne. He smelled of leather and woods, sweat and toil. He smelled every inch a man. And her body reacted as if it had awoken from a slumber.
Her senses sizzled to life, but she railed against the reaction. Being a fool once—no, twice—was one thing, but three times was unacceptable. She’d have answers before she went anywhere with him. “What did the boy mean, if you kill Ross you might find yourself back in an asylum? And why would you want to kill Ross?”
The look that came to Callum’s face reminded her of the way her father’s hunting dogs used to look when they scented their prey. His visage became almost feral, his body tensing beside her as if ready to either attack or protect, and his fingers gripped her elbow more firmly. “It’s simple, my dear.” He paused and fixed his gaze on Ross, who now stood with his hands fisted at his sides. “Ross had me locked up in the Asylum of St. Raguel and intended to leave me there to rot.”
“What?” She could not have heard him correctly, and she didn’t think she was alone in her astonishment.
“Cal, this was not the plan,” the boy said, his voice one of patience that sounded like it belonged to a man of many years rather than a lad who looked to be no more than fourteen summers.
“No,” Callum replied, “it was not, Peter. But then I never imagined returning to find my wife about to wed my lying, despicable cousin.”
“Kilgore, I don’t know what’s happened to you or where you’ve been, but I looked for you for months and months,” Ross said, his tone placating. “How can you think—”
“I don’t think it,” Callum bit out, his voice like a whip through the air. “I know it. And I’ll prove it, mark my words. And if I can’t prove it, I’ll kill you, by God.”
“Cal!” the boy, Peter, protested, sounding exasperated now.
“Come here, my dear,” Ross said, suddenly moving as if to step toward Constantine.
Callum’s arm came up in front of her stomach as if to block her from moving, but even if she’d intended to, she couldn’t have. She was so shocked she didn’t think she was capable of doing so.
“Take one more step toward my wife,” Callum said, his lethal tone making Constantine suck in a sharp breath. “I beg you.”
Ross stopped for a moment and held out his hand, his eyes imploring her. “You know I did not do this, Constantine.”
Did she? She blinked as all eyes seemed to suddenly be on her. Of course she did. Ross had looked for Callum, had been beside himself to find him. He had gone out for sennights at a time to search for him. Ross had taken a bullet for Callum, in fact. He’d returned wounded and told her he’d taken the bullet trying to save Callum from the men who overtook the carriage. She bit her lip as she looked at Callum, who was glaring at Ross. She didn’t know what had happened to him, but he obviously believed what he was saying, and she didn’t think now was the time to try to convince him otherwise.
“I need to go,” Callum said, suddenly tugging on her elbow.
“Constantine, you’ll stay with me, won’t you?” Ross asked.
Before she could even open her mouth to answer, Callum asked, “Do you wish to be my cousin’s mistress?” Callum raised his eyebrows, a sardonic look upon his face.
The statement was said with no feeling. His contradictory behavior baffled her. One moment he was telling Ross not to step toward her and the next he was asking her if she wished to be Ross’s mistress. What would he do if she answered yes? Of course, she wouldn’t, but if she did… Looking at him, his expression disdainful, his lip curled back, she thought perhaps he might simply tell her to leave, so whyever had he threatened Ross not to touch her if he didn’t even care whether she went with him or not.
Pain pierced her heart but anger dulled the pain. She didn’t know where he had been or why, but the one thing she did know was that they were still wed, and by God, he was not simply going to show up after a year and act as if she were discardable.
She glared at him while shaking her head. She could have sworn she saw his lips tug up into the faintest, briefest smile, but it was gone in a heartbeat, and his face became a mask of indifference before he turned to Ross and shot the man a look that could have sliced him in two. “She’s made her choice, and I advise you to heed it.”
Constantine shivered at the barely controlled rage that underlay each word.
When Ross opened his mouth as if to protest, Constantine interrupted, fearful that Callum might just kill him. “Thank you for trying to protect me, Ross—” Callum’s bark of laughter took her by surprise. She scowled at him, but his focus was still on Ross. Clearing her throat, she continued. “I am so sorry—”
“Constantine, you cannot,” Ross said, stepping toward her once more.
