Page 20 of Lady Constantine & the Sins of Lord Kilgore
“I can’t,” he murmured, as if talking hurt, but then he said, “I don’t want you here.”
Tears pricked her eyes, and her stomach knotted as she stood, tugged the coverlet off the bed, and then draped it over him. She sank to her knees beside him. He didn’t fight her as she tucked the counterpane around his large form. “I’m not going anywhere. I am your wife whether you like it or not.”
“Barely. You don’t even believe what I told you.”
She grasped his hand and squeezed, and his angry gaze flicked to her. “I want to believe you, Callum. Tell me. All I know is what Ross told me. Told us all.”
“Which is?” he asked, shaking.
“That the carriage the two of you took was overrun by what he thought were robbers. He later came to believe they were men to whom you must have owed a debt.”
“How convenient for him,” Callum said dryly.
Yes, it did seem convenient now. She swallowed and continued. “Ross was shot trying to stop them from taking you.”
“Ha!” The one word sent him into a coughing fit that had him curled into himself for a moment.
When his coughs subsided, she spoke again. “He did search for you. Or at least that’s what he said he was doing. I searched, as well, as did Carrington, and Greybourne, and your friend Valentine.”
“So glad to know you didn’t forget me right away,” he grumbled.
“I didn’t forget you at all!” The words were out before she could think better of it. But when his eyes widened and a small smile curled his lips, she was glad she had blurted the truth. “He said he found your body beaten beyond recognition. He brought me your crest ring and your clothes.” Tears filled her eyes and trickled down her face.
“What’s this?” he asked huskily, reaching from his position on his back to brush a finger down the slope of her cheek. “Crying for a man you think insane?”
“I do not think you insane,” she said, wanting to protest when he let his hand fall back to the floor. “I truly don’t know what to think. Tell me.”
“And you’ll believe me? It’s that simple, yes?” His tone was mocking and filled with cynicism.
“Yes.” She realized suddenly that she meant it, and whether that was utterly foolish or not, she didn’t care. “Tell me, and I’ll believe you. I promise you.” All she’d ever wanted was unconditional love. She’d wanted it, and she’d wanted to give it, and she’d been prepared once to give it to Callum. Sitting with him now, returned from the dead, she thought that perhaps, if he showed any sign of feeling the same, she might be willing to do so again.
“I don’t need you to believe me,” he snapped instead.
The pain stung her deep within her chest, but she schooled her features. She would not show it. “Tell me your story anyway,” she insisted, praying he would.
“The carriage was overtaken as Ross said, but he did not save me. I stopped them, so I thought, from shooting him, and I got a dagger in the leg and a sound hit on the head for my trouble. I woke up drugged in the asylum. I told the doctor who informed me that I was Mr. Selkirk and insane, that I was not Mr. Selkirk, and he told me I was. When I continued to protest, he passed me to a man, his right hand if you will, whose job it was to ensure I would come to accept that I was Mr. Selkirk as quickly as possible.”
His words faded, and he stared at her, his gaze almost cloudy. “This is just a bit of what I received at the asylum for disobedience.” He held up his hand, and she stared in horror for a moment at the stub of a finger she’d noticed before. It wasn’t the injury that so bothered her. It was that someone had purposely taken his finger. When she reached for him, he brought his arm between them to stop her. “No one other than my cousin stood to gain anything by dumping me in an asylum.No one.” Callum started coughing again, and when he looked at her, he said, “I need the doctor.”
The desperation in his voice chilled her. She was quite certain he wanted the drug. “What is it you need?”
He looked wildly around the room, and she knew then without doubt that she was correct.
“Did you untie me?” he asked as if she had not even spoken. His mind seemed to be fading from her again.
“Yes,” she said, making her voice firm. “Yes, I did.”
“Get White,” he said, rubbing at his arms and then scrubbing a hand over his face again and again. “I need to be tied. Please. I—Get White. I want you to go. Please don’t make it difficult. I need you to go.”
“No.” She took his hand and squeezed it, and when he tried to pull away, she held tight. “No,” she said in a firm tone. “The doctor told me of your affliction,” she continued, declaring what he inevitably must know. And what she now believed was possibly the reason he wanted her to go. Callum was a proud man, and he’d not want her to see him struggling like this. Or at least she hoped that was the main reason.
Rage flashed in Callum’s eyes. “Damn the man. I’ll kill him.” His eyes fluttered shut, but his lips kept moving. “I’ll kill him. So many people to kill. First, Ross.” His words stilled her as she stared at his beautiful face twisted with agony and rage. “Need White. Need him. Tie me up. Tie me up.” His eyes flew open then, and he bounded to his feet so quickly that she was knocked back. The bedchamber door banged open, and White and Peter appeared in the threshold.
“Tie me up,” Callum barked, then doubled over, grabbing his side. “Tie me up,” he mumbled again from where he stood, head hanging by his shins. “I cannot… I cannot resist it.” He jerked upright and stormed across the room to the dresser, ripping open drawers and rummaging through them. “Where is it?” he demanded, his voice reverberating off the walls.
“Cal, you only brought a small amount from the asylum, remember? You said you’d only bring enough to wean you off it, and you took the last bit on the way to London from Scotland. You said you wanted to be better by the time you found her.” Constantine blinked as Peter pointed a finger at her, and Callum lifted himself up enough to look at her. He appeared dazed now and far away.
“Christ,” he bit out. He staggered forward, one knee hitting the ground.
