Callum

by Melissa Schroeder

  “Just what is going on here?” she asked.

  Callum turned to face her. Good lord, he was a beautiful man naked. No man she had ever known had the perfect blend of muscles and golden skin like him. Then, when she realized she was staring at his chest—at his uninjured chest—she shook her head. There should be stitches, something. There was nothing. Just hours before, she had held a cloth to his chest to stem the bleeding. It had stained her skirt, her shirt, her hands. Now, his skin looked as if he had never been shot.

  “Phoebe.”

  She finally raised her gaze to his. The guilty look in his eyes had her heart sinking. Had it been a lie? No, he had been bleeding when they brought him in earlier. He had been shot. She had even felt a couple of shots whiz past her.

  “Just what the bloody hell is going on here, Callum?”

  He sighed. “It’s hard to explain, love.”

  “You were shot. I saw it. I felt the blood in between my fingers.”

  He stepped forward, and she took a step back. He stopped.

  “You will explain yourself right now. How are you uninjured?”

  “It’s hard to explain.”

  Anger and fear churned in her gut. She didn’t know whether to cry or scream. “You will do it, and you will do it right now.”

  “I…” He shook his head. “I can’t be injured. Not for long.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  He sighed and grabbed a pair of pants to pull on. “My cousins and I, we can’t be injured for long. We can’t.”

  “You aren’t making any sense, and if this was some kind of ploy to get me back in your bed, you’re mental.” The last of it came out on a sob, and that made her even madder. She hated that he knew how much this hurt her.

  “You think I would resort to something like this to get you back into my bed?” his voice bounced off the walls as he shouted. Normally she would back down from the anger, but she was too irritated herself. And hurt. So hurt.

  “Well, then what is it?”

  “I’ve been shot, stabbed, beaten up. Nothing can happen to me. I survive always.”

  “No one is immortal. You think nothing can happen to you because you’re arrogant?”

  “That’s not the case.”

  “Really? What else would you call it? All of you men are the same.”

  Needing to get away from him, from the pain that he had caused her once again, she turned and stomped out of the bathroom. She was halfway across the room when he caught up to her. He grabbed her by the arm and swung her around.

  “If you would just let me explain.”

  She shook her head. She was sick of lies. All lies. Her own, his, her dead husband’s. Her family lived in a house of lies and quiet discussions, and she was sick of it. For once in her life, she wanted to trust the people she loved.

  That made everything in her head stop working. She did not love Callum Lennon. Before she could understand just what her brain was telling her, Callum shook her.

  “You have to listen. We’re not normal.”

  “You can say that again.” She wrenched herself away from him and from emotions that were now rolling through her. How could she have fallen for a man so totally out of her class and not good for her. Again. “You are sick if you think this is the way to get a woman back in your bed.”

  “I dinna do this to get you back in my bed. I don’t have to do that.”

  She knew that was true, and it irritated her even more. “Then what? You tell me just what the bloody hell is going on here.”

  “You want the truth, fine. I was born in the year 1730 and almost died at the Battle of Culloden.”

  Chapter Nine

  Phoebe swallowed the urge to scream. Or throw something. Or just storm out of the room. Her upbringing wouldn’t allow it. A Chilton did not show emotion in front of others. A Chilton stifled it until they developed ulcers. She rubbed her stomach and tried to quiet her nerves. The atmosphere in the study was almost oppressive. It reminded Phoebe of the many “discussions” she’d had with her parents.

  All five cousins watched her warily, as if unsure of what she would do. What was she going to do? A man she was involved with just told her he was born in the 18th century. And apparently, the rest of the cousins believed him.

  No one said a word. The only sound was the ticking of the clock on the mantle. She drew in a deep breath and folded her hands in front of her. They sat around the room, Anice with Fletcher on a chaise lounge, Angus and Logan in chairs next to each other. She and Callum were the only ones who were standing—on opposite sides of the room.

  “Is someone going to explain?” she asked, her voice strained.

  The other four cousins looked at Callum. His expression was stoic, and she hadn’t been able to get a word out of him after his announcement. He’d called the meeting and dragged her to the study.

  “Callum?” she asked.

  “Angus, explain.”

  Angus picked up a big book, one she had not seen before. It was leather bound and definitely 17th or 18th century. The usually affable man looked very serious as he approached her.

  “You might want to sit down. This is a very heavy book.”

  She did, sitting on the leather couch, and he sat beside her. She expected Callum to object, but he said nothing.

  "This is our family history.” He offered her a small smile. “It’s long and well, a little colorful."

  She smiled. "I would expect nothing less from the lot of you."

  He nodded. "You can read the rest of it, but here is the lineage."

  He opened the book to the back page with a listing of all the families.

  “You are the McLennans?”

  He nodded. “We changed out last name for protection.”

  There were pages of names, well documented, some of them written in old Scots, then changing as it moved forward. It went back centuries but it stopped at the generation before the Battle of Culloden.

  She raised her gaze to his. "With all due respect, you could have doctored this."

  Angus shook his head. "I could swear by it but that wouldn't ensure you believed us. What we can show you is this."

  He motioned toward Anice, who came forward with another book. He thanked her then handed it to Phoebe. "This tells of the McLennan family. Completely impartial and published this century in fact."

  "The Lost Clan," she murmured. She looked at Angus then at Callum. "If this is about you, why did you not fight it?"

  "There was no way of fighting it without looking foolish,” Callum said.

  “And, in academic circles, you know it isn't taken seriously. It ranks up there with crop circles, Loch Ness, and Area 51 in the states," Angus added.

  She nodded, because after seeing Sir Farthington's name, she knew it was true. Her old adversary was known as a crackpot. He might have a degree, but he definitely chased phantoms and had been known for fabricating his “facts.”

  "And last night?"

  "McWalton," Callum said.

  A chill stole through her body, and her head started spinning. "McWalton?"

  Callum looked at Fletcher, who took over the explanation. "He hates us. Truly hates us. His family has for years. We were cursed by an ancestor of his for something our grandfather did. They have all sworn to ensure that we never break the curse. We have been immortal since."

  She studied the cousins. "Every one of you looks about the same age."

  "We are, in a way. When we reach thirty-five, we stop aging. We didn't know at first."

  She nodded, trying to take it all in and trying her best not to show her panic. She knew McWalton had been up to something, but she had never even guessed this. How could she? Only a delusional person would come up with this fantasy. But they were all staring at her, their solemn expressions telling her they believed it. And, God help her, she was starting to believe them too. Had she revealed anything that would have endangered Callum?

  “Why would this McWalton come aft
er you? Shooting at you is useless, and he knows it, yes?”

  Angus nodded. “Much of what he does makes no sense. He’s always been a bit erratic. Maybe he thought he could scare you off. You were out together so he might have thought you and Callum were on a date.”

  She nodded, trying to hide her worry. Had she been the one who had caused McWalton to act?

  "Why don't you take these books and look at them and then we can talk?" Angus offered, apparently taking pity on her.

  "Can I take them to my room?" she asked.

  His lips quirked. "There's no reason you can't, not with our secrets exposed."

  She smiled and pulled the two books into her arms. Lord, they were heavy. "I'll check in with you later."

  With that she walked out of the room, her brain still foggy and her heart just about broken. The door shut behind her, and she found Belvidore standing there.

  "You know,” she said.

  He nodded. "The clan knows."

  "All of you?"

  He shook his head. "We are not immortal, but we wait to return home. We cannot until the curse is broken."

  She turned to leave, but he stopped her.

  "Dr. Chilton?"

  She glanced over her shoulder at him.

  "You willna reveal the laird will you?"

  She wanted to get upset, but if this was true, she understood to a degree. Family secrets were something she was very good at understanding. "I'll keep his secrets."

  With that she climbed the massive stairs and knew that her life would never be the same. The one thing that weighed on her mind was would she ever be able to accept the reality the Lennons lived with every day?

  * * * *

  The silence that descended in the study suited Callum. He didn’t like the way Phoebe had been looking at him. It wasn’t anger or pain. She didn’t even look confused or near tears. She had been studying him like he was a carnival freak.

  Which he was.

  “I think that went well,” Angus said.

  “Yes, it went well. I don’t think she will reveal anything,” Anice offered. “She doesn’t really believe us.”

  “She will,” Callum said.

  Angus studied him for a second. “If you had not revealed your chest, we would not have this problem.”

  “I dinna reveal my chest. She came into the bathroom when I dropped something. She thought I was hurt.”

  “What was she doing there to begin with?” Angus asked.

  “She wouldn’t leave,” Anice said softly, looking at Callum. “We couldn’t get her to leave, and I assume she spent last night in the chair beside your bed.”

  Callum nodded.

  “I should have guessed,” Angus said, disgust dripping from his voice. “You bedded her.”

  He might feel guilty about what happened, but he didn’t care for Angus’s tone. “I think this discussion is over.”

  “Of course he slept with her,” Anice said. “He’s in love with her.”

  Panic clutched at his throat, but he swallowed it away. “I am not.”

  Anice gave him a sad smile. “In all the years we have lived, can you remember a time when you ever took a chance like this? Phoebe has the ability to figure this out on her own, and she’s brilliant at puzzles. So, you took a chance and bedded her. Callum Lennon just doesn’t do that. Fletcher, yes.”

  “Hey,” Fletcher said. “I object to that. I was attracted to her.”

  “Yes, but you didn’t act on it. And, even if you did, it wouldn’t surprise me. What does surprise me is that the one person who has ironclad control did bed her. And because of that, I say he’s in love.”

  Fletcher snorted. “There’s no such thing as love for us.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Callum said, sick of the discussion. “We’ll wait until she finishes and sees what she says. Now I have work.”

  He strode to the door, but Anice stopped him with one comment. “There’s nothing wrong with being in love.”

  His heart squeezed at the thought. To have that privilege, to be able to think of a future with a woman, was almost too tempting. It was a dream that would never come true. Even if they were to break the curse, they had no idea what it would do to them. They really didn’t know if they would die on the spot or age normally. He couldn’t tie a woman to him when he didn’t know what kind of state he would be in.

  “You heard your brother,” he said without turning around. “That’s not for us.”

  Not wanting to hear any more from them, he slipped out the door and found Belvidore.

  “I take it she didn’t run away screaming?” Callum asked.

  He shook his head. “That one isna a coward.”

  Callum studied the old servant. Belvidore’s great, great, great grandfather had been Callum’s first servant upon returning to Scotland. His family had served the Lennons for years. Every one of them thought it was their duty to protect all the Lennons.

  “You didn’t like her when she came. What changed?”

  “You know it is our way to be suspicious of outsiders. Last night, though, she wanted to go to the authorities. She was right upset for you, Laird.”

  “She stayed by my bed.”

  “Of course she did. That is one woman who wouldn’t leave a man just because of an injury. It would have hurt her if you hadn’t recovered.”

  “She thought I’d faked it.” Callum sighed. “What a bloody mess.”

  “Not everything goes according to plan, Laird.”

  Callum studied the servant, surprised by his candid tone. “How do you mean?”

  “You and I both know about destiny.”

  Too uncomfortable with the conversation, Callum started walking in the direction of his office. But, as usual, Belvidore followed along. He had something to say, and he would not give up until he did. His father had been the same way—and the whole bloody lot of them.

  “She might just be yours, Laird.”

  Callum shook his head. “You know I don’t believe in that. This curse will never be broken. We will live like this forever. No matter what we do.”

  His voice had risen to a shout. After the last twelve hours, he didn’t have the patience to deal with another person telling him what to do about Phoebe.

  “Laird.”

  He glanced at Belvidore.

  “You only have to have hope.”

  Something stirred deep within him. Something that was too close to hope. And he didn’t have time for that or the pain it would cost. He had given it up too many years ago. He couldn’t deal with it coming back in his life again.

  “I lost that years ago.”

  Belvidore stopped walking and laid his hand on Callum’s arm. He stopped and looked at the servant. Belvidore rarely spoke his mind, unless asked.

  “Dr. Chilton might just be worth the chance.”

  Everything in him wanted that. He wanted to take a chance on a woman who not only matched him in spirit and intellect, but in passion. But it wasn’t to be. Each time someone suggested it, the need to roar in pain was getting harder to stifle. Could his family not see what this was doing to him? He needed to be left alone to his own devices. To lick his wounds.

  “Laird, she might be worth it, but don’t forget, that you are worth it, too. That is if you have the courage to actually take the chance.”

  With that, he left Callum standing alone in the hallway, uneasy and irritated.

  * * * *

  Callum was still thinking about the conversation several hours later as he stared out his bedroom window. He knew there was something about Phoebe that called to him, that told him she was supposed to be with him. He had thought it stupid to even consider the idea. They did not have soul mates. The Lennons had known they would never be married. The five of them were trapped in their hell. What person would want to spend their life with a thirty-five-year old who never aged? Not one of them had been willing to take the chance to spend their lives watching their spouse die. Only a masochist would want that.


  But God help him, he did. He wanted nothing more than to have Phoebe with him. He didn’t know if it was love, didn’t understand that emotion. All he knew was that there was something in him that needed her. Needed that contact. If she were gone, he would go out of his mind. It was insane to think that a woman he had never heard of six months ago had so much control over his happiness.

  Before he could get too melancholy, there was a soft knock on his door. Even without being able to see her, he knew it was Phoebe.

  “Come in.”

  She opened the door slowly and slipped into the room, closing the door behind her. She was holding the books in her arms and watching him with wide eyes. He could not read her expression. Dammit, he hated it. Phoebe had studied people like that for the time she had been in his house. He knew that it was her way. Now, though, she looked wary, beyond wary, as if worried that if she said the wrong thing, he might do something to her. She did think he was a freak.

  “You’ve read it,” he finally said when she kept looking at him. She nodded but still did not speak. If he felt like he was on display earlier, now he definitely felt as if there was something wrong with him. He waited for her to say something, to ask a question or yell at him. She still said nothing. Silence was usually his friend, but at the moment, he wanted to scream just to break the stillness.

  He swallowed that urge. "Do you have anything to say?"

  She studied him, her mermaid gaze traveling from his head down to his toes and back up again. Then she set the books down on the table.

  "Can I ask you a few questions?"

  He could not pick up anything in her tone, so he nodded.

  She opened her mouth then shut her mouth. The tension rose in the room, and he could feel his temper fraying inch by inch.