Untamed {Mature Reading}

Chapter XXXII: Callum

I watched as she walked past eyes that watched her, a sacrificial lamb to the slaughter. Even now, every part of me longed to reach for her, to hold her against me, to shield Bianca from whatever storm was about to come. 

But Angus had a firm hand on my shoulder and while I knew I could easily break his hold, it was the warning look he gave me that held me in place. It was rare for the older man to look at his Laird in such a way, but now, at this very moment, it only spoke of the severity of the situation. 

I watched her leave, wishing for her to look back, to give me one last glimpse at those grey eyes, of the golden heart-shaped face and full lips. I wanted to commit her to memory, to know that every time I closed her eyes, her image would be seared into the back of my lids. 

The room was thick with silence, the Laird's uncertainty seeming to scream into the void. 

"Lord save us, Callum." My uncle murmured, his usual open face carved deep with troubling thoughts. "What in the world is going on?" A few of the Lairds echoed his sentiments. 

"I think it is quite clear," Lord Grey's English accent cut through the natural blur of the Scots, ringing with authority. "The girl has gone mad. Attacking a Laird in his own castle? With a kitchen knife?" 

"I think," It was Angus who spoke next, voice low. "We should let te Laird speak fer himself, no?" 

I felt the eyes of the room turn to me, taking in the sight. I knew I was meant to say something, but all I could think about was that tear-stained face, knowing I had caused the pain. 

Mercifully, I was saved from uttering a word as Mrs. Lowe came bustling into the room, her cheeks red and grey hair escaping her bonnet. Her arms were ladened with a jug and some strips of cloth, usual smile gone from her face. 

But it was the woman who followed after that surprised me - my aunt, the Lady MacKenzie, gliding into the room of men, her chin high. 

"I shall be tending to my nephew's wounds," My aunt Maggie uttered, nodding her thanks to Mrs. Lowe, who had set down her tools upon my desk. "Some privacy, if you will."

Behind my aunt, Lord Grey made a disbelieving noise. "The Laird Lockhart is hardly indecent nor of the finer sex, madam. I hardly think-,"

I watched as my aunt gave her husband a strange look, one of a single raised eyebrow. It was uncanny to the way my mother had looked to my father time and time again. 

The Laird MacKenzie's cheeks flushed, though his voice was firm when he cut through Lord Grey's protests. "Take it from me, dinnae argue with the Lady. Greater men have failed ter walk away." There were a few nervous chuckles among the men and one by one, with my uncle's diplomatic urging, filed out of my study. 

Mrs. Lowe was last to leave, hovering at the door, her hands twisted nervously into her apron. 

My aunt spared her a glance. "That will be all, Mrs. Lowe." 

But the elder woman did not move, her gaze finding my own. "'Tis my fault," Her lips twisted down in a grimace. "I left the wee girl in the kitchen. I should have known. When I couldnae find her, I tried ter find Angus an' Grey was with him and I-I..."

"'Tis grand, Mrs. Lowe." I murmured, waving away her apology. It would be cruel to allow the old woman to continue to blame herself. 

Looking as if she longed to say more, Mrs.Lowe bowed to myself and my aunt and closed the door behind her. 

Alone with my aunt, I sighed, feeling my shoulders sag. It was like the bore the weight of the world upon them. 

An elegant hand touched at my arm, guiding me towards my desk, lowering me into the chair. Gentle fingers moved, touching my neck, prodding at the wound. "It is already healing," My aunt murmured, more so to herself than me. "It will scar."