With Everything I Am (44 page)

“I do,” he replied. “Would you like to know what I’d like more?”

No, she wouldn’t.

“Callum –” she began but he interrupted her.

“What I’d like is to know why you’re standing over there?”

She straightened her shoulders, deciding the time had finally come and declared, “Because we need to talk.”

“You can talk in my lap.”

“I’d rather talk from over here.”

His voice was firm but still soft and warm when he ordered, “Sonia, come here.”

That voice did weird things to her system. Weird things such as setting the urge upon her. Weird things such as making her want to sit in his lap and put her mouth on him. Anywhere.
Everywhere.

Yes, just his
voice
.

She fought the urge back.

“No, Callum, I –” she stopped speaking because he stood up.

Then she stared at him as he rounded his desk.

She began retreating too late.

He grabbed one of her wrists, pulled the coffee cup out of her other hand, set it on some papers on his desk and, as she tried to twist her wrist free, he yanked her to him. Then she was in his arms. He walked back around the desk and sat down with her in his lap. He calmly leaned forward, nabbed her cup and handed it to her then nabbed his.

Finally, his attention came to her and he invited, “Now, baby doll, what’s on your mind?”

Nothing.

Nothing was on her mind except for the fact that she was again in his lap where she’d told him she didn’t want to be.

“Sonia?”

She blinked at him, wanting to cry and scream at the same time (not to mention scratch his eyes out).

He waited.

She didn’t speak. There were too many words to say and she couldn’t put even two of them together.

“I see this is one of those times,” he muttered mysteriously, not sounding irritated or angry about whatever one of those times was, but amused. “All right, little one, this is what we’re going to do today,” he told her softly. “We’re going to go upstairs, I’m going to give you your injection then we’re going to go into town.”

She wasn’t keeping up. Her mind was churning but her body was registering the fact that she liked the safe, comfort of him so close.

“To town?” she asked.

“To town,” he answered. “Then we’re going to come home and you’re going to take it easy the rest of the day,” he finished. “Agreed?”

He took a sip of his coffee which would have given her time to agree or, say, perchance, disagree. But before she could speak, he slid her carefully off his lap, grabbed her hand and led her out of the room and up the winding staircase.

As he did, he spoke. “I talked with Dr. Mortenson while you were napping yesterday and he said your blood tests all came back normal. He’s still concerned. He says there’s a specialist consultant in Aberdeen he wants you to see. I made an appointment this morning for Friday.”

Sonia’s mind cleared at this astonishing news and she asked, “There’s a specialist in Scotland?”

“According to Dr. Mortenson there is.”

“I didn’t know there was such a thing,” she told him.

“Well there is, baby doll. And you’re lucky he’s a short flight away,” Callum replied, led her into the bathroom, gave her the injection, held her until the burning fire died away and held her long after.

“Callum,” she whispered when he didn’t seem to want to let her go, her hands gliding along his forearms which were crossed at her belly.

In these moments, now twice a day, she could believe in him, really
believe.

His head came up and his now tawny eyes caught hers in the mirror.

“I hope to fuck this new doctor knows another way.”

His voice was rough with frustration and she could almost believe that too.

Lost in the moment, she promised, “You’ll get used to it.”

His laugh was as harsh as his voice before he said, “I don’t think that’s going to happen, baby doll.”

Then he zipped her pants, buckled her belt and took her to town.

* * * * *

“Town” was not a town.

It was an enchanting village. The cottages and buildings were all made of the same warm golden-red-brown as Callum’s castle. There was only one cobbled street which was lined with shops on both sides and, on small alleyways that led off the street and up the rise behind the village, there were picturesque cottages and houses.

The melted snow had given the cobbled streets a glistening shine and the sidewalks were all brushed clear of snow.

Regardless of the gray day that threatened more snow, the village seemed vibrant and fascinating. There was a bakery with jam donuts, cookies and pastries displayed in its window, a peek inside showing different loaves of bread and rolls on wire racks behind a heated counter filled with warm savories. There was a fruit and vegetable shop with brightly colored produce in bushels in suspended baskets outside. There was a florist with vivid blooms in steel buckets out front. There was a butcher, a drug store, a shop that looked like it sold nothing but fishing gear. Another store that looked like it sold nothing but yarn. A women’s clothing store with a window that displayed more active, outdoorsy gear (but the bags and sweaters looked
lush
). A gift shop, which, when Sonia stole a glance inside while they strolled past, looked like it was filled with fun bits and bobs, none of which you needed but all of which you could convince yourself you did. And there was a café that was heaving with people eating or ordering teas and cakes.

And, lastly, even though it was a small village, it had no fewer than five pubs. Five!

Sonia would have liked the opportunity to peruse but this opportunity didn’t present itself.

Mainly because the other thing about the village was that it was busy with loads of people shopping or chatting on the sidewalks.

And all of them were Callum’s people, with clear eyes, long bodies, dark hair and beautiful faces.

And all of them, when they saw Sonia and Callum, looked surprised then delighted then they’d smile and start to drop to their knee.

And to all of them, Callum would say something like, “Keep your feet, Merriden, your queen doesn’t stand on ceremony.” Or, “Stand, Rhiannon, Queen Sonia isn’t big on formalities.”

Then they’d bow their head, grin a friendly grin at Sonia and chat with Sonia and Callum before letting them get on their way.

There were four things that surprised Sonia about this.

The first was that Callum knew all their names. Every last one.

The second was that he apparently wasn’t big on formalities either. She knew this because he chatted amiably with the villagers, his arm around Sonia’s shoulders, as if they were normal people, not a king and his new queen.

The third was that everyone was so welcoming, open, full of life and smiles and quick to laugh.

The last was that Callum acted to save her the discomfort of people bowing to her in the streets. People she had to live with and she wanted them to like her, not bow to her. She didn’t want to think that was a kindness he’d shown to her, having learned she didn’t like it the day before and thus stopping it from happening again. But she couldn’t help but think that it was.

They slowly made their way down one side of the street, stopping and chatting along the way as everyone else gazed at them frankly and speculatively. Then they slowly made their way down the other side of the street doing the same.

At the end of their journey, Callum led them into a pub, called “The Claw”. It, too, had diamond-paned windows but the glass was multi-colored in ambers, reds and greens and it had a furry paw with sharp claws painted on its suspended shingle.

The inside was inviting and warm after the cold of outside. There was a circular fireplace in the middle with a brass hood over it and a fire lit within. There were brass taps at the gleaming bar and a variety of cushioned seating. And there was another clawed paw etched in the mirror behind the bar.

Callum guided her directly to the bar and, when they stopped, he asked her, “Do you like cider?”

She gazed up at him and, figuring he wanted to warm her up with hot apple cider, though she would prefer hot cocoa but would request herbal tea, she asked, “Apple cider?”

He smiled and answered, “In a way, though not the way you’re used to.” Then he proclaimed, “You’ll try a cider.”

Then he turned to the bartender (who was named Ralph, by the way) and ordered their drinks and also two fish pies though he didn’t ask Sonia if she wanted fish pie, or anything to eat for that matter. He handed her a half pint glass of something cold and golden, told Ralph to, “Put it on Canis’s account,” and led them to a comfortable, curved couch by the fire.

He shrugged off the brown leather jacket she’d given him for Christmas. But he kept on the brown, burgundy and navy striped scarf wrapped around his throat over his thick, navy wool, cable-knit sweater (both of which Sonia had given him too). Sonia took his lead and divested herself of her own dusky-blue, woolen pea coat. Then Callum sat them close together.

Sonia tasted a sip of her cider and found it was brilliant, cool but refreshing.

She didn’t want to (she told herself) but she couldn’t help it. She liked the village. She liked the villagers. She liked being outside in the snowy cold. And she liked the cider.

“This is brilliant,” she told him as his arm slid around her and pulled her close.

“I’m glad you like it, honey.”

“I like the village too,” she added.

He made no response, just smiled down at her.

She didn’t want to (she told herself) but she couldn’t help it. She was just too curious to stop it.

“Have you lived here your whole life?”

He pulled her an inch closer and lifted his leg to rest the sole of his boot against the edge of the fireplace.

“A good part of it, yes. We spent some time in France, with my mother’s people. During a time of peace, when my father didn’t need me close, I lived in Canada for a while. And my father appointed me liaison to the British government for a brief period and I lived in London then.”

Well, that explained his accent.

“But you like it here?” she queried.

“I like it here.”

“The best?” she went on, Callum laughed and his hand gave her waist a squeeze.

“The best. Though I found it difficult leaving the Canadian Rockies. I’d been happy there,” he informed her.

This knowledge settled somewhere in Sonia (and, if she was honest, it was in the region of her heart) for she’d always been happiest in the American Rockies. And, she hated to admit it, but she really liked it right there.

Belatedly, she decided to find a different, less personal subject. One that couldn’t give Callum an opening through that guard around her heart.

Therefore, she enquired, “Liaison to the British government?”

He nodded and took a sip of his beer. “All governments know of our people.”

She looked to the fire, sipped at her cider and murmured, “I’m surprised about that.”

His hand gave her waist another squeeze and he asked, “Why?”

She looked back at him and replied, “Because you’re so secret. I had no clue.”

“No one has a clue,” he responded, “unless we want them to.” His face got closer and his voice got lower when he finished, “Like you.”

She pressed her lips together in an effort not to respond to how much she liked his face that close and his voice that low and looked again at the fire.

His big body relaxed further into hers. “Our people intermingle with your people all the time.”

“Do a lot of your people have human mates?” she queried.

“It’s rare,” he answered. “But it happens.”

Sonia looked about the pub and saw all eyes on them and all the eyes were clear and light. All the heads were dark. And all the bodies were big and long.

She turned back to Callum and whispered, “This whole village is your people.”

He looked down at her and smiled, “You noticed that?”

She nodded.

He pulled her even closer. “This is one of the reasons we need a liaison to the British government and why we have liaisons to every government. There are small countries like this around the world.”

“Countries?”

“Yes, little one,” he replied. “Villages, towns, even some small cities. This is our land, our country. The village and miles of wood that surround it. It isn’t owned by the British government. It’s owned and ruled by us. Didn’t you wonder why you didn’t go through Customs and Immigration when we arrived?”

She hadn’t thought of it, her mind was on other things.

“No,” she told him. “I’d never flown in a private jet before. I didn’t think about it.”

“Well,” he said, “that’s why. Not because you arrived in a private jet but because we landed on an airstrip, a private airstrip,
our
private airstrip that no one uses. The roads leading to this village are not on any map. Essentially, to your people, this place doesn’t exist.”

Sonia didn’t respond, she just stared at him.

Callum continued, “That doesn’t mean that humans don’t find their way here on occasion and they aren’t welcome when they do. They just wouldn’t be able to find their way back unless they had excellent memories and little fear of very bad roads.” He gave her a quick grin before he took a sip of his beer and then went on, “There are those of us who prefer living amongst their own, being who we are and how we are and not having to keep anything secret. There are those who find their calling in the human world and their profession takes them there. There are those who just like living in the human world, amongst more people, having more opportunities. There are others who move back and forth, depending on their mood. And there are others who live here but also like to spend time in the human world.” Then he finished, “Ryon’s like that.”

“What are you like?” she asked quietly, more curious than was prudent as to his answer.

“I like being with my people and I rarely stray into the human world,” he answered honestly.

“Don’t you like humans?” she blurted on a whisper before she could stop the words and then wished she could kick herself because she didn’t care (though, she did).