Page 26 of Edinburgh Escape (Brotherhood Protectors International #5)

After brushing her teeth and securing her curls up in a loose bun on the crown of her head, Maggie descended the stairs and found Bryce back in the kitchen, dressed to go outside and talking nonstop.

Alastair leaned against a counter, tossing an apple in the air and catching it.

Cook had her arms up to her elbows, kneading dough.

As soon as Bryce saw Maggie, he cried, “She’s here!” He raced over to Maggie, grabbed her hand and dragged her toward the door. “Let’s go.”

Alastair shoved the apple into his jacket pocket and reached the door before Bryce. “Slow down, little man. Montana isn’t going anywhere.”

“Mind if I join you?” a voice said behind them.

Maggie’s pulse quickened, and a shiver of awareness rippled through her.

She turned with Bryce to look over her shoulder.

Callum entered the kitchen with a smile that melted the hard knot that had settled in Maggie’s gut since earlier that morning when this man had walked out of their shared bedroom.

His smile might be all for show, but it made her heart flutter.

If only they could go back to the easy camaraderie they’d shared before he’d tried to strangle her, thinking she was the person in his nightmare.

The man had serious PTSD. Despite that fact, Maggie wasn’t ready to give up on him.

She’d be in Scotland for almost two more weeks.

She wanted to spend as much time as she could with him. Preferably in bed, making love.

Her core heated at the thought. What they’d shared the night before couldn’t be a one-night stand. It had rocked her world so hard she wouldn’t walk away.

“You can come with us.” Bryce reached back for Callum’s hand.

Callum strode across the kitchen, took the boy’s hand and walked with them out of the manor and across the manicured lawn to the stable.

The building was constructed of wood and stone in a centuries-old architectural style. The structure had either been well-maintained or reconstructed to appear as it originally had.

Alastair flung open a door large enough to allow a horse-drawn carriage to enter and exit. Inside were ten horse stalls lining both sides.

Bryce ran to the third on the right and reached up to touch the muzzle of the horse whose head leaned over the top.

“You know the rule,” Alastair said. “One for Montana and one for you.” He pulled an apple from one pocket and handed it to Bryce, then another from the other pocket and waited for Bryce to take the one he held out.

Bryce took the first apple and held it up to Montana. “See? I’ll take a bite, then you’ll take a bite.” Bryce sank his teeth into the apple, chewed and swallowed. “Now, it’s Montana’s turn.” He held out his hand for the other apple.

Alastair laid it in the little boy’s hand.

Bryce held the apple up to the horse. “Now you take a bite.”

The horse nuzzled the apple with his lips and carefully took it from Bryce. He crunched the fruit between his back teeth and swallowed.

“Now, you show Montana how you can eat your apple,” Alastair said, “while I get his bucket of grain. Remember, you can’t grow big and strong if you don’t eat.”

Alastair stood for a moment longer, waiting for Bryce to bring the apple to his lips.

The boy held it up and sank his teeth into it.

Alastair nodded and turned away to get the grain he’d promised for Montana.

Bryce fumbled with the apple and dropped it to the ground. It rolled under the door and into Montana’s stall. “Oh, no,” the little boy murmured.

“Don’t worry,” Maggie said. “We’ll get another when we go back into the kitchen.”

Montana bent and picked up the apple, quickly chewing and swallowing it before Alastair reappeared with a bucket of grain.

“Do you want to pour it into Montana’s trough?” he asked Bryce.

“Yes, please.” Bryce held out his hands for the bucket and braced himself to hold it.

Alastair opened the stall door.

Maggie frowned, a little worried about the boy entering the big horse’s stall. “Want me to go in with you?”

“No, thank you.” Bryce walked right into the stall and tipped the heavy bucket into the trough.

“You’re so very strong,” Maggie commented.

“He feeds Montana every day,” Alastair said. “And every day, he builds his muscles.”

Bryce carried the empty bucket out and handed it to Alastair. “Alastair taught me how to ride, and someday, he’ll teach me how to drive.”

“Are you going to ride today?” Alastair asked.

Bryce sighed. “I’m tired, and my tummy hurts. Maybe later. I think I’ll go lie down for a while.”

Maggie’s heart pinched. A five-year-old shouldn’t be worn out at the beginning of the day. He hadn’t run circles in the playground or bounced off the walls. She held out her hand. “I’ll walk with you back to the manor.”

“Better yet,” Callum said. “I’ll carry you.” He swung the boy up in his arms.

Bryce lay his head on Callum’s shoulder. “I want to ride,” he said, “but my tummy hurts.” His red hair contrasted with Callum’s short, dark beard.

Maggie laid a hand on the boy’s back. “Come on. Let’s get you back to the house. Does your mother have any medicine to help your tummy?”

“It tastes yucky,” Bryce said.

“Better to taste yucky than for your tummy to hurt,” Maggie said.

“It never fixes it,” Bryce admitted.

Maggie walked beside Callum back to the manor and entered through the back door into the kitchen.

“Lady Fiona is in the dining room,” Cook said from where she stood at a counter, fitting lumps of dough into bread pans.

“Thank you,” Callum said and strode through the kitchen into the dining room.

Fiona rose from the table, dressed in a shirtwaist dress, a frown pulling her arched brows downward. “Bryce, my love, come to mummy.” She took Bryce into her arms. “Let’s get you some medicine and let you lie down for a while.”

“We went to see Montana.” Bryce lay his head on his mother’s shoulder as she carried him out of the room.

“I’m worried about Bryce,” Maggie stepped out into the hallway. “I wonder if they’ve taken him to see a specialist. He’s five. He shouldn’t be in that much pain and discomfort. He should be running and playing like most kids his age.”

“Agreed,” Callum said. “That’s not normal.”

They walked companionably several more steps, giving Maggie the courage to address the elephant in the room.

“Callum.” Maggie touched his arm, bringing him to a halt. “About what happened between us. We need to talk.”

Callum stiffened. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

Heat filled her cheeks. Not from embarrassment, but anger. “There damn sure is.”

“I hurt you,” he said, his voice low, guttural. He shook her hand off his arm and stepped away, widening the gap between them physically and emotionally. “I can’t let that happen ever again.”

“You’re suffering from PTSD, Callum. You didn’t know what you were doing. You didn’t know it was me.”

“All the more reason to stay away from you. I could’ve killed you.”

“But you didn’t,” Maggie said softly. “I’m fine.”

His lip curled up on one corner. “And that’s why you’re wearing a turtleneck? Because you’re fine?”

“I’m wearing it because it’s drafty in the manor.” She pulled the neckline of her sweater downward. “See? No marks. I’m okay.”

He stared into her eyes, his shadowed with his own internal torture. “I can’t trust myself. You shouldn’t trust me. I was trained to kill. My hands worked on muscle memory.”

“When you’re awake, you know what you’re doing. You don’t have to distance yourself from me.”

“We could never sleep together. Ever.”

“I know now not to wake you from a nightmare.”

He gripped her arms gently. “What do you want from me?”

“I want what we had before. The easy companionship, being able to talk to you like a friend.” She lowered her voice. “Making love with abandon.”

Callum’s hands tightened, and then he released her, his face turning stony. “You’re going back to Montana. I’m here until you leave. Nothing will come of anything between us. We might as well end it now. I’m your protector, your bodyguard. Nothing more.”

“But there’s so much more,” she insisted.

“No. There isn’t,” he said, his tone harsh, final. “Let it go. Let me go. You’re better off without me.” He spun on his heels and walked down the hall, across the marble foyer and out the front door.

Maggie stood still for a long moment, moisture welling in her eyes.

What did she want from Callum? A playmate for the time she was in Scotland?

When she returned to Montana, would she be able to forget about him?

Could she go back to teaching preschoolers without a second thought about the man who’d rocked her world and made her want more out of life than teaching other people’s children?

No. Oh, hell no.

So, he had PTSD. Other women stayed with their men even when they suffered through the demons of their memories and the atrocities they’d witnessed. They worked through or around the nightmares.

Only Callum wasn’t her man. She hadn’t known him long. He might not have felt the same connection she had while making love all night long. His connection might have been no more than a physical release.

To Maggie, it had been a physical release and an emotional bonding.

She could fall in love with Callum. Hell, she might already be in love with him.

He was kind, caring, opened doors for her and protected her from street vendors and Russian mobsters.

Their tour through London had been magical, thanks to his historical knowledge, humor and love of his country.

He’d been patient and concerned with Bryce and quick to call for backup when he’d realized how much danger they could be in.

And he’d made love to her, insisting it wasn’t just sex.

Her heart burned with the memory. Now he wanted nothing to do with her.