S itting in a chair in the sunshine, doing nothing, was driving Callum mad.
But he supposed madness was better than the alternative.
He was not dead. He had met Death, had a chat with him, and sent him on his way.
It wasn’t at all how he thought it was going to go, and there was one thing that he was quite certain about.
He would not be allowing Death to visit him again anytime soon, not if he could help it.
He’d been so certain when he was a young man, standing before his father’s grave, that he and Death were good friends. But now he realized that he wished Death to be a distant acquaintance. One who might come around eventually, but who would not exactly be welcomed.
The estate of the Duke of Westleigh was beautiful. He supposed he could have gone down to his own, but the Briarwoods had insisted that he be surrounded by tender, loving care.
His mother had come too, and she made a point of sitting with him and reading for hours each day. It reminded him of when he was small, and actually, they both found it to be wonderfully soothing.
He didn’t know quite what to make of the large crowd of Briarwoods, all reminding him to do nothing but enjoy the beautiful countryside.
He had never had such a fuss made over him in his entire life.
And he found that, actually, he rather liked it.
But there was one thing he did not like—his wife’s condition.
She fluttered over him, caring for him, but with a look upon her face that was so painful and so upsetting that he had yet to have a moment of peace.
Where was the vivacious, passionate, beautiful young lady who he had fallen in love with?
And he began to fear that he had done this to her. His passion, his zest for life, for her, and his unwillingness to live in a healthy way had broken her. After his illness, she looked as if she had aged years.
Yes, she looked as if his brush with death had almost stolen her too.
And for that, he did not know if he could ever forgive himself.
She crossed the lawn to him and tucked the blanket about him.
He hated feeling like an invalid, but he knew that he had to allow it.
If he did not allow it, well, the family would be in an uproar because it would just be more evidence that he could not or would not change.
He was trying to change. It was no easy thing.
Even if he was growing to like being cared for so thoroughly.
But if he changed, and she was not well herself, what would it be for?
And so, as she stared out to the horizon, Callum took her hand and pulled her down atop his lap, determined to feel close to her again, to awaken that in her too.
“You seem upset,” he said.
“I do?” She frowned. “I did not mean to be,” she said quickly. “I’m so sorry. I thought I was…”
“You do not need to hide your feelings,” he said gently. “You’ve been taking such good care of me, and you read to me, and you talk to me, but there’s something wrong, something deeply wrong, Cymbeline. Where have you gone?”
Slowly, she lifted her gaze to him. “I cannot forgive myself for what I did.”
“What did you do?” he asked, shocked.
He thought it was himself who needed to beg forgiveness, and he was ready to do it. But now, his heart began to hammer in his chest, afraid.
Her face twisted with sorrow and self-recrimination. “I almost let you die.”
He blinked. “Did you not call for the doctor?”
“Of course I called for the doctor,” she retorted with a bit of her old feisty nature. “That’s not what I mean.”
“What do you mean?” he asked gently.
She licked her lips, folding her hands in her lap. “I let you run headstrong at throwing your life away. How could I let you do that?”
He sucked in a sharp breath as he began to understand. “Because I’m a grown man?” he said.
“No. No, that’s not it,” she protested. “Do not make excuses for me. I told everybody that I was choosing you and that I was letting you be yourself. But the truth is,” she whispered, as if she was horrified, “I had resigned myself because I wanted you so badly, because I was so passionate about having you. My passion, Callum, burned so brightly for you that I would have you in any way. I should have stood up to you before I said yes. I should have told you that I could not and would never marry you if you were going to drive yourself into an early grave. I should have held my ground on that.”
“But you loved me,” he reminded, longing to sooth her hurt, longing to take all blame away from her.
She let out a soft laugh. “Yes, I did, but apparently not enough to tell you the truth. I must have been so afraid to lose you because I clearly did not think you would change. And I am ashamed of that.”
“So, what would’ve been the point in telling me?” he said. “I still wouldn’t have changed, and we would have been denied all those delicious hours together.”
She gaped at him and then she laughed, because deep down, she knew he was right. “Oh, you are so stubborn. As stubborn as a goat,” she said.
Her laugh filled him with relief and hope. For he would not have her take the blame for his arrogance and his wounds.
“Goats have their purpose,” he replied, waggling his brows at her.
“They do, but I will not have this happen again.” She turned her body towards him. “Do you understand?”
He nodded swiftly. “I don’t want it to happen again either. I never thought that I would lose you as soon as I had found you, Cymbeline.”
She swallowed. “Neither did I. All my life, I’ve been waiting for the one, the famous Briarwood expectation of finding the one.
And I knew that he would come this Season, and you did, but I never imagined that you could be ripped away from me as quickly as I had found you. And I was a part of almost losing you.”
“Stop,” he insisted.
“No,” she protested. “My mother warned me. My father warned me. My cousins too, in their own way, and certainly the Duke of Westleigh. And even my grandmother tried to tell me the truth. But I didn’t listen to them.
I merely nodded, and I let you wreck yourself because I loved our passion together.
And I did not think of the consequences.
Maybe I have been blinded, blinded by being in a family that is full of love all the time, and I came to believe that it always works out. ”
She grabbed his hands and held him with a ferocious grip as she rushed, “But the truth is that it does not always work out, Callum. You almost died. What if it doesn’t work out? What if you cannot stop? And what if you do leave me? What great love is there then, and what was the point of it all?”
Her pain and fear spilled over onto him. He had done that. He had dimmed her effervescent hope. Part of him wanted to hate himself and retreat. But then what would all the pain be for?
No, he could not retreat. He had to advance.
And so, he pulled her against his chest, cradling her. “On our wedding day, Calchas warned me that if I hurt you, he would drag me out to sea and drop me to the bottom of the ocean. And I did hurt you. Luckily, he has not taken me out to sea.”
“Yet,” she pointed out, her lips curling in a rueful smile.
“Too true. Not yet.” He drew in a shaky breath and confessed, “I don’t really know how to change. But I want to. At long last, I want to. You’ve made me understand something, your whole family has.”
She tilted her head back. “What?” she whispered.
He paused, trying to find the powerful words that could convey the shift inside him.
“That I am worthy. Just myself. My worth is not in the actions I do. Or in the title I was born to. You want me. You don’t want my deeds.
You don’t need me to always be doing the next great thing.
And your family has taught me that I can actually only do the next great thing if I am well.
I cannot have children if I am not well, and I desperately want to have children with you, Cymbeline. ”
A tear slipped down her cheek and that cut him to the quick. But he couldn’t stop. There was still so much to say. “I told your cousin that I would not hurt you,” he repeated. “And he told me that of course I would. And yet you are the one asking forgiveness.”
She opened her mouth to speak, but he shook his head.
“It is I who must ask your forgiveness because it is I who almost threw us away. All because I couldn’t see the value in slowing down, of choosing the small moments with you, with your family, with myself.
And I couldn’t understand that those small moments, like this one here, where we are doing nothing but feeling together and being together, are the most important.
” He slipped his hands to her beautiful face, cupping it, as if she was the most precious jewel in the world.
Because she was. “Unless I help myself, unless I let you help me too, I will never help anyone else. Not in the way I wish to.”
Another tear slipped down her cheek. “Callum,” she rasped. Then she said his name again, only this time, it rang with joy.
And suddenly the years seemed to slip from her, and her youthful vivacity came back. And she leaned into his embrace. “I don’t want you to ever leave me again. Not until we’re both terribly old and wrinkled and sitting together watching our children’s children play. Do you understand me?”
“I understand, my love,” he said, stroking her hair. “Will you teach me how to live? To really and truly live? Will you show me how it is done?”
“Yes, of course. Of course I will.”
And now their passion would change. It would no longer just be a passion for doing things or even for each other. Their passion would transform into a passion for the life that they could make, the family they would create, and the little, slow moments around which their entire world revolved.