Chapter 4 #2
“Is this a rare thing for you?” Melody ventured. It was meant to be a joke, but judging by his glare, it landed poorly.
“Ye are tryin’ to escape yer weddin’ . I imagine ye wish to delay goin’ back to yer father’s home for as long as possible. Ye are delayin’ yer weddin’, and I am avoidin’ one altogether. Both of us need a wee bit of time, eh?”
“I suppose so.”
“Here’s my suggestion. Ye stay here for one month. To get the councilors off me back, I’ll tell them that ye are mine.”
There was a moment of silence. Melody blinked slowly, frowning. She was missing something here, she was sure of it. Callum stared at her expectantly, broad arms folded over his chest.
“Yours?” she echoed uncertainly.
His thick eyebrows flickered. “Aye, mine. Me betrothed.”
She choked. “Your betrothed?”
“I’ll present ye to the council as the woman I mean to marry.
That means they’ll stop hasslin’ me. Nay more arrangin’ for me to meet daughters and sisters of other powerful lairds.
Nay more deliberately throwin’ their own daughters and sisters in me way, in hopes that their kinswoman will become Lady MacDean.
“I have nay intention of takin’ a wife. Nae now, nae ever.
That means nay legitimate heir to follow me, but it willnae be the first time a laird left nay son or daughter behind him.
There’ll be a suitable heir when I’m old, I’m sure.
In the meantime, me councilors are ignorin’ serious issues, things which truly affect the people of our clan, because they think the issue of me marriage is more serious. ”
“That sounds difficult,” Melody managed. “But I really cannot see how I would suit. I’m English, after all, and people here do not seem to like the English much.”
“Let me worry about that,” he responded coolly. “All I need from ye is a simple agreement. Let’s shake on it.”
He took a step forward, extending a large, square hand.
Melody leaped backward with a yelp, and he eyed her with faint annoyance.
“What is it now?”
“I am not used to gentlemen offering their hands so boldly,” Melody mumbled. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a gentleman try to shake my hand.”
He sighed. “Be grateful I daenae spit in my palm and expect ye to do the same. That’s the traditional way of sealin’ an agreement. Besides, I am nae a gentleman, so it’ll do ye nay good to expect me to act like one.”
She glowered at him. “You are a terrible host, Laird MacDean.”
“So I’ve been told. Now, will ye agree to me terms? Pretend to be me bride-to-be for one month only, and in return, ye can paint me portrait to take back to yer wee friends back home. How does that sound?”
Melody chewed her lower lip. The ridge of the desk nudged against her back, and Callum had advanced until he was very close to her. She could smell leather and mint again.
“What… What cologne do ye wear?” she asked, the words coming out as a faint squeak.
He stared at her, utterly baffled. “What?”
“Your cologne. What is it?”
“I daenae… daenae wear cologne. I’m a man, I daenae care for perfumes. Lass, ye are avoidin’ the question here, and I daenae like it.”
She breathed in, closing her eyes. “I cannot stay here for a month. My reputation would be ruined. I would be ruined! I’m sorry that I cannot help you, but really, this will not do.”
She made to dart past him, ducking around and hurrying toward the door.
She’d made it to the door when his hand came slamming into the wood, just above the handle, on level with her eyes.
Swallowing, Melody glanced behind her. He was right there, inches away, with those wolfish eyes blazing.
An odd, prickling heat spread in her chest. It did not seem like fear, but something new and unfamiliar.
“Perhaps I was nae clear,” Callum said heavily.
“I wasnae askin’, lass. Ye have a choice.
Ye can stay here for a month, in the dungeons, as yer punishment for trespassin’ and breakin’ into me Keep.
Me councilors might even begin to fret that ye are a spy.
Or, ye can do me a good favor, and pretend to be me betrothed for that same month.
I’ll ask nay more of ye than yer pretence.
The choice is yers, but goin’ home is nae really an option for ye right now. ”
Melody’s heart beat so hard that it nearly climbed out of her chest. She swallowed again—heavens, her throat was dry. Perhaps it was that thick porridge she’d eaten—and forced a weak smile.
“Oh, I see. Well, in that case, Laird MacDean, I’d be happy to oblige.”
He grunted, pulling back, and extended his hand.
“Shake on it,” he said, and it did not sound like a request.
She tentatively extended her hand. Strong, thick fingers wrapped around hers, a calloused, rough palm pressing against her skin. His hand seemed to be at least double the size of hers, and she had the feeling that if he wished, he could snap her bones with just an idle flex of that hand.
It was, quite simply, an entirely novel experience for her. And of course, neither of them was wearing gloves, allowing skin to touch skin. A tingle spread up her arm, almost like pins and needles, but not quite so painful. He released her hand abruptly, and she still felt the tingling sensation.
“Well, then,” Callum said brusquely. “We have a bargain. I’ll hold ye to it, lass.”