Chapter 6
“Stay here,” Callum ordered sharply. “Me grandmother is in that room. Go in, and I’ll come back and collect ye later. Daenae get into trouble.”
He strode off before Melody could demand to know just what sort of trouble he considered her likely to get herself into.
Perhaps that was for the best. She stood outside the door Callum had led her to, and watched him hurry away. He didn’t look back, even once. A twist in the hall hid his broad-shouldered figure from view, and then she was really alone.
How on earth has all of this happened? Melody wondered, heart pounding.
“Well, lass, are ye comin’ in, or will ye just stand at the door, gawkin’ like a simpleton?” came an amused voice from inside.
Letting out a slow breath, Melody stepped inside.
Lady Sophie huddled up before the fire, well wrapped in blankets and furs. She glanced up at Melody, and her wrinkled old face broke into a smile.
“What did ye think of Angus Matheson?” she asked wryly.
“I… I thought that he seemed a very dutiful sort of man,” Melody managed. “He didn’t seem pleased about the betrothal.”
Sophie’s eyes widened. “Betrothal?”
Color rushed into Melody’s face. “Y-Yes, the betrothal. Callum and I are betrothed. Forgive me, did you not know? I ought to have kept quiet. Callum should have told you himself, I only…”
“Calm yerself, lass,” Sophie responded, waving a hand. “My grandson is a clever man, with a mind of his own. I daenae expect him to defer to me as though he were a child. He’s the Laird of our clan, and he does as he pleases. I take it that a feast is bein’ arranged?”
“Yes, I believe so.”
Sophie nodded, gesturing to a low footstool beside her chair.
Melody sank into it, wrapping her arms around her knees.
The fire crackled, flames jumping merrily up the chimney.
There was an almost hypnotic quality to the shifting fire, something that drew her in and made her begin to feel strangely sleepy.
The crackling sound filled her ears, and she leaned forward, eyes drifting closed.
“Ye slept poorly, I take it?” Sophie said, her amused voice cutting into Melody’s thoughts.
Jerking awake, Melody straightened, swallowing.
“Yes, I am tired. My Lady, I wonder if I might ask you some questions. I find this situation strange, to say the least.”
“It is unusual,” Sophie agreed. “Plain Sophie will do, by the way. I imagine all of this is very different from the English society and social mores ye are used to, aye?”
“Oh, certainly. Although, of course, I can’t call myself an expert on English society. Far from it.”
“And why’s that?”
Melody hadn’t expected to be called out so bluntly on this matter. Back home, statements were not contradicted. It was rude to contradict or question. One had to be careful in the way one placed one’s words. There was a circular way of doing things, and directness was, quite frankly, vulgar.
“I… I’m something of a wallflower,” Melody managed at last. “I’m not at all like my sister.
She is forward and confident, and afraid of nothing.
I imagine girls often think their elder sister is both fearsome and wonderful, but in my case, it really does seem true.
I used to follow her around balls and parties, and let her speak for me.
Now that she is gone, I find that I cannot speak for myself.
It’s a strange situation, and I do not like it. ”
“Wallflower,” Sophie responded thoughtfully. “Ye mean that ye are shy?”
“Yes. I don’t have much of a turn of phrase.”
“Turn of phrase,” Sophie snorted, shifting.
“Well, nor does Callum. He’s nay poet or wordsmith, and nor does he need to be.
Fine words are all very well, but at the end of the day, a word is just that.
A word. Anybody who says that words are more powerful than actions had never been struck over the head with a hammer and told to compare it to a well-chosen insult. ”
Melody considered this. “Perhaps so, but a well-chosen insult will sting long after the pain of the hammer blow has faded.”
Sophie shot her a long, amused look. “Well, now, a wallflower couldnae be as sharp as that. Ye do yerself a disservice, lass. I imagine that it’s easy enough to fade into obscurity in a crowded London ballroom.
The wild Highlands of Scotland, however, are a different thing altogether.
Now, I ought to offer ye a tour, but me old joints are nae what they were, and I daenae like to walk far.
But ye must have questions, so ask me whatever ye like. ”
Melody thought for a moment. She had the sense that the old woman would run out of patience relatively quickly, so perhaps it would be best to start with her most pressing questions. Not the most pressing, as offending the woman would do no good.
I shall start in the middle, then.
“Does Callum have a scar over his heart?” she asked aloud, tapping the place below her own collarbone.
She didn’t mention the pamphlet picture, and the raised, knotted scar drawn onto the strange wolf-man there.
At the time, it had seemed like a strange detail to include.
Was it meant to imply that he had been staked once, as if he were a monster, only to survive the process?
She suspected that Sophie was very wrong about the power of words, as the words written beneath Callum’s picture still remained etched in her mind.
Kinslayer. What a terrible accusation. An old and vicious term. Deeper than calling someone a murderer, somehow.
“What a strange question,” Sophie chuckled, pulling her shawl more tightly around herself. “Aye, he does. I’ll nae tell ye the story of each and every one of his scars, mind ye. Those stories are for him to tell, and besides, I daenae ken the half of them.”
“I see. He seems rather stern, doesn’t he?”
Sophie cocked her head. “Aye, he’s a grim man. He wasnae always such, however.”
“What do you mean?”
She sighed. “It’s a long story, lass. Long, complicated, and painful. I’ll save him the pleasure of explainin’ himself to ye.”
“And what if he doesn’t?”
“Hm?”
“What if he doesn’t explain himself to me?”
Sophie watched her carefully, eyes sharp in the reflected firelight.
“I’ll nae ask for details of yer betrothal,” she said suddenly, changing the subject.
“I ken me grandson well enough to say that things are usually nae as they seem with him. In my experience, the fewer questions one asks, the better. It’s always more enlightenin’ to find things out yerself, and I am very good at findin’ things out. ”
This seemed very pointed. Melody eyed the older woman warily. Was there some point she was missing here?
Questions, she reminded herself. This is not a Society ball. You cannot press yourself into a corner and wait until it’s time to leave. You must take action. That is what Victoria would do. Victoria saved herself, didn’t she? She would know what to do in this situation.
Yes, Victoria would probably have charmed Lady Sophie and half of the Keep within a day of arriving, and certainly wouldn’t have been fool enough to agree to a pretend betrothal to a man like him.
“Callum said he was married before.” she burst out, without quite knowing when she had decided to ask that question.
Sophie heaved a long sigh. “Aye, lass, he was. Once, years ago.”
Now this was interesting. Melody leaned forward, trying and failing to catch the old woman’s eye. Sophie stared thoughtfully into the flames, not seeming to see the fire at all. She was looking beyond, somehow, at something else in her mind that only she could see.
“And… and what became of it?” Melody stammered when no further explanation seemed to be forthcoming.
Sophie glanced narrowly at her. “It ended in the way that most marriages do.”
“What about…”
“This is a tiresome subject for me, lass. Is there anything else ye would like to ken?”
Melody swallowed. So the mysterious wife will not be discussed, then.
Perhaps he had his heart broken once, by some charming and fiercely beautiful Scottish woman.
Yes, that seems the most likely. Maybe she died from a terrible cold.
Scotland’s weather was very different to England’s after all.
Or maybe she ran off with a trusted friend of Callum’s, though that seems highly unlikely.
Still, that would explain why he’s so set on never marrying again.
“In England, there are sometimes… pamphlets,” she began carefully.
Sophie lifted her graying eyebrows. “Pamphlets? Oh, the horror. Spare me yer tales of terror, lass, as I am but a feeble old woman.”
Melody reddened. “I don’t mean… No, I only mean to say that I read a pamphlet which depicted Laird MacDean as…
as a monster. It was a nasty, silly caricature, and rather cruel.
But I could not help but wonder where it had come from.
The accusations in the pamphlet were… serious.
I am sure it is mostly lies, of course, but I did wonder where it had all come from.
Why is he perceived as such a monster? What has he done? ”
There was a long moment of silence after that. Sophie did not move a muscle. She sat very still, staring at the fire, and a deep furrow appeared between her brows. Without her face seeming to have moved at all, her expression had turned from open and genial to decidedly displeased.
I should not have said that, Melody thought, her heart sinking. Have I alienated my only ally in this place?
Abruptly, Sophie let out a bark of pain, so sudden it made Melody jump. The old woman leaned forward, face twisted in a grimace, and clutched at her right knee.
“Ach, it hurts,” she choked out.
Melody got to her feet, looking around wildly. “Where is Jane? Or the Laird? You require help.”
“It’s only me old joints. This knee… Ah, never get old, lass. Nay need to bother them. Run to the healer’s chambers and say that Lady Sophie’s knee is givin’ her pain again. They’ll ken what to do.”
“The healer’s chambers?” Melody stammered. “A physician, then?”