Chapter 9
Melody’s head was spinning.
Father-in-law? Wife? Kinslayer?
Callum did not appear to notice her shock.
He dragged her across the crowded feast hall to where a large space was left for dancing.
A handful of couples glided gracefully in meandering circles.
It reminded Melody more of the restrained, dignified dances at London balls than of the wild, joyful ceilidh dancing Victoria described in her letters.
“What happened to her?” she gasped, trying to pitch her voice above the hubbub.
Callum ignored her. They reached the center of the space, and he swung her around to face him.
Caught off guard, she staggered, bumping against him.
She threw up a hand to steady herself and found herself clutching at the swell of his chest. Muscle flinched under her touch.
Red-faced, Melody snatched her hand away.
Callum did not even blink. He sighed heavily, rolled his eyes, clamped one arm around her waist, pulled her against him again, and seized her free arm with his other hand.
“Keep yer voice down,” he murmured, voice low and scratchy. “She’s dead. I’m a widower and free to marry. Nae that we are getting’ married,” he added, dropping his voice so it was no louder than a breath. “So perhaps ye can remember that when ye throw questions at me, eh?”
Melody swallowed, trying and failing to push down the lump that had formed in her throat. A single, terrible word kept rotating in her mind.
Kinslayer. Kinslayer. Kinslayer.
“How did she die?” Melody blurted out. “Your wife, I mean. What happened to her?”
There was a long, terrible silence.
“Ye are askin’ if I killed her, are ye nae?” Callum said at last, his voice tight and a little distant. There was a simmering undertone there, something like fury.
Melody wondered if she could yank her wrist free from his grasp if she needed to. Probably not.
“I am accusing you of nothing,” she said at last.
Callum gave a tight, brittle smile, more of a baring of the teeth than anything else.
“See that ye daenae. I daenae wish to speak of me late wife with ye, do ye understand? Think what ye like of me, but I’ll nae have their memory dug up and pored over to satisfy the curiosity of others who daenae understand. Do ye take my meanin’?”
Melody nodded. It seemed the wise thing to do.
Their memory?
“I understand.”
“Good,” he shot back, and they danced on in silence.
They weren’t really dancing, in all truth.
It was more of an awkward shuffle around the dancing floor space, tangled in each other’s arms. Melody’s feet itched to dance properly, but she had a feeling that nobody here would know how to dance the cotillion.
So, until she learned those charming and exciting-looking jigs and reels, she would have to be content with this.
I doubt I could concentrate on any steps more complicated than this, not now, she thought briefly, nibbling her lower lip.
Her head was still reeling. And what had he meant when he told her that he would not have their memory dug up and pored over?
Was it perhaps a slip of the tongue? Perhaps he was referring to the memories he’d shared with his wife.
She glanced up at him and found that he was staring fixedly above her head, eyes steely and jaw set.
A muscle jumped in his cheek. In fact, he didn’t look at all like a man mired in memory.
It didn’t seem at all as if he were lost in bittersweet remembrances, nor did he look like a grieving widower, in truth.
No, he looked angry.
The music ended with a jolt, and there was scattered applause. Melody was relieved to stop their awkward shuffling, but when Callum released her hand and stepped back, she felt cold, somehow. The weight of his arm on her waist still tingled, even though he’d released her.
Other couples eyed them uncomfortably, clearly unsure of the procedure.
Callum seized Melody by the hand, tugging her against him once more. She thumped against him and gave a quiet little oof.
“I wish you’d stop dragging me around like a ragdoll,” she muttered sourly, allowing him to lead her back into the crowd.
“Well, if ye would stay by me side like a good little bride-to-be, perhaps I wouldnae have to,” he shot back. “Come, the councilors will want to meet ye. Make no mention of me wife, or of what Thomas said, do ye understand?”
Melody nodded tightly. Her goal now was to get the wretched evening over with.
Sophie and Kat must be here, surely, but she could not see them. Lucas appeared, however, and smiled at her. It was good to see a familiar face.
“If ye are takin’ her to see the councilors, ye neednae bother,” Lucas murmured. “They’ve gotten a good look at her. Nobody will voice any complaints, but I daenae think they approve. She’s English, so they’d never be happy.” He glanced down at Melody and winced. “I am sorry.”
She shrugged. “I’m not sure I mind that very much. I don’t know these men, and so why should I care what they think of me?”
As she spoke, she was surprised to find that it was true.
Besides, I’m not actually going to stay here, am I?
“Well, good for ye, lass,” Lucas responded, visibly surprised. Then he smiled and offered his hand. “Ye must dance with me, Lady Melody.”
Melody brightened. She imagined that dancing with Lucas might be a little livelier than with Callum.
“I should like that, thank you.”
Feeling eyes on her, she glanced up to find Callum staring balefully at her.
Oh, heavens. What have I done wrong now?
“She’s got spirit, Callum, I’ll give her that.” Lucas laughed in response to his friend’s glare.
“Ye will give her nothin’,” Callum shot back testily. “Can ye bring us some drinks, Lucas? I need one, and so does she.”
Lucas nodded, dropping his hand, and slipped away into the crowd. Callum let out a ragged breath, placing his hands on his hips.
“You’re angry,” Melody said, after a moment. “Is it because the councilors aren’t happy?”
“Aye, it’s that,” Callum muttered. “I work my damned fingers to the bone for this clan. I bleed for me people, and yet the council is never quite satisfied. Nothin’ is ever good enough. They demand that I find a bride, so I produce an heir. Now they say she must be Scottish.”
He shot a quick sideways glance at Melody and lifted an eyebrow.
“I daenae mean to offend ye, of course,” he added pointedly. “Ye cannae help nae bein’ Scottish. Nobody is perfect.”
“Certainly not you,” she responded sweetly. “And you needn’t worry about me. I’m not upset, and I’m not hurt. Frankly, I could not care less about your councilors’ opinions. Introduce me to them, and I’ll tell them myself.”
Callum gave a sharp chuckle. Melody blinked, surprised at herself. Where had such bold words come from? Had she momentarily possessed by the spirit of a clever, sharp society beauty?
It’s him, she thought briefly. I am bold when I am around him. Heaven only knows why. If I had any sense, I would be less forthright around Callum, not more so.
There was no time to reflect on this, since Lucas appeared at that moment with a tray of drinks. Callum clicked his tongue, shaking his head at the tankards of ale.
“Ye ought to have brought wine for her, man. Delicately nurtured English beauties only drink wine, nae ale or whiskey.”
“I can drink ale!” Melody insisted, and to prove her point, snatched up the nearest tankard and took a long gulp.
It was much less sweet than the wines she was used to, and the foam sizzled in her mouth. She choked, but mostly managed to force down the mouthful, and shot a triumphant glance at Callum.
His eyebrows flickered.
“I stand corrected,” he responded calmly, and picked up his own tankard, draining it easily in one long gulp.
She decided not to try to imitate him and took a more demure sip of her own drink. She noticed that Lucas didn’t offer to dance again. And he was looking between her and the Laird with a rather amused expression.
“I was thinkin’, Lady Melody, we ought to keep a horse for ye in the stables,” Lucas suggested, though his eyes remained on Callum, as if he was expecting his reaction. “Are ye fond of ridin’?”
She pulled a face. “Nae particularly. I’m nae very graceful, and I’m terrified of fallin’.”
“Why should ye be afraid of fallin’?” Callum responded, frowning. “Just squeeze the horse with yer legs. Ye’ll nae fall.”
A flush colored her cheeks. “Well, of course, I don’t sit like that on the horse. I use a sidesaddle, of course.”
She imagined it, just for a minute. If she were seen in London with her thighs astride a horse, her reputation would never recover. It simply wasn’t proper for a woman to sit with her legs so… so very open.
“What on earth are ye talkin’ about?” Callum responded, breaking unceremoniously into her thoughts. “Why would ye nae learn how to ride properly?”
“I did learn to ride properly.”
“Sidesaddle is nae a proper way of ridin’. Ye cannae go fast enough, cannae grip correctly, and the poor horse will nae ken what ye want it to do. If ye wish to ride perched sideways on a horse’s spine, then do as ye must, but at least learn properly first.”
“It hardly matters,” Lucas chimed in hastily, glancing between them.
“I’m sure I can find a saddle that’ll suit ye, Lady Melody.
And I can go out ridin’ with ye, if ye like.
” Melody found his tone rather suspicious.
And why would he be looking at Callum when he was talking to her?
Was he teasing the Laird about their little fake betrothal?
If so, he was much braver than she thought any man could be.
“Won’t he insist upon coming with me?” Melody asked, nodding toward Callum.
“Nay, he will nae come, of course. He hardly has time to have fun,” Lucas laughed.