Chapter 9 #2
There was a silence after he’d spoken. Almost at once, Lucas’ expression stiffened, and he glanced at Callum’s hand, which was clenching at his cup rather tightly.
He did not look at Lucas, and nor did he say anything, but Melody got the impression that Lucas knew he should not continue down this line.
She wanted to ask why Callum would not come with her, and why it should be so obvious that he would not, but perhaps it might get Lucas into trouble, so she kept her lips closed. After a moment, Lucas cleared his throat and moved on to another topic, his voice strained.
“Tell me, then, how did you come to be betrothed to our Laird? He’s nae told us how he proposed, and a few people have asked.”
Melody sighed. “Truly, I don’t know. It just… just happened, I suppose. He simply demanded that we marry, and I felt obliged to agree.”
Lucas gave a splutter of laughter. “He demanded it? Oh, me Laird, that’s a wee bit shockin’, even for ye. Where’s the romance?”
Callum drained a second tankard and set it down with a clack.
“Just a moment, Lucas. Me bride-to-be is a wee bit tired, I think.”
“I’m not tired,” Melody responded, bewildered. Callum rolled his eyes and snatched up her wrist, towing her unceremoniously after him. They crossed the dance floor, causing a few couples to stutter to a halt to avoid knocking into them.
He pushed back a tapestry to reveal a door, just as he had when he’d taken her into the dungeon. For one awful moment, that was where Melody thought they were going.
However, there was no cold, fetid air or a dark staircase behind the door, only a candlelit corridor. He stepped inside, pulling her after him, and closed the door with a slam.
“This is a servant’s corridor,” he said bluntly, jerking his chin at her. “Go along that way, and ye will come out behind a statue just beside the gallery stairs, and ye can climb them to find yer way back to yer room. Ye were shown a room, were ye nae?”
“Yes,” Melody responded, bewildered. “I don’t understand. Are you sending me off?”
“Sendin’ ye off? Aye, I certainly am. What did ye mean by tellin’ Lucas I demanded to wed yet?”
She pressed her lips together. “Well, you did.”
He growled, low in his throat, and took a long step forward. Melody shifted backward and knocked her shoulders against the bare corridor wall. He kept leaning closer, closer still, until the tip of his long nose nearly touched her.
The scent of leather and mint seemed to seep out of him, mixed with ale and the clean tang of sweat. A tingling sort of ache returned again, sweeping through Melody’s chest and plunging deeper inside her.
The ache was, without a doubt, something new. It was he who was causing it, that was for sure. The sensation trickled deeper into her core, almost experimentally, and she twisted her fingers together, tugging hard to distract herself.
“So long as ye are mine,” he growled, slowly and emphatically, “ye will nae embarrass me in front of others. Lucas is nay threat, but other men might repeat things ye say and twist them into somethin’ else. Ye willnae be so eager to dance with other men, either.”
“Why can I not dance with other men?”
“Because ye are me betrothed. I am the clan Laird, and me position is a lofty one. Ye think that others do nae seek to bring me down? And perhaps they will bring me down, but if they do, I’m determined it’ll nae be on account of yer meddlin’ and clumsiness.
So, I’ll say again—as long as ye are mine, daenae embarrass me. ”
Melody curled her fingers into fists. She longed to lean forward and push her face into his, to show that she wasn’t afraid, but if she did that, they would be all but kissing.
No! Don’t think of kissing, you fool!
“I am nae yours,” she managed at last.
He snorted. “Nay? Well, me betrothed, then.”
“That’s a little better. And as for embarrassing you, well, I only spoke the truth. If anything, you are the one who embarrassed me, dragging me out of the Hall as if I were a naughty child.”
“If ye daenae wish to be treated like a naughty child, then daenae act like one.”
Now it was her turn to growl in frustration. “You are not serious.”
“Oh, I’m deadly serious, lass. While ye are in me keep, under me rule, ye will behave. Ye will do as I say. Oh, and one more thing—try and avoid laughin’ with other men, will ye? It’s nae becomin’ of Laird MacDean’s bride.”
Oh, he was insufferable. Melody bit her lower lip hard enough to taste copper and leaned forward just a few inches so that the tips of their noses brushed before he moved back. She felt his breath, warm and tickling, drift over her chin.
“Well, who else am I to laugh with, if Laird MacDean refuses to even smile?”
He stared back at her, face unmoving, for a long moment. Then, quick as a flash, his hand shot forward, fingers curling around her chin. She gave a squeak of alarm, finding that she could not easily jerk her face away. His grip was not bruising, but it was firm.
“Daenae toy with me, lassie,” he breathed. His eyes were very wide and dark in the gloom. His fingers were cool, and when he parted his lips, the tip of his tongue flicked out, diving into the corner of his mouth and then retreating again. Melody found herself tracing the movement, transfixed.
He’s going to kiss me, she thought wildly. Why else would he bring his face so close to mine?
She could not manage a snappy retort of any kind, and indeed only gave a faint, breathy sort of squeak.
What will I do if he kisses me?
A respectable lady, of course, would pull back at once. She would retreat from the situation and probably tell her mama or papa, even if it was her betrothed.
But perhaps a respectable lady would not feel a rhythm, hot pulsing of want in her chest, curling downward from around her heart right to the meeting of her thighs, a powerful tug that made her shiver and swallow hard.
No, that was not a feeling that any Proper London Lady would encounter.
Callum’s gaze sharpened, darkening. His fingers shifted on her chin.
And then there was a burst of stifled laughter in the distance, and the sound of approaching footsteps.
At once, Callum released her and stepped back, putting space between them. Melody let out a ragged gasp, suddenly aware that she’d been holding her breath altogether.
“Go to yer room,” Callum ordered shortly. Without waiting for her reply, he turned on his heel and strode back through the narrow doorway, leaving her alone in the corridor.