Chapter 12
Ashort letter would do, Melody decided. She could explain the details of her case to her sister later, but for now, Victoria only wanted to know that she was safe.
A few lines would do, explaining that she was safe, that she had chosen a betrothal, and that all was well.
She would send off another letter explaining it all.
Victoria would understand, since her own courtship had been… well, unorthodox to say the least.
Not that Melody’s situation was the same. It was not. Theirs was not a courtship, nothing like that. It was simply a… a means to an end.
A punishment, in my case, she thought grimly. For trespassing. A way to avoid going home just yet.
That was an unsettling thought, one that made her stomach plunge. The month would end, Callum would end the betrothal, and send her away. She did not have to go directly home, of course. She could go to Victoria.
And then what? Am I to live on my sister’s charity forever? Am I to be an unwanted spinster, trying to make herself useful wherever she can?
No, that was an unpleasant thought. And what if Papa insisted that Melody should come home? Victoria would not give up her sister, but Papa might have the legal right to bring Melody home. At twenty, she had not yet reached majority, meaning she was under his guardianship.
Victoria, of course, would not give in, but what if Papa didn’t, either?
Oh, her head was swimming. Essentially, at the root of the matter, if Melody did not want to cause trouble and heartache to her loved ones, she had better get married or go home.
There seems to be no comfortable way forward for me now.
No, that wasn’t the right attitude, was it? Sighing, Melody leaned back in the chair, rolling her shoulders. Both the desk and the chair were clearly designed for someone much larger than she was. It was rare that Melody found herself unable to reach the ground with her feet, but here she was.
What will I do if Victoria visits anyway? I hope that she does not, not with her pregnancy being so advanced.
There was no warning before the door opened. No footsteps, no creaking squeal of the hinges. The door was simply open, all of a sudden, and a hulking figure stood in the doorway.
“I should have ken that if anyone was goin’ to break into my study again,” Callum stated coolly, “it would be ye, lass.”
He stepped into the room, closing the door with a backward kick of his heel.
He was damp, to her surprise, and not with sweat.
His hair formed wet curls, hanging around his face, and he wore a loose white shirt over his bare chest. In places, it stuck to his skin.
He smelled strongly of mint and lavender, and she guessed that he had taken a bath recently, perhaps after his sparring session.
The shirt, doubtless thrown on for modesty, was so damp as to be almost translucent.
“It’s almost as rude to stare as it is to break into somebody’s study,” Callum murmured, almost thoughtfully.
Melody reddened, dragging her gaze up from his semi-visible chest. “I hardly broke in. Besides, you are supposed to be my betrothed. It would be rude not to stare.”
He gave a huff of amusement. “A clever retort.”
“And if you must know, the door was open. I did not break in, I… I simply needed somewhere to write my letter. There’s no writing-desk in my room.”
“Nay writing-desk,” he echoed thoughtfully. “Is that somethin’ I should have? Would an ordinary flat surface nae be enough for ye?”
“Well, I needed paper,” she stuttered. “Are you angry?”
“Angry?” he echoed, and gave a short chuckle. “Nay, I’m nae angry. It’s nae the first time ye have entered me study without permission, which is a rule that everybody else in the Keep seems to grasp except ye, lassie.”
Melody reddened further, if indeed that was possible.
She rose gingerly from her seat, backing out from behind the desk.
She came to stand in front of it, unable to shake the impression of being a scolded youth, facing the consequences for her subterfuge.
Callum, for his part, had not shifted at all, beyond stepping into the room and closing the door behind him.
“I had to write a letter to my sister, because she is afraid I have been taken against my will, and is threatening war,” she continued, as firmly as she could. Perhaps now he would understand the urgency of it all.
Callum did not blink. “I imagined their clan might react that way. I cannae blame them. If a sister of mine were in yer situation, I would threaten war, too.”
“Have you one?”
“What?”
“A sister. Do you have a sister?”
A muscle jumped in his cheek. Had she asked the wrong question? Surely not.
“Nay, I daenae. Daenae ask me about me family, if ye please.”
She folded her arms tight across her chest. “I am only being polite. It is polite to enquire about people’s family, you know.”
He snorted. “Perhaps in London, where ye all ask each other the most foolish and trivial things, and daenae care in the slightest what answer ye receive. Here, we save our words for what matters.”
“Oh, is that so?”
“Aye, that’s so.”
“You are insufferable."
“That makes a pair of us, then.”
She gave an incredulous snort. “Do you know, Callum, your behavior would simply not be tolerated in London. One may not speak to ladies in that way there.”
He let out a bark of laughter, lips twisting into what was almost a smile.
“Well, then, let us be grateful that we are nae in London, eh? Now, did ye wish to monopolize me desk in me study for anythin’ else, or can I look forward to bein’ relieved of yer presence anytime soon? There,” he added, with a jerk of his chin. “Is that polite enough for ye?”
Melody sniffed. “That was not polite at all. And yes, I will be leaving now. This letter must be delivered to my sister with all speed.”
He grunted, stepping past her and bending his head to inspect some papers on the desk.
“As ye like.”
Oh, the man was a wretch. Melody felt thoroughly ridiculous for having had that nonsensical dream about him last night. In the cold light of day—not that much light reached the inside of Callum’s study, what with the heavy velvet curtains pulled almost closed—the dream really did seem ridiculous.
She flounced over to the door, already looking forward to stepping out of this strange, dark little room inhabited by an equally strange, dark, large man.
The doorknob twisted, but the door would not open.
Melody flinched, a sudden sensation of unease running down her spine, as if somebody had emptied a pail of ice water onto her head.
The doorknob turned, but when she went to pull the door open, there was a dull internal thunk, and it would not budge.
She spun around, glaring at Callum. He had his back to her now, flicking through a book.
“Did you lock this door?” she demanded. “I don’t see a key.”
His head shot up.
“Lock the door? Of course I did nae. Daenae be a fool.”
She flushed hotly. “Well, then, it is stuck.”
“That door doesnae stick.”
“No? Try it for yourself, and tell me.”
He tossed the book carelessly onto the desk and came striding toward her. Melody stepped aside, gesturing to the door.
Callum did not fare better than she had. Thunk. The door would not open, even when his biceps swelled and flexed, pulling hard enough to make the door creak warningly.
At last, he let go with a ragged exhale.
“It’s locked,” Callum muttered.
“But you said you did not…”
“The key sticks out of the lock on the outside. And now, it is…” he paused, squatting briefly down to peer through the keyhole. “Gone. Somebody came by, locked the door, and took the key.”
“We are locked in? Why? Who would do such a thing?” Melody squeaked. “I don’t understand.”
“I do,” Callum growled, raking a hand through his hair. “Grandmother has done this.”
“Sophie? Surely not.”
“Oh, aye. It’s just the sort of trick she’d pull. She saw that we were in here together and seized her opportunity. She probably hopes that we’ll get to ken each other better.”
He smirked at that, fixing her with a long, intense stare that made her spine prickle. To her horror, Melody felt her cheeks flush again. Oh, to be the sort of woman who didn’t blush at the drop of a hat!
“I do not know what you mean,” she blustered, backing away from the door. “Why would Sophie do that?”
He rolled his shoulders. “I just told ye. She’s probably tired of my entanglements not progressin’ to marriage.”
“Entanglements?”
“All right, that’s the wrong word.”
Melody sniffed. “Have you had many fake betrothals, then?”
She wasn’t entirely sure what sort of response she had wanted to see from Callum. A blustering denial, perhaps, or a slow smile of assent? She was not sure she would have been happy with either response.
In reply, however, Callum simply folded his arms tight, tilted his head, and fixed her with a strange, lopsided kind of smile.
“Jealous?” he enquired sweetly.
He is enjoying this, the wretched creature.
“No, I am not jealous,” Melody snapped. “I barely know you. I have just met you. You can have as many betrothals, real and pretend, as you like, and I could not care less.”
“Could nae care less? That is nae what yer face is sayin’, lass.”
“Oh, hush.”
“Now, I ken ye are nae hushin’ me in me own study, lass.
And ye can say that ye are nae jealous and could nae care less about me betrothals till the cows come home, but that does nae explain why ye were starin’ so fixedly at me durin’ the sparrin’ session.
That was another ploy of me grandmother’s, by the way. ”
Melody’s head shot up. Her cheeks were so red that she was half convinced that her face was going to explode.
“I was not staring!” she gasped. “And it was not a ploy.”