Chapter 13 #2
“Ye heard me. And before ye even try, nay, I willnae satisfy yer curiosity on this subject. I daenae care to dredge up my wife’s memory, or anything that happened in that time. The truth of the matter is that I am nae good for ye, lassie. Surely, ye must see that. Just… Just go home.”
“I think it is you who does not understand,” Melody replied, swallowing down her shock and surprise over this revelation.
“I’ll be ruined. I should not have come here, but I think perhaps I was searching for an escape.
Anyway, with the news of our betrothal all over the Highlands, followed by Sophie’s account of how we shared a kiss in such a private space, I will never recover my reputation.
Nor will you, in fact,” she added, although she had a sneaking feeling that he would not care much about that.
Callum grunted. “If ye are speakin’ of yer brother-in-law bringin’ his clan against me, let me assure ye that I daenae care about it.”
“That is not what I meant. I wrote a letter to Victoria telling her that I am safe, so you shouldn’t expect a declaration of war anytime soon. But even if my brother-in-law does not attack, Callum, society certainly will. I won’t be able to show my face in London.”
He scoffed. “Did ye nae think of this before ye came?”
She threw up her hands. “No, I did not! I did not expect to be marshalled into an engagement, for one thing. I was going to slip in, draw your liking, slip out, and then visit my sister. None of this was meant to happen. But it has happened, and now cannot be undone.”
He abruptly turned away, stamping back to the fireplace. Snatching up his half-whittled log, he sat down heavily on a stool.
“Yer society troubles daenae concern me,” he responded shortly.
“I shall die alone and impoverished!”
“Daenae be so dramatic.”
“I am not dramatic. I am telling you that if I return to London with my reputation in tatters, nobody will want me. Nobody. I have few enough friends, but those with any sense will drop me. I won’t be invited to any parties.
Nobody will want to be seen with me. Nobody will want me, Callum.
I can tell that you do not particularly want me either, but… ”
“Oh, is that so?” he muttered, leaning over the log and applying the blade. A thin curl of wood peeled away, falling to the ground in a long, supple spiral. “Goodness, lass, ye certainly do ken everythin’, eh?”
She lifted up her chin. “I don’t appreciate your sarcasm.”
“I didnae use it for yer appreciation.”
“Well, then, can you at least help me understand why you are so dead set on not marrying me? If our betrothal were to be a serious thing, then perhaps it would be a good thing for us both.”
“A good thing for ye, perhaps.”
“For us both,” she repeated sternly. “Now, perhaps I am not as pretty as some of the other Keep ladies… heavens, I’m considered quite a plain thing in society, but—”
“Plain?” he interrupted, an edge coming into his voice. The blade stilled, and he lifted his head, cool eyes finding hers. He stared at her, not even blinking, and Melody found herself unable to look away. “I daenae care to hear ye speak of yerself like that.”
She sniffed. “Well, it’s true.”
He pointed the little knife at her, the point glinting. “Ye willnae talk about yerself in those terms. Nae in me hearin’. Do ye understand?”
“I understand,” she echoed, blinking in confusion. Why on earth did he care how she described herself?
“I have told ye before,” he continued, returning to his whittling, “I daenae wish to marry. I have me reasons, and they are good reasons.”
“That’s just it, you see,” Melody whispered, risking a step forward.
“You don’t wish to marry, but nor do I. If we married, we could form the sort of marriage that suits us both.
I came here because I was fleeing the marriage my father was arranging for me.
I did not have the power to refuse. You do, but you are constantly nagged by your grandmother and counselors about marriage.
Neither of us is happy. If we marry, we can kill two birds with one stone, but we do not need to enter into a more traditional marriage. It’s perfect!”
“Is it?” he muttered.
“We could make it work,” she added eagerly. “We could be free.”
“Free? Freedom is a fine concept, but it’s a rare thing to find in reality,” he responded tightly. “I have never ken a free person. I myself am nae free. I tell ye what, lass. Listen well, as I’ll nae be repeatin’ this.”
Melody held her breath, biting the inside of her cheek hard enough to make it sting. In her head, the same words revolved, again and again.
I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to go home.
Other thoughts bombarded her, mostly uneasy conjecture regarding Callum’s wife. He said that she had taken her own life, which meant that the kinslayer accusation could not be about that.
Or could it? He freely confessed that she had taken her life because of him. Had he driven her to it? Was he a cruel husband?
No, Melody thought at once. He is not a cruel man. Whatever flaws he has, he is not cruel.
I hope I am not wrong about this.
“At the end of our month of betrothal,” Callum continued, slicing off an entire corner of the wood, “we’ll revisit this. If ye still want us to wed, we’ll talk about it then.”
That was better than Melody could have hoped for.
“Thank…” she began eagerly, but he waved the knife at her again, gesturing for silence.
“I daenae expect to see ye, lass,” Callum continued, his voice hard and his eyes even harder. “We’re nae courtin’. We’ll nae eat together or take romantic walks or spend time together, do ye understand? I daenae expect to see ye at all.”
“But…”
“Nay. Nay buts. Agree now, or I’ll send ye away today.”
She bit her lip, swallowing the dozen retorts that had jumped to her mind.
“I agree,” Melody responded meekly.
He grunted. “Good. Now, out ye get. Leave me to me privacy.”
Melody wanted to grin. This was not a promise, of course, she wasn’t foolish enough to believe that it was, but it was the first time that Callum had even entertained the idea of their false betrothal turning into a marriage. It was progress.
For the first time, she began to hope that perhaps she would not have to go home.
“Your carving looks very good,” she added, shuffling toward the stairs. A little flattery might go a long way.
He grunted again, not even glancing at her. “I have nay idea even what it will be, yet.”
She frowned. “It’s a horse.”
His head rose slowly. “What?”
She pointed. “See, there’s the curve of the neck, and I can see the shape taking form.
I think perhaps you have known all along what you were carving.
It’s a horse, but I can’t decide whether it’s the sort of child might play with or an adult’s ornament.
Either way, I cannot wait to see it when it is finished. ”
She gave him an encouraging smile and began to clamber back down the steep steps, leaving him to stare at the wooden horse, half emerging from its wooden bed.