Chapter 14
“…and she’ll need a good cloak, too. A plain one—gray wool will do—and a nicer one in MacDean tartan,” Sophie continued, hobbling up and down in front of the fireplace the following day.
“Anythin’ else, me Lady?” asked the dressmaker, who looked like a slimmer, watery copy of Kat, furiously scribbling. “Perhaps a light shawl for when she isnae strayin’ too far from the keep?”
Sophie nodded. “Aye, good thinkin’.”
Kat stood beside her sister, watching the ever-growing list of dresses and clothing with horror. She glanced at Melody, who looked away, flushing.
“I really don’t need so many new things, Sophie,” Melody mumbled. “I already have two dresses, now—the red gown I wore for the feast, and the green wool one for every day.”
“Ye are a laird’s betrothed,” Sophie responded firmly. “Ye must dress well. Kat wears the same gown every day, and that is fine and practical for a healer. Ye, however, must display an air of splendor. Of power. That’ll nae be achieved by dressin’ plainly.”
Splendor. Power. Even the sound of those words made Melody shrink in her seat.
How on earth was she meant to manage that?
At parties, she put all her effort into avoiding being noticed.
She was simply one of many young women, fading into a crowd, but here…
here she was somebody. The Laird’s betrothed, and potentially the Laird’s wife one day.
Melody did not bother trying to explain all of this. She only smiled weakly and stayed quiet. Sophie dismissed the dressmaker, who scuttled off with her list under her arm. Kat went with her, shooting Melody a brief, tired smile.
“I’ll be back with yer herbal tea in a moment, me Lady,” she added, and closed the door softly behind her.
That left Melody alone with Sophie and Jane, who sat on a stool by the fire, hunched over her sewing.
“You are very kind, commissioning all of those clothes for me,” Melody ventured at last. “But it’s too much. Those dresses, I… they won’t be cheap to make, and I cannot repay you. I know I didn’t bring enough clothes, but we could always send for the rest of my things from London.”
If Papa deigns to send them, that is, she thought wryly, but did not risk saying it aloud.
“That’ll take weeks,” Sophie responded dismissively. “And we want ye to wear good, Scottish clothin’.”
“Even if ye had brought yer own clothes,” Jane pointed out, gesturing at the window, “they’d never be enough to stand up against the Highland weather.”
This was a very good point. Melody imagined that back home in London, everyone was enjoying the pleasant spring weather. In the Highlands, however, the weather changed from day to day, hour to hour in fact. At that moment, the wind rattled against the window, bringing a torrent of sleet with it.
Melody had learned from experience that in the mornings, there was a crust of slippery frost and ice on the cobbles and walkways around the Keep, and the ice could easily last until midday. Did warm weather never come to this place?
Perhaps that’s why it’s so wild and beautiful. London is milder, and its beauty is less breathtaking. Perhaps a place can’t be truly beautiful until nature rakes it.
Melody thought uneasily of her gauzy silk gowns and thin shawls. They’d never last long in this sort of weather, not even to walk from a front door to a carriage. She needed sturdy clothes—good, solid boots, not embroidered slippers, wool dresses instead of muslin and satin, and so on.
“I think you are right,” she admitted. “Thank you, Sophie. You’ve been far kinder than I deserve.”
Sophie shot her a thoughtful look. “And why would ye nae deserve kindness?”
Melody flushed. “I… I didn’t mean that.”
“Nay, I suppose nae,” she murmured. For a moment, nobody spoke. The irregular rattling of wind and sleet against the window broke the silence, mixing in with the crackle of the fire and the rhythmic sound of Jane’s needle breaking through the fabric, drawing thread behind it.
Jane had been there for most of the morning, seeming entirely comfortable and with no intention of moving away.
How on earth am I going to talk privately to Sophie with her here?
Sophie gave a muffled cough, and Melody glanced up to find the old woman hiding a smile.
“Jane,” she said, “I cannae remember whether I asked for a plain gray cloak or a black one. Could ye run after Kat and her sister and ask?”
Jane shot her mistress a tired look. “Aye, me Lady, I will. But if ye want me gone so ye can talk in private, ye could just ask.”
“Thank ye, Jane,” Sophie murmured, offering a wry smile. “Where would I be without ye?”
Jane slipped out of the room, muttering to herself, and closed the door behind her.
For a moment, Melody and Sophie sat in silence.
“I had a feeling that ye wished to speak to me about somethin’,” Sophie said at last. “I have somethin’ to discuss, too. I’ve had nay chance to ask ye how yer conversation with me grandson went. Ye were bold to follow him up into his room.”
Melody sniffed. “I didn’t know it was his bedroom. I’m not usually… bold.”
“I think ye are bolder than ye give yerself credit for.”
For some reason, this felt like the best compliment Melody could remember receiving. She shifted, hiding a smile.
“Well? Come on, then, lass, talk to me. What did he say?” Sophie lowered herself slowly and painfully into her armchair and fixed a hopeful look on Melody.
She let out a long exhale. “He… he said that at the end of the month, we could talk about getting married. It felt like progress.”
“Oh, aye, that’s progress. More progress than I ever made.”
“Tell me, Sophie,” Melody asked hesitantly, leaning forward. “How did you guess that our betrothal was fake?”
Sophie chuckled. “Are ye joking, lass? Ye had been in the keep for what, a day? Two? Then he’s abruptly announcin’ that he’ll marry ye.
I’m nae a fool. Even if I didnae ken me grandson like the back of my hand, I’d guess that it was all a facade.
Callum’s made nay bones about wantin’ to be left alone as regards his remarriage, and as for ye, well.
It’s clear that ye are runnin’ from somethin’. ”
Melody flinched. “What do you mean, it’s clear that I’m running from something? I am not.”
Sophie threw her a wry smile and continued. “Anyway, I watched the two of ye, eyein’ each other and dancin’ uncertainly around. It was clear that ye were all but strangers. There’s somethin’ that draws ye together, though, I’m sure of that.”
She chuckled, tapping the side of her nose conspiratorially.
Melody forced a wan smile and said nothing. This, at least, was not true. She was drawn to Callum, more powerfully than she could have imagined, but it did not seem likely that the feeling was returned. Who would not be entranced by him, with his wild handsomeness and vibrant energy?
She, on the other hand, was a gawky stork of a woman.
A wallflower. Men liked charming, interesting women, not shy creatures with nothing to say for themselves.
She was secretly pleased with how she’d conducted herself in some of their conversations, but sharp retorts and insults were hardly likely to make him enjoy her company.
I simply cannot get the balance right, can I?
“I just don’t understand why you interfered, I suppose,” she said at last. “I’m not criticizing you, of course.”
“Even if ye were,” Sophie shrugged, “ye should nae apologize. Never apologize for an opinion or for curiosity, lass. I did interfere, and I daenae regret it. Perhaps me methods were a wee bit heavy-handed—lockin’ ye in a room together is hardly a new and strikin’ idea, but I stand by it.
I wanted ye to talk to each other, and to connect.
Callum is good at avoidin’ conversations he does nae wish to have. So are ye, I think.”
Melody flushed at that. “I do not avoid… oh, never mind.”
“I tried to push ye and Callum together because I love him,” Sophie stated firmly, meeting Melody’s eye squarely. “I love me grandson. I want him to be happy, and I believe that ye are the one who can make him happy.”
She hadn’t expected Sophie to say such a thing. For a moment, Melody stuttered, trying to get her thoughts collected together.
“But what if I… what if I can’t make him happy? What if I’m not good enough?”
“I would nae worry too much about that. Ye are right for him, lass.”
Melody wasn’t sure if she agreed with that. Or if Callum would agree. Sophie, however, would probably not be swayed.
“Well, that’s kind of you to say,” she said at last. “But what if he does not want me?”
“Do ye think he does nae?”
“I think I irritate him a great deal. He takes great pains to avoid me,” Melody pointed out.
Sophie let out a low, throaty laugh, shaking her head.
“Ye young people have a great deal to learn about desire, I think. It’s only natural, I suppose. When I was yer age… how old are ye, by the way? Nineteen? Twenty?”
“I am twenty.”
“Aye, that seems right. Well, when I was twenty, I had nay clue about the world around me. I could nae have told ye which way was up, or described the color of the sky accurately. Oh, I thought I kent exactly what I was doin’, but how wrong I was.
Ye daenae understand the wrongness, ye see, nae until ye gain a wee bit of age.
” She sighed, shaking her head. “Those days are in the past, though.”
They seemed to be straying away from the subject. Melody cleared her throat uncomfortably, leaning forward.
“Even if Callum was… was drawn to me, what if I do not want him? Then where would your efforts lead us?”
“What do ye mean, lass?”
“Well,” Melody began, shifting. “Perhaps I would rather return home than stay here.”
Sophie was silent for a moment, fixing Melody with a slow, unblinking stare.
“Ye would rather just go back home, eh?” she murmured at last. “That’s nonsense, lass. I kent that from the moment I met ye. Nay delicately bred English lassie who is happy with the life she leads would ever flee her home and come to the keep of a Highland laird with the reputation of a monster.”
“But I wanted…”
“Aye, aye, I’m sure ye thought ye had reasons.
But the plain fact of it, Melody, when the layers of pretense are peeled away, is that ye fled.
Ye fled. Ye ran away from home because whatever yer life was there, ye could nae stand it.
Now, if I believed that ye and me grandson truly could nae stand each other, then I’d advocate for the betrothal to end. But that’s nae the case, is it?”
“Well, I…”
“Tell me plainly, then. Do ye want the betrothal to end, so that ye can return to whatever waits for ye back home? Hm?”
Melody flushed, hanging her head. “No, I don’t want that.
The truth is, when I followed Callum to his room, I hoped to convince him to continue our betrothal.
I suppose that a marriage of convenience would be better than whatever match Papa wants for me.
Here, I feel as though I can be…” she trailed off, groping for the word, but Sophie neatly finished the sentence.
“Free,” the old woman murmured, nodding. “I understand, lass. While I cannae control me grandson, and I daenae pretend to do so, I like ye, Melody, and I think ye would make a fine Lady MacDean.”
“Callum does not want another Lady MacDean.”
“He does nae ken what he wants,” Sophie scoffed. “Daenae fret, lass. All will be well.”
For a moment, just a moment, Melody longed to believe it.
She did believe it. Sophie spoke with such confidence, such ease, that perhaps she was right.
Perhaps the unspoken ache in Melody’s chest would resolve itself.
Perhaps Victoria would come, against all odds, and solve her sister’s problems for her as she had done so many times in the past.
Perhaps Melody would finally discover what it was she wanted, and how her wants connected to her strange betrothed.
“Was there anythin’ else ye wanted to ask me, then?” Sophie asked, almost as an afterthought.
“Actually, yes,” Melody admitted, leaning forward. “Callum said something strange when we were talking. About his wife. He said she—”
A tap on the door made her flinch.
“Enter,” Sophie ordered, her expression turning distant. Melody guessed that the old woman knew what question she was going to ask, and did not want to hear it.
The door inched open, and Lucas stepped inside.
“I thought Kat might still be here,” he said, his face falling.
Sophie sighed. “Nay, lad. She’ll be at the healer’s chambers, and she’ll nae thank ye for an interruption. What did ye come for?”
“Oh, I brought ye this,” he responded, fishing an ornate piece of stiff card, covered in neat, looping copperplate. Sophie took it with an approving grunt.
“Is there anythin’ else, Lucas?”
“Nay, me Lady. I’ll take meself off. Good day to ye both.”
He bowed, retreating from the room and closing the door behind him.
“What’s that, then?” Melody enquired, craning her neck.
“Just the usual invitation,” Sophie responded, handing over the card.
“Every year, the largest village near the Keep throws a festival. There’s food, market stalls, dancing, singing, that sort of thing.
The Keep is nearly empty, with everybody gone.
The Laird and his family are invited, too.
They’ve invited ye too, this year. See, there’s yer name. ”
Sure enough, there was Melody’s name—she was written down as The English Lass, Lady Melody—at the bottom of the card.
“Oh,” she said, pleasantly surprised. “Well, that sounds like a lot of fun.”
An open-air market, with dancing and food? Out in the beauty of the Highlands? Yes, that seemed like a fine excursion indeed. Melody was surprised to feel a fizzle of excitement at the prospect.
“Oh, we’ll nae be goin’,” Sophie responded with a sigh.
At once, her hopes plummeted.
“Not going?” Melody echoed with a frown.
Sophie sighed. “I’m too old, and I cannae recall the last time Callum ventured outside of the Keep walls.”
“Well, that can’t be right. Surely a laird must travel through his lands?”
“He sends Lucas and other trustworthy men, I believe. Although…” Sophie paused, chewing her lower lip and eyeing the invitation. “This festival would be a wonderful way for ye to meet the people of the clan. Aye, the more I think about it, the more I think that perhaps ye should go.”
“I should very much like to go,” Melody answered eagerly. “With Callum, of course.”
“Well, ye cannae,” came a deep voice from the doorway, making them both jump. “Sorry to disappoint, but I am nae goin’ anywhere, lass.”