Chapter 15
Sophie flinched when Callum spoke and gave a squawk of rage.
“If ye daenae stop sneakin’ into rooms, lad, I swear…” she snapped, glowering at him. “I’ll…”
“Ye will what, Grandmother?” Callum shot back with a wry smile. “What will ye do?”
“I’ll throw somethin’ at yer head!”
“Ye will miss.”
“Daenae count on it,” she muttered darkly.
Callum bit back a smile, shaking his head. He turned to face Melody, who was sitting very still on a low stool, watching him curiously.
Not for the first time, he found himself wishing he knew what was going on in her head. Those eyes of hers, so large and thoughtful and expressive, haunted his dreams.
Does she think of me? Does she think of our kiss?
Callum had thought of the kiss. More often than was good for him. He had played the scene over and over in his head, his mind reeling. Despite his attempts to force himself to regret it, he could not quite manage it.
“I imagine Lucas brought ye the invitation from the townsfolk,” he stated, mostly to distract himself from his own churning thoughts. “Will ye refuse again, Grandmother?”
She nodded. “I must. Fun as it sounds, I am too old and frail for a festival. Melody wants to go, however. With ye,” she added.
He sighed. “As I said, I cannae do that.”
“Why not?” Melody asked at once. Callum silently cursed her and her curiosity.
“Because I have work which keeps me here,” he responded after a beat. “I serve me people best by acting like a laird, nae by eatin’ and dancin’ like I have nay care in the world.”
She frowned. “Don’t you fear that you’ll miss out?”
“Miss out on what?”
“I don’t know. Fun?”
“I daenae have time for fun. There’s nothin’ I need that I cannae find safely within the walls of the keep. It’s safe here, and if ye will take my advice, ye will stay here.”
Briefly, Callum imagined saddling up his horse and riding out through the steel portcullis guarding the keep doors. He imagined a vast, endless expanse of sky, pulling back so high that there was no beginning or end, just all that space, pressing down and smothering him…
He swallowed thickly. Elsie had loved open spaces. Loved to ride across rolling hills, loved to spread out her arms under the ceiling of the sky. She said once that she felt smothered behind the keep walls.
And look at where that got her, he thought bitterly.
Aloud, he said, “I only came to check on ye, Grandmother, to be sure that ye got yer invitation. The villagers daenae expect ye to attend, but they’ll be hurt if ye did nae at least see yer invitation. That’s all. I’ll let ye get on with yer day, then.”
He turned on his heel and strode back out into the hallway. It wasn’t much of a surprise to hear trotting footsteps following him.
“Slow down, you walk fast enough to make me run,” Melody complained.
He sighed. “Perhaps ye should nae be followin’ me, then.”
“I wanted to talk to you.”
“So I gathered. What is it?”
He slowed down, just a little, so that she could catch up. It wouldn’t look good if he strode along the hallways with his betrothed scuttling breathlessly behind him.
Melody caught up with a sigh of relief, and he glanced curiously down at her.
She was wearing yesterday’s green wool gown, a demure color which suited her very well.
She’d done her hair simply, wound back in a braid and left to hang down her back.
He found himself struggling with the urge to reach out and take it, letting the glossy braid rest heavily across his fingers.
He clenched his hands into fists to wrestle back the urge. Now wasn’t the time, not by a long shot.
By the time our betrothal is at an end, she’ll be glad to leave this place. And me. Nay sense getting’ attached, is there? This is for the best in the end, after all. She’ll understand, sooner or later. I’m nae for her. She’s nae for me. I have decided nae to wed again, and I have good reasons.
“I thought that this festival would be a fine opportunity for us to present ourselves to the people,” she said at last, peering up into his face.
“Present ourselves?” he echoed, highly amused. “This is nae the English court, lass. The people already ken me, and I ken them.”
“Well, they don’t know me,” Melody countered. “And if we do end up marrying, then—”
“Look,” he stopped dead, turning to face her. “To be sure, I said we could talk about marriage at the end of this. That’s nae a promise. It was… well, honestly, I just said it to shut ye up. Daenae pin yer hopes on it.”
She flushed. “I see. Well, there’s a chance, isn’t there? I might end up being Lady MacDean, and if that happens, people will want to know who I am. This festival is a good opportunity for us to—”
“There’s nay us,” he interrupted. “I am nae goin’ to that festival.”
“Don’t you think your people would appreciate seeing you?”
“I think they ought to appreciate bein’ well-fed and kept safe from war. They can appreciate the economic stability and peace I’ve provided for them.”
“And you think that’s all that matters?”
He blinked at him, bewildered. “What else is there?”
Melody shrugged. “They want someone to believe in, too.”
“Careful, lass. Ye are startin’ to sound just like my councilors, and I’m nae very fond of any of them.”
She reddened. “So that’s it, then? You won’t come to the festival?”
“I’m afraid nae. Does this upset ye?”
She placed her hands on her hips, scowling up at him. “Well, a little! I didn’t think, when I came here, that I would never stir outside the keep. I didn’t imagine that I would be a prisoner!”
With impeccable timing, a pair of servants, a man and a woman, appeared from a narrow doorway, talking and laughing. The chatter trailed away when they spotted Callum and Melody standing in the middle of the hallway, glaring at each other.
It struck Callum then just how close he was standing to the wretched lass. Of course, he could always step back, but that would give the impression that he was somehow guilty or had done something wrong. In any case, he was Laird MacDean, and Laird MacDean did not back away from anything.
The two servants hurried past, shooting curious glances at them as they went by. Once he was fairly confident they were out of earshot, Callum risked speaking again.
“Ye are nae a prisoner,” he said firmly, as calmly as he could manage. “If ye want to go to that festival, fine. Take Kat and some of the guards, and go anywhere ye want. It’s as simple as that.”
“I don’t need to be seen with your guards,” she retorted hotly. “They are not important to me.”
“And nor will I be.”
She blushed at that. She blushed often, he noticed again. With her smooth, soft white skin, it was apparent that she’d spent her life in a mild, temperate clime, wrapped in soft fabrics and shielded from sun and wind alike, kept out of the rain and given soft featherbeds to sleep upon.
A familiar twinge of desire tightened in Callum’s chest. He imagined running his fingertips over that deliciously soft skin.
Not now, ye fool.
“I’m sorry to disappoint ye,” he said at last. “But I will stay here, in the keep. Everythin’ that must be done for me clan can be done from here.”
“It’s not about practicality,” she responded, frowning. “It’s about… oh, I don’t know. Don’t you want to go to the festival? Doesn’t it sound fun?”
“Nay, it does nae,” he answered, without missing a beat. “Listen, I have things to do.”
“So you are dismissing me, then?” she responded, quick as a flash.
He heaved a sigh. “I am goin’ to the stables. Come if ye like, but the offer is only because ye will go back and complain to me grandmother about me, and then she will complain to me.”
“Stables?” Melody echoed, a little tentative. “I am not very fond of horses.”
“Don’t come, then,” he shot back, and set off at a brisk walk. A moment later, he heard her scuttling after him. For some reason, that made him smile, though he dared not wonder why.
They strode across the courtyard, ducking their heads against the blur of rain and sleet driven by the wind.
Melody trotted at his side, her shoulders hunched.
People watched her curiously as she went by.
Everybody knew, of course, that she was the strange English girl who was betrothed to Callum, but her appearance still occasioned stares.
What had she said before, about horse riding? Sidesaddle, that was it. How strange, only to have learned sidesaddle. That wasn’t a proper way to ride. How could one properly learn to control a horse? No wonder she was terrified of falling.
The hulking stable building loomed out of the gray veil of rain, a lantern left burning by the doorway. The stables were older than the keep itself, built before the first Laird MacDean built himself and his household a good castle to wrestle inside.
Ducking his head, Callum stepped into the dark, animal-warmth of the building. Countless animals shifted and huffed, moving in their stalls, munching hay, stretching and scratching, and eyeing him curiously.
Behind him, Melody stumbled in out of the rain. She seemed to have shrunk, somehow, on their walk here.
“Ye should stand up straight,” he heard himself say. “Ye hunch over like ye are ashamed of yer height. Ye ought nae to do that.”
She blinked up at him. “I’m too tall for a woman.”
“Too tall? There is nay such thing. A person’s height is nae a thing they can control. Why should ye be too tall?”
She uttered a short laugh. “Oh, really? Well, can you imagine me, draped in silks and lace, doused in perfume, with my hair curled, at some fine London party? Can’t you imagine me towering above all the other girls?
Tall beauties are in fashion, as long as they aren’t taller than the men.
And willowy figures are preferred. I always looked like a fool, and I was laughed at for it.
I am too…” she trailed off, gesturing helplessly at her own curved shape. “I do not fit,” she finished at last.