Chapter 17
Well, I’m in more trouble than I expected, now, Melody thought dizzily, trying and failing to scream for help around the dirty palm pressed against her lips. The man shoved her forward, and she stumbled, nearly tripping on her hem.
It was as if they’d fallen back into a separate world, where it was dark and cold, and the muffled sounds of chatter and music seemed almost taunting instead of alluring.
“I was only goin’ to ask ye to dance,” the man hissed. “But now I think ye need to be taught a lesson.”
He released her arm, but before Melody could do anything to defend herself—not that a slap would do much, but it would be better than doing nothing—he snatched her braid and yanked hard, preventing her from darting away.
“I meant what I said, though,” the man sneered. “Ye are a pretty wee thing, there’s nay denying that. A bit tall, but never mind that, eh?”
Melody twisted, ignoring the stabbing pain in her scalp, and pulled herself away. The braid came undone, leaving the drunk with a handful of her hair dangling from his fingers. She gasped for breath, wiping the back of her hand across her mouth.
“You’re going to be sorry you did that,” she wheezed.
The man looked uncertain, just for a brief minute.
“I wouldnae shout for help if I were ye. It’ll nae look good for ye, standin’ in a dark clearin’ with a man.”
She made to dash away, but he seized her wrist again, his fingers tightening until she gave a yelp of pain.
“Let go of me!”
“Nah, lass, this isnae over. I’ll say that ye lured me here,” he added, eyes brightening with inspiration. “And they’ll believe me. Yer betrothed will believe me. Nobody believes the woman in cases like these.”
“I wouldnae be so sure of that.”
A deep, familiar voice cut through the darkness around them. Melody sucked in a breath. She was perfectly placed to see the drunkard’s eyes widen in panic. His fingers tightened on her wrist.
A twig cracked in the undergrowth, and a shadow-man detached himself from the darkness.
He prowled forward, and for an instant, Melody could have sworn that she saw a flash of teeth, a ragged mane of hair, and glinting wolfish eyes.
Then she blinked, and the fangs were just ordinary white teeth, the mane nothing more than dark hair hanging around his face.
The green-gold eyes, however, were every bit as vibrant with rage as they were before.
Callum stepped properly out of the shadows, straightening to his full height.
The drunkard gulped audibly.
“Let her go,” Callum said pleasantly, fixing the man with a long, unblinking stare.
“Th-This isnae what it looks like, me Laird,” the man stammered.
A blade flashed in the darkness, its long, thin point flickering like a silver fish. The movement was almost too fast for Melody to track. She blinked, and the painful grip on her wrist suddenly disappeared.
The drunkard gave a wail, reeling backward, and clutched at his wrist. A gash opened up across the back of his hand, from the soft flesh between his thumb and forefinger all the way to the opposite wrist bone. Blood poured over his skin.
“I told ye to release her, and I daenae like to repeat meself,” Callum snarled, taking another step forward.
He pointed his blade—Melody thought that it was a short sword, but of course, she had not seen sufficient swords in her lifetime to be sure—and the man cringed back.
Now the blade was bloodied near the end.
A fat glob of blood dripped lazily from the point.
“Ye have made a serious mistake tonight,” he continued, his voice tight and furious. “And one I daenae think ye will recover from.”
Callum could not remember the last time he had been so angry. His heart was already beating hard, aware of the great space all around him. These forests were so open that an attack could come from anywhere. Even from below, as deep leaf piles and pits could present a serious threat.
This was bad. This was very bad. They needed to get home, back to the keep, where it was safe.
I was right about the danger, he thought grimly, leveling the sword at the cringing drunk. Maybe they’ll listen to me next time.
“Melody? Are ye hurt?” he asked, keeping his eyes on the man. It was clear that the fellow was roaringly drunk, too drunk to do much besides weep and stagger. Maybe he wouldn’t have really hurt Melody, but that was hardly the point. The intention was there.
“No, I’m not hurt,” she stammered. She sounded shaken, but he wasn’t about to risk taking his eyes away from the other man in order to look her over. “Where… where is Kat?”
“Kat’s over there,” he answered vaguely, jerking his chin in the direction of the festival. “She and the soldiers will be punished appropriately for lettin’ this happen to ye.”
Melody sucked in a breath. “No, you mustn’t. Kat did nothing wrong. She only turned her back on me for a moment to buy us whisky. And the soldiers are all nearby, they just… just let us enjoy ourselves. This is nobody’s fault, Callum.”
“Oh, aye, it is. Above all, it’s me fault for lettin’ ye go. Have ye nay idea of how ye could have been hurt, Melody?”
He heard the bite of anger in his own voice. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Melody flinch. There was a twinge of guilt at that, but nothing overwhelming. Nothing to dissuade him.
“And as for ye,” he continued, advancing on the drunk. “Ye will regret this night.”
The man staggered backward, still blubbering.
When had he begun to weep? Was it when Callum sliced open his hand?
Well, it was far from over. The man stumbled on something, landing in an ungainly heap on the ground.
At once, Callum moved, darting forward. He rested the point of his sword on the man’s throat, and allowed himself a flash of grim pleasure at the real fear he saw on the man’s face.
“Ye should have left her be,” he whispered.
“Callum, don’t!” Melody cried.
This was a surprise. He tore his eyes away from the drunkard and shot a quick, startled look at her.
“Why on earth are ye advocatin’ for him? Do ye have any idea what he meant to do to ye?”
“Yes, I know, I’m not a fool! But if you kill him here, people will find out.
How easily might this story be twisted? They’ll talk about the monstrous Laird MacDean, murdering an innocent man in the shadows.
They’ll probably make me into some sort of banshee, perched on your shoulder and encouraging you to violence. ”
He blinked at her. “This man isnae innocent.”
“No, but when they tell the story, he will be.”
He thought this over for a moment, turning his gaze onto the whimpering drunk.
“Do ye think this is the first time he’s tried to assault a woman? Or threatened to do so? Should we let him run free, to spare our own reputations?”
“No, of course not.”
Melody inched closer, tentatively placing a hand on his forearm.
Her fingers were cold, and he found himself wanting to seize her hand in his and rub it until some warmth came back to those fingers.
He wanted to pull her against himself, to wrap his arms around her shoulders and press her against him.
He wanted to kiss her again, to hear those surprised, pleased little gasps she’d made last time. He wanted to touch her, to…
Enough!
He swallowed hard, tightening his grip on the sword hilt.
“What are ye suggestin’, then?”
“We do not kill him, in the shadows, in secret,” Melody explained firmly.
She let her hand slip away from his arm, and he wished she would put it back.
“We’ll have him arrested for this attempted attack.
There’s no reason why he can’t spend some time in yer dungeons, and we can see if he has assaulted anybody else.
We will see that justice is done, correctly. ”
Callum glanced down at her. She was looking up at him, her gaze open and earnest. Hopeful. He could still feel the tingle of her touch on him.
“Fine,” Callum snapped. He flicked the tip of the sword, opening an inch-long cut on the side of the drunk’s neck.
Not enough to kill, or even seriously hurt, but it would leave a pointed scar for the rest of the man’s life.
He gave a yelp and curled up into a ball, apparently unsure whether he should concentrate on nursing his wounded neck or wounded hand.
Callum stepped back, snatching Melody’s hand. He remembered how the drunk had squeezed her wrist painfully tight, and carefully adjusted his own grip.
“I’d stay there, if I were ye,” he hissed at the drunk. “I’ll remember yer face. Me soldiers will come for ye soon, and if ye daenae wish to bring my anger down on yer head, ye will stay where ye are.”
“I will, I will,” the man wept. “I’ll nae do it again, me Laird, I swear. I’m sorry!”
“Daenae apologize to me,” he ground out, and jerked his chin toward Melody. “Apologize to her.”
The drunk lifted his head. His face was red and swollen with tears and drink, his eyes puffy. His mouth was wet and slack, his lips trembling.
“I’m sorry, me Lady,” he said at last. “I’ll never trouble ye again.”
“Or any other woman?” Melody corrected.
“Or any other woman.”
“Good,” she responded, giving a short nod, and finally allowed Callum to tow her out of the darkness and back into the painfully bright light of the festival.
Callum squinted at the lines of lanterns strung between the trees.
Had they always done that? He hadn’t attended a festival in close to five years.
He imagined that they did most things a little differently from what he remembered.
Still this festival was important to the locals. It was a chance to unwind, to dance and sing and eat, and reconnect with friends from different villages. Some locals spent most of the year looking forward to the festival, and he had no intention of ruining it for them.
A handful of the soldiers crowded on the edge of the party. Kat stood in the middle of them, ashen-faced, with Lucas beside her. Callum had, of course, brought Lucas with him when they left the keep, although he suspected that his friend would have preferred to be here already, ideally with Kat.
Kat took a step forward, offering a wan smile. “I’m sorry, me Laird. I did nae mean to lose sight of her, I only…”
“It’s not your fault, Kat,” Melody interrupted, offering the woman a reassuring smile. “Nobody blames you. We certainly don’t.”
Callum stared incredulously at her. “We daenae?”
“No,” Melody repeated firmly. “We do not.”
Kat let out a shaky breath and threw an uncertain glance up at Callum.
“Well, I brought yer whisky,” she managed at last, holding out a small cup. Melody hesitated, but took it at least, offering a weak smile.
“Oh… thank you, Kat. I’m not sure I’m in the mood for it, now.”
Callum ignored this and turned to Lucas.
“There’s a drunk man lyin’ on the ground back there,” he explained, gesturing toward the dark forest behind them.
“He has a cut on his hand and on his throat. He would have done Lady Melody harm if he could. This is an offence in itself, and it’s an insult to me, since the lady is me betrothed.
Take him to the dungeons. If he’s committed nay other crimes, ye can release him in a few months or so.
But I want to be sure that he does nae make a habit of harassin’ women at festivals. ”
“Aye, me Laird,” Lucas said, nodding. He turned aside and went straight into the forest, gesturing for a couple of the soldiers to follow him.
Callum turned to Melody, taking a longer look at her.
Much as he hated the lights and noise of the busy clearing, it was certainly bright enough to look her over for any injuries.
As far as he could tell, she wasn’t hurt.
There was a ring of bruises around her wrist, and her braid had come undone and hung in tangles around her shoulders, but that was it.
“I believe I asked ye before, but I’ll ask ye again,” he said shortly. “Did he hurt ye?”
She shook her head. “I’m fine, Callum.”
“Good. Drink yer whisky.”
She hesitated, squinting down at it. Lifting it to her nose, she took a tentative sniff and pulled a face.
Callum bit back a smile. “Is it nae to yer taste?”
“It smells rather… rather strong,” she managed weakly.
He met Kat’s eye. “Well, the way to drink it is to gulp it all down at once.”
Kat narrowed her eyes, but wisely chose not to contradict him. She merely sipped her own whisky pointedly. Melody frowned at the amber liquid, turning it this way and that in the cup.
“Are you sure?”
“Quite sure. Go on, drain the whole thing, then we can get back to the keep. And ye are comin’ back to the keep with me now.”
“You’ll hear no complaints from me. I am glad to have come, but I’d like to get home now,” she responded.
Home, he thought. She called the keep ‘home’. Interesting.
Drawing in a deep breath and visibly steeling herself, Melody swigged back the entire cupful of whisky. Her eyes widened, cheeks puffed, and she choked, a dribble of whisky escaping her lips.
To her credit, however, she did not spit it out. She screwed up her face and swallowed with a determined effort.
“That,” she managed hoarsely, “was vile.”
“It’s an acquired taste, to be sure,” he agreed, biting back a smile. “Ye daenae like it?”
“I do not!”
Callum allowed himself a quick, wide grin and turned to Kat. “Ye can stay here. Ye represent the Keep, so keep an eye on things. The soldiers can stay with ye. I will take Lady Melody back.”
“She’s nae eaten her supper,” Kat pointed out. “We were goin’ to eat here.”
“I’ll ensure that she’s fed,” Callum promised. He turned to Melody, lifting his eyebrows. “Are ye ready to go?”
Melody was still staring into her empty cup. She glanced up at him, meeting his eyes timidly. A shiver of desire rolled down Callum’s spine. Abruptly, without even knowing why he did it, he extended his elbow for her to take his arm, for all the world like a fine English gentleman.
She blinked, barely missing a beat, and took his arm. Her hand was soft on his, and he fought the urge to put his own hand over her cool fingers. Kat slipped away, leaving Callum free to walk Melody away from the noise and the chaos toward the pathway home.
“I never asked how you came to find me,” she murmured. “Had Kat seen me go?”
He shook his head. “She had nay idea where ye had gone. An old woman sellin’ hagstones pointed me in the right direction.”
Melody frowned. “Oh. How interesting.”
“If ye say so. Now come on, lass. We need to get home, and when we get back to the Keep, there’s somethin’ I want to talk to ye about. Somethin’ important.”