Chapter 19
Back in London, even contemplating such an invitation would see me ruined, Melody thought nervously, eyeing her own reflection. She had changed into an ordinary wool dress, a plain dark yellow one. A few pieces of paper and a single pencil waited on a table behind her.
She was already a minute late for her meeting with Callum, and the idea of being late—or worse yet, not going at all—made her feel faintly queasy. Thus, she snatched up her paper and pencil and scuttled out of her room into the hallway.
Sophie’s door was firmly closed, of course.
Melody wasn’t entirely sure what time it was, but she was fairly sure that it was well past midnight.
Not a single ray of light crept out from under any of the doors she’d passed, nor did she pass anybody in the hallways.
The keep was dark and silent, and its inhabitants, aside from a few exceptions, were asleep.
An occasional torch lit her way, burning in alcoves set deep into the wall. She reached the door that led into Callum’s study and took a moment to compose herself before it.
It’s just an hour. Just a portrait. You can do this. Heavens, you suggested this yourself. Why are you so nervous now?
Letting out a long breath, she pushed the door open without knocking and stepped inside to see…
Nothing. The study was empty. She stood, baffled, for a moment, then cleared her throat.
“Callum? Are you… Are you here?”
“Upstairs,” came a muffled response from above. So he was in his bedroom, then. Melody’s skin prickled at the thought. Undaunted, she began to climb the tight staircase that led to her room.
I have been in his bedroom before. There is nothing to worry about. I know where I am going and what to expect. Everything is…
She broke off the thought as she clambered up the last steps and into Callum’s room.
The bed was neatly made for once, and she found herself wondering whether he’d spent the past half hour tidying up, knowing that she would be coming. A fire burned in the grate.
He was not there.
This was starting to get a little annoying. Sighing heavily, Melody placed her hands on her hips.
“Unless you are hiding under the bed or in the cupboard, you are not here, Callum. Are we playing hide and seek? Have you turned invisible?”
A chuckle of laughter echoed from somewhere.
“Sorry, lass. There is a small staircase at the back of the room, hidden behind a ridge of stone. It leads up into the next room. Come on up.”
“Am I expected to climb many more staircases? I’m already out of breath.”
“Just one more, I promise. Come, it’ll be worth it.”
She sighed and trudged forward toward the back of the room.
Sure enough, there was a short, curved wall of stone covering another spiral staircase.
This one was even steeper and tighter than the previous one.
The walls brushed Melody’s shoulders as she climbed.
How on earth did Callum manage to climb these stairs? He must walk sideways like a crab.
“Me guess is that this room was a servant’s room,” came Callum’s voice from above. “I think that one of me predecessors used this tower, and it’s likely that their manservant slept up here, ready to be on call at any hour of the day and night. Hence, the hidin’ of the staircase.”
Melody crawled on all fours up the last few steps, which felt more like a ladder, and found herself in yet another small, stone room.
It was barer than the last two, with only a small couch pushed against the wall, covered in blankets, and a low table with a jug of wine and a bowl of bread and cheese.
A modest fire crackled in the open hearth.
What immediately attracted her attention, though, was a large, wide window set deep into the wall, glass-paned, which offered an impressive view of the night sky.
Callum stood in front of it, his hands tucked behind his back.
“Pretty, aye?” he said, not turning around. “I am nae sure when this window was put in. It’s much bigger than the ones downstairs. Perhaps it was a sort of watch-post. Anyway, it’s a fine view.”
She inched further into the room, setting down her paper and pencil on the low table.
There was no other furniture in the room, not even a rug or tapestry.
There was, however, a small shape set in front of the dusty hearth.
Melody didn’t stop to inspect it. Instead, she made herself walk across the room toward Callum. She was not afraid.
They stood together, shoulder by shoulder, watching the night sky. The stars seemed to shiver under their scrutiny.
“I brought ye somethin’,” Callum said, breaking the silence. “By the hearth. Go look at it.”
She was not sure that she liked being commanded in such a way, but dutifully obeyed, even so.
The fire’s heat prickled over her skin in a pleasant way, reminding her just how cold she’d gotten in the sojourn outside.
Her room had no fire, and there was no point in asking for one since she was only there to change.
She knelt before the hearth, inspecting the item.
“It’s a horse,” she said at last. “The horse you were carving before.”
“Nae a child’s toy, ye see,” he murmured, his voice suddenly very close behind her. When had he gotten so close? He must have followed behind her on velvet feet. Melody could not keep from flinching, and he drew back almost immediately. She wished she hadn’t done it.
“It’s beautiful,” she admitted, lifting the ornament to inspect closer.
It was a decent-sized thing, and exquisitely carved.
It reminded her of Callum’s horse, with its powerful shoulders, long, strong legs, and sharp, intelligent face.
She ran a fingertip over the delicately engraved locks of the horse’s mane, curling over its forehead and rippling away down its neck.
The tail was apparently mid-swish, so well done that she half expected the creature to huff and toss its head.
“You have talent,” Melody managed at last, twisting to look up at him. He was already staring at her, his head tilted to one side. “Did you carve all this in such a short time?”
“Aye, it’s nae so hard when ye ken what ye are doin’. I’ve heard it said that sculptin’, carvin’, and whittlin’ are all the same thing. Ye merely see what is inside the block of wood or stone or whatever, then work to chisel it free. It’s hardly me doin’ at all.”
“You’re far too modest. And is this really for me?”
“Aye. I had the foolish idea that it would ease yer fear of horses.” He snorted, shaking his head. “The only thing that’ll ease yer fear, though, is ridin’. Ye took a good step today, ridin’ on Thunder. That was fine work.”
She flushed, carefully setting down the wooden horse. “I can’t take credit for that. I was still afraid, you see. I… I’m not a brave person, and I never have been.”
“Bravery is nae an absence of fear. An absence of fear is stupidity, plain and simple. To be brave means to do a thing despite being afraid. I’d argue that there cannot be bravery without fear.”
She considered this for a moment. “I suppose you’re right.”
He quirked an eyebrow. “Of course I am right. Here, up ye get.”
He extended a hand to help her up. Melody was perfectly able to lift herself from the ground without his help, but she took his hand anyway.
His skin was warm against hers, his palm surprisingly rough.
She felt the strength in his fingers when they flexed, closing over hers.
The sensation made her insides shiver in a most curious and certainly unrespectable way.
He heaved, pulling her upward with barely any effort at all.
Melody hadn’t been expecting such a powerful tug and tottered toward him, nearly knocking into his broad chest again.
Delicious warmth washed over her, along with his scent, the smell that taunted her in her dreams. Leather and mint, sometimes mixed with other things. Tonight, he smelled of smoke, a rich and heady scent that made her shiver.
If I look up into his face, he will be looking down at me, she thought dazedly. And if our eyes meet, something will happen.
Where this thought had come from was anybody’s guess, but it was persistent. Suddenly afraid, Melody dropped his hand and turned away, keeping her eyes fixed downward on the wooden horse.
Coward.
“Thank you, again,” she mumbled lamely. “You’re very kind.”
“Hardly,” he responded, and this time there was an edge of bitterness in his voice. When she glanced up to gauge his expression, he’d already turned away, presenting his broad back toward her. He knelt before the table laden with food and poured two cups of wine from the jug.
I am not a coward. I won’t be. Speak, Melody, you fool.
She cleared her throat and stepped forward, twisting her fingers together.
“Since we have some time to spend,” she began cautiously, “I thought we could talk a little. While I’m sketching you, that is.”
“Talk? If ye like. About what?”
“Well, I had questions.”
“Questions? I daenae like the sound of that.”
She gave a nervous laugh. “Well, I was wondering about your wife, that’s all.
It’s very rare that one hears of a person taking their own life.
It must have been terrible for you, living through it then and suffering with the memory now.
I only wondered if…” she faltered when Callum turned to face her, his expression entirely blank.
At once, she knew that she’d made a mistake.
Her intention had only been to ask a few questions regarding how the death of his wife had affected him and the keep.
Such a thing must have rocked the clan to its core.
But now, faced with Callum’s blank expression, hearing her own words echoing in her head, Melody saw at once how much of a mistake she’d made.
How could she have thought of asking such personal questions?
How could she have imagined that he would answer them?
“I…I’m sorry,” Melody stammered. “I shouldn’t have brought that up.”
“Nay, ye should nae. Drink yer wine and go, lass.”