Chapter 24
Callum let the chaos go on around the council table for a few long moments before he intervened. In his experience, it was best to let them all talk it out before they got down to business.
Besides, it would distract him from the woman sitting at his side.
A chair had been set out for Melody, set beside his. She sat very still and straight, watching the chaos with a horrified expression. If the situation weren’t so serious, he’d feel inclined to laugh.
The situation was serious, however.
What have I done? Why did I lead her on? That kiss, that mistake… then I turned around and told her that I would nae keep her.
This is wrong. I am unkind. Unfair.
He let his eyes drift closed momentarily.
While he was doing that, lost in a memory of how Melody’s face had screwed up in pleasure, a loud bang echoed from the other end of the table.
Eyes flying open, he found himself staring directly at Angus, whose fist was curled on the table.
He must have brought it down with a powerful thunk.
That was unusual. When had Angus started taking charge of when the meeting would begin in earnest?
“Enough, all of ye!” Angus snarled, glowering at the other councilors. “Be calm. We have things to discuss.”
“How dare ye speak like that in front of yer Laird? Be careful, Angus, me patience is running thinner than usual.”
Something close to fear flashed in Angus eyes and he inclined his head. “I apologize, me Laird, I just wanted to help ye, as always. I can see now that I overstepped.” He settled back into his seat.
“If ye allow me, we thought, me Laird, that we ought to begin plannin’ the festivities for yer weddin’. If we organize smaller celebrations in the villages, for those who cannae attend the weddin’ itself in the keep, that will require some organization.”
“And money,” chimed in another councilor, who immediately cringed back when Angus glared at him.
“Aye, it’ll nae be cheap, but it’s worth it,” Angus insisted. “Our laird is marryin’ again at last! We ought to be celebratin’.”
“Except that this weddin’ willnae happen.”
Silence fell over the whole room. One by one, each councilman turned, shocked, to the man who had spoken.
The councilor’s table was small, and there was often no room for all the members. Mostly, the councilors jostled amongst each other to be sure that they got a seat, but one man in particular had long since given up trying.
Thomas Johnson sat in a chair pushed against the wall, his arms folded loosely over his chest. He returned Callum’s glare with a cool, disinterested stare.
“What are ye sayin’, Thomas?” Callum managed when it was clear that Thomas intended to say no more.
Thomas only sighed. “What are ye sayin’, me Laird?
Daenae toy with us. Ye never intended to lead this woman to the altar.
We all ken it, in our hearts. She came from nowhere, a hurried match designed to silence those on the council who wished ye to remarry.
After a few weeks, I imagine she’ll conveniently break the engagement and go back to England, leavin’ ye with a good excuse nae to seek another bride. I am nae a fool.”
There was another long silence. Angus stared at Thomas for a long, taut moment, then slowly turned to Callum.
“Is this true, me Laird?” he asked, his voice a raspy whisper.
Callum cleared his throat, sitting back in his seat. “Nay, Angus. Thomas is still strugglin’ with grief, as we all ken, and he misses his daughter. For that reason, I’ll nae be punishin’ him, but me patience is still runnin’ thin. Do ye hear me, Thomas? It’s runnin’ very thin.”
Thomas shrugged carelessly, turning away. Callum gestured for Angus to continue.
“I agree that we should bring the outer villages into the celebrations,” he said at last. “But let’s nae start planning so soon now, eh? Let’s wait until closer to the time.”
A prickle of unease unfolded in Callum’s chest. There would not be a wedding.
Of course, there would not. He’d allowed himself to think about it, to linger, and that had been a mistake.
He’d allowed Melody to think that there was hope, and that was cruel.
He would have to apologize and explain, and hope that he had not done too much damage.
His councilors would be disappointed, of course, but there was nothing to be done about that.
“Very well,” Angus managed, sounding disoriented. “If ye think so, me Laird. I should warn ye that Timothy Boles, the drunk who assaulted Lady Melody, is makin’ his mouth go. Apparently, he remembers little in his drunken haze beyond bein’ attacked by Laird MacDean.”
“Surely, no one is siding with him?” Melody burst out. Callum glanced at her and saw that her brow was knotted in distress. He felt a sudden, powerful urge to reach out and place his hand on hers. He fought it off.
“Nay, nae quite,” Angus conceded. “Ye are a popular woman, Lady Melody. Laird MacDean is well-loved. However, his behavior has been a wee bit erratic over the past few years, and people are nae so sure of him as they were before. Once an heir appears, however, all will be forgotten. We have nay need to…”
“There’ll be nay heir,” Callum burst out.
Silence fell over the room. This time, however, most of the councilors were staring down at their own hands rather than meeting his gaze. Not all, of course. Angus stared at him, incredulous and furious. He could feel Melody’s eyes on him, too.
Callum briefly closed his eyes before speaking, trying to marshal himself. A laird couldn’t be emotional. A man had to be composed and serious.
“I am sorry to disappoint ye all,” he said at last, careful to meet Angus’ eye squarely. “I ken many of ye hoped that I would settle down once more. But I will nae produce another heir. I am sorry, but there it is. I’ll nae pretend anymore.”
The silence persisted, and he got to his feet. Angus dropped heavily into his seat, flattening a hand out on the table.
“Thomas was right,” he admitted, eyeing his old friend. Should he say something? Yes, he should. Perhaps he…
“What do you mean?” Melody spoke up, her voice wobbling. “When you say another heir?”
Callum bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted copper.
“I kent this was a bad idea,” he said, to no one in particular, glancing around the table. “Everybody else kens it, Melody, and now ye ken it too. I had a child once. A son.”
She sucked in a breath, eyes widening. He reached out, gingerly touching her shoulder.
“Come to me tower. I’ll explain it there. This meetin’ is over.”
He strode out of the room, not waiting for a reply, leaving the heavy silence and accusing stares behind him.
What have I done?
Melody thought about not going. She could go up to her room instead, and lock the door.
She could seek out Sophie and try to get an explanation from her.
She could pack her things and leave. She could continue doing what she was doing, which was standing motionless in the large room outside the tower.
She let out a long, ragged breath and closed her eyes.
Callum had told the council that he would never produce an heir. He had all but confessed that they would not marry.
What is my place here now? What am I here for?
Things would likely come crumbling down quickly after this.
Her days were certainly numbered here at Keep MacDean.
If she went to Victoria’s keep, there was a chance that her sister would decide to be offended.
There would be harsh words, hurt feelings, and such things could lead to war.
No, she couldn’t risk that. If she returned to London and married Papa’s gentleman, then everybody would forget about her.
If her father had not announced everyone that she was betrothed, of course.
Swallowing hard, she forced herself to walk, stiff-legged, up to the tower door. She knocked, and waited.
“Come in,” came the response.
It’s not too late to run, suggested a voice at the back of Melody’s head. She did not run. She pushed open the door and stepped inside.
This time, Callum was down in his study, standing before the fire, staring emptily at the flames.
“Ye dropped one of yer pencils last time ye were here,” he said, not bothering to turn and look at her. “It’s on the desk.”
She nodded silently and moved over to fetch it. Sure enough, there was her pencil, laid out beside a small silver knife. Something was etched on the handle. Pausing, she leaned forward, reading it.
“Do ye see the knife?” Callum asked, his back turned.
She swallowed hard. “I see it.”
“Do ye see the name? The inscription?”
“This… this is your knife?”
“It was his knife. Me brother’s knife. It belonged to Fletcher.”
Melody stared at the knife until the words blurred. She turned slowly, almost hesitantly, to face him, and waited. When he did not speak, she spoke for herself.
“I had no idea that you had a brother. Nobody mentioned it.”
“Nobody in the keep will. Oh, there’s always gossip, always talk. Ye could have found out if ye tried hard enough. But ye are right. Nobody speaks of me wife, or me son, and certainly nae of me brother.”
He turned at last, somewhat shakily, and Melody had to turn away from the naked grief and misery carved onto his face.
“Ye ken already that I chose to wed the daughter of one of me councilors,” he said, his voice flat and monotonous. “Elsie. We were friends, never in love, but happy enough. We had a son together. His name was Alexander.”
His voice cracked on the name. Melody briefly closed her eyes.
“You… you don’t have to tell me this. I can see how it hurts you, and I don’t wish you to be hurt.”
“It’s time ye kent, lass. I’ve hidden enough from ye. Just hear me out with nay interruptions, aye? This is nae an easy story to tell. I think ye deserve to hear the truth, before…” he trailed off, and Melody looked away.
“Before what?”
He shook his head. “Let me begin.”
“Very well. I’ll listen, and I won’t interrupt.”
She didn’t look for a seat, but stayed standing. It didn’t seem to be the sort of story one sat down for.