“I wonder if he considers me a traitor,” Callum observed.
“Ye cannae think like that. Will ye nae risk even a wee smile? When Lady Melody makes her entrance, people will be lookin’ at yer reaction. If ye seem unhappy or even neutral…”
“I am nae a liar, Lucas,” Callum interrupted sharply. “I’m nay good as an actor, ye ken that.”
Lucas didn’t argue, and nor did he try to convince Callum again.
He had a point, of course. The Highlands would be in uproar over Callum’s strange and sudden choice of bride.
Well, they’ll just have to get over it, he thought grimly.And when they learn that the betrothal is over, they can congratulate themselves on how right they were in predicting that it would never last.
He snatched up another cup of ale, swigging it down. It would be better if he could get himself properly drunk, enough to numb the edge of concern and regret, but of course, that wasn’t possible, not at a party like this. In fact, he…
Callum cut off that thought, glancing around with a frown. The conversation around him had stopped, and most faces were turned toward the stairs leading up to the gallery.
He saw at once what they were staring at.
Melody stood there, alone, at the head of the stairs. He hadn’t given much thought as to what she’d wear, and had simply assumed that his grandmother would find her something suitable.
Well, she had.
Melody wore a long, shimmering gown of red silk, layered with countless gauzy veils that made the dress seem to glow and shiver with light, shifting around her. The sleeves were long, covering the backs of her hands, and he noticed her wearing one of his grandmother’s old ruby rings.
The bodice fitted tightly, displaying the soft curve of her waist, dipping in from her hips, and then sliding upward into a full bosom. Why had he not noticed her remarkable curves before? Perhaps it had been the baggy servant’s gown.
Nobody else was wearing red in the Hall. It was a bold color for a betrothal celebration. There were no beads or sequins sewn onto the dress, or even any embroidery. The color was so vibrant that she did not need any extra decoration. The only hint of tartan she wore was a thin strip around her hips, slung low like a belt. It was, of course, MacDean tartan.
Her gaze swept over the silently assembled crowd, every set of eyes fixed on her. Something like anxiety crept into her eyes. Her shoulders hunched up, just a little, and she began to pick at one of her fingers.
She’s afraid, he realized.And why would she not be, with them all staring at her like that?
Clearing his throat loudly, Callum stepped toward the stairs, resting one foot on the lowest step. He held up his hand, and she glanced toward him.
“Come, me love,” he said, loudly and pointedly. “I have people for ye to meet.”
Melody met his eyes. Something like gratitude sparked there. She gave a tight nod and uncertain smile and began to descend carefully. To avoid stepping on her skirts, she lifted the hem a few inches, revealing her feet. Callum had assumed she’d wear matching slippers, like most of the other ladies here, but in fact Melody was wearing heavy, solid-looking boots.
That’s Kat’s influence, he thought, hiding a smile.Very practical.
She reached the bottom of the stairs and took his hand, clutching rather tightly.
“They are all staring at me,” she whispered, swallowing. He tracked the movement down her pale neck, and briefly imagined himself pressing his lips against the soft skin there.
Stop it, fool! This betrothal is all a fiction. Ye are not to kiss her, or touch her in any way, and certainly not to think like that about her!
“Well, it is our betrothal feast, and they already ken whatIlook like,” he responded shortly. “Ye had better get used to bein’ looked at.”
“I… I don’t much like it. Being looked at, I mean,” she murmured.
He glanced down at her. She wasn’t looking at him, but instead scanned the ranks of people around them with trepidation, as if she were afraid they would pounce on her at any minute.
“I cannae protect ye from bein’ looked at,” Callum heard himself say. She glanced up at him, frowning.
“I never asked you to.”
“Then why did ye… why are ye tellin’ me if ye daenae expect me to do somethin’ about it?”
She stared at him, baffled. “You are asking me why people talk to each other about things? Don’tyoutell people about how you feel? Friends, I mean.”
