“She’s dead.”
9
Melody’s head was spinning.
Father-in-law? Wife? Kinslayer?
Callum did not appear to notice her shock. He dragged her across the crowded feast hall to where a large space was left for dancing. A handful of couples glided gracefully in meandering circles. It reminded Melody more of the restrained, dignified dances at London balls than of the wild, joyful ceilidh dancing Victoria described in her letters.
“What happened to her?” she gasped, trying to pitch her voice above the hubbub.
Callum ignored her. They reached the center of the space, and he swung her around to face him. Caught off guard, she staggered, bumping against him. She threw up a hand to steady herself andfound herself clutching at the swell of his chest. Muscle flinched under her touch. Red-faced, Melody snatched her hand away.
Callum did not even blink. He sighed heavily, rolled his eyes, clamped one arm around her waist, pulled her against him again, and seized her free arm with his other hand.
“Keep yer voice down,” he murmured, voice low and scratchy. “She’s dead. I’m a widower and free to marry. Nae that wearegetting’ married,” he added, dropping his voice so it was no louder than a breath. “So perhaps ye can remember that when ye throw questions at me, eh?”
Melody swallowed, trying and failing to push down the lump that had formed in her throat. A single, terrible word kept rotating in her mind.
Kinslayer. Kinslayer. Kinslayer.
“How did she die?” Melody blurted out. “Your wife, I mean. What happened to her?”
There was a long, terrible silence.
“Ye are askin’ if I killed her, are ye nae?” Callum said at last, his voice tight and a little distant. There was a simmering undertone there, something like fury.
Melody wondered if she could yank her wrist free from his grasp if she needed to. Probably not.
“I am accusing you of nothing,” she said at last.
Callum gave a tight, brittle smile, more of a baring of the teeth than anything else.
“See that ye daenae. I daenae wish to speak of me late wife with ye, do ye understand? Think what ye like of me, but I’ll nae have their memory dug up and pored over to satisfy the curiosity of others who daenae understand. Do ye take my meanin’?”
Melody nodded. It seemed the wise thing to do.
Theirmemory?
“I understand.”
“Good,” he shot back, and they danced on in silence.
They weren’t really dancing, in all truth. It was more of an awkward shuffle around the dancing floor space, tangled in each other’s arms. Melody’s feet itched to danceproperly, but she had a feeling that nobody here would know how to dance the cotillion. So, until she learned those charming and exciting-looking jigs and reels, she would have to be content with this.
I doubt I could concentrate on any steps more complicated than this, notnow,she thought briefly, nibbling her lower lip. Her head was still reeling. And what had he meant when he told her that he would not havetheirmemory dug up and pored over?Was it perhaps a slip of the tongue? Perhaps he was referring to the memories he’d shared with his wife.
She glanced up at him and found that he was staring fixedly above her head, eyes steely and jaw set. A muscle jumped in his cheek. In fact, he didn’t look at all like a man mired in memory. It didn’t seem at all as if he were lost in bittersweet remembrances, nor did he look like a grieving widower, in truth.
No, he lookedangry.
The music ended with a jolt, and there was scattered applause. Melody was relieved to stop their awkward shuffling, but when Callum released her hand and stepped back, she feltcold, somehow. The weight of his arm on her waist still tingled, even though he’d released her.
Other couples eyed them uncomfortably, clearly unsure of the procedure.
Callum seized Melody by the hand, tugging her against him once more. She thumped against him and gave a quiet littleoof.
“I wish you’d stop dragging me around like a ragdoll,” she muttered sourly, allowing him to lead her back into the crowd.
