“Present ourselves?” he echoed, highly amused. “This is nae the English court, lass. The people already ken me, and I ken them.”
“Well, they don’t knowme,” Melody countered. “And if we do end up marrying, then?—”
“Look,” he stopped dead, turning to face her. “To be sure, I said we could talk about marriage at the end of this. That’s nae a promise. It was… well, honestly, I just said it to shut ye up. Daenae pin yer hopes on it.”
She flushed. “I see. Well, there’s a chance, isn’t there? Imightend up being Lady MacDean, and if that happens, people will want to know who I am. This festival is a good opportunity for us to?—”
“There’s nay us,” he interrupted. “I am nae goin’ to that festival.”
“Don’t you think your people would appreciate seeing you?”
“I think they ought to appreciate bein’ well-fed and kept safe from war. They can appreciate the economic stability and peace I’ve provided for them.”
“And you think that’s all that matters?”
He blinked at him, bewildered. “What else is there?”
Melody shrugged. “They want someone to believe in, too.”
“Careful, lass. Ye are startin’ to sound just like my councilors, and I’m nae very fond of any of them.”
She reddened. “So that’s it, then? You won’t come to the festival?”
“I’m afraid nae. Does this upset ye?”
She placed her hands on her hips, scowling up at him. “Well, a little! I didn’t think, when I came here, that I would never stir outside the keep. I didn’t imagine that I would be a prisoner!”
With impeccable timing, a pair of servants, a man and a woman, appeared from a narrow doorway, talking and laughing. The chatter trailed away when they spotted Callum and Melody standing in the middle of the hallway, glaring at each other.
It struck Callum then just how close he was standing to the wretched lass. Of course, he could always step back, but that would give the impression that he was somehow guilty or had done something wrong. In any case, he was Laird MacDean, and Laird MacDean did not back away from anything.
The two servants hurried past, shooting curious glances at them as they went by. Once he was fairly confident they were out of earshot, Callum risked speaking again.
“Ye are nae a prisoner,” he said firmly, as calmly as he could manage. “If ye want to go to that festival, fine. Take Kat and some of the guards, and go anywhere ye want. It’s as simple as that.”
“I don’tneedto be seen with your guards,” she retorted hotly. “They are not important to me.”
“And nor will I be.”
She blushed at that. She blushed often, he noticed again. With her smooth, soft white skin, it was apparent that she’d spent her life in a mild, temperate clime, wrapped in soft fabrics and shielded from sun and wind alike, kept out of the rain and given soft featherbeds to sleep upon.
A familiar twinge of desire tightened in Callum’s chest. He imagined running his fingertips over that deliciously soft skin.
Not now, ye fool.
“I’m sorry to disappoint ye,” he said at last. “But I will stay here, in the keep. Everythin’ that must be done for me clan can be done from here.”
“It’s not about practicality,” she responded, frowning. “It’s about… oh, I don’t know. Don’t youwantto go to the festival? Doesn’t it sound fun?”
“Nay, it does nae,” he answered, without missing a beat. “Listen, I have things to do.”
“So you are dismissing me, then?” she responded, quick as a flash.
He heaved a sigh. “I am goin’ to the stables. Come if ye like, but the offer is only because ye will go back and complain to me grandmother about me, and then she will complain tome.”
“Stables?” Melody echoed, a little tentative. “I am not very fond of horses.”
“Don’t come, then,” he shot back, and set off at a brisk walk. A moment later, he heard her scuttling after him. For some reason, that made him smile, though he dared not wonder why.
