“Melody? Are ye hurt?” he asked, keeping his eyes on the man. It was clear that the fellow was roaringly drunk, too drunk to do much besides weep and stagger. Maybe he wouldn’t have really hurt Melody, but that was hardly the point. The intention was there.
“No, I’m not hurt,” she stammered. She sounded shaken, but he wasn’t about to risk taking his eyes away from the other man in order to look her over. “Where… where is Kat?”
“Kat’s over there,” he answered vaguely, jerking his chin in the direction of the festival. “She and the soldiers will be punished appropriately for lettin’ this happen to ye.”
Melody sucked in a breath. “No, you mustn’t. Kat did nothing wrong. She only turned her back on me for a moment to buy us whisky. And the soldiers are all nearby, they just… just let us enjoy ourselves. This is nobody’s fault, Callum.”
“Oh, aye, it is. Above all, it’s me fault for lettin’ ye go. Have ye nay idea of how ye could have been hurt, Melody?”
He heard the bite of anger in his own voice. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Melody flinch. There was a twinge of guilt at that, but nothing overwhelming. Nothing to dissuade him.
“And as forye,” he continued, advancing on the drunk. “Ye will regret this night.”
The man staggered backward, still blubbering. When had he begun to weep? Was it when Callum sliced open his hand? Well, it was far from over. The man stumbled on something, landing in an ungainly heap on the ground. At once, Callum moved, darting forward. He rested the point of his sword on the man’s throat, and allowed himself a flash of grim pleasure at the real fear he saw on the man’s face.
“Ye should have left her be,” he whispered.
“Callum, don’t!” Melody cried.
This was a surprise. He tore his eyes away from the drunkard and shot a quick, startled look at her.
“Why on earth are ye advocatin’ for him? Do ye have any idea what he meant to do to ye?”
“Yes, I know, I’m not a fool! But if you kill him here, people will find out. How easily might this story be twisted? They’ll talk about the monstrous Laird MacDean, murdering an innocent man in the shadows. They’ll probably makemeinto some sort of banshee, perched on your shoulder and encouraging you to violence.”
He blinked at her. “This man isnae innocent.”
“No, but when they tell the story, he will be.”
He thought this over for a moment, turning his gaze onto the whimpering drunk.
“Do ye think this is the first time he’s tried to assault a woman? Or threatened to do so? Should we let him run free, to spare our own reputations?”
“No, of course not.”
Melody inched closer, tentatively placing a hand on his forearm. Her fingers were cold, and he found himself wanting to seize her hand in his and rub it until some warmth came back to those fingers. He wanted to pull her against himself, to wrap his arms around her shoulders and press her against him.
He wanted to kiss her again, to hear those surprised, pleased little gasps she’d made last time. He wanted to touch her, to…
Enough!
He swallowed hard, tightening his grip on the sword hilt.
“What are ye suggestin’, then?”
“We do not kill him, in the shadows, insecret,” Melody explained firmly. She let her hand slip away from his arm, and he wished she would put it back. “We’ll have him arrested for this attempted attack. There’s no reason why he can’t spend some time in yer dungeons, and we can see if he has assaulted anybody else. We will see that justice is done,correctly.”
Callum glanced down at her. She was looking up at him, her gaze open and earnest.Hopeful. He could still feel the tingle of her touch on him.
“Fine,” Callum snapped. He flicked the tip of the sword, opening an inch-long cut on the side of the drunk’s neck. Not enough to kill, or even seriously hurt, but it would leave a pointed scar for the rest of the man’s life. He gave a yelp and curled up into a ball, apparently unsure whether he should concentrate on nursing his wounded neck or wounded hand.
Callum stepped back, snatching Melody’s hand. He remembered how the drunk had squeezed her wrist painfully tight, and carefully adjusted his own grip.
“I’d stay there, if I were ye,” he hissed at the drunk. “I’ll remember yer face. Me soldiers will come for ye soon, and if ye daenae wish to bring my anger down on yer head, ye will stay where ye are.”
“I will, I will,” the man wept. “I’ll nae do it again, me Laird, I swear. I’m sorry!”
“Daenae apologize to me,” he ground out, and jerked his chin toward Melody. “Apologize toher.”
