Or perhaps his expression would change depending on the viewer’s mood, or the light in the room, or something foolish. Perhaps the loving Callum depicted in the drawing was just as much a figment of Melody’s imagination as the real one.
She leaned back with a ragged sigh, letting the pencil fall out of her hand. It fell nib-first, and she had no need to look to know that the wood had likely cracked, the tip splintered. She’d be dealing with broken nibs for the rest of that pencil’s lifetime.
Who am I fooling? Callum does not care for me, no matter how often I draw such a thing in his face. He could not have been clearer. Why do I refuse to listen?
She looked down at the sketch once more, and this time it annoyed her. She saw each flaw—a smudge in the corner, a slight difference in his eyes, a careless line that made it look as though his ear were cut in two. It was a bad picture, a foolish one, and certainly nothing she could show anyone to prove that Laird MacDean was no monster.
Suddenly furious, Melody snatched up the drawing. She had no energy to tear it into pieces—and anyway, she would have to pick up the scattered pieces afterward—so she simply crumpled it into a tight ball and tossed it away.
The movement disturbed the air, and the candle, already on the brink of being extinguished, guttered one last time and went out entirely, plunging her into darkness.
A fitting end to a thoroughly miserable day.
21
“Are ye even listening to me, Callum?”
He flinched, tearing his eyes back up to focus on his grandmother.
Sophie sat on a high stool in front of his desk. She looked thoroughly displeased. Jane stood behind her, looking equally annoyed.
“Of course I am listenin’ to ye,” Callum lied.
“Then what did I just say?”
“I willnae answer yer questions if ye talk to me so rudely.”
Sophie rolled her eyes. “Of course nae. What is it ye are playin’ with in yer fingers, there? What is that? A pencil? What for?”
Callum tightened his jaw, glancing down. He had not realized he’d picked up the pencil again. He pointedly set it aside with aclackand met his grandmother’s level stare.
“Look, I have a great deal of work to do today. There’s all that business with the festival to sort out, as well as the usual Laird’s work for me to attend to. Besides that, I am tired.”
“Oh, I imagine ye are tired,” Sophie agreed waspishly. “Runnin’ around at all hours of the night. There was a light on in yer tower till the wee hours!”
“And how would ye ken that, Grandmother? Ye were in bed by ten, I believe.”
“I have me ways of findin’ things out,” Sophie sniffed. Behind her, Jane gave a brief, broad grin.
Callum sighed. “Aye, Grandmother, I see that yer network of eyes-and-ears is as good as ever. I could learn a great deal from ye, I am sure. But in the meantime, if there’s nothin’ else…?”
“I came to tell ye that the rest of Melody’s clothes have arrived, the ones we ordered. I thought ye might like to take a look at them.”
“Why on earth would I want to look at ladies’ dresses for?”
“Because Lady MacDean is goin’ to wear them, and a laird’s wife must look a certain way,” Sophie responded pragmatically. “Will ye come or nay?”
“Aye, I’ll come when I have a minute.”
“Good,” she gave an approving nod and got carefully to her feet, supported by Jane. “I’ll leave ye to yer busy mornin’ of pencil-twiddlin’.”
Callum sighed. His grandmother grinned.
She turned to hobble out of the room, but just as Callum was beginning to look forward to a little bit of peace and quiet, footsteps approached.
“Watch out,” Sophie warned somebody just out of view. “He’s in a fine mood today.”
Maybe it’s her,Callum thought, gorge rising in his throat. His own behavior would probably haunt him for years. How dared he dismiss her? It was the right thing to do, certainly, but her face… her face.
