“There’ll be nay heir,” Callum burst out.
Silence fell over the room. This time, however, most of the councilors were staring down at their own hands rather than meeting his gaze. Not all, of course. Angus stared at him, incredulous and furious. He could feel Melody’s eyes on him, too.
Callum briefly closed his eyes before speaking, trying to marshal himself. A laird couldn’t be emotional. A man had to be composed and serious.
“I am sorry to disappoint ye all,” he said at last, careful to meet Angus’ eye squarely. “I ken many of ye hoped that I would settle down once more. But I will nae produce another heir. I am sorry, but there it is. I’ll nae pretend anymore.”
The silence persisted, and he got to his feet. Angus dropped heavily into his seat, flattening a hand out on the table.
“Thomas was right,” he admitted, eyeing his old friend. Should he say something? Yes, he should. Perhaps he…
“What do you mean?” Melody spoke up, her voice wobbling. “When you sayanotherheir?”
Callum bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted copper.
“I kent this was a bad idea,” he said, to no one in particular, glancing around the table. “Everybody else kens it, Melody, and now ye ken it too. I had a child once. A son.”
She sucked in a breath, eyes widening. He reached out, gingerly touching her shoulder.
“Come to me tower. I’ll explain it there. This meetin’ is over.”
He strode out of the room, not waiting for a reply, leaving the heavy silence and accusing stares behind him.
What have I done?
Melody thought about not going. She could go up to her room instead, and lock the door. She could seek out Sophie and try to get an explanation from her. She could pack her things and leave. She could continue doing what she was doing, which was standing motionless in the large room outside the tower.
She let out a long, ragged breath and closed her eyes.
Callum had told the council that he would never produce an heir. He had all but confessed that they would not marry.
What is my place here now? What am I here for?
Things would likely come crumbling down quickly after this. Her days were certainly numbered here at Keep MacDean. If she went to Victoria’s keep, there was a chance that her sister would decide to be offended. There would be harsh words, hurt feelings, and such things could lead to war. No, she couldn’t risk that. If she returned to London and married Papa’s gentleman, then everybody would forget about her.
If her father had not announced everyone that she was betrothed, of course.
Swallowing hard, she forced herself to walk, stiff-legged, up to the tower door. She knocked, and waited.
“Come in,” came the response.
It’s not too late to run,suggested a voice at the back of Melody’s head. She did not run. She pushed open the door and stepped inside.
This time, Callum was down in his study, standing before the fire, staring emptily at the flames.
“Ye dropped one of yer pencils last time ye were here,” he said, not bothering to turn and look at her. “It’s on the desk.”
She nodded silently and moved over to fetch it. Sure enough, there was her pencil, laid out beside a small silver knife. Something was etched on the handle. Pausing, she leaned forward, reading it.
“Do ye see the knife?” Callum asked, his back turned.
She swallowed hard. “I see it.”
“Do ye see the name? The inscription?”
“This… this is your knife?”
“It was his knife. Me brother’s knife. It belonged to Fletcher.”
