She rose again, walking to the door and saying something to a maid outside the library before she returned to her seat. “So you had a hunch he would come calling, but that’s not all of it. Youwantedhim to make an appearance. You always delighted in needling him.”
“I reckon ye’ve got that backward. He nae missed a chance to jab at me, and I couldnae resist snapping back. But this isnae about who caught the bigger fish. And nae, I’m nae making a secret of being here,” he returned. “Did I expect him to come by and ask about me? Aye. He killed my brother. Of course he wants to know what my plans here might be.”
“So your ride this morning wasn’t about fresh air or Jupiter. It was about being seen.”
Rebecca Sanderson had always been a clever lass. As poised and ladylike as she’d become, she hadn’t lost her wits. How had that been, he wondered, with her in the company of his methodical, unimaginative brother? But then she’d chosen Ian. He needed to remind himself of that. “Dunnae fret. Ye and I’ve both made it clear that ye and Margaret arenae here willingly.”
“But you don’t care if I’m here at all.”
“Ye made yer bed, lass. Ye lie in it. The only question I have about ye at this moment is whether or nae ye had someaught to do with Ian’s ‘horrible accident,’ as ye called it.”
A maid slipped into the room, handed Rebecca some cloth and gauze and a bowl of water, and departed again. Approaching him, Rebecca knelt at his feet beside Waya and gestured for his hand. “You know me. Do you honestly think I would ever hurt Ian?”
He lifted his head. “I dunnae know ye. Iknewye. But then ye did someaught I couldnae even have imagined, so there’s a good chance I’ve always had ye figured wrong.”
Glancing up at him, she took his hand. “Then I’ll tell you directly. I mourned for Ian,” she said quietly, putting her fingers around the shard of glass. “This will hurt.”
“I’m nae likely to cry,” he stated, and refused toflinch as she pulled it from his knuckle. “And saying ye mourned a man doesnae mean you didnae first harm him.”
She put the cloth over the cut and pressed down, lifting her face again to look him in the eye. “I didn’t harm him,” she returned. “I had no reason in the world to do so. He and I always got along well, and we had a good marriage. We were well respected by our peers, and he was always kind to me. And he gave me Margaret. I know you think I married for a title and for wealth, and that’s partly true. I also married Ian because he was… safe. He wouldn’t gamble away our future, or take up with a mistress, or get drunk and do something impulsive that would come back to haunt us later.”
“But ye willnae say ye loved him?” She’d made the omission of the word fairly obvious, but he was petty enough that he wanted to hear her say it.
“I loved him,” she countered. “He provided me with a good, comfortable, happy life.”
His jaw clenched. “And I wouldnae have?”
The second he spoke he regretted the question. He didn’t care what she thought of him; that time had passed ten years ago. At the same time, he knew he’d fashioned a great portion of the last ten years in order to refute exactly that of which Rebecca and Ian had accused him. He wasn’t that idiotic, spoiled, drunken boy any longer. But even that idiotic boy had been correct about something. He’d blustered about everything, though, and so he’d been unable to make them listen to the one most important thing. That would never happen again.
“You don’t want me to answer that, Callum,” she responded, removing the cloth and setting it aside to wrap gauze about his hand.
“I asked the question; answer it.”
“Aside from the fact that you didn’t ask for my handuntil after your brother had already secured it, you continually argued with and belittled everyone around you. Especially those who outranked you. If I’d chosen you, your… disobliging behavior would have seen us ostracized and ridiculed, until the point that Ian finally cut you off and we were forced to live with my father—or flee somewhere where we could attempt to begin again. You might have thought that an exciting adventure, but I wanted a family. Children. That required stability and safety.”
She’d damned well thought it through. As he had. And he couldn’t even pretend to be surprised that they’d come to the same conclusion. She hadn’t forgotten his mistakes, and neither had he. But her knowledge about his character lagged ten years behind his. “And now that ye’ve been widowed, ye’ve set yer sights on Donnach Maxwell for yer safety and stability? Because I dunnae give his continued survival very high odds.”
“Stop saying such things,” she countered, a bit of exasperation touching her voice. “Whatever your useless ‘investigations’ conclude, I can be compelled to testify against you if something happens to either him or the duke.”
“‘Investigations’? Ye reckon I’m that civilized? But ye didnae answer my question. Do ye think to marry Stapp?”
“I’m considering it, yes.”
Callum held her gaze as he let her words sink into his bones, her cloudless blue eyes a shade deeper than he remembered. Could it be sorrow? Or regret? He shook those thoughts out of his head. They weren’t useful. “I’ll nae allow that, lass.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I’m an heiress in my own right, Callum. Because of the… circumstances, I don’t relyon the Geiry title or income. And you cannot stop me from doing as I think best for myself and my daughter.”
“I can stop ye from doing any damned thing I dunnae agree to where Margaret’s concerned.”
She practically growled at him. “If—when—I remarry, my husband will… have a say.”
“I doubt it,” he retorted. “If that’s yer plan, though, I can stop it, too. Ye’ve lived in the Highlands for more than half yer life, Rebecca. Surely ye’ve heard of levirate marriage?”
She released his injured hand as swiftly as if he’d burned her. “You must be joking,” she snapped, her voice quavering. “You’d try to force me to marryyou?” She shook her head, backing away. “You’d never succeed. Levirate marriage was designed to keep wealth within the clan’s bloodline. Donnach Maxwellisclan Maxwell. He’ll betheMaxwell, after his father’s passing.”
“I’ll admit,” he returned, standing and stalking after her, “that I’d find a complication or two. Being that the law was specifically created to enable a man to marry his brother’s widow, I do have a leg to stand on, I reckon.”
“Dunncraigh would never approve it.”
