He’s got that look—eyes shining, lips twitching—like he’s enjoying something he shouldn’t.
“I’m serious.” I sniff again. “It smells scorched and foul at the same time.”
Callum’s chest shakes with suppressed laughter. “Aye, I ken the smell.”
“Well, what is it?” I inhale deeply, pinpointing why it’s familiar. “It reminds me of burning cow paddies.”
Callum explodes with laughter.
And he’s not laughing at me. He’s laughing at Hamish. Who, for the first time all night, looks genuinely murderous.
“Would one of you please tell me what’s going on?”
“There’s naught to concern you,” Hamish snaps, but his glare remains fixed on Callum.
Callum, still grinning, turns to me. “It’s a cure for balding. You’re smelling the burnt ashes of dove’s dung.”
It takes everything I have to keep my face neutral. I keep my eyes on Callum—who, notably, has incredibly thick hair. I dare not look at Hamish, but now that I think about it, I recall catching a glint of scalp when the sun hit him just right.
“Enjoy the laugh,MacGregor.” Hamish spits the name like a slur.
And just like that, every ounce of humor drains from Callum.
A reminder: that Hamish knows his secret. That he holds Callum’s life in his hands.
Hamish, smug with the shift in power, leans back. “Now go back to your prancing with the other drudges.”
A muscle twitches in Callum’s cheek.
After a tense moment, he finally nods. Gives Hamish a formal half-bow.
Then turns and walks away. But not before he catches my eye. Only for a second. Long enough for me to see it—the raw anguish. For him. For me. And it makes my chest ache.
“I’m sorry to shock you in that way,” Hamish says, his voice dripping with faux sympathy. “But it’s best you knowthe truth—the lad’s naught but a dirty MacGregor. One false move, and we can turn him in.” He preens as he says it, like I might swoon from the very power of it all.
How little this creep knows about me.
I don’t understand how having a last name can be illegal. It makes no sense. It makes Hamish and his family seem like the biggest pricks in all of history.
I’m trying to figure out how to address it when Hamish stands and extends a hand to me. “I’d enjoy a dance.”
I gape at his outstretched hand like he just offered me a live snake.
I’d rather set my own hair on fire.
I pull it together and politely say, “I don’t really feel like dancing. Sorry.”
Bafflement. Disbelief. Embarrassment. And finally—fury. Hamish’s emotions flicker across his face so fast, I almost feel bad for him. Almost.
“Because you think we should turn Callum in right away?” His voice is cool, flat, as though perhaps this is a favor I might, in fact, appreciate. “It might be the sensible course of action.”
And there it is. The threat. A chill runs down my spine. “What? No. Of course not.”
The bastard is blackmailing me. Using Callum’s life as leverage. Callum—who’s already been punched, beaten, slashed, all for me.
I hate Hamish.
But I also can’t let my pride get Callum hurt.
