Page 18 of The Highlander's Twisted Deal
Here it came, then. The cross-examination in which Callum would trip over his words and make a fool of himself, the way he only ever seemed to do in front of his family. In the council room, he could act the cool, composed Laird as much as he wanted, but there was something about his uncle and aunt—the people who’d raised him—that made him feel like a child again.
It was a little infuriating, really.
To avoid it, Callum went straight to being angry.
Bouncing to his feet and folding his arms across his chest, Callum stared angrily down at his family. “I dinnae appreciate this, Uncle. I ken ye only want the best for me, but I care for Ava. I care for her more than ye can ken.”
I certainly want to bed her, at least. Not that she’d be willing.
Marcus sighed, glancing sideways at his wife. “Callum, I’ve never seen ye in love, so I suppose I dinnae ken what I’m looking for. But this match—well, I’m not convinced. Why dinnae we talk about it while the wee lassie retires for the night, and—”
“No,” Callum said shortly. “I thought ye, at least, would understand, Uncle Marcus.”
His uncle’s face turned white, something cold slipping across his eyes, but Callum had no time to stay, not now that he’d pushed it too far.
He turned on his heel and strode out of the dining room.
I feel like a stroppy child.Storming out in a huff.
This wing of the Keep was dedicated to him and his family. Their studies were here, their rooms, the library, and everything else they might need. The Keep itself was like a maze with a rabbit warren of servants’ halls and secret corridors spreading out beneath the stone flags of the Great Hall itself. When they were children, Callum and Duncan used to run around the Keep, looking for secret passages and often getting lost.
He turned left into his study, which was blessedly cool after the heat of the dining room, and he sank down into the nearest chair.
What are ye doing, lad?a soft voice at the back of Callum’s head asked.Lying to yer family? A false betrothed? Where do ye think this will end?
The door closed softly, and he flinched, glancing up. He’d been followed.
Callum had half expected to see that Marcus had followed him—he was always the one to soothe his boys after a tantrum when they were small and reason them out of it when they were too old for flashes of temper.
Instead, Ava stood there.
Callum felt his heart skip a beat, the pleasant ache tightening in his gut again.
“For what it’s worth,” she said lightly, “I think yer uncle is right.”
6
There was something taut and miserable on Callum’s face. There was no denying that the meeting had gone badly. Part of Ava wanted to feel relieved—perhaps she could slip away, after all, and not worry about any of this—but another part, a more treacherous one, was disappointed.
After all, she’d promised. She’d said that she would help. For the most part, healers were problem-solvers. They found the root of the problem and tackled that.
She closed the door behind her and stepped further into the room. It was a small, dusty space crowded with books. That was surprising—Callum hadn’t struck her as a great reader, but his books were well-thumbed and poorly organized, piled up on the floor and jammed into bookshelves wherever there was space.
A low fire smoldered in the grate, filling the space with prickly heat. A velvet curtain was half-pulled across the window, showing a glimpse of the blue-black sky outside, twinkling with stars. She could strongly smell woodsmoke and a faint whiff of crushed grass. Callum was sprawled out on a chair, his legs spread indecently wide, and he made no move to get to his feet. He watched her closely, his eyes shadowed in the flickering firelight.
Swallowing hard, Ava put dizzying thoughts out of her mind and risked a step closer.
“Ye are telling folks that we are in love,” she said. “That’s the only explanation for marrying a lowly healer in such a rush. So, if ye want to convince people, we will need to act like we’re in love.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Been in love often, have ye? Or is it a skill ye have perfected?”
“No, I’m just nae a fool. Folks in love look at each other and smile at each other until the people around them want to be sick. They touch each other. They hold hands, brush shoulders, sit too close beside each other—things like that. Of course, yer uncle and aunt dinnae believe we’re in love when we act so wary around each other.”
He flashed a quick, twisted grin. “Ahh, I see. Disappointed that I didnae hold yer hand, lassie? Did ye want a quick kiss, then?”
She narrowed her eyes at him, folding her arms tight across her chest.
“Not even in yer dreams,Me Laird.I’m a healer, and it’s me business to figure out what’s wrong in a situation. And for us, this is it. Now, are ye going to sulk in here like a wee bairn, or are ye going to go back and finish the meal with yer family?”
