Page 23 of The Highlander's Twisted Deal
Callum blinked, rubbing his eye with a knuckle, and glared down at the ledgers as if anger would make them make sense.
Focus, man! Ye are Laird McAdair, nae a love-struck farm hand! Not that ye are in love, of course. Best nae to let fiction seep over into reality.
That was an excellent thing to remember, too. His old books were a helpful reminder of how fiction and reality differed and how dangerous it could be to mix the two. The real world did not play out like the old stories, and it was horrifyingly dangerous to believe that it might. There were dangers everywhere, and a clan laird could never let his guard down.
Not if he wanted to live, of course.
A timid rap on the door made Callum jump. He blinked, shaking his head to wake himself up.
“Who is it?” he called, raking his fingers through his hair. He needed a bath, preferably before he met Ava again. Last night, he must have stunk of woodsmoke.
“It’s me, lad,” came Marcus’s gentle voice. “Can I come in?”
That was just like Marcus. He’d always been so kind and gentle, so respectful of Callum’s space.
“Of course, of course.”
The door creaked open, and Marcus slipped inside, closing it behind him. He was alone.
“I suppose ye ken what I’m here to talk about,” he said gravely. “It’s the lassie.”
Callum pressed his lips together. Had his uncle found out the truth? Should he just go ahead and confess it all to save them some time?
Careful, now.Wait and see, eh?
“What do ye mean?” he asked, his voice carefully placid.
Marcus settled in the seat opposite Callum’s desk, stretching out his old legs with a sigh. He wasn’t getting any younger. The cold stone and endless stairs of the Keep were no good for him or Moira.
But that was something to consider later.
“Let me guess. Ye dinnae like her?” Callum said heavily.
“Nay, nay, it’s nae that. She seems like a fine lassie. A healer, too, and that’s always something to admire. I dinnae dislike her, nae at all. But ye are like a son to us, Callum, ye ken that. I’d be just as nervy if me own lad was marrying a woman he’d kenned for a handful of days. What do ye ken about her, truly? I dinnae believe that ye love her. I think that ye just want the council to leave ye alone.”
Closer than ye think.
“Ye dinnae think highly of me then, do ye, Uncle Marcus?”
Marcus sighed tiredly, leaning forward to pat Callum’s hand. “Dinnae say that. I’m just concerned. Listen, me concern here isnae whether ye are marrying a lassie who’ll make a good alliance with the clan. I dinnae care if she is wealthy or not, whether she’s well-born, or even if she’s from our clan. What I care about is whether she will make ye happy. Have ye afuturewith her, lad?”
Callum swallowed thickly. A lump had formed in his throat and refused to go down. He avoided his uncle’s gaze.
“If me future is anything like me faither’s, it’s not much to look forward to.”
The words were out before he could stop himself.
Marcus flinched, his eyes fluttering briefly shut. “Callum—” he began, but Callum waved his hand, cutting him off.
“Nay, think about it, Uncle Marcus. What if there’s nay happiness for me in the future? Ye ken me past, what me faither did. Ye ken that his blood is in me veins. What if there’s nothing for me in the future? Are ye nae the one that told me to be wary of the past? I see me past clearly, and it doesnae make me future look bright.”
Marcus chewed the inside of his cheek. “I dinnae agree with that sort of negative thinking, lad. Ye arenae yer faither. Yer future will be what ye make it. That’s why I’m so concerned over this Ava lassie, do ye see?”
Callum noticed that his uncle carefully avoided any mention of the former Laird McAdair, Callum’s father, Marcus’s brother. Perhaps that was wise. It was a touchy subject, even now. Even when precious few people in the Keep knew the truth. Callum was grateful for that and for his uncle and aunt’s rigid protection of the truth. How would he have lived if it turned out that everybody knew? They’d all be looking at Callum, wondering silently when he would show that he was his father’s son.
Shuddering, Callum pushed himself up from his seat, turning to the window. It was a gray, unpleasant day. The sky was bone-white and heavy with clouds and rain, and he could feel the cold dampness seeping through the stone.
Below his window spread the Keep gardens. They grew all kinds of things here—potatoes, radishes, carrots, greens, and so on. There were areas of wildflowers and well-tended shrubs, too, but Moira had control over the gardens, and she preferred practical plants.
